It suits Beau—or some version of him, maybe—but it doesn’t suit the setting. And I find myself wondering if Beau suits the setting.
“Anyway, he took off in the middle of the day,” Cade says. “Not a fuckin’ clue where he went. Not answering my calls or texts, as usual. So if you hear from him—”
I give Cade a salute. “I’ll let you know.”
Cade turns to leave but then swivels back, uncertainty painting his features. “You think he’s doing okay?”
I weigh the question, torn between being honest and protecting Beau’s privacy.
Okay? The sleep, the way he’s set off so easily, the alcohol intake. He’s not okay, but he’s aware of it, and it strikes me that might be half the battle.
A sip of cold coffee hits my tongue, an ice cube slipping into my mouth. It slides around as I consider my options.
I choose Beau.
“Yeah, I think he’s doing alright. Better all the time, you know?”
Cade nods again. His movements are harsh, lacking the predatory, almost feline edge of Beau’s. What you see is what you get with Cade. He’s straightforward, handsome enough, but he doesn’t consume space the way Beau does.
With Beau, I can sense the tension radiating off him, the energy, see the chaos that hums through his veins. He covers for it well, but I see it. I’m drawn to it.
I’m just fucked-up enough to find comfort or familiarity in that type of unhappiness.
It’s like we’re kindred in our dissatisfaction with life. And at peace with one another because of it.
I want so much more than what I’ve had.
And it seems to me Beau has had a taste of more and is wallowing in the less.
“If he acts like an asshole, let me know.” Cade is all gruff, protective vibes. It makes me smile against the rim of my glass as the ice melts in my mouth. “I’ll set him straight.”
I cross my legs and lean back just a little. “That’s okay. I’ll set him straight myself.”
Now Cade grins, pointing at me as he turns to walk away. “And that is exactly what he needs.”
“Your brother is looking for you,” I call out when Beau pops his head out the back door. Thirty minutes have passed since Cade left, and I haven’t moved from my chair.
“You better not have taken a cab back here.” He points a finger at me like I’m in trouble.
But all it does is make me squirm against the canvas fabric of my chair.
“Or what?” I quirk my head in challenge, my iced coffee taking effect and perking me up a bit.
The carefree expression he was wearing melts from his face as he steps fully out onto the porch. A zing rushes through me as I force myself not to sit up and straighten under the weight of his gaze. I’ve trained myself to appear casual when I don’t feel it for years now. It should be easier than this where he’s concerned, but my skin prickles and my legs squeeze together.
There’s a sinful twist to his mouth, one that could be mistaken for playful—but I know better. It only lasts a beat and then it’s gone, washed away by the shake of his head. “Or you might find yourself stuck being fake engaged to me longer than necessary.”
That has me shooting up out of my chair. My instinct is to rebel against that line of thinking, tell him I’m not stuck with him at all.
I think I feel freer in his presence than I have … ever.
“Shhh!” I whisper-shout at him instead, finger held against my lips, eyes wide. “Shut up! Cade was here sniffing around for you like thirty minutes ago, Mr. Undercover.”
A broad palm runs through his freshly trimmed hair. “Great. Nothing like being babysat by my big brother.”
“Did you ditch work to get a haircut?” His haircut stands out to me because I’m actually taking him in rather than being overwhelmed by his presence.
He rolls his shoulders back and looks away. “I was due.”
“Beau. You can’t just ditch work to get your hair cut, especially when your family is relying on you.”
“I needed one.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I hate working the ranch,” he blurts, cutting me off. “Bailey … I fucking hate it. I made a promise to my family and now they depend on me to follow through. But I don’t feel like myself. I don’t care. I stand in a field, and I stare at those fucking cows, blinking back at me stupidly with their too-long eyelashes,”—I stifle a laugh—“and I am just monumentally bored. Bored to the point of misery.”