by Mary Campisi
The man really did need to learn the difference between a truth and a….nontruth. While Gina had never been one to read people or relationships, she’d bet her new rototiller that was the reason Ben Reed had clung to her during the dance at the wedding. Payback. A man like that would be able to read a woman’s body language and he’d know she’d rather throw up than have him touch her—which was exactly why he pulled her against him, planted his hand at the small of her back, trailed his breath along her neck. And what he’d done when the music ended—the kiss—had reeked of payback. Only it hadn’t tasted like payback for the four seconds (or had it been six?) when Ben Reed’s lips moved over hers, firm and persuasive, coaxing her mouth open, eliciting a sigh from her that sounded an awful lot like desire, even to an unskilled woman like herself.
Remembering his boldness made her all jittery, and if she could relive that dance, she’d have kicked him in the knee, stomped on his foot, and made her escape. But he’d caught her off guard and she’d had no time to prepare. With a swarm of females after him, why would she think he’d zero in on her? Had she been part of a bet from her cousin, Gino? Kiss Gina and win a six-pack? Or maybe Pop Benito had offered a tray of pizzelles if the man could coax a dance from her? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t a good one and she’d been relieved the next morning to hear he was gone.
She’d hoped that meant gone for good. As in permanently. Months had passed and there’d only been the occasional mention of his name, usually associated with danger. Ben was involved in a drug bust. Ben foiled a robbery attempt. Ben chased a car down the highway at 90 miles an hour. Ben tackled a guy who had a gun aimed at his girlfriend…Did the man do anything that didn’t involve an adrenaline rush and danger? Like normal people in a normal life?
“Gina? So what about Ben? Don’t you think he’s cute?”
Cute? She tightened the clamp on the flower press, avoiding Lily’s curious gaze. There was nothing cute about the man. The muscles, the eyes, the look he gave women? No, that would not be cute. Dangerous, that’s what it was and that’s what he was, too.
“I think he’s reckless, Lily, and I think he likes danger.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose and considered this. “But don’t you think he’s cute?”
This was where Lily Desantro was the dangerous one. She saw inside people to the places that made them uncomfortable and asked questions that made people’s heads and hearts ache. The only protection from Lily’s inquisitiveness was to sidestep the questions and try to distract her. The tactic wouldn’t last long and might not work at all, but at least it would give Gina time to formulate an answer, even if it were bloated and noncommittal.
Gina leaned forward, met Lily’s gaze, and said in a quiet voice, “I think you think he’s cute.” When the child blushed, Gina smiled. “You do, don’t you?”
“Kinda.” Lily giggled. “He’s like a hero in a movie. You know, big and strong and not afraid of anything. He breaks down doors to save the girl.” She slid a smile Gina’s way and added, “And you can be the girl.”
***
When strangers rolled into a place like Magdalena, people noticed. The different license plates were giveaways but a person could ride a bicycle into town and be labeled a stranger. Most of the residents were familiar with one another through church, work, marriage, or blood. Those who weren’t related by blood or bond were still recognizable by the very fact that they were what some called “antisocial”. Take the owner of Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast on the edge of town. Word had it he hadn’t housed a guest in over three years, not since the night a raccoon ran through the guest’s bedroom and hopped out the window. That was bad enough, but the sight of Rusty in his long johns, firing a shotgun and a string of cuss words at the departing animal, was too much for the out-of-towners. They packed up and left that night—in their pajamas!
There was no socializing or civilizing with Rusty Clemens, a bearded former logger who had yet to connect with soap and running water on a daily basis. Even so, the town accepted him as a bit off but still one of theirs. That belonging bred tolerance and loyalty. Now a stranger, no matter how appealing, was another animal altogether and one to be closely studied. When Ben Reed drove into Magdalena in his fancy black sports car and impressive police credentials, the young women stared a second too long, their breath hitched, eyes bright. The rest of town, the ones not affected by flashy cars and handsome men, considered the story behind the man’s sudden arrival a bit suspicious. Was the tale that he was tired of city life and longed for a small-town place fact or fiction? Time would indeed tell.
