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We follow the signs past the barn, pausing along the way to let a group of smartly dressed horseback riders cross the road. I guide my car onto the shoulder when a blue vintage pickup, shiny and restored, approaches from the opposite direction. The man driving it holds up his hand in greeting, then motions for us to pass first.
Pulling closer, I see a familiar face behind the wheel. Big guy, bigger smile.
My chest lights up. I roll down my window and resist the urge to catapult through it to hug him. “Samuel! Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!”
“Annabel Rhodes, as I live and breathe.” He shoves the truck into park. “It’s good to see you. We’re glad y’all decided to come up to the mountain. How was the drive?”
I’m hit by just how much Samuel looks like Beau. They’ve got the same blue eyes that crinkle at the edges when they smile. Only Samuel smiles a lot more than his older brother.
Beau used to smile like that. But as we’ve gotten older, he’s lost some of that easygoing mirth. Still cocky as all get-out, just more serious. I think it has a lot to do with becoming head of his enormous family after his dad passed when he was just nineteen years old.
Then again, Samuel has always been the flirt. The hotshot playboy who dominated on and off the field.
“Drive went surprisingly well,” I reply.
Mom rolls down her window. “Hey, Samuel!”
“Lizzie! How you been, girl?”
“I’ve been well, thanks. We’re excited to be here.”
“We’re excited to have you. You on baby duty in the back seat?”
“Yup. Maisie did great, although she’s starting to—”
She lets out a piercing howl. The crinkle around Samuel’s eyes deepens. “Poor thing. And poor Mama.”
I sigh. “She’s hungry.”
“Maisie, I hate bein’ hungry too. I won’t keep y’all. Main house is just ahead.” Samuel meets my eyes, his smile fading. “I’m glad you’re here, Annabel. I think you and Beau could both use a friend right now.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, he puts the truck in drive and trundles away.
Keeping my window open, we head to the top of the hill and follow the signs. A big stone house appears. Two stories, porches galore, and more white shutters. I pull underneath a wide portico, noticing the smoke that rises from a nearby chimney.
The place is bustling. Valets dart across the drive to waiting cars. People sit in rocking chairs on the closest porch, sweating cocktails in hand. The murmur of their chatter meanders beneath the sharper sounds of birds overhead. Kids run across the manicured lawn beside the house, playing on the wooden swings that hang from the massive oak trees that dot the property. The clean, earthy scent of freshly mowed grass, undercut with the smell of burning wood, fills the car.
A woman riding a gleaming chestnut horse trots by the portico, the horse’s hooves clapping merrily against the pavement.
I’ve traveled a good bit in my lifetime. But I have never seen anything remotely like this. It’s like a farm fantasy. A place of rustic pretend, inhabited by muscled mountain men and million-dollar thoroughbreds.
Only it’s real. Beau’s dream world brought to life.
There’s a lineup of ridiculous cars—Range Rovers, a Maserati—beside the portico. I’m looking for Beau’s signature black-on-black Bentley when a man approaches my open window holding a large envelope in his hand. He’s got the Beauregard smile and bulging biceps—all but the youngest brother are retired from pro football, and every one has stayed in pretty amazing shape—just on a smaller scale. For a second, I don’t recognize him.
“Hank?” I ask, crinkling my brow. “Is that you?”
He smiles warmly, running his fingers over his clean-shaven jaw. “Beau’s got me heading up guest relations these days, so he had me clean up a bit. I look like a goddamn baby, don’t I?”
I’m smiling, too, and it feels nice. “You look great. So does the resort. Hank, y’all have done an amazing job up here.”
Mom’s at her window again. “It’s truly breathtaking.”
“Hey, Lizzie! Thank you kindly. We’re proud of the farm and hope you enjoy your stay.” He holds out the envelope, along with a pair of ice-cold bottles of water that magically appear in his hand. “We’ll catch up later. Beau’s expectin’ y’all up at Sugarhill Cottage. Just follow the signs up the hill. I’ll hop in a golf cart and meet you there.”
“Sugarhill Cottage,” I say, handing Mom a bottle. “Sounds cozy.”
I take a few gulps of water before putting the car in gear.
“So that’s Hank,” Mom says. “The fourth brother?”
“Third. Beau’s the oldest, then it’s Samuel—the guy we saw in the pickup—then Hank. Beau and Samuel are so close in age they’re practically twins. Hank is three years behind Samuel. Milly is a year younger than Hank, and Rhett is the baby. He was a ‘surprise’, as Mrs. B says, so he’s a lot younger than everyone else. Six years behind Milly, I think? He’s the one who still plays football.”
