A Matter of Trust

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  Maybe that was why Carrie had lost it when the oilman strode out of that helicopter, all tall and handsome, most likely thinking he was God’s gift to women, too. Maybe he thought he’d flash them that million-dollar smile and they’d all swoon at this feet. She couldn’t believe she’d spit on him, though! She had never done that to anyone. Even Rex, an elder from the Native community who was also protesting this pipeline deal, had said to her last night while shaking his head, “Carrie, that wasn’t cool.” For Rex, a man who was quiet and didn’t pass judgment on anyone, to say something to her…well, in the light of morning, she felt she’d maybe gone too far.

  “Here you go, honey,” Alice said. Carrie’s stepmother was of medium height, with a trim figure and bright auburn hair that came from a bottle of Clairol. She set a mug of coffee on the counter—not just any mug but Carrie’s favorite, the one with the faded picture of an old man and a dog.

  Carried sipped on the strong coffee, taking in all the food simmering on the stove: boiled eggs, sausages…even muffins and homemade cinnamon buns. Her mouth was watering from the heavenly smells, and she actually leaned down and sniffed the buns. Alice didn’t make them often. These were her famous ones, which were all gooey and tasted better than anything. They were still hot from the oven. Carrie went to reach for one, and Alice slapped her hand.

  “Those aren’t for you!” she said with a chuckle.

  “Well, who are they for?” Carrie said, wondering if it had come out sounding as pouty to Alice as it did to her own ears.

  “We have a guest staying in one of the cabins. These are for him.”

  “Seriously, all this for one person?” Carrie said. “I can’t have…just one?”

  Alice narrowed her light brown eyes and pointed her spatula at her stepdaughter. “Just one,” she said.

  Carrie didn’t wait for her to say anything else. She leaped in and grabbed the biggest, stickiest one, taking a huge bite.

  “Use a plate!” Alice shouted, as if Carrie were two years old.

  There was a knock at the door, but Carrie barely registered it. She was wrapped up in the explosion of cinnamon fresh from the oven. The sweet, moist, yeasty roll was heaven, and she wondered if her eyes rolled back into her head as she moaned. In the background, she could hear voices, footsteps. She shoved another bite of the soft, warm, sweet bun into her mouth—and froze when a man she recognized from the night before strode in and stopped a few feet away, narrowing his eyes as he took her in. Her cheeks were puffed out from the last big bite, and she stared into the most amazing deep blue eyes she had ever seen. He watched her shrewdly, assessing. He was so tall—good God! He was well built, and he looked amazing in blue jeans and a navy dress shirt. His arms were solid, the kind a girl would love to lean into.

  She almost choked as she tried to swallow, taking the plate Alice shoved at her and setting the rest of her bun on it. Her stepmother’s expression was disapproving.

  “Good morning, Ben,” Alice said. “I hope you slept well and were warm enough. I know the cabins can be quite chilly this time of year, especially in the morning. We’ve got electricity in there, just haven’t added the electric heaters yet.”

  “Thank you, Alice. The cabin was great.” He extended a dashing smile to Alice, a million-dollar smile, just as Carrie had suspected. When his gaze landed back on Carrie, his smile faded. She swallowed the lump of bun. He was still watching her, and he didn’t say good morning. He didn’t say anything to her. What did she expect, after the welcome she had given him? She had tossed and turned with shame last night. Maybe that was why her cheeks were burning now.

  There were footsteps behind Ben as Jack Richardson, her father, stepped up beside him. She noticed then how his round face had begun to age. His expression was guarded as he took her in, his daughter, his only daughter. She wished for a moment that she could know what was going through his head.

  “What?” she finally said.

  Her father shook his head as if she’d gotten herself into trouble again. “Ben, this here is my daughter, Carrie. The one who was responsible for your welcome to our community yesterday.” Jack gestured to Carrie, stepping toward her.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said. He looked good today in his dark plaid shirt, with blue jeans and a belt under his expanding middle. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he just shook his head at her again.

  “Didn’t know you were coming by this morning, Carrie,” Jack said as he stepped back. He kissed Alice, who slid the still sizzling sausages onto a platter. “Smells good, Alice.”

  Alice smiled brightly at Jack before setting the frying pan in the sink and running the tap over it. “Ben, grab a plate and dig in. We’ll eat in the dining room. Sorry, we’re going to be informal this morning, if that’s all right. Carrie, you’re welcome to join us for breakfast.” Alice didn’t look over at Carrie as she poured coffee into another mug. “Ben, coffee?”

  “Please,” he said.

  She handed him a mug. “Cream and sugar’s right there. Help yourself.” She gestured to the flowered blue sugar and cream holders beside her.

  Carrie didn’t move, holding her plate stiffly. Ben didn’t hesitate to step up beside her and pour cream into his mug. He was so close she could feel his heat. Mr. Idaho Bachelor himself was standing there in her father’s kitchen. She figured he probably stared at his face in the mirror a couple dozen times a day, in love with himself. Yes, of course. He was a handsome, arrogant jerk. Maybe he expected her to just fall over and smile sweetly at him. Fat chance that would ever happen! He was probably a conceited prick, thinking he was entitled to everything he had.