Mimi Pendergrass had more than a question or two on the subject but she preferred to observe the man and draw her own conclusions. And she’d have plenty of time to observe seeing as he’d taken a room at Heart Sent. Indefinite, is what he’d told her when she’d asked him his plans. That could mean anything from None of your business to I’m making Magdalena my home. One thing was quite clear: Ben Reed did not plan to expand on that statement. Well, that was fine because she’d never let a closed door stop her from entering before. Ben Reed was the kind of policeman this town needed: experienced, capable, determined, the perfect role model for the junior officers, namely Jeremy Dean, Rudy’s son. After Will Carrick and Cash Casherdon vouched for Ben, Mimi did her own bit of persuading and talked Rudy into offering him the sergeant job while Bud Zeller recovered.
“Miss Pendergrass?” Ben Reed stood at the entrance of Heart Sent, a duffle in one hand and a small suitcase in the other. “Nice to see you again.”
Oh, but he reminded her of her son, Paul. The chestnut hair, the blue eyes, the ready smile. The air of recklessness, the latter gleaned from the stories she’d heard of his professional and personal life. Again, like Paul. She mourned the boy still, even though he’d been dead longer than he’d been alive. Friends had tried to comfort her and cursed Elderberry Road, saying if it had been widened as the town had requested years ago, the accident might have been prevented. But Mimi knew the sad truth. There would have been another Elderberry Road, or if not that, some equally dangerous situation and Paul would have been right in the middle of it.
“Welcome, my boy.” Mimi rushed toward him, arms outstretched, ball earrings jingling with each step. He dropped his bags and she pulled him into a big hug, then stepped back and gazed up at him. He was a good foot taller than she was, maybe more, with broad arms, a thick neck, and the bluest eyes. Like Paul’s. “So, tell me, how was the trip?”
A smile slid across his tanned face. “Great. Perfect day.” He glanced outside. “Hard to believe I’m here.”
Had she detected a hint of sarcasm? Hmm. “I do find it a bit odd you’ve chosen our town when I’m sure you could have gone anywhere.” She pinned him with the no-nonsense stare that had gotten her pegged as a woman who meant business; perfect for her mayoral campaign.
The smile faltered for a split second, then spread. “My old partner’s here and according to Cash, there’s no place like Magdalena.”
Mimi grinned and waved a hand. “Shoo, those are the words of a boy in love. He could be living in a 2x2 pen and have the same sentiments.”
That made him laugh. “True.”
“So, have you come for friendship,” she paused, “or are you looking for something a little deeper, like love?”
Ben Reed coughed. Cleared his throat. “I think I’ll settle for the friendship.”
“Of course, you will, but you never know what might be waiting for you around the corner. It’s not every day a fine young man comes waltzing into town with a face like yours and a smile to boot.” She tsk-tsked and grabbed his suitcase. “Follow me and I’ll show you your room. You’re the only guest at the moment, so you’ll get the primo package.”
“That’s not necessary, Miss—”
“Mimi. Name’s Mimi. And of course it’s necessary. Didn’t Cash tell you my great-great-grandfather and grandmother were founding members of this town and I’m the mayor?” She toted the bag to the top of
the steps and turned right, stopping when she’d reached the second door. Two bags did not sound like an indefinite stay. Hmm.
“He did say you were the mayor and the head of some garden club.”
Mimi threw him a look and fitted the key in the lock. “It’s not a garden club, young man. It’s called The Bleeding Hearts Society, and we do a whole lot more than grow plants and fix landscaping issues. We mend hearts, listen to problems, help with relationships. We’re about being there for people, lending a hand, and hope.” She stepped inside the room and flicked on the light. “It’s a privilege to belong and I’m honored to be the head of it.” She set the suitcase next to the bed and fluffed one of the pillows. “Maybe it’s karma that laid Bud out and created a spot in the police department. Heaven knows, Rudy could use a man like you. Just be patient with him; if you can look past the gruffness, you’ll see a decent man.”
