Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(46)

“Scarlet.”

I tensed, my gaze cutting to his. His wary expression had been replaced with a frustrated one, and in the next second he moved, walking toward me. Oh God. Please. Please, just be nice.

Searching for some topic, any topic that might distract him from whatever was on his mind, I blurted, “Shelly said these were done by Michelangelo and his students.”

He stopped about four feet away, his mouth set in an unhappy line, and I braced myself for the impact of angry words as he said, “The call button doesn’t seem to be working,” which was not what I’d expected him to say.

I stared at the man for a beat, and then I leaned to the side and peered at the doors. “It’s not?”

“No. And it’s been fifteen minutes.”

“What? It has?”

He nodded, looking less irritated and more . . . apologetic?

“I’m sorry,” he said, his typically frosty gaze now curiously moderate, yet still reserved. “I think this is Cletus’s idea of trying to help.”





Chapter Ten





Claire





“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

Sun Tzu, The Art of War





“Help?” I parroted, confused.

Billy’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Cletus seems to think, if you and I are trapped together, we’ll—uh—work through our differences.”

My stomach dropped and my mouth formed an O as I finally understood. We were trapped. Cletus had somehow figured out how to trap us down here. Great.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Billy said, quite unnecessarily. Obviously, he didn’t have anything to do with it.

“I know.” I twisted at the waist, looking for a place to sit. “I didn’t think you did,” I muttered. Then, because I could be petty sometimes, I mumbled, “I’m not the one trying to avoid you.”

Billy rocked back on his heels, like he was absorbing my words, speaking as though to himself, “That statement doesn’t have any basis in reality.”

Finding no chair or bench on which to sit, I lowered myself to the plank. “I’m just giving you the space you requested.” I allowed my legs to dangle over the side, figuring if I was going to be trapped here for God knows how long with a man who despised the sight of me, I might as well sit. I was tired of standing and fighting.

“And before that?”

“And before that, what?”

“And before I requested distance last week? Where were you then?”

“And before that”—I waved my hand through the air—“I was in Nashville for four years and you were in the Capital, and you’re engaged. So . . .” I shrugged, because that just said it all.

“No.” He sat too, assuming the same position as me, just three feet away now. His movements were slow, like his hip was giving him problems. “I told you over Christmas, that’s not a real engagement. If you’re not avoiding me, where have you been for the last six months?”

“You’re still engaged. All engagements are real until they’re over,” I said flatly. Staring forward, I twisted my lips to the side, feeling none of my usual heart palpitations and whatnot. I just felt . . . tired. Here we go again. I am so tired of this.

“Well, this engagement is over. I broke it off a few weeks ago.”

A spark of irritation had my lips curving into a rueful smile. “Well, there you go. And now you want me to keep my distance. Funny how that timing works.”

“You know what? Maybe we should just wait in silence,” he ground out. “We’ll wait here quietly until Cletus decides to let us out.”

“Fine with me.” I brought my knees up and hugged my legs to me, setting my cheek on top of them, my face turned away.

Encouraging my mind to take me away from here, I reflected on how dumb all these arguments were. The same ones over and over, and yet they still hurt. Billy was right. Being around him was difficult. It used to be so easy, which just made it hurt even more.

Eventually, my thoughts drifted, but they didn’t stray too far from the man at my side. Seeing him curled up on the bed last week, obviously in pain and so determined to reject any kindness I offered. Well, I guess I didn’t blame him for pushing me away, everything considered, but why he’d put himself in that position to begin with made no sense to me.

Which is probably why, before I could catch the impulse, I said, “Actually, no. Not fine with me. I have a question.”

“What’s that?”

“Why’d you donate your bone marrow to Darrell?” Lifting my head, I looked at him. He had one knee drawn up, his forearm resting on top of it, and he returned my inspection with one of his own.

“Ah. So that’s what you meant when you said Cletus told you what happened.”

“Yes. Why would you do that?”

Billy seemed to hesitate, like he was debating between two paths and wasn’t at all sure which way to go. “How much do you know about what happened back in May? At the diner, when Roscoe and Simone were hurt?”

Spotting a glimmer of vulnerability behind his gaze at the mention of his little brother, I turned my body to face him fully, sitting cross-legged. “Just what’s been in the papers.”