Beauty and the Mustache (46 page)

Jethro nodded. “Yep. I
thought I was helping.”

“
What’s in it?” Elizabeth
asked. “What is so terrible that it’s thrown you into this kind of
depression?”

I hiccupped, sniffled, and
tried to explain through my tears that it wasn’t terrible. I tried
to explain that the book meant the world to me. Then I tried to
explain why I was in my deep, deep funk.

“
I stayed up all night
reading it. It was…it was just…it moved my soul. So I wrote him a
letter and I mailed it. And then I mailed him a letter every day
for the last two weeks, and he never responded. He never
responded!”

Jethro opened his mouth to
speak, but I interrupted him, my voice oscillating between rough
and high-pitched hysteria. “So I called him and he didn’t answer. I
wrote him fifteen love letters and he ignored them all and he won’t
even answer the phone when I call!”

Several of my
friends
tsked,
throwing me compassionate and sympathetic gazes. Janie wrapped
her arms around me from behind.

“
What a bastard,” Sandra
breathed. “He really is Dr. Ruinous. We hates him.”

Jethro held up his hands
as though trying to calm a riot before it became violent. “Now,
wait. You don’t know the whole story. Stop jumping to
conclusions.”

“
What excuse could he
possibly have?” Marie asked. “Is he injured? Is he trapped under a
heavy object? Has he fallen without the ability to get
up?”

Then Beau shocked the
bejeebus out of me by saying, “No. He’s on the Appalachian Trail
and doesn’t have cell reception.”

I stared at Beau, I stared
at the words he’d just said, my mind going quiet then loud then
quiet again.

When I spoke, it was
barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”

“
I said he’s been on the
Appalachian Trail for the last six weeks. Jethro came back weeks
ago, but Drew hasn’t been home in six weeks. I imagine his mail is
collecting in a pile just inside his door. That’s where your
letters are. Also, he’s got no cell reception.” Beau announced this
casually while scooping his finger into the cookie dough, digging
out a large chunk, and eating it.

Then, glancing at me and
my friends’ stunned faces like we were aliens, he reached forward
and picked up my wine. “And he gets back tomorrow. So, don’t worry.
He’ll get your letters then. Mind if I drink this?”

Bran thought about it.
“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“
That is the only time a
man can be brave,” his father told him.

―
George R.R. Martin, A
Game of Thrones

I was struck
with an intense feeling of déjà vu.

I was sitting on Quinn’s
plane. We were all loaded up—the knitting gals and I, plus my
brothers, plus Quinn—on our way to a distant place, banding
together to help each other, off on another adventure.

We’d done this
before.

But this time it was quite
different, because this time, everyone on board was trying to help
me.

After Jethro and Beau had
dropped their information weapons of mass destruction all over my
life, my knitting group and I held a quick conference. It went
something like this:

Fiona: “How are you feeling about Drew
reading your letters when he gets home tomorrow?”

Me: “Not good. Not good at all. I want them
back.”

Marie: “Why?”

Me: “He didn’t send me the
notebook.”

Sandra: “Do you think his feelings for you
have changed?”

Me: “He obviously never
wanted me to see it. Heck, he wanted to get rid of it so badly he
tried to destroy it. I honestly don’t know what his feelings are,
but I wrote those letters thinking that he’d sent me that book. I
want the letters back.”

Fiona to Sandra: “Not that
you asked, but I agree with Ashley. She wrote the letters under
false assumptions. If she wants the letters back, I think we should
do everything in our power to get them back.”

Elizabeth: “What’s the
plan?”

Janie: “I’ll call Quinn;
we’ll use the plane. We can probably fly out sometime
today.”

Me: “Don’t do that. I can
drive through the night.”

Janie: “No. Unacceptable.”

Fiona: “I agree with
Janie. If we have to put up with a grumpy Quinn all year, then we
should be able to use his plane for emergencies.”

Elizabeth: “Agreed. Let’s
move!”

Jethro and Beau had been
strangely silent during the whole rigmarole. While the knitting
group sprang into action, they went out and grabbed Italian beef
sandwiches for everyone. We all ate lunch with vigorous appetites,
drank three bottles of wine, and planned our strategy in the
comfort of Command Central (aka my kitchen).

And so it was that I found
myself buckled up and preparing to land in Knoxville, Tennessee. My
heart was in my throat, and I couldn’t keep my hands still enough
to knit on the plane. They kept shaking. Therefore, I gave up and
balled them into fists in my lap for the remainder of the
flight.

Our plan was
straightforward. Jethro would drive me up the mountain. I would
retrieve the key from its hiding place on the back porch. I would
then go inside, retrieve my letters, and leave. Jethro would drive
me home. Then we would all do shots of moonshine eggnog to
celebrate.

Well, me and my friends
would do shots. Looking at Quinn, Jethro, and Beau’s faces, I
doubted they would be celebrating with us.

Quinn had secured a
takeoff time out of Knoxville for just after midnight. Therefore,
all the ladies—plus Quinn—would be able to make it back to Chicago
by 2:30 a.m.

Before we left, Fiona insisted that I take a
shower and wash my hair. Then she supervised me getting dressed and
putting on makeup—just like Billy had done all those months ago.
The similarities between the two of them warmed my heart.

This time, however, I
wouldn’t be facing a bear. I would be stealing in and out of Drew’s
house undetected then celebrating Christmas with my family like the
past three weeks never happened.

“
Betty arranged for a car
to meet us at the airport,” Quinn said, referring to his secretary
as the plane taxied from the runway. He was sitting next to Janie
across from me.

I found his blue icicle
eyes somewhat disconcerting, so I simply nodded and spoke to his
chin. “Thank you. Thank you for your help.”