“Huh. Cash didn’t mention those requirements.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get along fine. Now don’t go thinking we’re a rowdy town, but we have our moments. If Skeet Gunther tips one too many at O’Reilly’s and creates a ruckus, you’ll get a call and he’ll get a personal escort home. And Sissy Maystock will no doubt visit you at least once a week with one complaint or another.” She laughed and shook her head. “She’s got a thing for a man in a uniform. At seventy-four, I don’t know what to tell you. Of course, you’ll have the occasional dumped garbage can and graffiti-marked window. You’ll be able to track down the scoundrels before dinner if you talk to the neighbors.” She picked up the afghan from the foot of the bed and refolded it. “In this town, someone’s always seen something. It’s just a matter of asking the right questions, and most times, you don’t even have to ask. They’ll offer up the information.”
Ben Reed cleared his throat. “Miss Pendergrass, I mean, Mimi, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He met her gaze, his blue eyes filled with what looked an awful lot like dread. “Are there any real threats in Magdalena? Robberies? Assaults?” A faint pink crept up his neck, spread to his cheeks. “You know. Something more substantial, like real police work?”
***
What the hell had he gotten himself into? Ben tucked in his shirt and fastened his belt. In less than a half hour, he’d find his way to Bree and Brody Kinkaid’s for the welcome cookout they’d planned for him. Cash and Tess would be there, and Nate Desantro and his wife. What about Gina Servetti? Just thinking about another encounter with that woman and her opinions pinged his right temple with the beginnings of a headache.
He’d been in Magdalena less than two days and already people were descending upon him with questions and looks that suggested they found him more intriguing than a whodunit movie. Maybe he should have rethought his decision to come here and wait out his “sentence” so he could return to Philly. Of course, that jerk assistant DA boyfriend of Melissa’s hadn’t offered a return date. He’d wanted Ben’s departure to be permanent. To hell with that. No man, no matter what his threats, was going to keep Ben from the city he loved, and certainly not from the woman he loved. Actually, he’d almost ignored the man’s damn ultimatum, but something in Melissa’s eyes told him her boyfriend would make good on his threat to destroy him. People in power could do that.
So here he was, staying at the Heart Sent bed and breakfast, owned and operated by Mimi Pendergrass, businesswoman, mayor, straight shooter. She reminded him of his grandmother in her younger days: strong, dependable, trustworthy. Everybody needed someone like that in his life and he’d needed Naomi Reed. She’d be disappointed with him right now. If she were still alive, she’d have a thing or two to say about his current situation. Benjamin, she’d say, you have so much goodness in you, why can’t you let it out? Let people see what’s inside, instead of that rough-and-tumble boy you pretend to be. And then, Trust is the key. And if you can’t learn to trust, you’ll end up all alone.
Naomi always thought he was better than he really was, but he guessed that’s because she loved him and believed in him more than he believed in himself. She had a point about the trust, though, and he’d finally understood it, even though it hadn’t come until after the divorce. But understanding and implementing were not the same, at least not for him. Cash and Tess had that kind of trust and he was glad for them. That was one of the reasons he’d declined Cash’s offer to stay with them a few weeks until he found a place to rent. He might not know a lot about relationships, but a relative of an ex-girlfriend wasn’t usually a welcome houseguest. And then there was the other reason. He could only pretend to want to be in this backward town so many hours a day.
It was time to head to the Kinkaids and act as if life couldn’t be better than settling into a place with backyard barbecues, country roads, and town halls. He wished he had his Harley, but he couldn’t put a hitch on the back of a sports car and once winter set in, he’d have to deal with storing it. Besides, this was a short-term stay. The less he brought with him, the better. Ben grabbed the bottle of wine he’d purchased at Sal’s Market, turned out the light, and closed the door.
When he pulled into Brody and Bree Kinkaid’s driveway a short while later and spotted the tricycle, softball bats, jump ropes, and bucket of chalk strewn about the front lawn of the old farmhouse, he seriously questioned the wisdom of accepting an invitation to a kid-friendly event. What did he know about kids other than they’d trapped more than one man and sucked the life out of too many women? Christine Desantro was an exception and he’d guess Bree Kinkaid might be one, too.
