Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(55)

She’d even offered to trim it for me. Not a good idea.

Wrestling with the beast called anticipation, I searched the shared living spaces on the main floor for her. Coming up empty, I took the stairs to the basement and headed straight for the kitchen, her favorite place to be.

She wasn’t there either, but Jethro was. Standing at the big table, he appeared to be sorting laundry, and he looked up as I entered the room.

“Hey,” he said, distracted. “Claire checked on you earlier, said you were asleep. Are you feeling okay?”

I nodded, peering down hallways and into the dining room. “Where is everyone?”

“Out.”

“Out.”

“That’s right.” Jethro picked up a tiny T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and folded it into a tiny square. “Swimming, picnicking, and the like.”

“Where are they swimming?”

“Here.”

“Here?” I set my hand on my hips. “This place has a pool?” I thought Roscoe was joking.

“It sure does. That’s were most everybody is now. Why do you think it’s been so quiet in the house during the day? The boys have been in the pool with Maya from dawn ’til dusk, passing out like drunk sailors every night.”

Convinced Scarlet wasn’t in the house, I searched the counter for the coffee machine. “Where’s the pool?”

“Up on top of the hill,” he said conversationally, picking up another miniature-sized piece of clothing. “And beyond that is a stretch of land we’ve been using to play soccer, and a playground for the kids. This place is great.”

“Yeah. It is. Any coffee left?”

Jethro gestured to an alcove behind me. “It’s just there, behind the little wooden door. And don’t worry. It hasn’t been Cletus-fied. We dumped that pot out after he left the room and we hide the good stuff back there.”

Sharing a commiserating glance with my brother, I opened the cabinet where I was pretty sure the mugs were kept and crossed to the alcove. Sure enough, behind a little wooden door sat a counter, and on the counter sat a drip coffee maker with half a pot of hot coffee.

“Hey, so, by the way . . .” Jethro began.

I poured myself a cup and glanced at him. “What?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. How are things going with Dani?” Jethro had that same pointed look in his eyes from over a week ago when he’d told me Scarlet had been the one cooking all my food. “We saw her a couple weeks ago; she’s looking good.”

Shutting the alcove door, I said, “We broke up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I peered at my brother over the rim of my coffee cup, taking my first sip. Given the fact that Roscoe—who’d been recovering from a near fatal stab wound—had been roped into Cletus’s scheming, I had to suspect Jethro was playing a part as well.

“All right, I gotta confess something.” He grinned, setting down the pair of little boy socks he’d just fitted together. “I already knew y’all broke up, Cletus told us. But you don’t seem cut up about it.”

“I had some other things going on, Jet,” I said coolly, my irritation with Cletus spiking anew. It was one thing to tell Duane, Beau, Ash, and Roscoe about my past with Scarlet. It was quite another to tell Jethro.

“Yes, I know, William.” Jethro mimicked my tone, crossing his arms. “Your social calendar has been quite busy, all that donating of bone marrow and whatnot.”

I glared at him while he stared at me, and, after about ten seconds, he blurted, “I’m sorry.”

I blinked, frowning, suspicion edging out surprise. “What for?”

“The usual. I haven’t apologized to you in a while, so I suspect it’s due.” My brother shrugged and smiled, like the futility of his constant apologizing had become an inside joke between us.

I studied him, taking a good, hard look. Perhaps I’d finally gotten a solid block of sleep because this time his painted-on smile did nothing to disguise the sadness lurking behind the surface. I bit the inside of my lip, battling with myself.

Habit and history told me 50 percent of what Jethro said was bullshit. And yet . . . Is it even history at this point? Or ancient history?

“You’re forgiven, Jethro,” I said and decided at the same time.

His eyes widened and he stood straighter. “What? Just like that?”

“You’ve been saying sorry for going on ten years now. Even if you don’t mean it, your persistence alone deserves to be rewarded.”

His smile flattened and his gaze narrowed on me. “Well, I think I’ll keep apologizing, just in case you change your mind.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” I waved away his words. “I mean it. And, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like . . .”

“Like what? Like I wasn’t welcomed?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, a spear of regret lancing me, making it so I had to clear my throat. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me and I hope you can forgive me.”

Lifting his chin, as though he was considering me and my request, he said suddenly, “You’re forgiven.”

I huffed a disbelieving laugh. “What? Just like that?”

“Are you kidding?” Uncrossing his arms, Jethro picked up another piece of laundry, grinning for real this time. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to forgive you for something, just lying in wait for you to do something wrong. This might be the only time I get a chance.”