Page 88 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
“I’d love one.” I was sticky and still smelled like wood fire. I hadn’t minded at the outpost, but here, I was feeling grimy and I wanted clean hair.
I followed Beau up the stairs that ran along the far side of the house. At the top of the landing, a picture collage lined the hallway to the bedrooms. Maisy must have made this too because they were in gray-matted black frames. The photos themselves were all black and whites except one in the center.
“Are these your parents?” I asked, pointing to the color picture.
“Yeah. That was taken my senior year in high school. Dad’s beer belly is twice as big now but Mom looks exactly the same.”
The photo was your typical family picture. The Holts were at a park, surrounded by green grass and tall trees. Beau stood nearly as tall as his dad while Michael was still a boy at his mother’s side. Maisy stood proudly in the middle with her little hands linked with her parents.
“What are their names?”
“Marissa and Brock.”
“All Ms and Bs,” I said, still inspecting the photo.
Beau was nearly a carbon copy of his dad. They had the same large build and square face. Michael resembled Brock too, except as a child, his features hadn’t been quite as angular. Maisy, on the other hand, looked nothing like her father because she was the exact replica of Marissa with the same doe eyes and white-blond hair.
“And this is Coby?” Next to the color picture was a black and white of Beau with a little boy resting on his shoulders.
“Yeah. He likes to ride up there so we can pretend he’s a giant.”
I smiled at the softness in Beau’s face as he looked at his nephew’s picture. Beau would make a wonderful father, of that I had no doubt. “How old is Coby?”
“He just turned two.”
We turned away from the pictures and passed by the spare room before entering Beau’s master suite. The walls had been painted a dark gray offset by the house’s white trim and doors. In the center of the room was Beau’s gigantic b
ed with a simple dove-gray quilt and white pillows. The light wood furniture was simple but rustic enough that the room didn’t feel too feminine.
“That’s a beautiful pic—” I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth.
Above Beau’s bed was a large black-and-white panoramic canvas of the meadow by the outpost.
Somehow, Beau had gotten that canvas made for me this last week. There had been a dead tree in the tree line where he’d taken the photo. He’d cut down that tree right after we’d taken our hike and he’d told me it was time to leave the outpost. The canvas didn’t have that tree.
“Beau, I . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His hands came to my shoulders and he bent to kiss my hair. Then he steered me into the bathroom. “Make yourself at home.”
Between the dual sinks, he’d already set out my bag of toiletries and my duffel. One of the vanity drawers had been cleaned out and left open.
By the time I dried off from my long and steamy shower, I was dead on my feet. I slipped on some pajamas and tied up my wet hair, emerging from the bathroom to find that Beau had showered too and was already in bed.
“I need to switch the laundry. Be right back.”
“It’s done, angel. Come to bed.”
My feet changed course and I wasted no time scooting into bed next to Beau.
I moaned as I sank into the soft, thick mattress. Beau’s sheets were cool and smooth against my bare legs. His quilt and the down comforter underneath were just the right weight to guarantee I’d sleep like the dead.
“I missed beds. I might spend all day in here tomorrow.”
He chuckled and reached out, sliding me into his side. “I could get on board with that. I haven’t lazed a Sunday away in ages.”
“Then it’s a plan.” I yawned. “Good night, Goliath.”
“Night, Shortcake.”
