Page 12 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

“You listen to self-help podcasts, right?”

Jessie nodded. “Yeah, and others. My favorite right now is Carter Hughes. He teaches about manifesting your business goals and making them a reality.”

Wait, Jessie wanted to start a business? And Allie hadn’t known that? She felt like a jerk. “You want to start a business?”

Jessie shook her head. “No, but I like learning about business so I can better help Grandpa Bo at the bookstore.”

Grandpa Bo. Allie smiled. She loved Grandpa Bo. He wasn’t actually her grandpa, just her cousins’. He was Uncle Mark’s dad, and since Uncle Mark married into the family, the best she could do was call Bo an honorary grandpa; plus, she loved making playdates for Honey with Grandpa Bo’s labradoodle—the only one of dozens in town that she liked. The Winslows had always been good to them.

“Why do you want to know about podcasts?” Jessie asked.

“I’m starting my New Year’s resolutions now,” she said. “And cutting my hair isn’t one of them,” she added when Jessie’s eyes widened.

Jo and Cash were right. That was stupid. She tried not to think about Brandon’s fingers running down her strands and shook her head to clear it of the haze moving in. She needed a better change. Something lasting. Something that would actually improve her life. She’d already decided what she was going to do. She just needed some resources. Some inspiration. She could start with this:

No men.

Learn to be happy alone.

Become more like Jo.

“Can you make me a list of your favorite podcasts?” Allie asked. “I’m going for an all-new me.”

* * *

On Monday morning, Brandon walked Andy to his truck, carrying his duffel bag. The two men had spent Saturday and Sunday on his property, watching football and telling former war stories—he’d even gotten Andy on a horse. Clover had taken right to him, even nuzzling his hand and batting her lashes. It’d been downright adorable. She was an older horse, but healthy and happy as can be. Even though Brandon had almost given him Scout, the calmest of the horses, Andy had liked her, and she’d liked him, so it’d worked.

“It was good to see you.” Brandon handed Andy his bag.

“That’s a relief,” Andy said. “I thought you were ghosting us too.”Usbeing him and their other B.O.T.s friends.

“I was just getting settled,” he said. When he’d first moved, he’d just wanted to be left alone to deal with his issues. He hadn’t contacted his friends because he didn’t want to talk about it, but he recognized now that all he’d done was seclude himself from support. And now, a month and a half into his new residency, he still hadn’t attempted to sort out his mess back home.

At least Andy hadn’t pushed. He’d simply hung around and been a friend.

Brandon’s phone beeped, and he checked his texts. It was his brother. His weekly “why aren’t you responding to me” text. He had a specific text for almost every day of the week. Wednesday was the “how’s the new place treating you and when do we get to visit” text, Thursday was the “update on the pregnancy” text, and so on. If they weren’t worded differently, Brandon would think his brother had him on some service that automatically sent texts for a body.

At least his sister-in-law, Maryanne, and his sister, Zoey, had sent different texts every time. Well, almost. Maryanne asked for his address a lot, wanted to send him care packages and baked goods, and asked him to come back to his family where he belonged.

Zoey, ever the spunky little sister, had veered into threats a couple of weeks ago. “If you don’t tell me why you left—” or “if you keep acting like a baby—” or “if you don’t tell me where you are—” followed by some ridiculous threat, like throwing out his high school track trophies or his mixed tapes from high school, that either amused or annoyed him, depending on his mood.

Andy loaded his bag into his car. “Do they contact you a lot?”

“Almost every day.” Brandon shoved his phone in his pocket without reading the text.

“Listen—”

“Don’t.” Brandon held up a hand. “I decided to leave. It was time. Long past. I’m fine, and I like it here.”

Andy nodded, a sly grin spreading over his face. “Could that have something to do with a cray-cray, spitfire redhead?”

Brandon leveled a dirty glare at his friend. “Cray-cray? Are you a 12-year-old girl?”

“Sorry, I’ve been around my nieces a lot lately.” Andy grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get so riled before as you did when she started going off about storm clouds and weather, not even with—”

Brandon pointed a finger at him.

Raising his hands in surrender, Andy said, “Fine, I won’t say a word. Except that I like Allie. I think she could be good for you. You’re always so serious.”

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