Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) (13 page)

When Beau had said so, Will had seemed pleased.

Will had given Beau an appraising look. “Would you take this job? If you had the skill, which you do not, but will have. Eventually.”

Beau had considered it, had even run his hand over the altar and sat down on a pew.

“No,” he’d finally admitted. “I’ll be honest. I don’t get this hocus pocus attitude you have about the wood and the energy. But I believe it. And, no. I couldn’t work here.”

Only then, did Will explain further. Turns out, after visiting the site for the first time and feeling the negative energy, Will had done some research and learned the church had been a meeting place for the Ku Klux Klan during the Civil Rights Movement.

“One might say it wasn’t the structure’s fault and that it should be restored. It’s not as if anyone is proud of what went on here. In fact, it took some digging to find out. I can’t argue with that. I hope it will be saved, but it can’t be me.”

“And I guess it couldn’t be me either.” Beau was astounded at the realization, but he wasn’t going to be in any hurry to tell anyone about this sixth sense that Will had helped him develop.

At the time, he’d felt like maybe he had passed some test. And it looked like he had.

“Does that mean you’re going to take an apprentice now?” Beau wanted this, maybe even more than he wanted to be a soldier. Though he had never taken pleasure in the killing and destruction as some soldiers did, Beau had no regrets or guilt. Life had an ugly side that had to be dealt with, and he’d done what had to be done to protect the innocent and preserve peace. Still, the thought of creating beauty and repairing beautiful, broken things rather than destroying was so appealing.

Will nodded. “I believe I am.”

“Even if I’m unwilling to give up meat?”

As if on cue, Lou Ann, the sassy, wise owner of the diner appeared.

“Country fried steak, okra, and mashed potatoes for Beau.” She set the plate in front of him. “Vegetable plate for Will. But, honey, I brought you some country fried steak, too. You need more protein than those pinto beans are going to give you. I’ll bring y’all some more sweet tea.”

After she’d gone, Will shook his head and laughed. “That woman knows everything that goes on in this town and remembers what everybody who comes in here drinks, but she cannot reconcile herself to the fact that I don’t eat meat. That cannot exist in her world.” He transferred the steak to Beau’s plate.

“You wouldn’t be offering me an apprenticeship if I’d been willing to work on that church, would you?”

“No.” Will peppered his macaroni and cheese. “That doesn’t mean you would have been wrong. I hope whoever takes that project on does a great job. But I need my apprentice to share my philosophy.”

“If not your eating habits.”

“That’s entirely personal. If I sat in judgment of meat eaters, things would go poorly for me with Arabelle and Avery.” He broke into a wide smile the way he always did when he mentioned his wife and four-year-old son. “My boy ate two pork chops last night.”

“How is this going to work?” Beau thought he was doing a pretty good job of concealing his excitement.

“In a perfect world, you would move into the apartment above my workshop, but I don’t think you want to do that.”

“You could insist.”

Will have a half smile. “Believe me, I am going to insist on plenty of things, but not that. No one does their best work when they aren’t happy with their environment. You’ve been here a month, and I can see you’re getting antsy for home. You’ve been away enough these last years.”

It was true. Who would have believed two months ago that he would miss his family, even Jackson’s interference, Gabe’s exuberance, and Rafe’s bluntness?

And Christian’s breasts.
Though that wasn’t allowed, and this was no time to be thinking of that—not that there was ever a time for that.

Beau nodded. “I do want to go home. I’ll come down as often as you want me to.”

Will nodded. “And I’ll come to you. I’m going to want to supervise the setting up of your workshop. Though you should know your cousin told Arabelle that she was going to ask you to move in with her if I offered you an apprenticeship.”

“Ask? Missy Jackson Bragg has never asked for anything in her life. She issues orders and ultimatums.” Beau loved Missy, but she was like Jackson on steroids. Living with her and her family was so out of the question it was laughable. In fact, he did laugh.

“I think you can stand up to her,” Will said.

“No. I can’t. Nobody can. But I can run from her. And I will.”

