“What did his housemother say?” Brenna asked, biting back impatience. She wasn’t sure why Angel had come to her with the problem, but she had to get as much information as possible if she were going to help.
“He wasn’t on the bus last night. I guess he told the driver he was staying another night.”
“And the driver decided not to check to see if that was okay?”
“That’s what I asked!” she replied, her voice breaking. “The housemother said that isn’t the driver’s responsibility. Joe knows what he’s supposed to do. She almost didn’t call to check on him, but it’s so unusual for him not to return, she thought she’d better.”
“Too bad she waited all night,” Brenna muttered.
“I said that, too,” Angel said, and then she burst into tears.
* * *
River was back at the cabin.
Just sitting on the porch and staring at the river, because Huckleberry had somehow managed to dump an entire gallon of paint on the floor that was supposed to be refinished that day. Now it wasn’t being refinished. It was being cleaned. Every speck of dove gray paint wiped up. The floor guys had agreed to come the following day, but River’s carefully planned schedule had been wrecked by a kid with a thing for finding trouble.
Just like you, he thought he heard Dillard laugh from somewhere inside the cabin.
Yeah.
Probably.
And at least Belinda had already been at therapy when it happened. She hadn’t heard Huckleberry’s loud cursing, Mack’s muttered response, or River’s . . .
Well, he hadn’t blown a gasket. He could at least say that. He had asked the teen what the hell he’d been thinking, opening a gallon of paint they weren’t ready to use.
To his credit, Huckleberry had a reason. He’d wanted to paint the hall foyer and hall before the floor was refinished. That way if he dripped paint or scraped the ladder on the floor, it wouldn’t matter so much.
Yeah.
Well, he’d dripped the entire gallon of paint, but River had done worse in his life, so he’d told Huckleberry to clean it up and get started on the walls, and then he’d left the house.
He needed some air and a little bit of time to clear his head.
By the time he’d reached the cabin, he’d calmed down enough to be reasonable.
So what if the floors wouldn’t be done until the next day? By the time Belinda returned from therapy, the walls and foyer would be soft dove gray, the trim bright white. She’d love it, and what she loved, everyone else loved.
That was one of the things River was learning.
Everyone at the ranch wanted the best for Belinda. Even Angel, who’d stomped out of the house that morning with a muttered promise to make her apology and offer of restitution to Brenna. She loved Belinda. It had taken River a while to see that, but now that he did, he couldn’t unsee it.
It changed things for him. Made him want to be better at . . . what? Being a mentor? A friend? A father figure?
He was almost old enough to be Huckleberry’s father.
Not that the kid was looking for that.
A breeze rustled the pine boughs and sent leaves skittering across the path that led to the river. Something skittered along with them. A piece of paper? A 3 x 5 card?
He watched it for a moment, tracking its course as it skipped across rocky earth.
An old recipe card?
That’s what it looked like.
Maybe one that had fallen out of Brenna’s purse when she’d grabbed her phone the previous day? She always seemed to be reading recipes, hanging them on the wall of the shop, tucking them into her pocket or into her purse.
He hadn’t noticed one falling to the ground, but then, he’d been too busy watching Brenna’s face to notice anything else.
He walked down the porch steps and grabbed the card before it could be blown farther away.
Yep. Definitely a recipe for . . .
Forever Kisses?
He almost laughed.
Then he read the ingredients. Read them again. Thought about the things Brenna had said about love and romance. He’d heard longing in her voice, and he’d known she’d never be the kind of woman who’d be satisfied with less than everything a man had to give. She’d never be satisfied giving less than everything of herself either. She wanted all of it: the commitment, the passion, the good, the bad. She’d be the kind of partner who stuck it out. No matter what.
Yeah. She’d want forever. And then some.
He flipped the card, looking for a date or a name. Nothing. The recipe looked old, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy, and laminated so the words didn’t smudge. He could imagine Brenna finding it in one of the old recipe books he’d seen in the shop. She’d have been smitten by it, that romantic soul of hers longing to have exactly what the recipe offered.
His phone rang as he tucked the card into his pocket, and he glanced at the number on the screen. It wasn’t familiar, but he figured it had to be something to do with Angel or Huckleberry or even Mack.
“Hello?”
“River? It’s Brenna.”
“Need some help at the shop?” he asked, because he hadn’t gone that morning. He’d wanted to give her what she seemed to need: time and space.
Besides, he couldn’t guarantee he’d stay away from her if he helped out in the shop. He couldn’t promise himself that he wouldn’t taste her lips, touch her soft skin again. Until she decided exactly what she wanted from their relationship, he had no intention of doing either of those things.
“No, but I need you to come down here. Angel stopped by. She says Joe is missing.”
“Joe?” He headed around the side of the cabin, jogged toward the road. “He went back to the group home last night.”
“He was supposed to. He didn’t. His housemother called the ranch this morning. Just to make sure he was still there.”
“And Angel is just now informing someone of this?” He eyed the river, the country road, the thick forest that edged the property. A guy like Joe could find himself in all kinds of trouble out in the elements.
Did he know how to swim?
