Beard Science (Winston Brothers, #3)

by Penny Reid

“So the unwanting soul sees what's hidden, and the ever-wanting soul sees only what it wants.” Lao Tzu

I tried my best to pretend unkind words were actually just erroneously expressed compliments, as it just made everything nicer for everybody. For example, my momma’s latest comment could be rephrased to, You’re cosmically stellar. This habit of purposefully misunderstanding insults has served me well over the course of my life, around town, and at home.

It was a beard I’d recognize anywhere.

Cletus Winston was the sneakiest, most manipulative, most powerful, and—as far as I was concerned—the most dangerous man in East Tennessee.

Just because a person was a looker doesn’t mean they’re not a psychopath.

“Best to keep an eye on the viper in a barn full of mice.” Especially if you’re a mouse.

He posed no threat to me, but he still made me nervous. No one person should be allowed to be that pathologically intelligent and oppressively handsome.

I don’t like to judge people. I love it. Writing people completely off was liberating. First impressions were typically correct. My first impressions were always correct.

Of course I loved my neighbor. My momma brought me up right. I certainly saw the wisdom in loving neighbors, and doing unto others, and being nice for the sake of being nice. I just preferred to love my neighbors from afar. I subscribed to long-distance relationships, where speaking and listening didn’t occur with any frequency.

I only had time for twenty-four people (tops) in my life, and I already had six siblings. Twenty-four people was an average of two birthdays a month. Ain’t nobody got time for more than two birthday celebrations a month. That’s a lot of cake, and I’m particular about my cake.

I liked her use of the word relevant. It meant she considered relevancy before volunteering information. You can’t teach people how to do that.

Now was not a convenient time to have met my life partner. I had too much to do, too many irons in the fire.

Knowing something in theory is meaningless if you have no experience with real-life application.

“Why does every person have to be a zero or a ten on your worthwhile scale? Maybe she’s a seven or a four.” I shrugged. “I don’t have time for fours and sevens, I have too much to do. If someone isn’t a ten, they’re a zero.”

Sienna—” “You mean, your fiancée.” “Yeah. Sienna—” “You should call her your fiancée.” “What? Why?” “’Cause that’s who she is to you. I’m your brother, you say, ‘My brother.’ Sienna is your fiancée and has earned that title in your life. She puts up with your ugly face and bad manners, the least you can do is address her properly.”

If anyone could help me, it was Cletus Winston—even if I had to blackmail him to do it.

I can be real tough. You can’t be a sissy and make fifty loaves of bread in a day. That’s a lot of kneading. I’m tough as nails. I’m basically the Rocky Balboa of bakers.

“Do you want to go to jail?” I challenged. “For what? Not talking to you? Now I know you think highly of yourself, but you do know you’re not a real queen, right?”

A brief silence followed, during which the reality of my present situation crashed over me. I was alone. I was alone with Cletus Winston. I was alone with Cletus Winston and no one knew where I was. Oh. Shit.

Cletus’s expression was blank, which—I abruptly realized—was highly unusual. He always wore an expression. Thoughtful, concerned, patient, bored, interested, somber, perturbed. How odd, for a person to always have an expression. Unless that person wore emotions like a mask, meant to misdirect the true nature of his thoughts.

He could make anything happen. Everyone in town and the surrounding areas owed him a favor. I'd heard the rumors. I'd paid attention. I'd put the puzzle pieces together. And now I had the most powerful man in East Tennessee right where I needed him.

How she lived her life—or allowed others to live it for her—was none of my affair.

“If you give me your word you’ll delete the video, we can forget all about this.” Two unhappy lines appeared between her eyebrows. “It’s too late for that.” I got the sense she wasn’t talking to me. “And, besides, I don’t trust you to forgive and forget. You’ll take revenge sooner or later, it’s what you do. No . . . I’m going to see this through.” I stared at her, likely gaping. I was flummoxed. You’ll take revenge sooner or later, it’s what you do. How could she know that?

she’d taken me by surprise. Jennifer Sylvester wasn’t fierce. She was nuttier than a pecan pie.

Jennifer’s voice cracked with emotion. Crap. She’s going to cry. This was a situation that required neutralizing. I placed my hand over hers and gave her a squeeze. “There, there.” Fruit cake. “Calm down—”

Doesn’t everybody want to find someone? I don’t need love, just respect would do. And don’t most people want a family? Then why is it wrong when I want it? Why does that make me crazy?” “It’s not the wanting part that makes you crazy. It’s the blackmailing-me-into-marrying-you-and-giving-you-a-baby that brings your mental health into question.” Jennifer straightened her spine, her full lips parting in what looked like confusion at first, then horror. “Oh no, Cletus. No, no. I don’t want to marry you. No, not you. You misunderstand, I want you to find me a husband. I would never marry you.”

I liked this about Drew: always to the point when talking about business, but always philosophical when talking about life.

