Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(100)

“Just a few days. Thanks for letting us stay at the carriage house.”

“Of course.” My brother smiled at me even as his forehead arranged itself into a frown. “You’re welcome to stay forever.”

“I know.” I peered out over the field, studying the mountain rising before us cloaked in all its various shades of green. “But I think it’s time.”

“What about the mill? When are you going back to work?” Drew pulled a beer bottle from the side pocket of his cargo pants and twisted off the lid.

For the record, it wasn’t a twist-off. The man seemed to be capable of opening anything with his bare hands—beer, bear trap. Also, he often used the pockets of his cargo pants as beer holders. I’d contemplated buying a pair for the weekends just for this purpose.

“I’ll transition back to mill operations next month, but Dolly wants me in Nashville now full time. It works out since state congress will be back in regular session soon. I can run the mill’s national office from there.” What I didn’t tell them was that Scarlet and I had a meeting with a realtor next week to look at houses. Her apartment was nice, but it was just a simple one bedroom, sparsely furnished, with a postage stamp kitchen.

The woman deserved a big kitchen with all the trimmings, and that’s what she would get.

“You’re going back to the mill?” Jethro seemed confused by this information. “Last I heard, you were running for that senate seat.”

I made a short, dissatisfied grunting sound in the back of my throat before I could catch it.

Roscoe answered for me. “No. He withdrew.”

Roscoe knew since we’d been touching base while I’d been in Rome.

The party had tried to change my mind, promising a new campaign liaison, but that ship had sailed. I didn’t want the seat, a fact that had become blatantly obvious when I’d felt nothing but relieved after firing Karl. For a time, Scarlet fretted I’d done it for her. But now she was convinced I did it for myself, which was the truth.

“It might be good that y’all aren’t staying in Green Valley, actually. Probably better if no one in town knows where you are for certain.” Jethro scratched the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “The Wraiths are a mess, losing members left and right. Now that the leadership is in jail, no one is around to inflict order. They’re getting into all kinds of messy shit. Best Claire isn’t here.”

Drew frowned at me, then at Jethro. “You mean instill order?”

“No. I mean inflict.” Jethro gave us a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Razor’s brand of leadership was definitely an affliction.”

My brother spoke the truth. But now, the affliction of Razor Dennings was officially none of my concern.

Shortly after Scarlet and I arrived in Rome, I received a call from Dani Payton, telling me she’d heard through the grapevine—that is, her little sister the FBI agent—that all charges against me had been dropped and the case was closed. Scarlet’s perjury had done the trick and now I was off the hook, scot-free.

I wasn’t quite reconciled to it yet, but I was trying to surrender.

“Hey. By the way, have you asked her to marry you yet?” This question came from Roscoe and earned him a side-eye.

The ring in my pocket suddenly felt heavier.

“Have you asked Simone?” Jethro asked, wearing a shit-eating grin.

Roscoe scowled. “I’d ask today if I thought she’d say yes.”

“Ask not just when the time is right, but also when the moment is right. Don’t rush things just ’cause you’re anxious to make it official. Ideally, you only ask once. Make it count.” Drew said this like he had a wealth of experience on the topic.

“Why don’t you think Simone would say yes?” Not to be deterred, Jethro poked at Roscoe. “Is it because of your beard?”

Roscoe’s hand came to his jaw. “What’s wrong with my beard?”

“Claire has that concert next week? In Texas?” Drew, ever the diplomat, redirected the conversation away from Jethro’s teasing.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“You’re going, right? Remind me and I’ll give you the name of some good restaurants in Austin.”

“Thanks.” I sent my brother-in-law a grateful look. “I’d appreciate it.”

The last time I’d watched Scarlet sing for an audience other than me had been at the Nashville Music Festival over a month prior. I’d watched from the stage, standing in the wings. Unsurprisingly, she did great. Because she was great. Scarlet was greatness come alive.

At one point in her set I found myself getting a little choked up, thinking back on that day we sang together in the woods behind my family’s house, how she’d looked at my thirty-dollar guitar like it was made of magic. She’d just begun to contemplate dreams. I marveled at her now, commanding an audience of thousands, holding them in her grip, eating out of the palm of her hand.

Apparently, it’s not just for the Billys and goats.

Afterward, I’d hung back as she met with the VIP folks, signing stuff, posing for pictures, smiling and listening to each person, making them feel special. But really, it was her. She was the singularity. She made everything brighter. Other people merely basked in it, glowing by association.