Sweet Surprises

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Funny, because saying yes to our first date was my biggest mistake.”

  “Come on, babe. Don’t be that way.”

  “Do. Not. Call. Me. Babe.” The sun was bright and high. She could feel it on the crown of her head and on her nape, but she was cold with rage.

  “That’s what you are to me. Remember how good we were together?”

  “What I remember is what an asshole you were for cheating on me, emptying our bank account and my business account. What I remember is—”

  “Let me,” River growled, snatching the phone from her hand.

  “Hey!” she protested, but River turned away, pressed the phone to his ear.

  “Dan? Brenna’s done with you, so how about you hang up and call your business partner? Jeff is a lot more interested in hearing what you have to say.” He ended the call, handed the phone back.

  “What the hell was that?” Brenna demanded.

  “Me. Getting rid of a nuisance.”

  “I know how to handle myself.” She shoved the phone back in her purse, every cell in her body humming with anger.

  “I hope you also know you need to call the police and give them the loser’s number.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I don’t think I said you were.”

  “Well, you’re sure as hell acting like I am.” She stalked back to the cabin, knowing she was being unreasonable, knowing the way she felt wasn’t River’s fault.

  It was Dan’s.

  Hers.

  She hated failing. Hated it, but she’d failed at what should have been as simple as breathing. Her parents had had a great relationship. Her grandparents, too. She’d seen what love should be and she’d known that wasn’t what she’d had with Dan.

  But she’d stuck things out with him because it had been comfortable and easy, and because she hadn’t wanted her mother and sisters and grandfather to think the Lamont who’d traveled the farthest, seen the most, couldn’t find a man who could really, truly love her.

  There it was.

  The crux of the issue: she’d been so busy trying to fulfill other people’s expectations, she hadn’t fulfilled her own.

  Whatever they were.

  She rounded the cabin, her feet wet and muddy, the pretty dress she’d chosen for church suddenly seeming lank and lifeless.

  God, she was a mess.

  Which only pissed her off more, because she’d come to Benevolence to help Byron, but she’d also come to figure things out, to find the path she needed to take so she could damn well take it.

  She opened the door of the Chrysler, slid into the seat, and waited while River locked the cabin door.

  A few seconds later, he climbed in beside her.

  He didn’t say a word.

  She didn’t either.

  They’d planned to go to the ranch and do some work, but she wasn’t sure that was in the cards anymore. It would probably be better if she just dropped him off and went to the store herself. She’d come a long way in her candy-making abilities. Eventually, she’d conquer the Lamont family fudge. In the meantime, she could just muddle through alone.

  Except she didn’t want to.

  She was getting used to having River around. She was getting used to his smile, his voice, his hand on her back or her arm or her thigh.

  She wanted more of that, more of the little nuances that were part of being a couple.

  The silence between them stretched out, became its own thing, big and daunting.

  She wanted to break it, but she didn’t know what to say.

  By the time she stopped in front of Belinda’s house, she knew she’d blown it.

  River climbed out and didn’t even glance her way.

  She thought he’d walk into the house and leave her sitting there in the car, wondering if she should drive away or stay.

  He rounded the Chrysler, opened her door.

  When he offered his hand, she took it, allowed herself to be pulled out of the car. Her cut fingers hurt, each slow, hard beat of her heart echoed by that throbbing pain.

  She needed to call Jeff.

  She needed to call the police.

  She needed to do a lot of things, but none of them seemed quite as important as telling River she was sorry.

  She stopped as they reached the door. “River—”

  “It’s okay, Brenna,” he said, the words as cool as the breeze that wafted under the porch eaves. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Figure what out?” she asked, but the front door flew open and a dark-haired man with a receding hairline peered out at them.

  “River? That you, River?” the guy said, his blue eyes wide behind big round glasses.

  “Yeah. It’s me, Joe,” River responded kindly. “How did you like church today?”

  “I always like church, River. I always do. We’re going to paint. Are we going to paint? Belinda said we’re going to paint?” Joe said.

  River patted his shoulder and smiled.

  “We’re going to choose paint. You can help, but we’re not painting today.”

  “Tomorrow? I can help tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be home tomorrow.”

  Joe’s face fell. “I’m not home?”

  “Of course you are. Sorry, buddy. I wasn’t thinking. Let’s go inside and look at the paint colors.” He steered Joe back inside, and Brenna was left to follow.

  She walked into the foyer, nearly bumping into a ladder that stood against the wall. Mack was perched on top of it, removing the chandelier that had hung there for as long as Brenna had been around. Pretty little plastic raindrops falling from swirling metal arms, that’s what it looked like, but as he lifted it, she could hear a soft musical chime.

  Crystal and brass?

  At the end of the hall, Huckleberry was on his knees patching a hole in the floor with some kind of wood putty. Belinda, River, and Joe were a few feet away, eyeing paint that had been dabbed onto the wall. Creamy beige. Butter yellow. Pale gray. Soft blue.

  “What do you think?” River asked as she approached.

  What she thought was that he looked like a hero, his hand still on Joe’s shoulder, his hair ruffled by the breeze.

