by Hollis Wynn
The door opens behind me, and a police officer comes in. “Hey, Vic. Be right with you,” the man says. I can feel him walking up behind me, and suddenly my skin prickles with fear.
I clear my throat and don’t allow my voice to shake when I respond to the baker. “I know it will exceed my memories. I’ll be over there when the cake is ready.”
Choosing a table in the corner where I have room to wheel the stroller close to the table, I watch the cop with a side eye. He seems to know the guy at the counter, which isn’t a surprise considering the size of this town.
“Thanks, Trip,” he says a few minutes later, heading out the door with a white bag in one hand and a large cup of coffee in the other.
Immediately, I take a deep breath as the door closes behind him. I’ve never been scared of the police before. My parents taught me at an early age, that’s where I should go if we should ever get separated or if I was scared.
Now, I’m scared to be around them for fear they’ll figure out what I’ve done. That in rescuing this child, they will think I actually killed her parents and kidnapped her.
What am I going to do?
Less than ten minutes later I’ve polished off almost the whole cinnamon roll and decide I don’t need to go to the cafe, but I do need to do a bit more walking. I notice Ainsley is waking up, and I unbuckle her and snuggle her to my chest. Instantly I’m comforted and focus on the fact that if I hadn’t found her when I did, who knows where she would have ended up.
Looking down at her, I watch as she gives me a slight smile. My eyes light up, and I smile back at her. “Did you smile for mama?”
She smiles again, and I’m overjoyed watching her grow and change before my eyes.
“Ma’am,” the gentleman I now know as Trip comes over to me with a box. “Your cake is ready.”
His words are kind and his tone is gentle.
“Thank you. Just place it on the table and I’ll pack it up in a few.” He nods and sets the white box down across from me.
“I hope you enjoy it. It’s my wife’s recipe and my favorite.”
Ainsley and I sit cuddled together and watch the people come and go. Considering it’s almost noon, I’m somewhat shocked at the amount of traffic in and out. It’s nice to see local businesses thriving in small towns.
Carefully I put the sleeping girl back in her stroller, placing the cake box in the bottom net, and off we go on another adventure.
Walking down Main Street, I notice there are a couple of new places that were not here last year. There’s a new burger joint and even a women’s boutique. I’ll make a point to stop in next time I’m in town. On the way back to the car, I spy a liquor store and decide to check to see what wine they have in stock. Hopefully, they stock something from a local vineyard that we can try.
As soon as I open the door, I see a section called Goldkey Wines and head straight to the display. There are more options that I expected, so I take a few minutes to mull over the selection. I find a Texas malbec and choose to try it because reds go with steak.
I quickly pay for the bottle and stash it next to the cake on the stroller bottom. “It’s time to go home, little girl.,” I say to a sleeping Ainsley.
The drive back to the house is nice. The car floats over the hills and I roll down the window to let a bit of the summer air in. I have a love hate relationship with summer in Texas. It can be anything from super humid, to miserably dry depending on where you are, but one thing doesn’t change, and that’s the heat. It’s oppressive and miserable, but I don’t care, it’s my home.
Penn isn’t anywhere in sight when I pull into the garage. I wonder where he went and quickly remind myself that I’m not his keeper and I’ll see him tonight.
Chapter Seven—Pennington
Damn, today I’m thankful that my grandfather was organized. He has stuff everywhere, but it’s all very orderly. Though I am shocked to discover he has so many old files here at the house. I’d get my ass reamed if I brought case files home. It looks like he has years of investigative notes and files here. Almost every box I opened in the garage was filled with notes that should be in a case file somewhere. Interestingly enough, this is the first time I’ve really considered whether the agency actually keeps paper files. It always seems like everything they do is off the books and super secret.
Don’t get me wrong, DEA keeps records of what we do, otherwise there wouldn’t be any evidence to charge someone, much less convict them of their crimes. Gramps didn’t really talk too much about his days saving the world, but I know they don’t operate on American soil, and they tend to work the wildest cases.
The one thing that intrigued me is a box that I found in his closet. BellaRose is written on the top in neat penmanship. The box is taped up and there would not be a way to open it without her knowing. Plus, it seems wrong.
Pulling the box down from the top shelf, an envelope floats to the floor. When I pick it up, it has my name in Gramps’s perfect penmanship. I’m shocked to find this here, considering the large packet of stuff that the lawyer gave me.
I pick up the envelope and sit on the side of the bed, opening it up.
* * *
My dearest Pennington,
If you’ve found this letter, it means you’ve also found the box for Bella. Bella’s father was part of my old life at the agency, and he asked me if anything happened to him would I take care of her. I didn’t have to think about it—absolutely I would take care of her, especially since he is the one who helped me find this place.
Bella is a strong young woman who has endured much loss in her life. When her parents were killed she began coming here and spending the entire summer. We spent a lot of time talking about her life, before and after the accident and I pray she finds someone who helps her fill the hole in her heart.