“Okay.” Will’s expression went to all business. “I’ve had an offer of a commission I don’t intend to take, though it is interesting—a mirrored jewelry chest with secret compartments. It’s a gift for the client’s wife. I’m going to get approval for you to do the project with my supervision.”

A project—probably for money. Not that it mattered. He’d do it for free. And Will seemed to think there would be no problem obtaining permission.

“Why aren’t you going to do it? You said it was interesting.”

Will shrugged. “I’m backed up as it is. Plus, it’s too easy. The client doesn’t want any inlay or carving. His wife prefers things with clean lines. With the right wood, that can be really fine looking, but it’s not what I like to do.”

And everyone knew Will didn’t do what he didn’t like to do. He didn’t have to.

“Who’s it for?” Beau asked.

“If I told you, you’d recognize the name—and I will tell you after I have the approval. But these are good people.”

“How soon do you think I can start?” Beau wanted to start right now. His hands ached to feel the wood go from a raw material to a piece of art. Was he capable of creating art? He must be, or Will would have shown him the door. Will might have agreed to give Beau a trial run because he liked Jackson, but an apprenticeship was in a whole different spectrum.

“First things first. You need to go back to Beauford Bend and get your workshop set up. It’s not going to be cheap. Your brother is going to want to do this for you. Let him.”

“I have money saved. I can—”

Will waved him silent. “I worked with Jackson for two years on those guitar display cases for his music room. He’s a good man, and he has the need to do things for people he loves. He needs to do this for you. There’s more to be being the kind of woodworker you aspire to be than talent and skill. You have to understand the needs of others. You don’t always have to meet those needs, but sometimes you do. This is one of those times.”

“Is that a directive?” Oddly, it was one he could live with. Some of the fight had gone out of him, but he didn’t feel defeated. He felt something else—at rest, maybe. The smell of the wood and the feel of the tools—the tools Christian had given him—had helped him find his way here.

“Yes. It’s a directive. We’ll talk about what you need for your workshop. You should go home in the morning and get started. I’ll come up in two weeks to help you finish up.”

Beau knew Will well enough now to know that meant he would come to pass judgment and makes changes to the shop. That felt good, like the military where he was accustomed to taking orders from people who knew what they were doing.

Did the rest and acceptance come from settling into the familiar chain of command or from finding a purpose? Or was it time that had made the difference? Either way, life felt good. He had a new challenge, and he was glad to be going home.

Hell, he’d had a voicemail from one of his old high school girlfriends asking to meet him for lunch when he came back to town. Maybe he’d return her call. Things were going so well, what could it hurt? It might get his mind off Christian.

“Christian, I’d say we’re looking at a due date of sometime around the last of September or the first of October.”

There was something about the words coming out of Dr. Daniels’s mouth that made it real—more real than the four positive home pregnancy tests and the feeling that had been in Christian’s bones ever since lightening struck two nights ago at Miss Laura’s.

Dr. Daniels took his glasses off, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. He had been her daddy’s fraternity brother, sung in the church choir with him, hunted with him, and helped carry his coffin when he died. For those reasons, despite that he was a general practitioner, Dr. Daniels had let Christian get away with not having a gynecologist for years.

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed in me, please, Dr. Daniels. I couldn’t take it.” It would be like her daddy being disappointed in her.

He looked up in surprise. “Child, I would never do that. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re a grown woman. I’m only wondering about what you’re going to do.”

Do? “I think I’m a little old for a home for unwed mothers, wouldn’t you say? Or do they even have those anymore?”

He smiled a little. “Some, though they aren’t as prevalent as they were at one time. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then I don’t … oh.”

He was talking about abortion. The thought was so foreign to her that his meaning had not been immediately apparent. While she supported every woman’s right to choose, this woman had chosen, and she would not be aborting Beau’s baby. It was unthinkable. The very thought of the words
Beau’s baby
sent little butterflies of happiness flying around her stomach—but only her stomach. The rest of her was practically paralyzed with fear and anxiety.

