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

“Billy won’t eat,” Duane said plainly. “And he don’t look right, green and pale. And thin.”

“He’s real thin, right?” Jethro shifted his weight back and forth, like Billy’s thinness made him restless. “I mean, thin for Billy. And he’s got dark circles under his eyes. He looks almost as bad as he did when he was in that rehab center, in high school.”

I didn’t know much about Billy’s time in the rehabilitation facility during high school, I was long gone from our hometown by then. Folks said he’d broken his legs and a few other bones in some car accident and was in the hospital for months.

Concern for Billy’s present well-being focused my mind, cut through any anxiety and stomach flutters I had about coming face-to-face with my—

Well, my . . . It’s complicated.

“Does he have a fever? A cough? Have you called Ashley?” I asked rapid-fire. Ashley was the only Winston sister, a nurse, sweet as pie, and sharp as a whip.

“No. No fever. Nothing like that.” Sienna’s expression turned thoughtful. “Ashley was there at the airport along with Cletus, seeing us off. She was the one who told us to make sure Billy ate something on the plane.”

“Shoot.” Jethro snapped his fingers, making a sound of tired frustration, and pulled his phone out of his back pocket as he turned away. “Cletus made me promise to call when we arrived, report on Billy. I forgot. Let me call him real fast. Claire, can I use your room?”

I nodded dumbly, addressing my question to both Duane and Sienna, “I—I don’t understand. Ashley put Bil—her brother on a plane when she knew he was sick?”

Duane and Sienna shared a look, and then Duane sighed and rubbed his face. “He needed to get out of town.”

Now I was well and truly perplexed. “He needed to get out of town? Why? Is he okay? I thought he wasn’t coming, on account of—uh—” I huffed, feeling awkward talking about Billy at all “—on account of what happened to Roscoe and Simone Payton and his duties at Payton Mills and him being a congressman, er, person and—”

“Claire.” Sienna placed her hand on my upper arm, ending my word waterfall. “It’s a long story.” She held my gaze, a patient smile curving her lips. “We’ll tell you everything we can once we all get some sleep, but the critical question here—right now—is whether or not to let Billy sleep, or wake him up and try to get him to eat something.”

I nodded. “Yes. Of course. Sorry. You’re right.”

Her smile both flattened and widened, her hand falling away as she shifted her attention back to Duane.

“Well?” he prompted. “What do you think?”

Even though Duane addressed Sienna, and she opened her mouth to respond—probably with something thoughtful and intelligent—I blurted before she could speak, “You should wake him and force food into him. And if he won’t eat, don’t let him sleep or give him peace until he does eat.”

And then I rolled my lips between my teeth as they both turned perplexed expressions in my direction. I tried to smile pleasantly, likely failing. But, goodness, if Billy wasn’t eating, I felt like the answer was obvious. Someone needed to take charge.

Duane pushed his hands into his back pockets. “Claire, you don’t know Billy real well, but no one forces my brother to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

I twisted my lips to the side, saying nothing, because I knew Billy Winston. I knew Billy Winston real well. In some ways, I knew him better than his family ever would.

. . . And he knows you.

I fought a shiver at the incredibly true and complex nature of that thought.

“Agreed.” Sienna nodded. “He can’t be forced. Which is why I say we let him sleep. Then, tomorrow, we’ll make his favorite food.”

Duane’s gaze flickered over Sienna. “What’s his favorite food?”

She reared back. “You don’t know what your brother’s favorite food is?”

I inhaled deeply rather than revealing the answer, but I made a mental list of ingredients to pick up from Coop—the grocery store down in Figline—this morning after I dressed.

“Is it steak?” Sienna tried, shrugging. “Or maybe fish? Does he like fish?”

Duane also shrugged. “Jethro loves spicy food and donuts. Cletus’s favorite is blueberry anything and sausage pie. Ashley loves sweet pies, all sorts, but mostly lemon meringue and pecan. Beau’s favorites are strawberry milkshakes and hamburgers. Roscoe loves omelets—or anything French and fancy—but I have no clue what Billy’s favorite food is.”

Jethro reappeared at my elbow, a phone pressed to his ear. “Right. Right. Got it,” he said, nodding, his eyes sliding to mine. “Yep. She’s right here.” And then he held the phone out, whispering, “Cletus wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“Yep.” Jethro grabbed my hand, placed the phone in my palm, and turned to face his wife and brother. “Cletus agrees with Sienna. Let him sleep for now. It might just be the anesthesia.”

Duane released a disgruntled huff and I could tell he was going to protest, but I didn’t stay for it. I turned and walked back to my room, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Hello? Cletus?”