Please take care of her, but don’t be bossy, Penn. Not everyone is a criminal or looking to take something from you.
Now, we should talk about the box. Or I’ll talk and you read. This box holds all the secrets to Bella’s life more than she could ever know. I’ll only ask that you be there and support her when she goes through it.
Next, we need to talk about the basement. You should have been given the keys from Mr. Kesson. Those keys unlock the safe room in the basement where you’ll find my gun safe, some cash and a go bag. Additionally, you will find my notebooks with my notes about Vic. We’ve discussed the fact that he is shady, but time wasn’t on my side to do any hard-core investigating, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any information. The ROMEO’s were a perfect way to find out information without people even realizing it. They meet on Tuesday and Sunday mornings at the cafe. If you felt the need to drop by they would laugh because you’re not old enough to be a ROMEO and then they’d welcome you into the fold. Don’t be surprised if you receive multiple invitations to help them out around their houses. We’re not as young as we used to be. Our minds may still be sharp, but our bodies are tired of working. So, just help them and they’ll make you an honorary ROMEO.
There is also a key to the other door in the basement. It leads to a long hallway that connects the basement to Bella’s house. It terrified her parents that their past would catch up with them, and they wanted a place to feel safe.
As far as I’m aware, she’s not in the know about the basement, so you’re going to need to walk her through it and make sure she has everything she needs. It’s the safest place for her to be if something goes south or she is in fear of her life.
Thank you for taking care of her. I know it’s probably a burden you don’t want or need at this point in your life, but you’re the only one I trust—or who understands me.
Oh, one more thing. Make sure you don’t throw the coffee cans in the garage freezer away. I have hidden thumb drives with the details of her father’s missions on them, though some drives are blank. It was the best place to hide the info, and I knew that if someone discovered one, they’d think they hit the jackpot, when in reality only two
of the twenty-four cans have a drive with information on them.
I love you, Pennington. You’re the best grandson a guy could ever ask for.
Love,
Gramps
* * *
Damn. Gramps was much more of a badass than I ever thought. I stare at the letter for a moment longer, then fold it back up and slide it into the nightstand drawer. At some point I’m going to need to find a small safe to hide in the house with the keys and all his secrets.
I grab the box from the floor where I left it and take it into the living room and place it at the end of the couch for Bella when she gets here.
Glancing up at the clock, it’s almost seven so I pull the steaks out to let them come to room temp before I throw them on the grill. It took me one trip into town and a lot of scrubbing to get the grill ready for tonight. I can only imagine how long it’s been since it was used or cleaned.
I go through my mental checklist. Potatoes in the oven. Toppings in the fridge. Steaks ready when the coals are, so I head out to make sure they’re good to go. While I’m outside, I hear Bella talking to Ainsley and the crunch of shell under the tires of the stroller.
“I’m back here,” I say loud enough for her to hear me on the other side of the house.
The sound of footsteps come around the side where I’m standing. The first thing I notice as I see her is her genuine smile. Next are her legs. Fuck, this woman is hot and all I want are those long tan legs wrapped around my waist.
“Thanks for joining me tonight. Do you need help with anything?”
She shakes her head no and then points to the stroller. “There is a basket on the bottom that holds everything—including a cake and bottle of wine.”
“Cake? Are we celebrating something?” Now is probably not the time to tell her I don’t really eat sweets.
“I’m celebrating school being out and a summer of relaxation and fun here. What about you? You have anything to celebrate?”
That’s such a chick question. Yes, I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s something my sister would say, and she’s a chick.
“Nope. Just another day in paradise.” This time I mean it. Being here is paradise.
“Let’s go inside and get out of the heat.” I open the back door and she pushes the stroller over the threshold while I stare at her ass. And what a fine one it is. A perfectly round, smackable ass.
Bella unloads the stroller in record time and there’s a cake sitting on the table next to the bottle of wine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to tempt me. But considering her baby doesn’t look much over a couple months old, I wouldn’t think she’s ready for the shit running through my mind.
Quickly, I glance over to the corner where I stashed her box before checking on the potatoes. “They need a few more minutes, then I’ll throw the steaks on.”
“That sounds good.” She looks around the room and I can see the wheels turning in her head. Something is bothering her.
“This is the first time I’ve been here since . . .” She sighs, then unstraps Ainsley and pulls her into her lap. “Since last summer. Before Owen died.” It’s then I notice tears streaming down her face.
Well, shit. More tears? I don’t do tears. Maybe a glass of wine will help.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask, picking up the bottle and taking it over to the bar, close to where the opener is sitting.
“That would be great,” she says in a muffled voice, the sadness radiating through her words.
I pour a beer glass full of the deep red wine and place it in front of her. “Sorry, this is all I have.”
She shifts in her chair, while holding tight to Ainsley. She mumbles a “thank you” and I’m happy that the tears seem to have at least stopped.
