Conceal Page 3

“Can I be honest?”

  “Can you be honest?” Betty’s mind rolled back and she hoped she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt.

  “Jesus, Beau. Don’t hold back now. From what I remember, you like to say what’s on your mind even when you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Beau walked toward her, his ball cap gone, his long hair waving wildly about his face and curling down over his collar. His teeth flashed white in the dim lighting, emphasizing his dimple. God, the man was beautiful.

  And so, very, very, bad for her.

  He wanted to be honest?

  Well, Betty needed to remember just how much his ‘honest’ hurt. She had to pull that shit out of the box she’d locked it in and let it slide under her skin and live there for a bit. For as long as he was going to be around.

  She needed to remember what he’d done to her and how she’d hit rock bottom because of it. She needed to remember the things he’d said. Let those words rest in her ear.

  Junkie.

  Wannabe.

  Director’s whore.

  Beau Simon had managed to do what no one else had ever done—not even the ghosts from her past had made her feel like less than nothing.

  But he couldn’t know.

  No.

  He would never know what he’d cost her. That was something she would keep buried as long as she had to. Because when men knew such things, it gave them power. And Betty had learned long ago never to give a man power over her. No matter what.

  It’s what she did.

  It’s how she survived the mess that was her life.

  Chapter Four

  “CAN WE TALK someplace?” Beau watched her closely.

  Something had gone on back there with those guys and he wasn’t sure he’d gotten a good read on it. Didn’t matter. Her business was her own and he’d heard enough to know they weren’t strangers. Betty Jo Barker was no damsel in distress.

  She glanced up the street and for a moment he was struck by how fragile she looked. Her bone structure was delicate and her fingers kneading the material at her hip, long and graceful.

  Delicate wasn’t something he’d ever associated with her before. It was a little unsettling.

  The wind was high, pressing her long dress to her body and the knot at her neck loosened, sending up long spirals of hair into the night sky.

  Betty sighed, glanced his way, and something unfamiliar curled in his gut at the look in her eyes. She was closed off, this one, and yet…

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to stop pestering me until we talk about whatever it is you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. You can walk with me.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to respond and turned, heading up the street. Beau’s long strides had him beside her in no time and for a few minutes they walked in silence, crossing the bridge as the party echoed around them, carrying across the water.

  They turned left and followed the river down a winding path. There were lights along the way, but the glow was dim, and the play of shadows on Betty’s face only managed to emphasize just how beautiful she was.

  The problem was, Betty knew exactly what her looks meant.

  And so did Beau. He understood the power in her eyes, the sway of her hips and the pout that sat on her mouth. Luckily, he wasn’t interested. This was business.

  Nothing more.

  Deciding he needed to break the ice between them, or at least thaw the cold front that still hung over Betty, he cleared his throat.

  “So, your town is really nice.” Shit, that was lame, but at least it was a start.

  “Nice?” she snorted. “I’ve never thought of it as nice. Boring maybe. Incestuous. Judgmental. But nice?” She was silent for a few seconds. “I suppose as a stranger looking in from the outside it looks and feels…nice.” She grabbed a long piece of hair and shoved it behind her shoulder, though the wind had other ideas and it flew around her head like a dark silky halo.

  “I don’t know. You’ve got to admit, New Waterford seems like a small town piece of Americana that a lot of folks would love to experience.”

  “Really.” She shook her head. “This town is no different from any other town or city, except maybe the bad things are harder to spot. Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, if I could be anywhere else, I would be.”

  Beau studied her for a few moments. “If you hate it so much, why come back?”

  “I had nowhere else to go.” Her answer was soft, her eyes trained ahead, and he got the impression she wasn’t aware she’d spoken.

  They turned right and didn’t stop walking until they found themselves at the end of a meandering driveway. Large flowering bushes lined either side and several feet beyond, he spied a large home. Lights burned from the attic, as well as the main floor.

  “Shit,” she muttered, eyes on the house.

  “Something wrong?”

  Her face was half hidden from the shadows cast by the tall bushes nearby, but something changed.

  He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing, but he sure as hell felt it in the air that settled in his lungs. In the electricity that crackled between them. In the way her eyes settled on him when she turned his way.

  “So, Beau Simon.”

  He didn’t like the way she said his name, rolling the syllables and stretching it out as if he was simple.

  “What’s up with the attitude?”

  “Attitude?”

  “You don’t like me,” he said.

  She took a step closer, out of the shadows, and suddenly the Betty Jo Barker he knew—the one from his past—stared back at him.

  “I don’t know you,” she answered.

  There was something incredibly sensual about the way she looked right now. That hair. Those eyes. That mouth. She stared up at him, licked those lips that begged to be touched and sent a message with the way she tilted her head, and thrust out her breasts.

  As if she wanted him.

  He knew it was bullshit.

  Beau shrugged. “I’m no different than anyone else.”

  She snorted. Actually, snorted.

