Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(3)

Don’t get me wrong, Ben McClure had been a fine man, but he’d also been as clueless as a pirate wearing two eye patches. I don’t think the man had a purposefully mean bone in his body, but he had several ignorant, arrogant, and pretentious ones, that’s for sure.

Sitting in my fine stew of remorse and relish, I soldiered on. “Thing is, Claire—before we knew about Beau and Duane’s biological momma being Christine and Claire being the twins’ half-sister, before Claire’s illustrious singing career, before Ben died, before she and Ben returned to town, before they got married, before she changed her name from Scarlet to Claire, before she fled Green Valley, before all of that—Claire and Billy were secretly in love.”

A collective shock rippled through the room. Even Roscoe gasped, his eyes flying open. That is, each inhabitant in the room save Beau and I gasped. He’d gasped last week when I’d told him the truth, but he was pleased about it now.

Jethro’s shock was short-lived, however, and soon morphed into irritation. “What the—”

“Now wait, Jethro, wait. I know it’ll be hard for you to accept that Ben and Claire weren’t the model of matrimonial perfection, seeing as how you’ve placed him on that pedestal for the last ten years—and she has too—but I have proof. If you need it. It’s true as I am standing here. Billy and Claire have been pining for each other for going on eighteen years now, I reckon.”

You know how I said earlier that Jethro never really frowned? Well, I’m big enough of a person to admit when I’ve made an error, however rarely it occurs. Jethro was most certainly frowning now.

“This is ridiculous, Cletus. I asked her about this once and she said it was nothing, nothing happened. Scarlet—I mean, Claire—she was with Ben. She was always with Ben. She was never with Billy.”

“You are incorrect, and like I said, I have proof. But rest assured, the-country-music-star-formerly-known-as-Scarlet was very much with Billy, and they are still very much in love with each other.”

Jethro’s hands lifted to his waist. “Why are you doing this? Billy and I, we’ve gotten to a place where we don’t fight every time we’re in the same room. If what you’re saying is true, you’re telling me Claire loved Billy—wanted to be with Billy—while she was married to Ben? She wouldn’t do that, and Ben never would’ve married her if she’d wanted someone else. Her happiness was all that mattered to him.”

I opened my mouth, prepared to lay out the truth carpet about Ben McClure, which was that the man was too dense to notice what made Claire happy and too self-absorbed to comprehend that his happiness did not automatically equate to her happiness.

But before I could speak, Beau stepped forward, placing his hand on Jethro’s shoulder and giving our brother a kind smile. “The dead can never be viewed as they truly were, as full-fledged, thinking, three-dimensional people, Jethro. With both flaws and strengths. In retrospect, they’re either saints or sinners. I get that. To you, Ben was a saint.”

Jethro’s throat seemed to work, and he turned back to me. “You’re wrong about Claire. She loved Ben. I was there when she found out he died; she was devastated.”

I slid my hands into my overall pockets, nodding somberly. “She might’ve loved the man, in a way, but I am right about Claire. She loved Billy before Ben, she loved Billy when Ben died, she loves Billy now. And you should just accept I’m right because I’m always right. But this isn’t about my truth-batting percentage.”

My oldest brother kept shaking his head, huffing a harsh sounding laugh.

We didn’t have all the time in the world to convince Jethro, so I decided to get to the point. “Believe it or not, this isn’t about Ben. Ben was an adequate human, and I know you still miss your friend, but Billy is alive and he’s your brother. Billy deserves happiness, as does Claire. But these two idiots, they’re too stubborn and noble to climb over the messy mountain of regret and secrets they’ve built between each other. So, as folks who love them both, it falls on us—all of us—to make the magic happen.”

Jethro bit the inside of his lip, inspecting me, his gaze shuttered. Clearly, he still didn’t believe me.

Without looking away from Jet, I sighed and called to Mr. Grumpypants, “Duane. Tell us about that cabin you and Billy built, on that high, flat stretch of land in the woods.”

Jethro blinked, rearing back a little.

“Well, uh, only Billy and I were supposed to know about it. We built it a few summers before Momma died. It used to be a campsite of some sort, I think.”

“And please enlighten the assemblage, Duane, what did Billy tell you about it?” I asked, all the while watching my oldest brother.

“Billy said it was a sacred space for him. Something about, uh, a place he went when he wanted to remember a time and a person he loved and missed.”

I knew for a fact Jethro was acquainted with this particular high, flat stretch of land in the woods. I knew he’d been the one to show it to a fourteen-year-old Scarlet (aka Claire) as a safe place she could stay, away from Razor, Scarlet’s father, and Christine, her neglectful and hateful mother.

But what Jethro didn’t know was that Billy had found Scarlet in the woods behind our house in that very spot. Or rather, they’d found each other.

My oldest brother was no longer frowning. A crack had formed in his granite exterior, confusion sliding over his features. Jet had stepped in to help Scarlet almost twenty years ago, and in doing so he’d unintentionally been the one to bring her and Billy together.