4. Beau
Beau
Ishould have known better than to go back to the barn.
“You in love with him yet?” Jake asked, taking Betty back to her stall.
“Would you shut up?” I snapped with a little more vinegar than I’d intended.
Jake’s eyes widened as he pulled off the saddle. “Sounds like I hit a nerve.”
“Sorry.” I shook out my hands. “That kid? River?”
“Dark cloud, teenage angst, hates everyone?”
“Yes.” I shook my head. “Turns out he and his mom got into a car accident last year. Day before Christmas. She didn’t survive.”
Jake recoiled. He wasn’t good with emotions.
“That’s some bad luck,” he said.
Understatement.
“And … they’re both trying really hard,” I said, emotion creeping into my voice.
I was about to go into more detail when a familiar voice called out at the entrance of the barn.
“Beau?”
Jake sent me a look, and I turned around. Clark stood there, looking sheepish.
“Clark? Did you leave something behind?” I asked, hoping he hadn’t overheard me talking about his son.
“No …” He stood on one foot and held up the underside of the other. “I was really careful, but … I seem to have stepped in some horseshit. Twice.”
I palmed my forehead, trying to hide my laughter. I knew this would happen.
“I’m starting to think that maybe I didn’t pack right for this trip.” He wrinkled his nose. “At the very least, I should’ve packed better shoes.”
“Those the only ones you packed?” I asked, stepping up to him.
I liked the way he had to tilt his head back to look me in the eye.
Jake chuckled in the background. Bastard.
Clark looked a little embarrassed. “Well, I brought water shoes and flip-flops and some nicer shoes in case we decided to go to dinner, but …”
For a moment there, I thought he was talking about me and him going to dinner, then quickly realized he was talking about him and his son.
Focus, dumbass.
Oh, right. Shoes. Horse. Shit.
“The Mercantile in town’ll have what you need.”
I gave him another once over, because I wanted to make sure I was giving good advice. Not because I liked the way the sun had already caramelized his skin.
“I might also suggest better clothing. Something that was meant to be ridden in? Assuming that you are going on the trail ride with us.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding several times. He then let his head fall back, not unlike his son. “I promised River I would go on the trail ride. So, I’m going on the trail ride.”
I chucked his shoulder. “You sound thrilled by the prospect.”
“So thrilled. Super thrilled,” he said, blowing raspberries. “River is hiding out in the cabin this afternoon, so I thought I’d head into town and take care of my shoe-slash-wardrobe situation.”
“Hey, Beau. Didn’t you need a new set of pliers?” Jake asked, coming out of the stall.
Shit-eating grin planted firmly on his stupid face.
The fact is, I had mentioned needing pliers.
Jackass.
I held up my hands. “I can take you into town with me, if you want.”
Clark’s shoulders relaxed. “Honestly, that would be awesome. I’m so tired of driving, and I don’t want to spend half the time being lost.”
“Chance is a super simple town to get around in. Way simpler than Chicago.”
“You underestimate my ability to get lost,” he said with a crooked smile I wanted to trace with my thumb.
That self-deprecating humor was catnip. Everything about him was catnip.
Jake chuckled, and I scratched the back of my neck with my middle finger.
I put on my best smile. “Lemme just clean up, and I’ll drive you into Chance to find some shoes that don’t have shit on them. Meet at the main house in thirty minutes?”
He beamed up at me. “Thanks, Beau. You’re a lifesaver.”
I watched him walk away, biting back a laugh as he tried to run the bottom of his shoe against the ground.
Jake, of course, could not leave well enough alone. “You’re a lifesaver, Beau.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, it’s cute. You’re having your first date at The Mercantile.”
Could he not just be quietly grumpy, like he was with everyone else?
“Did I do something in a past life to piss you off?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, we were assigned people to torture, and you’re mine.”
“Lucky me.”
I sent Jake a quick wave over my head and walked out of the barn.
“And you don’t think these are too short?” Clark asked, walking out of the makeshift dressing room.
The Mercantile had gotten a new, if limited, shipment of summer clothes, and, in a completely self-serving move, I pointed out the seven-inch shorts.
Understand, I wanted to point out the five-inch shorts, but no way would this prim and proper man go for those.
“They’re shorts. It’s in the name,” I said, quite reasonably. “I can’t speak for the ladies, but if you don’t mind the opinion of a gay guy…”
“Please.”
“They look good on you.”
Really, really good.
“You’re sure?”
So good, I wanna lick your calves and gnaw on your ass.
“One hundred percent.”
From behind the counter, Margot gave me a look. In typical Gen X fashion, she was usually good at staying out of people’s business—an important quality in a small-town store that sold, well, everything. That didn’t mean she lacked for opinions.
Once Clark had purchased one of everything in his size, we walked out onto Old Main, and I pointed out some of the town’s charms.
“I was thinking about grabbing a Blizzard before heading back,” I said, pointing out the Dairy Queen. It had been there for forever, one of the original Dairy Queen buildings.
“Haven’t had a Blizzard in ages,” Clark said, rubbing his hands together. “I love those things.”
I took his bags from him and gestured across the street with my chin. “So, what’s your poison? Are you a turtle fudge guy? Do you like nuts in your Blizzard?”
