Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) (7 page)

“Sure,” she said cheerfully. “You go ahead and call Jackson and tell him that.”

He could see it now. There would be helicopters circling Firefly Hall, and Jackson would have a bullhorn.
“Surrender to Christmas, now, Beau Beauford! Don’t make me come in there. I’ve got a Japanese fruitcake and I’m not afraid to make you eat it!”

“Right. I’ll get dressed.”

Christian nodded but no made no move to leave. They stared at each other for a full thirty seconds. “Well?” she said.

“Well, what?”

“Are you getting up or not?”

He gave her an evil little grin and uncovered a leg. “I will. As long as you understand I sleep naked.”

“Oh!” She threw up her hands and flew out the door.

Maybe he should have just gotten up. He fantasized about that for a minute—which was better than thinking about Christmas.

• • •

Even though they’d just had breakfast, the aroma of turkey and ham in Beauford Bend’s kitchen was already making a lot of promises. Christian lovingly washed the last Haviland bread plate. Of all the china at Beauford Bend, this was her favorite set.

After Gwen’s lavish breakfast of shrimp and grits, hot curried fruit, and homemade orange rolls, Neyland and Christian had insisted that the others go entertain the children while they made sure the kitchen was ready for Gwen to finish making lunch later.

Though the other children were too young to understand that they were about to receive Santa’s bounty, four-year-old Julie had been begging for an hour to go back to her own house to get what she had coming.

“Do you want me to dry?” Neyland asked.

“No. We’ll leave them to air dry since we’ll use them again for lunch. The more dishes are handled, the more chance there is that they won’t survive another generation. That’s what Miss Amelia always said.” Beau had always wholeheartedly agreed because he didn’t like to dry dishes.

Neyland wiped down the counters. “I’m surprised they survived this generation. Of course, they haven’t yet.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Christian rinsed the sink and hung the dishrag on the towel rack. “These dishes were some of the first Haviland made in Limoges for the U.S. market. They belonged to Octavia Wilson Beauford, who married Nelson Harris Beauford in 1859. She hid her nice things in the woods when General John M. Schofield paid a visit in November of 1864.”

Neyland laughed as she set silver mint julep cups on a tray. “You sound like a tour guide.”

“Every time I came for dinner here, Miss Amelia laid the table with a different set of china. She knew I loved it all as much as she did. She told me stories about the different sets while we washed them.” At the time, Christian had fantasized about presiding over Beauford Bend dinner tables as lady of the house—which was ridiculous, even taking out of the equation that Beau didn’t want her and never would. The line in front of her would have been long.

Oh, well. She had her own house, her own table, and her own family china, even if most of the people who sat at her table paid to be there. Neyland opened a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and began to pour shots into each cup.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Christian asked.

Neyland shrugged. “It’s Christmas. We’re Southerners. Why not?”

Why not indeed? The others were in the family room waiting on her and Neyland to do Santa and exchange gifts. She could use a little fortification. Something wasn’t right with Beau. Outwardly, he was walking the holiday walk and talking the festive talk, but she could tell it was an act. He was tense and miserable.

“You have a point.”

“This is probably the last Christmas we’ll have the luxury of cleaning the kitchen and making festive drinks before Santa,” Neyland said. “Next year the kids will have different ideas.”

You
won’t have the luxury. Next Christmas won’t include me.
I’ll be wherever my mother is.

But she wouldn’t say that, of course. Instead, she went to the refrigerator to search for mint. “You and Gabe have been here the whole time. What about your family?”

“They’re at Uncle Mac and Aunt Polly’s with Heath and Hope. We were going to divide our time, but Mama said we should spend the whole holiday here, what with Beau being home. Our immediate family will get together tomorrow for gifts and more food. Which, of course, pleases Gabe to no end. He said if he’d realized he’d get two Christmas dinners, he would have gotten married years ago.”

“That’s Gabe. I could never tell him and Rafe apart unless they were eating.” She went through the crisper again. Asparagus, lemons, lettuce, carrots, oranges. “Neyland, I don’t see any mint.”

“Why do you need mint?”

“I don’t. Aren’t you making mint juleps?”