How to stay warm?
How to use a phone if he needed to?
“She didn’t want to upset Belinda so she took the morning off work, and she’s been looking for him.”
“She should have called the police.”
“I just did. The sheriff is on his way over.”
“She should have called as soon as she realized he was missing.”
“Should have doesn’t change anything, River. Maybe you can get Huckleberry and Mack to look around the ranch? Talk to the neighbors. Angel said she checked the barn and went to a couple of Joe’s favorite places.”
“Shit,” he breathed. “This isn’t good, red. Joe has the mental capacity of a seven-year-old. And that’s on a good day.”
“He can’t have gone far,” she tried to reassure him, but River kept seeing the flowing water, the slick rocks, the trees that looked exactly like one another. If Joe had decided to wander through them, he’d never find his way out.
Summer was nearly over, the nights were getting cold, and Joe . . .
Had he brought his clothes?
Did he have a blanket?
“River?” she prodded, and he could hear an edge of panic in her voice, hear what sounded like someone sobbing in the background.
Angel?
Probably. If she went into labor because of the stress . . .
He wasn’t going there.
One thing at a time.
And the first thing he needed to do was find Joe.
“I’ll be there in ten.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and sprinted back to the house.
Huckleberry and Mack were both in the foyer, every wall already coated with gray.
“Hey, man!” Huckleberry said sheepishly. “I just want to apologize again for the mess I made. I should have asked before I opened the paint, and-”
“Joe is
missing.” He cut him off, his voice gruff with worry. “Go check his room. See if he brought his backpack and books with him.”
“How can he be missing?” Huckleberry asked, but he was already running up the stairs. Seconds later, he called from the landing, “The backpack is gone. The books are here.”
“What did he have in the pack?” Mack asked, closing a can of paint and grabbing a jacket from the closet. He pulled it on over his T-shirt, zipped it, and pulled the collar up so it covered the burn scars on his neck. He grabbed a baseball cap, slammed that over his hair.
“I have no idea.” Huckleberry panted as he sprinted down the stairs. “What I want to know is how in the hell he can be missing. He’s supposed to be home.”
This isn’t home?
That’s what Joe had asked, and River hadn’t realized just how badly he must have wanted it to be.
“He didn’t get on the bus last night,” River explained, checking in Dillard’s office and in the dining and living rooms. No sign of Joe, but he hadn’t expected there to be.
“Yes. He did. I saw him with Angel last night. She walked outside with him. She always walks him to the bus stop.”
“She didn’t last night.”
“But . . .” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We have to find Joe. I’ll check the barn.”
“Angel already checked it.”
“Then I’ll go over to Elmer’s. Joe loves hanging around with him. Maybe he’s there.”
“I’ll go down by the river,” Mack said quietly, the concern in his face echoing River’s. “Joe is fascinated by it. I told him I’d take him fishing next weekend. Maybe he didn’t want to wait.”
And maybe he’d gotten too close. Maybe he’d fallen in.
Maybe a dozen things had happened that River didn’t want to imagine.
Mack ran outside, Huckleberry on his heels. They split at the driveway, each heading in a different direction.
River grabbed his keys and hopped into his truck.
He didn’t speed toward town, and not because he was worried about getting a ticket. He rolled along the road, looking for any sign of Joe. His backpack, a piece of clothing, a footprint in the earth.
By the time he hit Main Street, his shoulders were tense, his neck tight. He’d seen nothing, and that scared him. People disappeared all the time. They walked out of houses and off buses and out of stores and were never seen again.
Someone like Joe? He was the perfect victim. Naïve, trusting, eager to please. Anyone could have talked him into anything. The more he thought about that, the angrier he got. It would have taken five minutes of Angel’s day to walk the guy to the bus and watch him get on.
Five minutes in comparison to someone’s life?
Yeah. It wasn’t much.
He pulled up in front of Chocolate Haven, parking the car in a no-parking zone and sprinting into the store. Several customers were there, being served by an ancient woman who looked vaguely familiar.
“Thank God you’re here!” she cried, the high-pitched voice familiar, too.
May Reynolds? His old home economics teacher?
It had to be.
She had the same bulging blue eyes, the same nervous tics.
“Thanks, Ms. Reynolds.”
“Mrs. Welch now. I married Jim Welch a few months ago,” she corrected. “But that’s not for us to worry about now. That poor boy. Lost and alone somewhere.” She nearly sobbed the words, and he patted her on the shoulder.
“It’s okay. We’ll find him.”
“I certainly hope so. I’ve called the pastor, of course, and he’s getting a group together at the church. They’re going to spread out and search.”
“Did you mention that to the sheriff?”
“He’s been busy talking to Brenna and Angel. That poor girl is just beside herself. That’s why Brenna called me. I had my own shop for years, you know, so I can be counted on to run the place for a few hours.”
“That’s great, Mrs. Welch. I know Brenna appreciates it.” He walked past her, following the sound of voices and sobs into the kitchen.
Kane was on the phone, speaking so quietly River couldn’t hear the words.
Brenna crouched next to Angel, holding the young girl’s hand as she sobbed.