But when Bree opened the front door, Ben had to revise his earlier assumption about his host. When he’d seen her at Cash’s wedding, she’d been a beautiful, pregnant strawberry blond with a wide smile and a golden tan. This Bree Kinkaid was thin, sunburned, and looked like she needed three weeks of sleep.
“Bree.” He grinned and held out the bottle of wine. “You look wonderful.” Maybe the compliment would help her feel wonderful.
Her lips twisted into a sad smile and she hugged him. “Thank you, Ben. You’re a sweetheart.” She pulled away and took his hand. “Come on; everyone is out back.” He followed her through a maze that might have once been a dining room but now served as a giant laundry bin with piles of bright-colored clothes stacked on a long oak table. This room led to the kitchen that boasted another long table, white with a highchair in the corner and a deacon’s bench against the wall. Two bowls rested on the floor beneath a mat stamped with black paw prints that read chow time.
Ben blinked to adjust his eyes to stacks of paper products on the counter, dishes in the drain board and sink, some dirty, some not, drawings and reminders plastered on the white fridge, a flip-top garbage can stuck in the open position by a cereal box. And shoes. Lots of shoes: sneakers, flip-flops, boots, big, small, red, brown, polka-dot, heaped in a corner and spilling over each other.
Bree caught him staring at the shoe pile and managed a small laugh. “I threatened to make them all go barefoot if they didn’t straighten up their clutter.” She nodded toward the shoes. “They found every last one and I do not even want to tell you who the worst offender was.” She paused and offered up her husband’s name. “It was Brody.”
Cash once told him the guy had more muscles than brains. Maybe he could have used some of those muscles to do a dish or two. Ben smiled at Bree and shrugged. “Never would have guessed.”
***
Gina spotted Ben Reed the second he walked onto the deck. He looked pretty much the same as he did the last time she saw him, with the exception of his tux, which he’d swapped out for jeans and a T-shirt. Still too good-looking, still too self-assured. His deep laughter spilled from the deck to the circle of chairs near the fire pit where Gina sat with Tess and Christine. She’d considered turning down the invitation to tonight’s cookout with a made-up excuse, but when Bree called to invite her, she’d sounded almost happy, a word that hadn’t been associated with her in months. Besides, there was something Gina needed to
talk to Ben Reed about and the sooner, the better.
“Poor Ben,” Tess murmured as he approached them with a wide smile and wave of his large hand. “By tomorrow morning, he’ll have every available female in this town hunting him.”
Christine laughed. “Oh, I think the man can handle himself.”
Gina frowned. “I think he’s the one who will be doing the hunting.”
“Hi, ladies.” Ben Reed’s blue gaze scanned the circle, easing from Tess to Christine and settling on Gina. The gaze narrowed, sparked, and smoothed. “How’s my dancing partner?”
Gina’s frown morphed into a scowl. “Hello, Ben. Still insinuating yourself on unsuspecting victims?”
That comment actually made him laugh. “Victim? That’s not usually a term women use when they’re talking about me.” He scratched his jaw, crossed his big arms over his chest, and studied her. “Are you referring to yourself? If so, I’m not remembering you looking or sounding like a victim. Now, granted I’d had a drink or two, but I do recall the dance and then there was the after.” His eyes narrowed, held her. “Is that what you mean? The after part?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, waiting until her breathing evened and she could control her voice. Oh, but Tess and Christine would have a million questions about that comment. She could hear them now. What exactly did he mean by that comment? What happened? Tell us. “Actually, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her forced smile turned real when she spotted a split second of confusion flash across that handsome face. Gina stood and nodded at Tess and Christine who made no attempt to hide their curiosity. “If you’ll excuse us? This won’t take long.” She turned to Ben and said, “We can head to the kitchen and cut up the watermelon while we talk. The kids like wedges.”