  “Oh, Beau Simon.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and again with the slow roll of his name. “I know you’re blonde and everything, but sweetie, if you actually believe you’re the same as anyone else on this planet, you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

  Okay, she was really starting to piss him off. What the fuck was up with the Jeckyl and Hyde routine?

  And when the hell had anyone ever called him dumb?

  She shook her head and lifted her chin. “You’re a Simon. Your family has more money than God and I’ll bet that on the day you were born, your ass was hit with the lucky stick. Hell, I’d bet it was hit more than once. Jesus, everything you touch turns to gold. Your baseball career---”

  “Ended way too soon,” he inserted, getting more pissed off by the second.

  Betty tossed her head, sending that halo of dark silk flying again. He was sure she’d done it on purpose. And why wouldn’t she? It was goddamn distracting.

  “Yes, and I’m sure poor Beau Simon is sad that his baseball career ended before he had a chance to set all kinds of records. You know, because being one of the biggest movie stars on the planet sucks donkey balls.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “Have you ever failed at anything?”

  She was condescending. Arrogant. Sexy as hell and—he couldn’t forget—smart, conniving, and heartless. His blood began to boil as he took a step closer to her.

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  She arched a brow. “And you know even less about me.”

  He flashed a grin. His chance at a constructive conversation was long gone, but he didn’t care. And maybe Beau should have thought a bit about why he felt the need to keep on pushing Betty.

  But he didn’t. Hell no. He just knew that he was in the mood to fight and she was in his way.

  “I know what eve
ryone else knows. You’re a washed up model who couldn’t land a new gig if it fell in your lap. Not after what happened in Paris. Your nose isn’t clean, you like your booze a little too much. You’re pretty particular about the guys you screw because you only screw the ones who can give you something. Which means you’re cold and selfish. Sound about right?”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care.

  “I’ve seen you in action, remember?”

  Her mouth tightened, those eyes glistening in the dim light. “You don’t know shit,” she said so softly he barely heard her.

  “Are you going to deny it? You forget I know what you’re all about. I’ve been there. You use everything you have to play with a guy’s head and then when it gets out of hand…when it gets real and ugly, you cry wolf. Is it a high? Knowing all you’ve got to do is dangle that prime pussy in front of any man and they’ll fall at your feet?”

  He gestured back toward the river. “Those guys back there? What was that about? You deciding all of a sudden you weren’t in the mood for more than one dick?”

  She gasped and this time she couldn’t hide what was in her eyes. Hurt. It was gone, just as fast as it had come, but it had been there nonetheless.

  It surprised the hell out of him. Beau swore and ran his hands though his hair, resting the flat of his palm against the back of his head. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy to throw stones.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Jesus Christ, his buttons hadn’t been pushed like this since…shit, since he’d been with her before.

  “Look,” he said. “That wasn’t fair.”

  An owl hooted in the distance at the same time, a raindrop splashed against his cheek.

  And then another.

  She was gone again, buried beneath that façade of skin and bone that she liked to hide behind. He couldn’t get a read on her and it frustrated the hell out of him.

  “What do you want with me, Beau? Just tell me and then leave.”

  Shit. This really wasn’t going well, and it was his own damn fault. How could he make this right? Take back those words that hurt?

  Just then the porch light flickered on and a voice cut through the night. They both turned to the house.

  “Trent! Where are you, son?”

  “Gramps?” Betty shouted.

  “He’s gone,” the voice answered, sounding strained.

  “Oh, God.”

  Beau wasn’t sure what was going on but he knew it wasn’t good. Several drops of water fell out of the night sky, hesitant at first, and as Betty ran for the house, Beau forgotten, the rain began in earnest.

  It sliced through the night, but did nothing to wash away the unease that settled in his gut.

  Nothing about this trip had gone as planned. Hell, he should be hanging at the cottage on Lake Muskoka with his brother, getting cozy with a nice Canadian girl.

  A nice un-complicated Canadian girl. Someone who could take the edge off whatever the hell it was that was riding him so hard these days.

  Instead he was stuck in Michigan with a woman who was not only prickly as hell, but nothing like the girl he remembered. She was a complication he hadn’t foreseen.

  And as Beau followed her up the path, he thought that maybe things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

  Funny enough…he was cool with that.

  Chapter Five

  BETTY FELT AS if her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. It pounded so hard that for a moment, it was all she heard inside her head.

  She glanced up at the attic and swore, her eyes landing on Gramps as he hobbled down the front steps of the porch. His arthritis was getting bad and when it was damp like this, it was hard for him to move.

  “Gramps, what do you mean he’s gone?” Maybe Gramps was confused—it wouldn’t be the first time. Goddamn, what she would give to never grow old.

  A few months back, he’d thought Trent was missing, but they’d found him in the basement rifling through boxes of photos, looking for pictures of her mother, Chantal.

  God, getting old sucked.

  Trying to keep the panic at bay, Betty wiped water from her eyes and focused on Herschel Barker. He wore his red and white striped boxers, the ones that had a bad habit of falling off his hips, and a yellow T-shirt with a huge ass bee on his chest, winked at her through the darkness.