“No. Gwen’s homemade eggnog. I thought it would look pretty to put it in these cups.” Neyland picked up a pitcher of the foamy, white liquid.

“Stop!”

Neyland jumped and almost dropped the pitcher. “What?”

“You can’t serve eggnog in silver. The egg will turn it black. Never put eggs, mayonnaise, or onions in silver.” She went to the butler’s pantry and pulled down the Waterford Powerscourt 12 Days of Christmas punch cups. “Here. Use these.”

“I didn’t even know these existed. I’m glad I’m not curator of this place.” Neyland poured the bourbon from the silver cups into the crystal ones.

“Don’t be silly. Beauford Bend is a home.” And it was—to everyone except Beau. It hurt her heart to see him adrift in the house he’d grown up in. “Here, Neyland.” Christian held out her hand. “I’ll rinse the mint julep cups.”

“Thanks. And no bourbon for Emory.”

“Or Beau. He’s not drinking while he’s taking pain pills.”

“Right.” Neyland handed Christian two cups. “Take these for Beau and Emory so they don’t get mixed up. I’ll bring the tray.”

The lights twinkled on the tree, and a fire burned in the fireplace in the big family room. Gabe, Rafe, and Abby tumbled on the floor with the toddlers and puppies. Jackson sat on one of the big, leather sofas idly strumming “Here Comes Santa Claus” on his guitar, while Emory leaned against his shoulder.

It was an idyllic Christmas scene—except for Beau. He sat a little apart from the others, alone on one of the other sofas. As he watched the tumble of dogs, toddlers, and adults on the floor, there was a smile on his face that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. Could there be a more despairing, lost expression?

“Eggnog!” Neyland cried happily as she entered the room.

“That’s my girl!” Gabe leapt up with an athlete’s grace and took the tray from his wife. “Let me help you.” He stepped toward Beau and held out the tray.

“I have his,” Christian said. “No bourbon.”

And Beau swung his face toward her. His smile faded, but his eyes took on a look of relief. Was it her imagination or—for the barest second—did he look like he’d been found?

“I’ve been saving you a seat.” He took the eggnog from her. She was already sitting beside him before she realized she was still holding Emory’s cup.

Nothing like Christmas ghosts to make a man need an anchor—even a man who’d crawled through jungles, parachuted into enemy territory, and shot people who needing shooting.

The ghosts had been there when they’d opened their stockings and had breakfast. He supposed Emory had resurrected the stocking tradition, but she’d filled them with the same kinds of candy and silly little gifts his mother had. At breakfast, the food had been different, but the frivolity and the laughter had been the same. The ghosts had made sure of that.

They were here in this room, too. It wasn’t Abby lying on the floor holding one of the twins in the air above her. It was his mother with Camille. The sofa where Jackson and Emory sat wasn’t the same one that had always been in this room, but it may as well have been the one where his parents had always sat. And surely Aunt Amelia had possessed Neyland and made her come into the room carrying the same tray of eggnog that they’d always had after breakfast on Christmas.

He’d been about to rise, plead a headache, and beat feet back to Firefly Hall, or maybe Madagascar, when Christian had appeared before him and put an eggnog cup in his hand. He caught his breath and knew he could make it if she would just stay within his reach. He didn’t have to touch her, but he needed to be able to.

But he did touch her. When she sat down, he found himself moving next to her. Only then did he stop feeling like a kite with a broken string.

“Are you okay?” Christian asked without quite meeting his eyes. That meant she wanted him to think she was asking rhetorically, but she really wanted to know.

“I’m good. You?”

She sipped her eggnog. “Perfect.”

Yes you are.

“Oh, look! I didn’t know about this!” Christian looked up and laughed.

Beau hadn’t known about this, either. Santa Claus burst through the door, complete with a big sack on his back.

“Gabe,” Beau said. “I didn’t see him leave the room.”

Christian playfully smacked his arm. “Hush! You have to believe if you expect to get any gifts.”

Believe and expect.
Did he even know the meaning of those words? Christian did that thing she’d always done when she was delighted—gave her hands a little clap and laughed. Looking at her, he could almost believe and expect.
Stop it. She’s your oldest and best friend. You can’t use her like a lifeboat.