And a big part of her had hoped it wasn’t true. Beau was coming home today. When she’d talked to him last night, things seemed so normal—not the new normal, but the old normal back before they had slept together. She’d hoped this trip to the doctor would prove the home tests wrong. Then she and Beau could pretend it had never happened—just like he wanted.

But did she really hope that anymore? She didn’t think so. The butterfly joy inside her was even bigger and stronger than needing a relationship with Beau, especially a take-what-you-can-get relationship.

Dr. Daniels raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I will be having this baby.” Of course she would. But what then?

He nodded. “Let’s take care of the doctor business first.” He reached for his prescription pad. “I’m going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins. Then I’m going to make you an appointment with Teresa Shelton. She’s young, but she’s good. If she weren’t, I wouldn’t send you to her.”

Another doctor? “Oh, no. I mean … I had hoped …”

“Christian,” he said sternly, “I am not the best one to see you through this pregnancy. I cannot deliver your baby. I should have insisted that you go to a gynecologist long ago, maybe if I had—”

“I’d have known about birth control? I assure you, this is not your fault, and I do know. And let’s leave it at that.”

He gave a half nod. “I can get you in soon—probably next week. You’re healthy, but you need proper care.”

Again she nodded, dreading what was coming, when the doctor business was over and the friend-of-the-family business set in.

“Now.” He laid his hands on the desk. “Just so we’re clear, I am now your daddy’s friend who has known you all your life. Would you care to tell me who the father is?”

For what reason? So he could take his hunting rifle and force Beau to marry her? Of all the things she wasn’t clear on, that was not one of them. She’d dreamed of being married to Beau all her life, but not like this. Never in a million, billion years like this.

She shook her head. “I would not.”

“What’s your plan?”

“It’s a little too late for planning, wouldn’t you say?” Would she change it if she could?

“It’s never too late to plan.”

“Surely you aren’t asking what I’m going to do to keep people from talking. Do you think I care?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m talking about when you’re going to tell the father and if you’re going to get married, or, if you’re going to be a single mother, what you’re going to do about childcare.”

“Good questions, Dr. Daniels.” She got to her feet. Even if she had answers, she wasn’t going to talk about them now. “I’ll let you know when I know.”

He sighed and held the prescription out to her. “Call us if Joy and I can help you.”

Once in the car, she laid her head on her steering wheel. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that in the last two days. In fact, one might say her head had developed a special kind of relationship with that steering wheel. Why did people do that? Lay their heads on steering wheels when they were upset? It made you wonder what distraught people had done in the days before automobiles.

Then she began to laugh. That was funny. Too bad she hadn’t thought about that before she got pregnant. She could have expanded that and become a stand-up comedienne. She wouldn’t have even have had to try to get someone to hire her. She had her own venue. Yes, sir. She could have performed right at Firefly Hall where she practically had a captive audience. At least she would if she passed out wine and cheese straws. People would do anything for free wine and cheese straws—even listen to her lame jokes. Or joke, singular. She’d have to come up more before she could think in plural.

But she needed to think plural, at least as applied to people. First, there was one, meaning her own personal self. Now there would be two. It was a new thought, sure, but there was plenty of time to think of that since she couldn’t be a stand-up comic. It might sound good to say pregnant women could do anything they wanted, but it wasn’t true. There was a whole string of things she couldn’t do now—drink, eat blue cheese, eat sushi. Not that she had ever eaten sushi, but if she had been going to start, this wasn’t the time. Probably not the best idea to ride her horse. She’d have to find out about that.

And let’s never lose sight of the fact that she couldn’t be that person whose friends didn’t demand information—not that she ever had been. Once they knew she was pregnant, they would stage an intervention. Of course, Gwen would make sure the food was good, and Emory would choose the perfect venue. Hope would make her a baby quilt, and Neyland would make a commemorative charm for her bracelet. Abby would offer to babysit, because what was one more when you already had three? They might even invite Neyland’s cousin, Hope. She would knit something. Yep. If there had to be an intervention, they would do it right.