Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Beau
‘Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,’ Austin drawls as I step into the kitchen, eyes falling first to the coffee machine, then my brother.
Bailey is still on my skin, in my mind—the sweet taste of her kisses, the feel of her body, and the fact I already ache to break the promise I made her, about not staying over.
The thought of her in Goodnight, in a room above the bar, rather than here with me—or me being there with her—sits like a rock in my gut.
Despite his words, Austin is grinning as he walks across the space toward me, then wraps me in a huge bear hug and pats my back hard. ‘We were expecting you earlier.’
‘I got held up.’
‘You eaten?’
Bailey had ordered up some wings and fries, which we’d shared on her bed while watching a true-crime documentary.
She’s unexpectedly into that kind of thing, I discovered, as she showed off a near-encyclopedic knowledge of various shows.
I teased her about having missed her calling as a crime journalist and she’d shrugged her shoulders, made some comment about life being long and not needing to be locked into one thing or another necessarily.
It’s at odds with the certainty she’d shown about political reporting, adding to my feeling that at times Bailey James is more of an enigma than anything else.
‘Earth to Beau.’ Austin snaps his fingers in my face. ‘Is that a no?’
‘I’ve eaten.’ I blink my focus back to my brother. ‘Where’s everyone else?’
Mackenzie and Cassidy stroll into the kitchen at that exact moment, locked in conversation. When they see me, they both hurry forward, hugging me at the same time. Mackenzie even looks a bit emotional, which is unusual for the girl who generally stonewalls her every feeling.
Cassidy moves past me to the wine rack and removes a bottle. Not one of the special, expensive bottles Beth gave Austin. Those are cellared away, but separate to those, Austin’s been building a pretty good stash of his own.
‘Sit,’ Cassidy insists, pointing to the big, old dining table that’s been a part of our family since as far back as anyone can remember. ‘Tell us everything.’
‘Everything?’ I repeat, as she pours out four glasses of wine, and Mackenzie grabs a block of chocolate from the kitchen, sliding it my way.
‘Trust me,’ Mackenzie says, glancing at Austin with a grin. ‘It pairs beautifully with the merlot.’
I raise a brow. ‘Is this brother of mine turning you into a wine snob or something?’
‘Something,’ Mackenzie says on a giggle.
‘Or is it all those big, impressive record label execs who are constantly trying to win you over?’ I tease, and see Mackenzie’s smile slip. I move toward her, instantly concerned. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ she assures me, but too quickly. ‘We’re talking about you.’
‘Nuh uh, no way, baby. You having a problem?’
A couple of years ago, Mackenzie put one of her original songs on the ranch’s Instagram account, and it went absolutely crazy overnight, literally, so all these huge labels were beating a path to her door.
Somewhat slightly inconveniently for my twin, Nash, a country music producer, who was pretty pissed that he was the last to know about Mackenzie’s secret talent.
Since then, she’s been releasing songs her way, on her own TikTok, which has a huge following, and biding her time, working out what to do next.
‘Nothing I can’t sort out.’ She squares her shoulders in a gesture that’s classic Mackenzie.
‘What do you think of the merlot?’ Austin asks, sitting at the head of the table, swishing the wine around his glass.
With Austin, it’s not wine-wanky though.
He’s just really into the stuff, knows how to get the best out of it.
I sit at the other end of the table and follow suit, moving the wine, then breathing it in.
Wishing Bailey was here to be a part of this, before I can stop myself.
‘Smells … winey.’ I wink at Mackenzie quickly to cover my errant thought.
Cassidy rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t act like you haven’t had your own fair share of being wined and dined on the road, Beau Donovan,’ she chides. ‘We’ve seen the pictures. We know how you live it up when you’re away from here.’
‘All lies, I promise.’
‘How’s it going with that reporter?’ Austin asks conversationally, lifting his glass and taking a sip. It’s an effort to keep my eyes locked to his casually, when my heart’s started to thump against my ribs.
‘What reporter?’ My voice is all hoarse and strained. Nice attempt at casual, jackass.
‘The one who’s shadowing you,’ Cassidy jumps in. ‘I half expected her to arrive with you.’
I’d completely forgotten that I’d mentioned Bailey in our group chat the first day I met her.
