Sweet Haven

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

  “No, I just . . . don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary.”

  “You’re not taking up my time, Chase. I need to fill this position. You’re here. It only makes sense to let you apply.” She hurried into the office, rifled through Byron’s file cabinet until she found the application. Chase seemed like a good kid who’d had a rough time. She didn’t think she was getting the whole story about how he’d wound up in Benevolence, but as long as his background check came up clean and he did the job he was paid for, she didn’t mind giving him a place to work until he had the money to get back on his feet. Hopefully, he’d stick around until Byron was able to return. She wasn’t counting on it. A person was either cut out for small-town life or he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, he’d feel smothered by the close-knit community, strangled by the expectations that came with that.

  She’d seen it happen more times than she could count, people who came for a visit and decided to stay only to find that they couldn’t handle the slow pace or the nosy neighbors. Just last year Miles Orson and his wife had sold their Victorian on Main Street. The one that they’d begged to buy, had put hundreds of thousands of dollars into, and had lived in for exactly two months and three days.

  Right around the first day of the third month, Miles’s wife, Shelley, had given him an ultimatum: Get me out of this town or give me half of our assets.

  Miles had chosen to get out of town.

  Most people in Benevolence thought he’d have been better off handing Shelley half his assets. Of course, they didn’t know just how many assets the Orsons had. Since Addie had prepared their taxes for the two years it took for the house to become their home, she knew exactly how much he’d have been giving away.

  The romantic part of her, the part that, once upon a time, had believed in dreamy fairy-tale love, wanted to think that Miles had chosen love over geography. That part, the little bit that was left, liked to imagine that Miles and Shelley were the kind of couple that would last forever because they were meant to be.

  The practical side of her figured that Miles and Shelley would be together for as long as it took Miles to find a way to keep all his assets and lose his wife.

  Chase filled out the application quickly, printing his social security number, his previous home address and place of employment without hesitation. He took out his driver’s license when she asked, allowed her to photocopy it, and then stood silently while she skimmed the information he’d provided.

  It all looked good. She’d check his references, of course. He’d only listed two, his former employer and a transfer adviser at a community college.

  “You were attending college in Houston?” she asked, and he nodded, his dark brown eyes deeply shadowed. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. She glanced at the blank spot where his current address should have been.

  “Where are you staying, Chase?”

  “In the ’Vette.” His cheeks flushed as he said it.

  “If I hire you, I can probably find someone willing to let you stay—”

  “Ma’am, I don’t need a place to stay,” he interrupted, and for the first time since she’d opened the door, she could see the nearly nineteen years of life in his face. There was maturity there, a confidence that she hadn’t noticed before.

  “You can’t keep sleeping in your car.”

  “I can until I have the money to do something else.”

  “In that case,” she said before she could think about all the reasons why she shouldn’t, “you’re hired.”

  Chase grinned. “You won’t regret this, ma’am.”

  “I will if you keep calling me ma’am. It makes me feel like a ninety-year-old woman. Call me Addie.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Give me a minute to lock up the office, and I’ll give you a ride back to Sun Valley.”

  “I walked here, and I can walk back,” he said, pulling his jacket around his chest and heading to the back door.

  “It’s five miles in freezing weather, and you’re not dressed for it. I’ll give you a ride and pick you up in the morning. I usually start prepping for the day at five, but I won’t need you until eight. How about I pick you up around seven forty-five?”

  “I can walk,” he responded as he opened the back door, letting bitter cold air waft in. “It’s good for me.”

  “Not in this kind of weather,” she said, but he was already out the door.

  She grabbed her coat and ran after him.

  He was gone. No sign of him in the parking lot or near the building. She jogged to the front of the shop, scanned Main Street but didn’t see any sign of the teen.

  “Shoot!” she muttered, running back to get her keys and coat. She turned the back doorknob, expecting the door to swing open. It didn’t. She tried again. No luck.

  “No. No, no, no, no!” She yanked harder, but the blasted door stayed closed. Her purse was inside. Her cell phone. Her keys.

  “This sucks,” she shouted to the heavens.

  Tiny howled in response, and the apartment door opened.

  “Everything okay out here?” Sinclair called from the landing.

  “Just peachy,” she responded, yanking at the door one last time. Had she turned the lock when she’d followed Chase?

  She couldn’t remember doing it, but she must have. Otherwise the door would still be unlocked, and she would be inside, not standing in the cold freezing her butt off.

  “You sure?” Sinclair headed down the stairs, his boots clanging on the metal.

  “Positive,” she lied.

  “Looks like you’re locked out.” He moved in close, tried the doorknob. “Seems to me that would be a problem.”

  “Janelle has a spare key. I’ll just walk over and get it.”

  “Or I could open the door for you.” He took something from his pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “Swiss Army knife. It comes in handy in situations like this.” He nudged her out of the way, fiddled with the lock for about five seconds, and the door swung open.

  Of course.

  Sinclair seemed like that kind of guy. The kind who had a solution to every problem, the kind who’d be great on any team, working with any group, because he could solve any problem.

