Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(28)

But our silent exchange was interrupted by Jethro. “Holy cow! Are you two doing that thing? Where you read each other’s thoughts? I thought that was just a twin thing.”

My brother pulled a face, sneering at Jethro. “What are you talking about? That’s not real. That’s just Beau and me trying to piss off Cletus. We can’t actually read each other’s thoughts.”

Jethro squinted at Duane, then at me, then at Duane, like he was suspicious. “You only do it to piss off Cletus?”

“Of course.” Duane rolled his eyes, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork, and then glancing at me real quick as though to say, Keep up the ruse!

Jethro hit the table with his palm. “There. Right there. You just did it again.”

Sienna was laughing behind her napkin while I fought my own grin, rolling my lips between my teeth.

“What did I do?” Tone surly, Duane ate his third helping of chicken and gave his brother a shrug, like he was confused. “I didn’t do anything. You’re crazy.”

“Uncle Billy!”

A new commotion erupted and so did my insides. Movement and exclamations at the far end of the table had all eyes turning that way, even mine. Especially mine. I could barely manage a swallow as I leaned forward, searching for Billy. And when I saw him, my heart grew confused about whether to beat or play dead.

He looked better, stronger. Thank God.

But that meant he was now mobile. Well, crap.

Devouring the sight of him, I noted his beard was a mess. This didn’t at all detract from his attractiveness, instead lending him an air of casually haphazard handsomeness that also felt oddly foreboding. He wore jeans, a white undershirt, and that’s all I could see from this far away.

Greeting Sheriff and Mrs. James first, his eyes seemed to warm as they settled on the infant in her arms.

“What do you think?” Mrs. James asked, lifting up the babe, grinning like a woman in the throes of grandmotherly bliss. “Isn’t your namesake handsome?”

“He’s gorgeous, looks like his grandmother,” he said smoothly, fitting his big index finger into the fist of little Liam’s hand. My heart squeezed painfully.

The woman giggled—giggled! Like a teenager! “Oh stop,” she chided, tutting at him but looking pleased. “He does not. He looks just like his daddy. Look at those red curls.”

“Can I hold him?” He directed this question to Janet James first, and then Jess, both of whom were staring at him with dreamy-looking smiles.

“Of course!”

“Absolutely. Go for it.”

He accepted the child as Duane rushed over as though to supervise. Billy fit the tiny human in the crook of his elbow and placed a kiss on Liam’s forehead. That’s when I tore my eyes away, leaning back in my chair, needing to focus through whatever insurrection my organs were staging. I couldn’t stand it, the sight of it. Billy Winston fussing over a baby did weird things to my insides, sent pangs of longing from one corner of my torso to the other.

I was officially ridiculous.

Sensing the weight of someone’s gaze again, I hazarded a glance at Sienna. She wasn’t looking at me. Like Jess and Janet, her smiling eyes were on the action at the end of the table, the breathtakingly handsome man holding the cutest baby in the world. Shifting my attention one seat over, I met Jethro’s gaze.

He was studying me. Carefully. Like he was looking for something. Maybe he found it, I had no idea, because upon discovering his inspection, an alarm bell rang between my ears.

I stood. I grabbed my plate. “I’ll start the dishes,” I muttered, and I darted to the kitchen.

For the record, I didn’t mind darting to the kitchen, I loved this kitchen, it had definitely become my safe space. Big but not too big, the style fit the structure. Solid olive wood cabinets, gray granite from an ancient quarry somewhere in Italy, hand painted blue, green, and yellow ceramic tile backsplash, a farmhouse style porcelain sink big enough to wash a toddler. Jess had called it modern rustic and that was an apt description.

Setting my plate on the counter, I realized I’d barely touched my dinner, so I stuffed a piece of chicken in my mouth and dumped the rest of the food into the compost. I then pulled all the dirty prep dishes out of the sink, clearing space for me to skip the dishwasher and clean everything by hand. Why not? I had the time and my hands wanted to be busy.

“Claire?”

I tensed at the sound of my name, relieved I hadn’t been holding a breakable dish.

“Jethro,” I said brightly, keeping my back to him. “You can just leave that right there with the rest of it. I got all this.”

“You wash, I’ll dry.” In my peripheral vision, I saw he’d placed his plate next to mine on the counter and was hovering at my shoulder, looking at me. “I don’t mind. It’ll give us a chance to catch up. How are you? How’s work?”

“Work is fine.” I faced him, giving him a tight-lipped smile, prepared to behave as though everything was just fine and dandy, because everything was fine. And dandy. “They booked me a studio in Rome, so I can finish the new album for a fall release. That’s good.”

“They’re releasing in the fall? I thought you said they were delaying things on account of the bad press.” Jethro pulled a towel out of the third drawer, slinging it over his shoulder.