Some might consider my venture strategy risky. It wasn’t. I don’t take risks.

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re good at tinkering. Aside from those revenge plots, people are lucky to have you interfering in their lives.”

“You’ll know one day, Cletus. You’ll discover what it’s like to find the other part of yourself. You’ll know it’s her, only her, always her. Maybe not right away, but eventually you’ll know. She’ll be your beginning, middle, and end. And your intentions won’t matter. Love brings its own intentions, and all other plans, hopes, and dreams fade to insignificance in the face of love.”

“I hope you boys have been enjoying my sausage.” Officer Evans nodded, swallowing a bite of the coveted coleslaw. “Yes, sir. That’s some quality meat, Cletus. Do you really go boar hunting with Indians in Texas? And use spears?” “No, not with Indians. I go with Native Americans,” I corrected. I don’t mind the use of labels, so long as they’re properly applied.

I knew better. Where these two yokels saw a weak, sensitive flower—an angelic pushover, ripe for the pushing—I saw an opportunist in banana-cake clothing. Let the record show, I did not roll my eyes.

Jennifer Sylvester didn’t need a husband. She might’ve wanted a husband, likely because she was equating marriage with escape and freedom, but she didn’t need one. What she needed was a backbone.

“Here’s the honest truth, Cletus: I’m not a romantic. I’m not looking for someone to sweep me off my feet. Knights in shining armor do not exist. I don’t even need him to be particularly clever or handsome. I just want a good person, a . . . a gentle person. I want someone with a good heart, someone steady, reliable, and kind. Someone who would make a good father.”

I never had anything to hide. Until now.

who you represent yourself to be on the outside, what people see, forms their first impression of you.

"This is a distressing conversation." I rubbed my forehead, feeling a little nauseous. "Am I alarming your delicate sensibilities?" "No. It's not that. I just feel sorry for men now. It must be frustrating to be so feeble and limited." Cletus's eyes widened dramatically just before he barked a laugh. "Feeble and limited? Is that how you would describe men?" "No. But apparently that's how you would describe them."

“All I’m saying is, I won’t harm you, physical or otherwise. But as you observed last Sunday, I’m the vengeful sort. Any person endeavoring to blackmail me typically wouldn’t emerge from the attempt unscathed.” He paused, his eyes no longer sharp as they moved over my face, yet his gaze felt no less unsettling. “But, you will. You will emerge unscathed.” Cletus’s voice was quietly contemplative as he finally finished his thought. “You surprise me, and I am not accustomed to being surprised.”

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.” William Goldman, The Princess Bride

“Cletus, you sure are good at hiding things in plain sight.”

It was a time of change. I avoided change or did my utmost to discourage it, mostly. This was the good kind of change. I knew that. Still, even good change made me antsy.

“How am I supposed to trust you when you have a long, established record of underhanded dealings and manipulations?” Astute woman is . . . very astute.

I preferred hiding in plain sight. It was my talent.

Cletus’s laughter sent a warm and rich something pumping through my veins; it made me think of Swiss chocolate, semi-sweetened, and whipped with cream into a thick, dark, luscious ganache.

“Let the record show, never say never to Cletus Winston.” Cletus nodded once at his assertion, a smugly satisfied smile on his features. At present, Cletus was walking me to my car. I’d lost track of time and when I realized it was after 10:00 PM, I made my excuses. He jumped up from his seat and offered to see me out, and so here we were. I glanced at him and rolled my eyes. “Fine. You were right. I’ll never say never to Cletus Winston.”

One moment I was treated like a disobedient, disrespectful twelve-year-old, the next a beautiful success. All because of Billy. Never because of me.

I didn’t get much sleep that night. My head was too full of ideas, of things I could change. The possibilities were endless. Because, they aren’t me. I’m me. I have to live with me, all day, every day. And I got to choose who—or what—I wanted to be.

Toutes les femmes ont besoin de lingerie sexy, ça leur donne un secret, she’d written, Une femme avec un secret est mystérieuse et séduisante (Translation: All women need sexy underwear; it gives them a secret. A woman with a secret is by nature mysterious and alluring.)

He looked remarkably messy in his white T-shirt and greasy coveralls, the long sleeves tied at his waist. But to me, he also looked breathtakingly gorgeous. Quite literally, the sight of him stole my breath. His clean white T-shirt was just faintly tight across his impressive chest, hinting at the bulky power beneath. The short sleeves were pulled slightly tighter over the bulge of his biceps, revealing—not hinting—at his impressive strength. The long blue sleeves of his coveralls tied low on his narrow hips emphasized the flat plane of his stomach. The tips of his long fingers were stained gray from a day’s work at the auto shop. His long hair stuck out and up at odd angles and was adorably askew, like he’d been running his big hands through the curls recently or he’d been caught in a windstorm. I’d like to run my hands through those curls.

My parents spent a lot of time telling me how unlikeable I was. Why would they do that?