  In other words, the exact opposite of Gavin.

  “You made that look easy,” she accused, and he shrugged, pressing a hand to her lower spine and urging her into the kitchen.

  “It’s an old lock. I run into them all the time in my line of work.”

  “Well, your expertise came in handy. Thanks.” She eyed the doorknob. “I’m going to have to be more careful. You won’t always be around to pick the lock for me.”

  “Being careful is good. Being prepared is better,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her back to the door. “I’ll show you how to open the door if you get locked out again.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just make a few extra keys and wear one around my neck.” Because there was no way on God’s green earth she wanted to stand this close to the man.

  “You know what I think?” he said, his breath ruffling her hair and making goose bumps rise on her arms.

  “What?” she managed to say as he handed her his pocket knife.

  “Being chicken doesn’t suit you.”

  “I am not,” she said, pivoting so that she was looking straight into his eyes. “Being chicken.”

  “Then why do you run away every time I get within a foot of you?”

  “You’re closer than a foot now,” she pointed out, because he was only a couple of inches away, and she wasn’t going to run. Mostly because there was nowhere to go. One direction was the closed door. The other direction, his chest. Which, she had to admit, was pretty fine-looking.

  “I’ve noticed,” he murmured.

  Something about the way he said it made her pulse jump and her cheeks heat.

  “You were going to teach
me how to pick the lock?” she prodded, because she couldn’t quite make herself step away.

  “That’s probably the safest thing I could be doing,” he muttered, turning her around, his hands on her shoulders, his fingers warm through her T-shirt. And, God! She wanted to lean right into his chest, turn herself back around, pull his head down for that kiss that she’d almost gotten before . . .

  Chase!

  She’d almost forgotten about the teen.

  Who was she kidding? Thanks to Sinclair, she had forgotten.

  “Holy cow! I’ve got to find him.” She grabbed her purse and keys.

  “Find who?”

  “The kid I hired. I was going to give him a ride to his car. That’s how I got locked out of the shop.”

  “And he walked off while you tried to get back inside? I don’t think that’s a great quality in an employee.”

  “I turned to grab my coat and purse, and he left. He’s walking, so I shouldn’t have any trouble tracking him down.”

  “Or,” he said, tugging her coat closed, his knuckles brushing her jaw as he pulled her hood up over her hair, “you could let him walk to his car since it seems like that’s what he wants to do.”

  “His car is five miles outside of town at the campground. It’s way too cold for anyone to walk that far.”

  He frowned. “He’s parked at the campground?”

  “His car broke down. He’s looking for some extra cash to pay to get it fixed.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding,” he said as they walked outside.

  “Why would I be kidding?”

  “You hired a complete stranger to work in your grandfather’s shop?”

  “People hire strangers all the time, Sinclair,” she responded as she crossed the lot to her car. She knew he was following, could feel him like the hot sun on a cold day.

  “Not in a town this size,” he grumbled, reaching past her to open the car door. His arm brushed hers, and everything in her sprang to attention, her entire body just kind of responding as if he were everything she needed, all the things she’d ever wanted.

  She had to leave. Now. Before she made a complete fool of herself, said something really stupid like Can you please keep your distance, because I can’t think when you’re this close.

  “People in this town do all kinds of things that might surprise you,” she replied, hopping in the car with every intention of closing the door and driving away.

  Sinclair was standing in the way, though, so she shoved the keys in the ignition and turned on the car.

  “How old is this kid?” he asked, leaning in so that the interior light splashed across the sharp angle of his jaw and the small scar above his brow. There was another scar near his ear, a thin line of white that angled into his hairline.

  “Almost nineteen, and I really need to get going. He doesn’t even have a winter coat, and it’s below freezing out here.”

  “I’d better come with you.”

  It wasn’t a question or a suggestion, but she’d passed the years of taking orders from people. “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is if I’m going to get any sleep tonight, and since I didn’t sleep worth a damn last night, I plan on it.”

  “There’s no need for you to lose sleep—”

  “Do you know how many women a year are killed by people they know?” He closed the door and she could have driven away, but he had a point.

  She didn’t particularly want to die, so she waited while he rounded the car and climbed in, then she turned on the radio and headed toward the edge of town.

  Chapter Eight

  Two hours.

  That’s how long they spent looking for the kid that Adeline had hired. They found his old Corvette parked exactly where he’d said it would be—in the vehicle parking area at Sun Valley.

  The kid, who apparently went by the name of Chase, wasn’t in the car. Adeline had insisted on looking through the windows even though it had been pretty damn clear there was no one in it.

  She’d also insisted on talking to the campsite manager. Ryder Manchester hadn’t been all that happy to be pulled away from the leggy blond he’d been entertaining in his double-wide, but he’d confirmed that the ’Vette was owned by a kid named Chase Lyons, who was paying him five dollars a day to park the car in the empty lot.

