Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(42)

Basically, I was her favorite uncle.

“Are you coming, Claire?” Shelly asked, like it was an interrogation, her dark blue stare piercing, as was her way.

Scarlet smiled warmly at the woman, shrugging. “Oh, I don’t know. I actually have some work to do before heading to Rome in a few weeks.”

Cletus threw his hands in the air. “Well, that’s it. Groupon ain’t gunna give me a refund.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, chuckling at Cletus’s dramatics. “I’ve always wanted to see, uh—” her eyes flickered to mine and then away “—I’ve always wanted to see that statue.”

“Claire is coming. What about you, Billy?” Shelly turned her interrogating glare and tone on me.

“He’s going,” Duane cut in before I had a chance to answer. “I cleared his schedule with his secretary. He has the whole day free.”

“Actually, I don’t know.” I scratched my beard, wondering if me staying meant Claire would feel more comfortable going. I didn’t want to be the reason she missed out. “I have a call with the mill. Dolly said she wants to run some numbers with me.”

That wasn’t a lie, technically. Dolly Payton did want to run some numbers with me, but the call we’d scheduled was for 3:00 a.m. Italian time.

Cletus squinted and he gave his head a subtle shake, likely an action he hoped I’d interpret as a warning. I ignored it and him and sipped from my wine glass.

Leaning back in his seat, Cletus steepled his fingers and dropped his gaze to his plate, a tight expression on his face. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head, what kind of punishment he had in store for me. It could be anything. Well, almost anything. I doubted he would—

“Hey, Billy.” Ashley tapped my arm lightly, drawing my attention to her. Giving me a sweet smile, she said, “I know this is completely random, but Drew and I were talking about that new rehab facility in Green Valley the other day and I always wondered, what happened to that car?”

“Car?”

“Yeah. In high school, the one that hit you, and then you ended up in the hospital for all those weeks, losing your scholarship and such.”

I stared at my sister, confused as to why she’d be asking this now or at all. The more I stared, the less sweet her smile looked. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted, strained, like I was being watched by a predator. Or several.

Glancing around the table, I found only Sheriff and Mrs. James, Maya, Scarlet, Jethro and Sienna and their boys not staring in my direction. Otherwise, all sets of eyes were watching our exchange and they each wore a similar expression. Determined.

My stomach dropped.

They know.

Clearing my throat, I wrestled to keep my racing pulse under control. “Can’t say I recall,” I managed to choke out, returning my gaze to my plate and dabbing at my mouth with my napkin, trying to think.

He’d told them.

“That was right about the time that Scarlet left town, right?” Beau asked, and my eyes cut to his.

I sat stock-still, staring at my lovable brother and his affable smile and the unholy light of mischief in his eyes. And then what followed would have been comical if my heart hadn’t been beating out of my chest.

I looked to Jethro. Besides Cletus, he was the only other person at the table who knew it had been the Wraiths, not a car accident, that had left me with so many broken bones. If he figured it out, he’d tell Scarlet the truth straightaway, that’s for sure. Time and time again, he’d shown how little loyalty he had for me.

Jethro glanced at me. Then Jethro glanced at Scarlet, who was frowning at her plate. My gaze cut to Cletus and I glowered, because my industrious brother was smirking. At me. His wine glass lifted in my direction.

“So, you’re coming to Florence tomorrow? To see David?” Beau asked, his eyebrows raised meaningfully.

“I guess I am,” I responded, my words carefully calm, my eyes never leaving Cletus’s.

Meanwhile, he’d lifted a wrist and pointed to the watch there with his index finger, mouthing, Time’s up.





Chapter Nine





Claire





“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”

Thomas Merton , No Man Is an Island





At 8:00 a.m., the streets of Florence smelled like leather and fresh bread. Cafés were still setting up, placing chairs, small circular tables, and folding signs—advertising both espresso and gelato—on the narrow cobble streets.

“Why does it smell so much like leather?” I asked Duane, who currently held my hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Duane led the way, guiding us through the back streets, from the train station at Piazza di Santa Maria Novella to the Accademia Gallery, where the huge fourteen-foot statue was kept. Everyone else was behind us, including Billy. I’d glanced over my shoulder a few times, hopefully stealthily enough not to be noticed. He brought up the rear, walking with Sienna’s sister Maya who—I hated that I noticed—was looking at him like he was an ice cream cone.

Not that I blamed her.

“They got these open-air markets here where vendors sell all manner of things, used to be fine linen table clothes, Italian marble chessboards, and such. But now, it seems to be more touristy kind of stuff, knickknacks and whatnot, bobbleheads of the pope, hot priest calendars.”