Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(107)
“Hey.” Billy’s rumbly voice pulled me from my conflicting reflections, and his hand slid up my leg. “You ready for bed?”
Instead of standing, I faced him and pressed our foreheads together. “I love you, Billy Winston.”
I sensed him smile. “I love you, Scarlet Winston.”
His statement made me smile. It had been my idea to change my legal name to Scarlet Claire Winston before we married and keep my stage name as Claire McClure. The separation between my professional life and my personal life had been a godsend over the years. I’d never felt more like myself than when the officiant had asked: Do you, Scarlet Claire Winston, take William Shakespeare Winston to be your husband?
“You want to check on the kids?” I lifted my fingers to his beard, lightly scratching his jaw with my nails. “Will you get Constantine and Tiberius ready for Beau and Shelly while I get the cabin ready?”
He nodded, lifting his chin for a gentle kiss, but then he whispered, “I expect you to be naked by the time I arrive.”
His teasing yet commanding tone chased away any residual melancholy I might’ve been feeling and I stood, stretched, and stepped away before taunting, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
“Scarlet—”
Grinning, I darted out of his grip before he could grab for me again and jogged into the darkness before he could follow. I then listened to the sounds of the camp fade, slowing to a walk and not bothering to pull out my flashlight.
Whenever we were in Green Valley, which was usually just once a year during this camping weekend, we always made a point to spend a night together in our place, where our story began. I knew every tree and bush along the way. I knew just where the steps started, how many to climb, and—once inside—where the matches were on the mantle.
Lighting the kerosene lamp on the little table, I turned to the mattress and pulled off the dust cover. We kept the blankets and sheets in a small cedar chest, and I set to work preparing the space—sweeping the floor, dusting the mantle, starting a small fire, making the bed.
Over the years, Billy and Jethro had added on a bathroom, working together to dig a well, run the pipes, add the septic. Billy had also offered to add a kitchen at the same time, but I’d vetoed the idea. I liked the simplicity of our cabin. I liked the way it preserved the past while allowing us to celebrate our present.
Everything done, I tugged off my shoes, set them by the door, and then removed all my clothes except my underwear. A small act of rebellion, but probably not an unexpected one. If I ever complied with all my husband’s wishes, he’d probably have my head examined.
Smiling at the thought, I slipped under the fresh covers, rested my cheek on the pillow facing the door, and I sang.
I sang all the love songs I’d written for him over the years starting with my first album. I sang until he walked in the door, a big old grin—well, big for Billy Winston—on his face, his eyes twinkly, bright, and happy.
I sang as he undressed and prepared for bed. I sang as he blew out the lamp and joined me, as his hands found my body in the flickering firelight from the hearth, and as he chuckled when he discovered I wasn’t quite naked.
I sang and laughed as he removed my underwear, down my hips and legs, as he returned to me once more and gathered me in his arms. And then my heart sang when he kissed me, and touched me, and made me his.
When I was young, I lived to survive. I’d shunned hopes and dreams, content in the safety of survival.
But now I knew better. Nothing lasts forever. Not a song, not happiness, not misery. Mere survival was no safer than living for hopes and dreams. At the end, there will always be the end.
So why not dream? Why not hope? Why not live life with wild faith and abandon? Why not take the risk? Otherwise, all these moments—small or significant, heaven on earth—would be lost to fear.
I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. And never again.
-The End-
Sign up for Penny’s newsletter to never miss out on shenanigans:
https://pennyreid.ninja/newsletter/
Author’s Note
Liberty was taken with the location of Michelangelo’s hidden sketches. They’re actually in a room in the basement of Basilica di San Lorenzo in Florence, not in the basement of Accademia Gallery. I wanted the scene with David to take place right before Scarlet and Billy were trapped together the first time, and so I created an alternate reality/dimension where what I wanted to be true was true.
A reader asked me about the abuse Scarlet suffered at the hands of her father and whether she was based on anyone I knew. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. Growing up we lived down the street from what was referred to as a “Charlie House,” a group foster home for children who’d been abused (in all the various ways that’s possible). Scarlet’s abuse was based on those kids (siblings with a similar experience).
Other readers have asked me if Green Valley is based on a real place, and that answer is also yes (sorta). It’s a combination of places. Right outside of Maryville, TN is a small cluster of homes (Happy Valley, Tennessee) at the base of one of the mountains. Further up the mountain is a community called Top of the World. It’s an unincorporated hamlet in rural Blount County set around a lake that used to be a gold mine. A little farther north is a town by the name of Townsend, with a cute downtown, shops, and restaurants. If you take the Parkway over the mountain to Walland, you’ll find the real Rocky Branch Community Center (and Friday night jam sessions) I used as inspiration for the books.