  “Excuse me,” he said, jolting her from her thoughts. Her face burned again.

  “Yes, can I help you with something?” she snapped. She didn’t miss the hiss behind her from Alice.

  Ben just smiled. Of course he had a perfect set of teeth, probably all capped. Were those dimples, too? She wondered if she was staring. He lifted his finger to her face, and she thought he was going to touch her, so she pulled back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He reached behind her and held out a napkin. “You have some cinnamon on your face,” he said, and he winked as she snatched the napkin, mortified. Then he stepped away and started talking to Alice and her dad as if she didn’t exist. Alice rolled her eyes and shook her head at Carrie before giving all of her attention to Ben.

  Chapter Five

  He was sitting across from her at a solid oak dining table for twelve, which took up most of the space in the separate dining room. There were windows at each end so they could look out at the paradise around them. The view was spectacular, in a refreshing kind of way, completely opposite the pixie—which was what Ben had taken to calling Carrie, at least mentally.

  Her hair was so blond that it was almost white. He couldn’t tell how long it was, as she’d pinned it up in a messy bun, fastening it with one of those big clips. She had on a light blue sweater that hugged what curves she had, though she wasn’t stacked at all, not like the women he dated. In fact, she didn’t seem to have much going on there at all. She probably never bothered wearing a bra. She was thin, too, and short—but it was her eyes that stopped him. The unusual blue was almost cerulean. He wanted another look because he was sure one was lighter than the other. It could have been a trick of the light, though, as she kept flushing a brilliant red and then looking away. She was nervous around him, and he told himself he should take some enjoyment from her discomfort.

  Jack took a seat beside his daughter, setting his full plate down: scrambled eggs, sausages, a muffin, and a cinnamon bun. Alice set her plate down by Ben, and Ben wiped his mouth with his napkin as he stood and pulled her chair out for her.

  “Oh, thank you, Ben. Quite the gentleman, you are.”

  Ben helped her slide her chair in and then sat back down, taking in these folks. What a coincidence that Carrie happened to be Jack and Alice’s daughter. Ben was ninety-nine percent sure now that Jack had told Carrie he w
as coming. Whether he had been behind that greeting committee, as well, Ben didn’t know, but right now wasn’t the time or place to ask. Those were manners his mom had drilled into him: When you were a guest, you minded what you said. Not to say he was going to ignore what had happened. Hell, no! He planned on having a word with Jack after the meeting. Carrie…there was something about her that was trouble.

  “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Carrie said, setting her fork down with a clatter. She was feisty, he’d give her that. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “Carrie, mind your manners. Ben is a guest in our home,” Jack said in a low voice.

  “It’s all right, Jack. I’d rather she talk than to have something come flying at me from across the table,” Ben said.

  “What in heaven do you mean?” Alice asked, looking confused.

  Ben gestured with his fork to Carrie. “Well, your daughter gave me quite the welcome last night.”

  Alice groaned, and Jack shook his head. Ben wasn’t sure if the irritation was aimed at him or Carrie.

  “First, let’s get something straight,” Carrie said. “Alice isn’t my mother. She’s not responsible for what I did last night.”

  “Carrie!” Jack snapped.

  “I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t say that to hurt you,” Carrie said quickly. She glanced at Ben, and he wondered for a moment if she had said what she did for shock value.

  “Excuse me,” Alice muttered, scraping her chair back. Ben didn’t miss the hurt in her voice. Jack followed his wife into the kitchen.

  When he glanced back over at Carrie, she had fisted her hands and was looking down at her plate. Her lips were tight.

  “You want to take a walk?” he said. He tossed his napkin down, and, for a second, he couldn’t believe he had asked her that.

  He expected her to tell him to go to hell, but she seemed to consider something and then simply nodded, scooting her chair back. She lifted her dark blue coat off the hook, and Ben helped her slip it on. He lifted his leather jacket as he followed her out the door, listening to Jack talking softly to his wife in the kitchen. Whatever was going on here, it was none of Ben’s business. He should have politely excused himself to go back to his cabin and fine tune his presentation, but instead he found himself outside, in the cool morning air…with Carrie.

  Chapter Six

  Carrie wanted to take it back. As usual, she had opened her mouth and the words had just come flying out. Being twenty-two, she considered herself older and wiser, even though her father had told her that she still had a lifetime of learning to do. At times, she was her own worst enemy. Her father had told her that, too, and so had Alice. That much they did agree on. The fact was that Alice didn’t deserve the way Carrie had snapped so rudely that she wasn’t her mother. What was with her and this need to always set the record straight? She just hated lies and deceit—yet here she was, walking side by side with the enemy. How screwed up was that?

  “You’re probably wondering why I said that Alice isn’t my mother,” she began.

  He matched her steps, his hands shoved into both pockets of his dark brown coat. She could smell the rich leather, and his scent was intoxicating—even the hint of soap and water, the fragrance she recognized from the brand of soap Alice bought. She’d never had her senses stirred by a man’s scent before, and she found it unsettling. She had to swallow before she could glance his way.

  He was frowning, shaking his head. “No, I’m not,” he replied.