“I’m going to start the steaks. How do you like yours?” Most of the women I’ve dated don’t have an opinion and say “however you like it.” The lack of opinions or the ability to make decisions is one reason I don’t date much. That doesn’t mean I’m hard up, but I have my regulars, and they know the score. In and out. No sleeping over and no commitments.
“Medium, please.” Her voice is quiet.
“Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable.”
I gather the steaks and my homemade seasoning, and head outside. The sun is behind the trees and the shadows dance over the lawn and the water glistens. Being here has always allowed me to take a breather and let go of my work stress, but my gut tells me something else is going on with Bella. The investigator in me is already weighing and assessing her every move—even more now. Rule number one—always trust your gut.
Then again, it could be my dick doing the assessing. Did I mention her ass?
When I go back inside, the table is set with plates and the potatoes are out of the oven in a dish. I’m not sure why I’m shocked, but I am. First, I invite her over to my house and she brings dessert and wine. Now, she’s set the table and is smiling again. I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship—or however it goes.
We eat and chat about the property. She’s been coming here practically her whole life and has seen the changes firsthand. I now have an extensive list of items to be done around her house and that gives me a bit more time to get into my new role. Normally I’d consider being able to hide in plain sight a good thing, except there are some fishy things going on in this town that I need to figure out and report back on.
“Would you like a slice of cake?” I ask from the kitchen, hoping I don’t wake up the baby with my loud talking.
“That would be great. I’m not exactly sure what it is, I just told the guy at Sweet Buns I wanted one.”
Looks like we’re both in for a surprise then. I cut two slices of cake deciding that I can’t be rude and refuse to eat the cake. It smells good and doesn’t look too bad—maybe a cross between chocolate and something else. I can’t tell from looking at the color, so I just take a chance.
Turns out it’s carrot cake, with raisins. I get making cakes a bit healthier and stuff, but raisins are flat out nasty and I’m turned off after I swallow the first bite. My nose flares and my lip turns up in disgust. A shiver runs through my body and she watches me with a keen eye.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I respond, shaking my head. “I. Hate. Raisins.”
Then she bursts out laughing. “I thought I was the only one. I will never understand why people add raisins to things. They remind me of bugs, and I don’t eat them either.”
We both laugh and I pick up our plates, scraping them into the trash. “What should I do with the rest of that?” I say, pointing a fork at the cake before rinsing all the dishes and loading the dishwasher. Today, I’m thankful Gramps had one installed in his old age.
“Toss it.”
And I do just that. No more raisin cake in this house.
“Would you like to sit on the couch?” I ask her. “It’s much more comfortable than these old chairs.”
She nods in agreement and moves to the couch, settling in with her wine and the baby. Noticing she’s close to the corner where I have the box stored, I decide it’s now or never.
“I have something for you,” I say, striding across the room. “I found this in the closet and it has your name on it.” She looks down at the banged up and taped box that I pull from the corner.
“What is it?” She tilts her head to the side, her lips slightly parted.
“No idea. But that’s not Gramps’s handwriting.” I place the box on top of the table and her shoulders droop.
She adjusts herself and I take the baby from her. I think she needs both hands for this. “I’ve got her.”
Chapter Eight—BellaRose
“That’s my mother’s handwriting,” I say a bit too enthusiastically. She has been dead for ten years. Why would Owen have kept this and not told me?
I shake my head and wipe the tears away. Penn is going to think I’m a crazy person with the number of times I’ve cried in front
of him. The ironic part is I rarely cry—about anything. I’ve always felt like the death of my parents ripped out my heart and stomped on it. In turn, I didn’t think I could cry anymore. But obviously I’m wrong. Dead wrong.
“I really can’t imagine what is in this box that she would need to leave with Owen.” He observes me while patting Ainsley’s back. My ovaries nearly explode at the sight..
I pull at the tape until it peels back. I take a couple of minutes to get it open and the entire time Penn says nothing, just keeps his eyes on me.
Leaning back on the couch, I take a deep breath. Why would they keep this from me for so long?
Sitting back up, I pull the brown flaps back. The first thing I notice is a letter in Owen’s handwriting on the top. Underneath are some smaller boxes and bags. Looking around, I can’t decide whether to open the letter first or dig to see what else is in the box. But I decide on the letter, hoping it will give me some insight into what this box holds.
* * *
Dearest Bella,
When your parents reached out and asked that I be your caretaker after their deaths, I was worried about what they had gotten themselves into. But knowing your father, he’s tangled up in something of national security.
I was correct—not only was the mission dangerous, but it’s also what got him and your mother killed. As a man of my word, I promised them I’d take care of you, and I will.
Your mother and father came to see me not long before their deaths and gave me a box of things for you. She asked that I keep it for just the right time, so now it’s yours. Take your time in processing the items contained herein and give yourself time to grieve.
All I ask is that you don’t go digging into the past. Though you may question everything you knew, don’t go digging around. The past should stay there. Keep it buried and focus on moving forward, one step at a time.