  “He had a bad night. Couldn’t get him to settle, you know? He was pacing and I went to make him tea…and…”

  Herschel’s eyes glistened with tears as he shook his head, grimacing in pain as he whispered. “Betts, he’s gone.”

  Betty glanced back toward the river and the fear in her gut was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. When she could speak, her words came out rapid fire. “Call Bobbi and Billie, and call the damn police.”

  She whirled around and came to a stop, spying Beau standing a few feet away. By now the rain was falling in sheets and they were both drenched. “I need your help.”

  He strode toward her. “Anything.”

  She began to jog, her words coming in bursts. “We have to find him. He was wearing his pajamas when I left, you know?” Her eyes tried to see through the gloom but with the added rain it was difficult. “But who knows what he’s wearing now. He changes his clothes when he gets agitated and…”

  Shit. She couldn’t cry.

  “Most likely, no shoes either,” she managed to say.

  Beau was beside her, his voice low and she heard the concern. “Who?”

  Betty couldn’t look at him. Hell, she could barely function. The thought of her father out in the rain, alone, maybe scared, and most likely confused, was enough to make her sick. She wasn’t built for this kind of stuff.

  She was the fuck up. The Barker triplet who was famous for scandal, not family or responsibility. She wasn’t good at handling shit.

  So why the hell was she left handling the shit?

  “Betty?”

  “My dad,” she whispered. “He’s not well.”

  They reached the path that ran along the river and she pointed to the left. “Head back that way. If you find him, please call Logan. You still have his phone number?”

  Beau nodded. “I got it.”

  “Don’t try to touch him or force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. It just makes things worse. Okay?”

  Betty didn’t wait for an answer. She turned to the right and took off at a brisk jog, her sandals slapping against the concrete path until she met the stone covered portion that ran through the bushes lining the river.

  The river.

  It wasn’t deep, but it was fast moving and if he…

  No. Christ, she wouldn’t entertain that thought. Not now.

  “Dad!” She shouted into the darkness, hating that there was no answer. Her dress clung to her, wet from the rain, and her teeth began to chatter from both the cool water on her skin and the fear that quaked inside her.

  She slipped through the trees and ran along the banks of the river, eyes on the water and then back up along the path. At one point, she ditched her sandals but even that didn’t stop her from tumbling and nearly falling into the water herself.

  Betty ran until her lungs felt as if they were going to burst, calling her father’s name and searching frantically until her voice was hoarse and her eyes were blurred from the strain of trying to peer through the gloom.

  There was no moon to guide her way and she was so pissed off at herself for leaving her cell in the car…but she couldn’t think about that right now.

  Now was about her dad. About finding Trent Barker and getting him home safe. So she kept on even though her energy was waning.

  Betty wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Out here with darkness all around, it seemed to have come to a standstill, and for a moment she paused, chest heaving, lungs on fire, heart in her mouth.

  She heard something and her head snapped up. “Dad?”

  Betty began to move, her feet sliding along the bank as she gazed out
over the river and down to where she’d just come. She thought she saw a flash of white and then she heard her name.

  “Betty!”

  Beau slid into view, his tall frame seeming to appear as if from nowhere. By this time, she could barely speak and she stared in silence as he walked to her, pausing an inch or so away.

  He reached for her but she flinched and took a step back, mouth open to speak, but she didn’t have her breath yet and there were no words. Fear filled her and as tended to happen when darkness intruded in Betty’s world, she shut down.

  “Your sister found him. He’s okay. A little shaken, but okay.”

  Everything whooshed out of her. Energy. Thought. Pain. Emotion. There was nothing. Nothing but quiet.

  She made a keening noise and sank to her knees, right there in front of Beau Simon. She rocked back and forth as the adrenaline that had carried her this far seeped from her pores into the muddied earth at her feet.

  Eventually she found her voice, that last bit of strength inside, and she gazed up at Beau. “Where was he?”

  He stared down at her for the longest time, shadows on his face. And then he did something that surprised the hell out of Betty. Beau sat his ass in the mud, there on the riverbank beside her and she glanced away, unable to handle his closeness.

  “He was down near the dam. Your sister’s husband found him.”

  “Boyfriend,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “They’re not married. Just living in sin.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where did they find him?”

  “Near the dam.”

  “The dam.” She repeated. The most dangerous part of the river.

  Jesus. Christ.

  “I should never have gone out,” she whispered. “This is my fault.” Heat flushed her cheeks as her thoughts turned backward. “No, actually, it’s Bobbi’s fault. She’s the one who insisted I go to the stupid Black Top Hop. I mean, why the hell else would I go? It’s not as if I actually like anyone in this town.”

  “Betty. I don’t think anyone’s to blame. Your father is ill.”

  Something inside Betty Jo Barker broke apart, in that moment. Maybe it was her sanity or her mind…or that invisible thing that held her together. Whatever it was, it hurt. And Betty reacted the way she always did—by striking out.