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CHAPTERFOUR
Sometimes you are such an ass, Deke,” Nash said. “Grayson and I would’ve taken Olivia back to her rental car so she wouldn’t have had to call a car service. It’s the least we could do for fifty million.”
Deacon stood at the window watching the SUV bounce down the dirt road. He waited until the last of the dust had settled before he released the curtain and turned to his brothers. Nash was sprawled out on the couch, tossing darts at the dart board above the fireplace, while Grayson sketched on his sketchpad. “The Beaumont brothers aren’t chauffeurs. Besides, the deal isn’t final yet.”
“You’re so skeptical, Deke,” Grayson said. “It will go through. I trust Olivia.”
“You don’t even know Olivia.”
“I don’t have to know her. Honesty is etched in the lines of her face.” Grayson continued to draw. “Damn, I wish I could’ve painted her.”
“Once you have millions, you can hire any woman you want to be your model.” Nash threw a dart, and it hit the bull’s-eye dead center.
Grayson stopped sketching and smiled. “I can, can’t I?”
“And while you’re at it, you might want to buy some whiskers to fill in that sparse beard of yours.” Nash changed his aim. The sharp point of the next dart stuck in the back of Grayson’s sketchpad with a soft thunk.
Grayson hopped to his feet. “What the fuck, Nash? You could’ve put my eye out.”
Nash laughed. “Not likely. I always hit what I aim at.” To prove it, he tossed another dart. This one whizzed past Deacon’s cheek and embedded in the window frame.
Deacon lifted an eyebrow. “It seems that you’ve been away from home a little too long, Nash. You’ve forgotten the order of the food chain.”
“Maybe I’m just challenging it.” Nash got to his feet.
“You think you’re ready for that?”
“Only one way to find out.” He grinned. “Beaumont test?”
While most brothers’ test of strength consists of a little playful wrestling, the Beaumont brothers tested their prowess in the boxing ring. For some reason their father thought boxing a gentleman’s sport. Where he had gotten the idea, Deacon didn’t know. Probably from the same place he’d gotten the idea that it was a man’s duty to pleasure the women of the world. And while Deacon had refused to follow in his father’s womanizing footsteps, he had always enjoyed fighting—either in the ring or in a barroom brawl. There was something cathartic about the feel of a fist hitting flesh and bone. Not that he and his brothers ever punched each other with the intent to permanently damage. Although there had been a few accidental broken noses and knockouts.
Being the oldest, Deacon probably should’ve put an end to the idea. But since Olivia arrived, he’d been filled with a restless energy that needed an outlet. And punching his brothers in the face seemed like as good an outlet as any. Of course, with no gloves or protective sparring helmets, they needed rules.
“One round only,” he said.
Nash unbuttoned his shirt. “One round is all I’ll need.”
“You mean all I’ll need.” Grayson jerked off his shirt. The youngest Beaumont would’ve started swinging if Deacon hadn’t stopped him.
“Outside. I’m not going to have Grandpa’s house busted up.”
Nash smiled. “You sound just like Mom when we started roughhousing. You’re as persnickety as a girl.”
“Then you should be able to win easily.” He led his brothers out the door and around to the side of the house, where he traced a ring in the dirt with the heel of his boot. Blue had awoken from his nap and sniffed along behind Deacon’s boot, no doubt wondering if the new game involved tracking. His bloodshot eyes looked thoroughly disappointed when Deacon made him sit in a spot out of the way. “First person to connect wins,” Deacon said as he pulled off his shirt.
Grayson and Nash squared off first. Nash was a technical boxer, dodging and hedging until an opening appeared for his wicked right hook. Grayson, on the other hand, was more of a rapid-fire boxer. He threw jab after jab while Nash danced around him. And Deacon had to wonder if, despite his smack talk, Nash hadn’t gotten a little soft during his time away from home. When he had the openings to connect with Grayson’s chin, he didn’t take them. Instead he ducked and wove until Grayson finally slipped a fist through his guard and sent him stumbling back.
“And the winner is the great Grayson Beaumont!” Grayson jogged around the line dug in the dirt with his hands in the air. He dropped them and pointed at Deacon. “You’re up, big brother.”
Having always been protective of his littlest brother, Deacon shook his head. “I think it’s only fair to let Nash get a chance to redeem himself.”
It turned out to be a bad idea. While Nash had held back with Grayson, he didn’t waste any time swinging at Deacon’s jaw. Deacon ducked and came around with a one-two body jab, but Nash was too quick. They continued to dance around the ring for what felt like hours before Nash got in a hook that grazed Deacon’s cheek and hurt like hell.
“Now this is a sight that warms a father’s heart.”
With a hand cradling his face, Deacon turned to see their father coming around the corner of the house. As always, Don Juan Beaumont was dressed like a pirate version of Don Johnson in Miami Vice. He wore a white button-down shirt, linen pants, and loafers without socks, while his long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a gold hoop hung from one ear.
Don Juan, or Donny John as most folks called him, lived up to his name in every way. He loved women with the same passion with which he loved life. It was unfortunate that neither passion involved earning money.