Not for any reason, it was just one of those things that came up, and now I can’t help but wish I hadn’t.
Not that her covering me is some big secret, but it’s hard to speak about her without acting all self-conscious.
‘Where’s Cole?’ As far as subject changes go, it’s as subtle as a brick.
‘That bad, huh?’ Austin laughs. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve already pissed her off?’
‘No, she’s fine. She’s nice.’ I wince inwardly at how suspicious that sounds. ‘Super professional,’ I add, to clear up any doubts they might be having on that score. ‘She became an expert on bull riding basically overnight. Lots of intelligent questions. You know, that kind of thing.’
Cassidy’s eyes rest on my face a moment, then slide to Mackenzie’s, her lips twitching.
‘What?’ I take a drink of the wine and fail to appreciate anything about it except that it’s soothing a suddenly parched throat.
‘We’re just curious.’
‘What about?’
‘Well, whether a girl who spends three weeks with the Beau Donovan can keep her panties on.’
Fierce, sharp and unmistakably protective instincts fire to life.
The fact Bailey and I have slept together is neither here nor there.
The nature of our relationship is not up for discussion.
That’s not her asking for privacy either, it’s my own damned feelings on the matter.
I’ve never been one to kiss and tell, but with Bailey, that feels even more important.
‘She’s a professional,’ I repeat tersely.
‘So? Isn’t her job to get to know you?’ Mackenzie bats her lashes. ‘She could just say she’s been doing that real, real well …’
‘Quit it.’ There is no humour in my tone, no amusement on my face.
A smile is the last thing I can find. The atmosphere changes instantly, sparking with electricity, as my temper whips around the room.
I don’t know if they’ve ever heard me talk like this, except maybe that night Dad and I got into it about my career, or maybe with Cole, about the same thing.
‘Now let me get one thing straight.’ I press my fingers to the tabletop, feeling the familiar wood beneath me, taking courage and calm from it.
I expel a long breath. ‘Bailey James is doing a job, and when you meet her I don’t want any of you giving her a hard time.
She’s not some woman I’m bringing home to meet the family.
She’s a reporter, looking to piece together the fragments of my life, and no one—I mean no one—is gonna put her on the spot with this kind of bullshit. Got it?’
Three pairs of eyes stare back at me, in various states of surprise.
Cassidy nods first, holds her hand out and puts it over mine. ‘We were just messing around.’
I force myself to relax visibly. ‘Sure, I know that, because I’m used to you. I know what y’all are like, how you think I am with women. But Bailey’s not like us. For starters, she doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so she doesn’t know how to let stuff roll off her back in the same way we do.’
I include Mackenzie in that, even though she’s an only child too.
Cassidy nods. ‘Don’t worry,’ she promises. ‘We’ll be on our best behaviour.’
‘Drink your wine, Beau, and relax,’ Austin advises. ‘We’re your family—no one’s going to do anything to mess you up. Promise.’
Bailey
Within fifteen minutes of arriving at the Donovan family ranch, I’ve learned almost more about Beau than I have the entire time we’ve been together.
I know, for example, that he broke his arm when he was nine.
Not by falling off a bull, but by tripping on the driveway and landing badly.
I know he got into a fight when he was thirteen, because some boy tried to kiss Cassidy at school when she didn’t want to be kissed.
I know that unlike his twin brother Nash, he’s basically tone-deaf and can’t sing to save his life; when he’s home, he single-handedly tends to the rose garden that their mother adored.
‘Some people call him the bull whisperer,’ Nash confides, ‘but I think he’s more of a rose whisperer. ’
I bite back a smile at that.
I also learn that he built the barbecue in the pretty stone courtyard by hand, and that his barbecues are legendary around these parts, just like he said.
The family has assembled hay bales for seats, set up a table with a red and white tablecloth and a heap of salads, plates and cutlery, and strung festoon lights overhead, giving the place a charming, cosy feel as the sun dips down.
Beau is across the courtyard from me, checking the meat. Austin told me he got up at sunrise to start cooking, smoking the ribs all day before finishing them up on the grill.
‘He’s crazy about this stuff,’ Cole chimed in, sitting beside his wife, Beth, one arm casually draped around her shoulders.