  “Gray,” she said. “And all the trim crisp white. You can go darker in the living room and parlor and use that yellow for the kitchen.”

  “That sounds lovely, dear,” Belinda said, beaming as if Brenna had just cured cancer or found the answer to world peace. “I’m so excited to have the place updated again. River is so sweet to do all this before he goes home.”

  “Goes home?” she repeated, meeting River’s eyes.

  Apparently, he still hadn’t shared his plans with Belinda.

  “I’ll be out of this chair in no time.” Belinda patted the arm of her wheelchair. “And then I’ll be back to cleaning and cooking and keeping my little family happy and healthy. River will be free to head back to his restaurants. He’s already been away for too long. Thanks to me.”

  “Belinda, I’m here because I want to be,” River said gently. “The restaurants can function just fine without me in Portland.”

  “So you say, but if you lose everything you’ve worked so hard for, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “What does he have to lose?” Angel said, strutting into the room, an ice cream cone in one hand and a book in the other. “A couple of restaurants that will probably be six feet under in another couple of years anyway?”

  “Angel!” Belinda frowned. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth. Most restaurants don’t survive. Especially when they’re run by people who don’t know what they’re doing.”

  River’s jaw tightened, his gaze moving from the ice cream to the book and then to Angel’s belly.

  Her shirt was too small and it rode up just enough to reveal a hint of a tattoo and a few stretch marks.

  Maybe the sight of them curbed River’s tongue.

  “Did you put that crib together?” was all he said.


  “Not yet. Sunday is my only day off and I wanted to relax for a while.”

  “If the baby comes tomorrow, are you going to be happy that you relaxed today?”

  She scowled. “The truth is, I tried to put it together. I failed. It’s a lot more complicated than it looks.”

  “You should have asked for help,” Huckleberry said, finally getting to his feet. He looked young and very tired, his thin, freckled face pale, his eyes shadowed. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “You need to finish patching the floor,” River said. “I’ve got a company coming out tomorrow to refinish it, and I want to make sure the patches are dry before then.”

  “I’ll do it later, then,” Huckleberry muttered, and Angel scowled.

  “Does everyone in this house always do what the as . . .” Her voice trailed off, her gaze darting to Belinda. “Does everyone have to do what River says? Is there some reason why we’ve all lost our backbones?”

  “Teamwork is more important than individual glory,” Mack intoned as he descended the ladder, the chandelier in his hands. “Why don’t you come help me clean this, Angel? And then I’ll help with the crib?”

  “Fine. Whatever.” She stalked away.

  Brenna thought River muttered something under his breath as she left, but he’d turned away, was jotting notes on a piece of paper, so she couldn’t be sure.

  She would have joined him, maybe said something about the paint or the project or, even, Angel, but he glanced over his shoulder, met her eyes.

  There wasn’t a bit of warmth in his gaze, not a hint of amusement or passion or any of the other things Brenna had gotten used to seeing.

  “Belinda has a bunch of stuff in the attic,” he said, his voice as cool as his gaze. “She said we could use some of it to redecorate. Would you mind going up and taking a look? Maybe making a list of things that can be used so I have an idea of what I still need to budget for?”

  She didn’t mind.

  Of course she didn’t.

  “No problem,” she said, the words all hot and watery and horrible, because what she wanted to do was look deep in River’s eyes and tell him that she hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing until she met him.

  A stupid thing to say after the way she’d acted at the cabin. Even stupider with so many people standing in the hall. The thoughts were private ones, not to be shared with a bunch of people she barely knew.

  That was the excuse she gave herself, and then she took the notebook and pen River was offering and walked upstairs without saying a word.

  * * *

  Somehow, River managed to get through six hours without saying one more word to Brenna about her asshole of an ex. He figured he deserved some sort of prize for that, but because no one was handing him one, he settled for a couple of chocolate-covered pretzels he’d snagged from the display case at Chocolate Haven.

  They were good, the pretzels crisp and salty, the chocolate rich and sweet. What would have been better was sticking around Chocolate Haven for a while longer, helping Brenna with the rest of the prep for the next day, and saying exactly what he wanted to: Your ex is a jackass; he was never good enough for you. Don’t be sorry he’s gone; be damn thankful he is.

  Discretion is the better part of valor.

  Another Dillard saying, and probably a smart one to live by, but River wasn’t any better at biting his tongue than he was at waiting. So, once he’d finished making a couple batches of cherry cordials, a vat of caramel corn, and a few pounds of English toffee, he’d decided it was better to say good night.

  And that’s exactly what he’d done.

  Now he was driving through town, thinking about that kiss, the way Brenna had felt in his arms, and the phone call that had ruined it all. The way he saw things, Dan must be an idiot. He was wanted by the police, his partner was desperately trying to track him down, and if he was caught, he’d be tossed in jail.

  So, why a phone call that could put him back on the radar and get his location discovered?

  Not love. A guy didn’t run off with everything a woman had worked for and then claim he loved her. Money seemed the more likely motivator. Dan had probably blown every bit of his cash and had decided the best way to recoup the loss was to find someone willing to work to fill his bank account.