  Highway robbery, in Sinclair’s opinion. After all, the lot was empty and the Corvette wasn’t bothering anyone. He’d kept his mouth shut, because this was Adeline’s show. She’d hired the kid, and now she seemed to think it was her responsibility to make sure he was okay.

  Only Chase was nowhere to be found.

  After two hours, Sinclair felt like he could say that definitively. Adeline didn’t seem as willing to give up. She stood outside Chocolate Haven, scanning Main Street as if the missing kid was suddenly going to turn up.

  “You need to let it go, Adeline,” he said, taking her elbow and leading her around the side of the building. “He’s found a safe place to stay for the night. Maybe someone’s barn or a shed.”

  “That’s no place for a teenager to be,” she argued.

  “He’s an adult.”

  “A young adult.”

  “Who isn’t your responsibility.”

  “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be concerned.”

  He started up the stairs to the apartment. He’d left Tiny there. God only knew what the dog had gotten into while he was gone. “It seems to me that you borrow way more than your share of trouble from other people.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve taken on the shop for your grandfather, the wedding for May. You agreed to let Byron stay with you while he recovers, and now you’re worrying about a kid you met a couple of hours ago.”

  “And?” she demanded, moving in beside him as he unlocked the apartment door.

  “And, maybe you have enough of your own stuff to worry about.” He stepped into the apartment, bracing himself for whatever mess Tiny had left. Not a thing was out of place. Not a couch cushion or pillow. Not a piece of trash. Tiny lay next to the coffee table, his tail thumping the floor.

  “Wow!” Adeline said as she walked into the apartment. “He’s so . . . calm.”

  “We played fetch for an hour. I guess that wore him out.” He didn’t mention that Tiny had been fetching shoes from the bedroom and running around the apartment with them. That was need-to-know information, and she didn’t need to know.

  “You have the magic touch when it comes to him.”

  “He’s just worn out from a long day.”

  “He’s never worn out, but he sure looks content. Too bad we’ve got to get home. Come on, Tiny.” She crouched, and the puppy lumbered over.

  “Are you still planning to ship him to Spokane tomorrow?”

  “I left a message for my friend. He hasn’t returned the call yet, so I guess Tiny has a reprieve. Of course, that means that Nehemiah is going to have to deal with him for another day.” She scratched the puppy behind his ears, her expression tender and a little tired. She loved the ugly mutt, but that didn’t mean she could do all the things for him that she needed to.

  Sinclair understood that. He’d been on the receiving end of it when he was a kid. There was no doubt his parents had loved him, but they hadn’t had much to give. They’d expended too much of their energy on each other and on the party scene they’d never quite grown out of. They’d been happy enough to give their sons what they needed but only if it didn’t interfere with their plans. Weekends and holidays were the worst—loud parties in the basement while Sinclair and Gavin watched television until the wee hours of the morning.

  Adeline? She’d had a different problem than he’d had with his folks. From what he’d seen since he’d been in town, all she did was work. Dawn to way past dusk, and he hadn’t seen anyone stepping in to help her. Not Janelle. Not either of Adeline’s sisters. Not friends, either. If anything, they added to her workload. That didn’t seem to bother her. She just
added to her list and kept on trucking.

  Everyone had a breaking point, though. He had a feeling she was reaching hers.

  “I’ll take Tiny to my brother’s place tomorrow,” he found himself offering. He wasn’t sure why. Or maybe he was. He liked Adeline. She worked hard. She cared a lot. He didn’t want to see her break, and he didn’t want to watch her realize that everyone who counted on her couldn’t be counted on.

  He thought that was the way things were heading: She would finally really need all the people she’d helped, and none of them would be there for her.

  Could be he was just cynical.

  He’d been called it enough times to think that it might be true.

  “And do what with him?” She patted Tiny’s head, a small frown line between her brows. “The last thing you need is a puppy under your feet all day.”

  “The last thing I need is to spend another day alone with Gavin. Tiny will be a nice distraction.”

  She cocked her head to the side, her braid flopping over her shoulder. Or what was left of her braid. Most of her hair fell in soft waves around her face.

  He knew how silky it was, had felt it brush his knuckles and chin. His palms itched to touch it again, to feel the smooth glide of it.

  “I don’t think you need that kind of distraction,” she said, her gaze on Tiny.

  “I don’t need a distraction at all, Adeline,” he said, giving in to temptation and brushing the silky strands away from her cheeks.

  She stilled, her violet eyes wide in a face that shouldn’t have been beautiful but was. Eyes too big, chin too sharp, skin too fair, but somehow it worked itself into a quirky kind of gorgeousness that Sinclair would have had to be blind not to notice.

  “No? Then probably Tiny should stay with Nehemiah,” she said, her voice a little husky, her pulse beating frantically in the hollow of her throat. He could bend down and kiss that spot, taste the silky skin there, and he didn’t think she’d protest. He sure as hell wouldn’t.

  But he didn’t think it would stop with that one little kiss, that one small taste of chocolate and berries and quirky gorgeousness.

  Didn’t think?

  He knew it wouldn’t stop there.