The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

week with my brain throbbing in my jeans because Jasper was in my shower and I wasn't there with her to experience any of it, and nothing outside the criminality of that made sense to me.

She baked biscuits every day now. They weren't awful. They served as a handy distraction when I arrived home every evening and wandered through the rooms as if I'd find a forgotten pair of panties waiting for me. The biscuits helped. Nothing like carbs to keep from barging next door, throwing your neighbor over your shoulder, taking her to your bed.

Yeah, the biscuits helped with that. The exterior was dry enough to require a full glass of milk to wash them down, and there was nothing like chugging milk at the kitchen sink to cool thoughts of mouthy women mouthing off at me in bed.

Mostly.

Enough that I didn't bang on her door.

What I did in the shower was another story.

And that was the reason I needed to know why her husband lived overseas and—apparently—had a fiancée there too. Those were only two of the reasons I hated the guy.

How anyone could just up and leave their wife was a mystery to me. And how could she accept that? She came at me hissing and spitting when I carried a couple of boxes for her. How could she tolerate a husband walking out of her life and still allow him use of that title?

Maybe it was an immigration status marriage. Or a health insurance marriage. Or something that wouldn't inspire outright loathing in me for the man.

Those were the questions on my mind as I turned down the dogleg bend of my street—and spotted a pair of fire trucks outside Jasper's house, lights flashing and firefighters streaming around her property.

"Jasper."

Once my heart got back to beating and I wheezed out a breath, I steered the truck to the side of the cul-de-sac, out of the way of the fire trucks.

There I was able to confirm that neither the house nor the yard was in flames, the firefighters were ambling in and out of the house without urgency, and the only concern seemed to be a charred box on the driveway.

As I exited the vehicle, I spotted Jasper sitting on the curb. She had her legs folded in front of her and her arms braced on her thighs. The red skirt she wore was wet and dirty, and her navy blue sweater wasn't in any better shape. Her head was bowed like she was praying or meditating but I doubted she did much of either. Didn't seem the type.

I dropped down beside her and stretched my legs out. "How's it going, Jas?"

She sniffled. I handed her a bandana from my back pocket and she accepted, saying, "We can't keep doing this."

"What's this?"

"You coming over here and handing me a hanky because I'm crying again. I have a reputation to uphold, and routinely needing a hanky or any other rescue isn't part of it. I'll have you know I once managed twelve hours with a broken finger before leaving the office to see a doctor and there was another time when I worked a full week while I had pneumonia."

"Those are not the badges of honor you think they are, but sure, I'll stop handing out the hankies. That's one way to fix a problem that doesn't exist."

"You're very rude," she said on a sob.

I glanced away as she blotted her eyes. "Sorry."

"You can ask," she said.

"About what? I need you to be more specific."

She waved a hand at the fire truck in front of us. "About this."

"Okay." I ran my fingers through my beard as I watched several firefighters pile into the truck. "What's going on here?"

She gave a pathetic little shrug that squeezed my heart. "Oh, you know. Just a small fire in the kitchen."

"Please tell me it wasn't the crockpot."

"Nope." Another shrug and I ached. "The toaster oven."

I glanced to the driveway again and the box abandoned there. It was about the right size for a countertop oven.

"I was making some toast for lunch and—"

"What do you mean, you were making toast for lunch? That's not lunch."

She turned her tearstained face to me, her expression as fierce as ever. "Toast is a perfectly appropriate lunch."

"It's…it's just bread, Jas."

She gave me a look that said I knew nothing. Not a single thing in the whole world. "I take my toast very seriously. It's my favorite thing to eat, and fancy toast can be—"

"Fancy toast? What the fuck is fancy toast?"

She planted her hands on the grass behind her and leaned back, her face upturned to the late September sun. "Not really in the mood to go another round with you on toast today. I don't have a lot of favorite things but toast is one of them and I'm not defending it to you right now."

The second fire truck pulled away.

"Come on." I pushed to my feet and held out a hand to her. "Up you go."

She studied my hand for a beat before accepting. "Thank you."

I dragged a glance over her clothes. "Is it safe inside?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad. Just a small fireball in the toaster. Everything except my lunch is salvageable."

"Then go change into something else. Like those yoga pants girls like you wear."

"Yoga pants? That girls like me wear?"

I crossed my arms. "You know what I mean. You, my sister, my mom, my future sister-in-law, women everywhere."

"And why do I need yoga pants specifically?"

"Because I have to check on some trees and you're coming with me. Do you have normal shoes?"

"Normal shoes," she repeated under her breath. "Wow."

"You can't wear those"—I motioned toward her pretty heels—"in the woods."

She gave me a long, measured look. "So, I need the yoga pants that girls like me wear and normal shoes. Because we're going to see some trees."

I jabbed a finger toward her front door, still standing open. "Stop repeating me and get dressed. You can be outraged when we hit the road."

Jasper absently smoothed