  It wasn’t going to be Brenna.

  That much was for damn sure.

  She was too smart to fall for it.

  Apparently, Dan was too stupid to know that.

  River would have been more than happy to fill him in. As a matter of fact, if he ever met the guy face-to-face, he’d make sure to teach the guy a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

  “Asshole,” he muttered as he passed the diner, the five and dime, the library.

  If he let himself, he could picture Brenna as a child, walking down the sidewalk with her wagon full of books, her red hair glowing in the sunlight.

  Then she’d been an oddity, a quirky-looking kid who’d caught his eye because she was different.

  She was still different, but that wasn’t the reason he wanted to study her face, her hands, the color of her eyes and of her hair. She was the reason. Just Brenna, and he didn’t think there needed to be an explanation, didn’t think he needed to have a reason.

  He passed the sheriff’s department. There were lights on in the lobby, two squad cars in the parking lot. He was tempted to stop to see if Kane was there, maybe make a few subtle hints that the sheriff should pay Brenna a visit to ask about her ex.

  He didn’t.

  He couldn’t betray Brenna’s trust that way.

  No matter how tempted he was.

  He sped out of town, taking a back road that meandered along the river. He’d forgotten how beautiful it was there, the fading sunlight glittering on the surface of the water. If he had more time, he’d stop, find a spot to sit on the shore and just listen to what the silence would say.

  Dillard had taught him that: how to be still and to wait. It had served River well in life. Every time he had difficult decisions to make, every time he was struggling to know in which direction to go, he’d find a quiet spot and wait for his answer. Sometimes he got it quickly. Sometimes he had to repeat the process over and over again. Eventually, though, he always found the answers he was looking for.

  Behind him, strobe lights flashed and a squad car moved up in back of him. He glanced at his speedometer. Twenty miles an hour over the speed limit.

  “Shit,” he muttered, pulling into the breakdown lane and stopping. He could see the officer in his rearview mirror, calling something in on his radio and then getting out of the car. Seconds later, Jax Gordon was peering in through the window.

  “In a hurry?” he asked, his voice muffled by the glass.

  River unrolled it. “Apparently.”

  “You do know you were going twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, right?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Jax laughed. “Sorry, man. I’d have let you go if you were only ten above, but twenty . . . that’s pushing it. Especially when you’re within the town limits. Lots of kids are still out this time of evening. I’d hate for one of them to get hit because I didn’t pull over a speeding car.”

  “I’d hate to be the one to hit them, but I am out of the town limits,” he pointed out.

  “You weren’t when I clocked you at sixty-five. You were passing the station and I just happened to be getting in my car when you sped by.”

  “I guess it’s my lucky day.”

  “It sure is mine. This is the most excitement I’ve had since that brick was tossed through Chocolate Haven’s window.”

  “Any news on that?”

  “You mean suspects? No. We’ve spoken to a couple of people. They all have alibis. We sent the brick to the county crime lab, but they couldn’t find anything. They’re keeping it to do a handwriting comparison, but until they have something to compare it to, that’s not doing them a whole lot of good.”

  “Did you c
all her ex?” That was it. Just the question and nothing about the fact that the guy had just called Brenna.

  River deserved another award.

  He had a feeling it was going to be a citation.

  “We haven’t tracked him down yet, but we talked to his partner. The surgeon is mad as hell and he doesn’t care who knows it.”

  “At Brenna?”

  “No. He says she’s the best thing that ever happened to her fiancé, and he can’t believe the guy skipped town on her. He’s mad at the ex. Said the guy almost caused his business to go under.”

  “Almost isn’t the same as it actually happening.”

  “In his mind it is.”

  “Maybe, in his mind, throwing a brick through a window to let Brenna know he’s watching her is a perfectly acceptable thing to do.”

  “Could be, but the guy has an airtight alibi. He was in surgery the day the incident occurred.”

  “It’s easy enough to hire someone.”

  “To do what? It’s not like Brenna was hurt, and it’s not like she was all that scared. If you want to know my opinion, it was a teenage prank.” He used his pen to push his uniform hat up farther on his head.

  “Who? Angel?” A couple of days ago, he would have been convinced she was the vandal. Now, he felt the urge to jump to her defense. “She’s nearly nine months pregnant.”

  “She wouldn’t be the first pregnant woman to commit a crime. But she said she was at home, sleeping in her room. No one at Freedom Ranch is willing to say differently.”

  “Any other suspects?”

  “Mack, but he was helping a neighbor plow.” Jax shrugged. “We’ve run into a wall. Unless the person commits another crime, we probably won’t catch him.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Depends on the motivation. The sheriff thinks the perp was just trying to upset Brenna. Not scare her. If that’s the case, the brick might be the end of things. If the perp was trying to scare her, though, I doubt it will end with this.”

  “That’s not very comforting.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s the truth.” A call came in over his radio and Jax listened, then frowned. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a warning this time. If I catch you speeding again, it’s going to cost you two hundred bucks. Drive safely, man.”