Conceal (The Barker Triplets 3)

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.

“Don’t you think I know that?” She snapped. “I live with him! I see what’s happening to him. I see it every fucking day. But you don’t get to talk about my father and his illness. You don’t get to be a part of this. Why don’t you just leave?”

Betty jumped to her feet. She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to discuss her father’s mental failings with a man she barely knew. A man who made her crazy. A man who could never understand the mess that was her life.

“You’re hurt.”

She’d already made it back to the path but Beau was there beside her, pushing past until she was forced to come to a stop.

“What?” This night had gone on way too long. She was cold. Exhausted—mentally and physically—and she sure as hell wished Beau Simon would just disappear already.

He pointed down and she followed the path of his fingers.

Holy. Hell.

She was a mess. Her dress was soaked through, pretty much showing everything. Everything. There was no mistaking the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were hard and their darkness was right there in his face. Twin salutes. Her gaze traveled lower. Thank God, she’d decided to wear undies tonight—something she didn’t always do—the small triangle of white hid what should stay hidden from this man.

But it was further down that drew her eyes.

Her dress was ripped, a large gaping slash near her knee, and blood had soaked through.

“Shit,” she said shakily.

But Beau was on his knees before she could do anything, one hand on her hip holding her in place—and that was a good thing considering her body was at the point of falling apart. The other lifted the hem of her dress until her knee was exposed.

“Hold this,” he said lifting the hem higher.

Gingerly, Betty took the material from him, her eyes drawn to his long, tapered fingers as they gently probed the wound on her knee.

She inhaled as pain shot up her leg and he glanced up.

“Does it hurt?”