  “Oh, I just assumed…” Now she was flustered, feeling like such a fool.

  He stopped her by putting his hand on her shoulder. “Why?” he asked. He was so dynamic, nothing soft about him. His attention was on her like a hundred-watt bulb, and it was causing her to lose her train of thought. She couldn’t remember ever being this scattered.

  “Well, you asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. I just assumed you wanted to know. I’m sorry, I guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion,” she snapped.

  What could she say to make herself look less like an idiot?

  ****

  “I was thinking you could use some fresh air and that Alice and Jack could use some space. That’s all,” Ben said.

  In truth, that hadn’t been all, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He wanted to know why she was part of this protest, what was going through her mind right now, what made her tick, why she had such a volatile relationship with Alice and Jack. This wasn’t the picture-perfect family and closeness he had expected. He wanted to know her influence with the group of protesters—and whether she was single.

  Wait, where had that come from? She wasn’t even his type! Everything about her was the opposite of what he went for in a woman. He liked stacked, curvy, athletic women who could dazzle a man, bringing him to heel in a little black dress, with mile-long legs that could wrap around his waist. He wanted a tantalizing woman who could drive him wild in bed. Hell, Carrie was a foot shorter than he was! She was wearing sneakers and ratty blue jeans. She was even flat chested. A board had more curves than she did—though he did notice that she had a great ass. The way she moved, the sway of her hips as she walked ahead of him…well, he could have stared at her ass all day. There was something disturbing about her that he couldn’t put his finger on, though. She was troubled, he sensed that. She didn’t have a happy aura, so of course he wondered what drove her, what saddened her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Carrie said with a sigh. “Alice is a nice person, but she’s not my mother.”

  What was she getting at? She said it as if she needed to make a point. She needed to talk, she wanted to talk—maybe this was something she’d bottled up for so long that she had to get it out now.

  “Alice seems very nice,” Ben started. “I wouldn’t have known that she’s not your mother. She cares for you. Watching you two together this morning in the kitchen, it seemed you cared for her.”

  She seemed to flinch at his words, and he wondered what that was about. “Oh, she does, I’m sure of that. It’s just…” She stopped talking and bit her lower lip.

  He hated this. It felt like twenty questions, the games women played when they wanted him to act like he cared about something.

  “My mom died when I was sixteen, from breast cancer,” Carrie began. “Alice was her best friend.” She was staring up at him, and he could see a raw hurt burning in her eyes. She didn’t even try to hide it. They were just standing there, looking at each other. “Sorry,” she said. “Everyone’s told me to get over it and drop it. It’s ancient history, but…Mom hadn’t even been in the ground for a month when Dad married Alice.” She started walking again.

  Ben didn’t have a clue what to say to make it better. He didn’t know what to make of it, either. He wasn’t one to ever take sides, but he could see her point of view and how hurt she was. How much more was there to the story, though? He forced himself to push it from his mind. He wasn’t here in Kit Cove to solve this family’s problems. He had a community to win over.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how I’d feel in your shoes. Was your mom sick a while?” he asked, flinching immediately. Why, why was he still talking about this? He needed to get back to his cabin, go over his presentation, and get away from this woman, who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had spit on him!

  She shrugged and wouldn’t look at him. “Four years. She was in and out of remission. Alice was always here, helping.”

  “I see.”

  She snapped her gaze to him. Her eyes were suddenly flashing with the same anger he’d seen last night.

  “Whoa, stop right there!” he said, reaching for her arm. “Don’t even think about spitting on me again.”

  She flushed and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” She was squeezing her fists, fighting something. “There was no excuse for last night. I’m sorry, really. I don’t go around doing that, but I was so angry, and sometimes I just say and do things before I’ve had a chance to think about it. Dad’s always told me I don’t
think before I act, and my temper is going to get me in a world of trouble.”

  “So your dad told you I was coming, and you arranged that welcoming party for me?”

  She stopped walking again and slowly looked up at him with an odd expression. “My dad didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said. “I had no idea he even knew anything about you until he drove up in his truck, and then I had to learn you were staying here. I suspect he’s going to give me an earful for the way I acted.” She looked away again, shrugging and starting to walk.

  That wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought for sure that Jack had told his daughter, and Ben wasn’t often wrong. “How did you find out I was coming, if your dad didn’t tell you?”

  She started to say something and then stopped. He could see the moment she realized that she may have said too much, because she firmed her lips and started to back away, pulling her keys from her pocket. “I’ll see you at your presentation this afternoon,” she said. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to say to convince any of us that this project isn’t the worst thing for this community. Just know we can’t be bought, and we’re smart enough to know when someone is bullshitting us. Oilman--you’re not welcome here.”

  That was that. The change in her was confusing, from confiding a painful past to telling him to drop dead and get lost. All he could do was watch as she stormed to her car, climbed in, and slammed the door before pulling away and leaving a trail of dust as she sped up the driveway. Ben should have been happy that she was gone. She was a pain in the ass, and she had issues—major, dramatic issues. He could see the writing on the wall, and he wanted to kick his own ass, because he was counting the minutes until he could see her again…even though they would be on opposite sides, front and center, at the town meeting.