And Angel? She was sitting in a chair, her belly pressing against her T-shirt, black eye makeup smeared down her cheeks. She looked pale as paper, her legs and arms so skinny he wondered how she could be nurturing the baby she was carrying.
He’d been mad as a hornet in the truck, thinking about how lazy and selfish she’d been, but seeing her there, crying her eyes out, stole the wind from his sails.
“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, as if he were the one she had to apologize to.
“We all make mistakes,” he responded.
“Not mistakes that kill people,” she wailed, and Kane hung up the phone, crossed the room.
“I’ve got the doctor on the way, Angel,” he said gently. “Being this upset isn’t good for you or the baby. You need to calm down.”
“How can I calm down when I killed poor Joe?”
“You’re assuming he’s dead, and that is a pretty weighty assumption.”
“He’s like a little kid. He doesn’t even know how to tie his own shoes or make a piece of toast.” She hiccupped, her belly moving beneath the shirt.
“He’s lived in a group home for a while,” Brenna said. “He probably knows a lot more than you think he does.”
“He doesn’t know how to survive. Not like me or Huckleberry.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, but the tears were still slipping out.
“How about you stop worrying about what can’t be undone?” River said, crouching in front of her, his knees brushing Brenna’s. She had chocolate on her face again, bits of it in her hair and on her shirt.
She met his eyes and he could see her concern, her fear, but her voice was calm as she patted Angel’s shoulder and said, “River is right. You have to stop worrying about what has already happened. Just concentrate on taking care of yourself and the baby right now. We’ll take care of the rest.”
She stood, untied her apron, and hung it on the hook.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” she continued, “and the things Jax found in the alley. They all came from the ranch, right?”
“Yes,” River agreed, his mind connecting the dots, putting things together the same way she was. “The candy. The crackers with the stickers. The jelly beans. If I were seven, they’d be the kinds of things I’d pack to run away.”
“What about the baby-name book and the invitations?”
“Joe was so excited about the baby,” Angel said, jumping up, her eyes alive with hope. “He heard me talking about having a baby shower and he asked me all about it. I showed him the invitations and . . .”
“What?” Kane prodded.
“I said I wanted to have a party to celebrate the baby, but I was embarrassed to invite people because . . . Well, I’m not your typical mother. And Joe, he said he’d give them to everyone because he loved me and he loved my baby and we both deserved to have a party. He also wanted to help name the baby. I guess he might have taken the book, too.”
“So we can assume Joe came into town yesterday evening and stopped in the alley,” Kane said, opening the back door and looking out into the parking lot. “Five miles is a long way to walk. He was probably tired, so maybe he made it to Main Street, but all the shops were closed, so he found a quiet place to rest.”
“And I probably scared him.”
“Or maybe the sirens did,” Kane suggested. “Doesn’t matter. He ran off somewhere. We just need to figure out where a guy like him might go.”
“We were at the church yesterday,” River said. Joe loved church. He loved the people and they all seemed to love him.
If he’d been scared, he might have found his way there.
“Looks like the doctor is here. How about we let him take care of Angel and the baby and we go to t
he church. See if there’s any sign of him there.”
It sounded like a good plan to River.
“Ready?” he asked Brenna, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet.
“I was ready twenty minutes ago,” she responded, and then she dragged him outside into the morning sunshine.
Chapter Sixteen
There were twenty people at the church when they arrived and probably seventeen dogs. Small dogs. Big dogs. Hound dogs and fluffy poodlelike dogs. Every owner of every dog insisted that Fluffy or Brutus or Hunter would be able to track Joe easily.
Brenna doubted it, but she kept her mouth shut as the sheriff organized the search and sent people out in pairs to look for the missing man.
Finally, it was just the pastor, River, Kane, and Brenna, all of them moving through the cemetery, checking behind giant tombstones and beneath memorial benches and drooping willow trees.
If Joe had been there, they didn’t find any sign of him.
“This isn’t working,” River said, running his hand over his hair and surveying the churchyard. “If he was here, we’d have found him by now.”
“Are there other places in town that he likes to go?” she asked, worry making her stomach churn. Joe had been outside all night and now it was getting later in the day and he still hadn’t shown up.
That couldn’t be a good thing.
No matter how much she’d tried to reassure Angel, no matter how many times she’d said they’d find Joe, she wasn’t sure they would.
“No.” He shook his head, then frowned. “Actually, yes. The library. I’ve been taking him there on Saturdays, but I didn’t have time this weekend. Maybe he was angry that he didn’t get a chance to go and decided to get there himself.”
“I can’t picture Joe angry about anything,” she said, turning away from the church and heading down the hill that led to town.
“You’re right. He probably wasn’t, but I think I hurt his feelings.”
“I can’t imagine that either, River.” She meant it. She couldn’t imagine River ever hurting someone like Joe. She couldn’t imagine him knowingly hurting anyone. At least not anyone who was younger or weaker or less capable than he was. She’d seen his face when he’d walked into Chocolate Haven. He’d been furious. Once he’d seen Angel, that had faded away.
Sweet Surprises Page 24