I imagined he thought I
was pretty ridiculous. Janie had explained the situation to him
during the trip to Knoxville in the way that only Janie was capable
of doing—like a police report, just the facts.

Quinn runs his own global
security firm, and is perpetually taciturn. I often wonder what he
thinks of his wife’s crazy friends.

He probably thinks we’re
crazy.

“
Don’t mention it.” His
gentle tone surprised me.

I glanced up and found him
watching me with a piercing, narrowed glare. This was his baseline
disquieting stare—in other words, the norm for Quinn.

He further caught me off
guard when he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a frown on
his face, and said, “I know I just provide the mode of travel for
these trips, and this is none of my business, but I think you
should give Drew and yourself a little more credit.”

I blinked my confusion at
him. “What do you mean?”

“
Drew is a good guy, a
smart guy. Like any smart, good guy, when presented with a
remarkable woman, he’s going to do the right thing by her, the
honorable thing, even if that means giving you up. That’s what he
did; he gave you up because he thought it was the right thing to
do. But if you tell him you want him, he’ll move heaven and earth
to make that happen.”

I stared at him for a beat
then leaned forward and asked quietly, “Why didn’t you give up
Janie? There was a time when you thought you were putting her in
danger, why didn’t you give her up? Do the right thing?”

His eyes narrowed further,
but a hint of a smile moved over his lips. “Because, unlike Drew, I
wasn’t a good guy.”

***

Quinn’s words
echoed
in my head the entire drive up the
mountain.

If Drew was one thing and
one thing only, he was a good guy. He was
the best
guy. He was loyal to a
fault. He was self-sacrificing. He was the epitome of the strong,
sacrificing, silent type.

In a lot of ways he
reminded me of my mother, honorable to the point of madness. But he
wasn’t a martyr. He was sneaky about his honor, held it close, was
secretive about it.

It drove me crazy and it
pissed me off. Maybe if he’d been a little more selfish, we
wouldn’t be in this mess. Then again, if he were a little more
selfish, he wouldn’t be Drew.

At the same time, he’d
tried to burn the notebook. He’d tossed it in the fire and walked
away. He knew I was coming home for Christmas. Obviously, he’d had
no intention of telling me how he felt. Or maybe his feelings had
changed.

My emotions might have
been a tangled skein of yarn, but everything was going according to
plan; we were even running ahead of schedule. The ladies were back
at the homestead, likely causing a ruckus.

My heart hammered in my
chest when I recognized how close we were to Drew’s house, though
the scenery looked different because the trees were wintry bare. I
sat a bit straighter, my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.
Finally, Jethro pulled into the short driveway and stopped the
truck.

He put it in neutral and set the emergency
brake.

“
Ash.”

I swallowed, nodded. I
didn’t look at Jethro because I was too busy greedily memorizing
every detail I could about Drew’s house.

“
Ash, go get the letters
so we can get back home. I’m starving.” Jethro sounded
irritated.

I glanced at him. “I’m
sorry I dragged you into my drama. I promise, Jethro, this is not
like me. I never have drama. I’m usually completely
drama-free.”

Jethro placed his hand on
my knee and squeezed, his kind eyes moving between mine. “It’s
okay. We’ve all been through a lot. Momma’s death; Darrell being
crazy. I’m glad he’s locked up, and it looks like the charges will
stick. But this year has been rough.”

I covered his hand with mine. “Thanks for
being such a great big brother.”

He gave me a small grin.
“You know I’ll always do what’s best for you, right?”

I nodded, returning his
smile.

“
Okay, go do this thing.
Go on, get going.” He lifted his chin toward the house.

I took a deep breath and
exited the cab of the truck. It was cold outside, and there was a
thin layer of snow on the ground; nothing like Chicago, but just
enough for winter to make its presence known. I rubbed my hands
together and jogged around the side of the house to the porch where
I found the large ceramic pot next to the guest bedroom door where
Drew hid a spare key.

It was then that I heard the sound of wheels
on the gravel driveway.

My body was motionless
with astonishment. I shook myself and forced my feet to move. As
quietly and as sneakily as I could, I tiptoed to the side of the
house and peeked around the corner just in time to see my brother
Jethro leaving.

That’s right.

Jethro abandoned me, in
the Smoky Mountains, on Drew’s porch, in the winter.

Instinctively, I jogged to
the front of the house and down the porch steps to the drive. I was
about to call out my brother’s name but stopped myself. He wouldn’t
come back even if he heard me. I couldn’t believe it. For several
seconds I stared stupidly where his truck had just been, my mouth
wide open.

Meanwhile, another
completely unexpected thing happened. I heard the front door to
Drew’s house open and footsteps behind me, the unmistakable sound
of boots on a wooden porch.

My heart stopped. Time—the hussy—stopped.
Everything stopped.

And then he said,
“Ash?”

I closed my eyes. The
sound of Drew’s voice saying my name, so uncertain, so hopeful, so
confused—he was my summer rainstorm. He did things to me, bizarre
things that I was incapable of describing. My feelings eclipsed my
ability to think.

I inhaled a steadying
breath, opened my eyes, and recognized what I was feeling. I was
feeling fear. It was like facing down the bear on the side of that
hill. I needed to woman-up and stop playing dead. This was my life
and I needed to live it.

My throat worked and I
finally managed to swallow as I lifted my eyes to Drew.

He stood just outside the
door. He had a towel in his hands. He was wearing jeans slung low
on his waist because he was without his SAVAGE belt. His shirt was
a dark green thermal. His beard was ridiculous, bushy, untrimmed,
unkempt…like a marauding Viking. And his eyes moved over me as
though he couldn’t believe I was there. I think he half expected me
to be someone else when I faced him.