Clark thinned his lips, looking both ways as we crossed the street.
“Oh, this must be really bad,” I said gravely.
“It’s not good.”
God, he’s charming.
I held the door open, and he walked under my outstretched arm with a smile on his face. For a big lug of a guy, I was a softy for small romantic moments, and this one was straight out of a cheesy romance novel.
Not, ahem, that there’s anything wrong with cheesy romance novels.
Except for the fact that I barely held back the urge to pull him in for a kiss. Which was ridiculous. Clark had given zero indication that he was interested. Hell, I was practically an employee to him.
He’s straight, he’s straight, he’s straight.
We walked up to the counter, and I stood to the side, crossing my arms over my chest, bags dangling from my grip.
Clark turned his soft smile on Ashley, who was behind the counter today. She grinned back, and I … nope. I didn’t feel any kind of way about that at all.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“I’d like a mini-Blizzard with strawberry, pecans, coconut, and…” He slid a look over to me. “Superman sprinkles, if you’ve got them.”
I snorted into my shoulder. Superman sprinkles? Adorable.
Ashley sent me a look. That was going around a lot today.
“And a large peanut butter and mint chocolate chip Blizzard for you, Beau?”
“Why you gotta call me out like that?” I whined while Clark made a fake vomit noise. I stared at the side of his head with my eyebrows raised.
Ashley snorted. “You’re making fun of this poor man’s Blizzard, and meanwhile, your Blizzard is disgusting.”
Clark held up his hand, and Ashley leaned across the counter, smacking him a high five. Traitors. Both of ’em.
“Don’t you own your own company?” I asked, feeling a bit sour.
Clark put his hands on his hips. “Yeah …?”
“Only a five-year-old would order sprinkles.” I wrinkled my nose. “Besides, this is clearly the superior Blizzard. I don’t know what either of you two is talking about.”
“Mmhmm,” Ashley murmured, taking a card from Clark.
“Thanks for buying my Blizzard.”
He waved me off, completely unable to accept a simple compliment. “Thanks for chauffeuring me.”
I pointed out a booth, and we sat, chatting as we waited for our treats.
I was happy to keep it to safe topics, but it seemed that Clark needed to talk. As if maybe he needed me to know the details. So, I let him talk.
He described the awful call he’d received from the police department, and the even more awful time waiting to hear if his son had survived the accident. By the time Ashley had our orders ready, I understood more clearly the daily terror Clark felt for his son. It broke my heart in two.
“I know I’m doing everything wrong,” he admitted around a bite of his fruity, sprinkled, weird concoction. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’re doing your very best, and your son sees that,” I answered through a bite of my minty peanut butter deliciousness.
“You think?” Clark dipped his spoon into his Blizzard and listlessly pulled it out, looking at the bite. “I’ve been a wreck. I’m convinced I’m the worst dad imaginable. My stomach’s been in knots for months. I get, like, four hours of sleep a night. I…”
He shoved the spoon back into the cup.
“River smiles when you’re not looking,” I said, taking another bite.
Clark’s brows met in the middle as he continued to muddle his poor Blizzard. “He does?”
“Not often, of course. He has his dark aesthetic to maintain.” I gestured for him to take a bite. “But I see it.”
He played with the ice cream a bit more. “I don’t even care if you’re lying to me at this point,” he said, finally slipping the plastic spoon into his mouth.
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” I said, and meant it. “I see a lot of parents and their children trying to reconnect. He’s trying. He’s acting like he’s not, but he is trying.”
A tear spilled into Clark’s Blizzard.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, avoiding my eyes. “I’m a real joy to be around right now.”
I reached across and grabbed his hand. Squeezing it. “You are fantastic company. You’re a great dad, which is aces in my book. And for a business guy, you’re pretty funny.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes finally made contact with mine, then drifted, as if cataloging my features. Shaking his head, he grinned through his sniffles. Took a small bite and another tour of my face. Seemed to get caught up around my lips.
He reached across the table and swiped his thumb across my lower lip. Surprised, I inhaled sharply.
“Got a little mint on your lip there,” he said, flushing.
He might as well have run his open palm over the front of my jeans.
Stop lusting after River’s dad, you bonehead. He’s only here for two weeks, and he needs to focus on his son.
“Thanks for the cleanup.” I winked, which was the most cringe thing I could’ve done in that moment. “Can’t be seen around town looking like a mess.”
“Oh?” he asked, lighting up. “You got someone in town? A boyfriend?”
If only he knew.
“No, uh. Just … saying.”
After an awkward pause, we went back to eating our Blizzards, me with gusto and him with careful concentration.
I got him talking about his plans for the summer, and he perked up, going on an adorable tangent about business properties and the high cost of running a water cooler, and how that led to him running a vote with his employees on whether to keep up the office space, stay at home, or manage some hybrid of the two.
Long story short, he had an office space to sell and an entire staff who’d sworn fealty to him.
He seemed proud of his decisions, even if they went against conventional wisdom.
I nodded my head in all the right spots, contributed to the conversation wherever I could, but for the rest of the day, all I could feel was that warm swipe of his thumb against my bottom lip.