Just then, Santa Gabe pulled a fire truck from his sack and held it out to little Phillip, but Bella squealed with delight, pushed ahead of Phillip, grabbed the truck, and hugged it like it was a stuffed bear.

Everyone laughed, including Beau, who found that he was truly amused. When that happened, he and Christian leaned into each other, and his penis sprang to life. He wanted her, wanted her so badly, right here on this couch, in front of his family if necessary.

Of course, sex with her couldn’t happen, not even in private. He might not have the sterling character that some people seemed to think he had, but he was a better man than that. He nonchalantly reached for a throw pillow and set it on his lap, then pretended like he wanted a place to rest his cup.

Gabe gave the kids a few more gifts—dolls for the girls, a set of blocks that looked like big Legos for the boy, some bath toys, and a plastic tree house with little people that seemed to be for all three of the kids.

Emory said, “After Santa changes back into G-a-b-e, we can exchange our gifts.”

Really? Beau had thought the Santa gifts would go on forever. “Is that all they’re getting?” he asked Christian quietly.

She nodded. “Abby was adamant. At least for this year when they don’t really know what’s going on, they get only a small number of things. She hates excess and says they have enough as it is. Must be her New England Yankee upbringing. The kids will get a few other things, but I got them commemorative Christmas ornaments, and I think Emory and Neyland got them savings bonds.”

Savings bonds. That would have been easy—though it wasn’t as if the identical stuffed dogs he’d bought had been any trouble. The girl at the Toy Box had picked them out and wrapped them. The whole thing had only taken ten minutes.

“I didn’t get that memo.” But no one ever gave him a memo. They let him do as he pleased.

Then the chaotic gift exchange began, and the loot piled up at Beau’s feet—sweaters, DVDs, cufflinks, and video games—gifts from people who tried hard but didn’t know what to buy a man who had no interests and nothing left to lose.

Christian jumped to her feet, leaving a void beside him.

Where are you going? Come back. Just be my anchor for a little while longer.

She retrieved a shopping bag from under the tree and made her way back to him, distributing packages as she went.

“This is for you.” She held out a package that wasn’t nearly as appealing as her smile—but what was inside left him speechless. It was a set of woodcarving chisels and knives. Even with his limited knowledge, Beau could tell they were very fine and would be a pleasure to hold and use.

“I don’t know,” she stammered. “It just seemed like you liked working with wood. The guy in Nashville said these were nice.”

She’d driven to Nashville for these—probably yesterday, in Christmas Eve traffic.

“Thank you.” He squeezed her hand. “They’re great.”

Then shame overtook him for what he’d gotten her. It wasn’t that the music box wasn’t nice. It was. But much like he’d bought all the men Fenix PD35 LED flashlights, he’d bought his sisters-in-law, Gwen, and Christian the same thing, though it seemed the salesclerk said something about them playing different tunes. Damn it all to hell. He was living in Christian’s house, eating her food, and now she’d bought him these tools that were exactly what he’d wanted, though he hadn’t known it. He should have bought her something better, something just for her. But it was too late for that now. His gifts were the only ones that hadn’t been given out.

His wrapped packages didn’t even have gift tags. He handed the big ones to the kids, the small ones to the men, and the medium ones to the women. Before returning to his seat, Beau put Dirk and his family’s gifts under the tree with the growing pile that they would open after lunch.

“Hell, yeah!” Gabe turned on his flashlight. “Somebody turn the lights off!” Really that was an appropriate response. The Fenix PD35 LED was the finest flashlight made, and a man couldn’t have too many flashlights.

“Stop shining that in my eyes,” Neyland said. “And you aren’t turning the lights off. We have gifts from Beau to open, too.”

“You better hope you got flashlights, too,” Jackson said. “This is sweet. Why haven’t I ever bought one of these?”

“Because you didn’t know about them.” Rafe danced his beam across the ceiling. “Almost a light saber.”

Pretty soon, the women were cooing over their music boxes, and a cacophony of tinkling music assaulted Beau from all over the room.

He was afraid to look at Christian, afraid of seeing the disappointment when she realized she’d gotten the same gift as the others. In previous years, he hadn’t put any more thought into her gifts, but at least he hadn’t bought them in bulk, because there had been no one to buy in bulk for.