“Oh, Billie’s there?” She exhaled as she stopped halfway down the stairs. “Good. That’s good.”
Another pause.
“Okay. I just wanted to let you know I was at Bobbi’s and that I won’t be too late.”
She took another step. “I love you, Gramps. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay? What?”
She paused again. “No. No I don’t want to talk to Billie. Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”
Beau watched her clear the stairs and walk across the rich wooden floors to stand near the front door. She thrust her hands into her back pockets, and hunched her shoulders together.
It was getting dark outside and she was but a fragile silhouette against the floor to ceiling windows.
He should have left. Hell, he was nothing but a stalker in the dark, watching a woman who thought she was alone.
But he didn’t.
She was a puzzle, this woman. Cold and bitchy one moment, and yet caring and full of love the next. She appeared to hate her sisters and yet he’d seen her defend them as if they meant the world to her.
He’d spent one, hot, passionate moment with her—he’d felt how she responded to his touch—and yet she was cool toward him, now. She acted as if he was the last man on earth she’d ever want to touch. It made him wonder…was it all an act? What really went on behind those big blue eyes?
Was she the coldhearted bitch she showed the world? Or was there more to her…
Maybe Beau should have asked himself why he cared. But he didn’t.
He pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against, and headed toward Betty, his heart beating a little faster than before. His adrenaline punched.
And the reason for all of it, turned, just as he approached.
She licked her lips—
not provocatively, more of a nervous gesture—and tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear. Silver earrings dangled, twisting and shimmering as they moved and he noticed something beneath her ear, something barely visible.
Beau took the few remaining steps until he was inches from her, his eyes on the markings that fell in a singular line, downward. It was a tattoo, as small and delicate as her ear, and it was not what he expected. Some sort of Celtic symbol—that would be expected—they were all the rage. Or maybe Sanskrit or something of the like.
He angled his head so he could see it better, watching her fingers twirl that piece of hair before letting it go.
For a long moment there was silence and then she spoke, her voice husky.
“They’re tears.”
That they were.
Three of them.
In that moment Beau Simon realized that Betty Jo Barker was more complicated than any woman he’d ever met, with more layers to her than he’d first imagined.
Who tattooed tears onto their skin?
She pulled on her hair again, tugging the ends until it fell over the tattoo, and then she cleared her throat.
Why did she want them hidden?
Beau fought the urge to move her hair back so that he could see them again. So that he could trace each of them with his fingers. Taste them with his mouth.
That thought had him taking a step back and he watched her eyes glisten as she stared up at him. Watched as the expression that lit them slowly evaporated until there was nothing.
Betty was in control once more.