Sweet Surprises (15 page)

“Sure you are,” Huckleberry muttered. “Everyone is always sorry, but that doesn't stop them from doing the same things over and over again.”

“I didn't make Mack tackle me,” Brenna said. “And I didn't press charges against him. I'm sorry people in town are talking, but that's the way towns this size are. Not enough going on to keep people occupied, so they make things up.”

“Like the fact that your fiancé dumped you for a woman with bigger tits and better hair?” Angel mocked. “Was that made up? Oh. Wait. It couldn't have been, because here you are, with no ring on your finger, no man by your side, and nothing but time to make messes of other people's lives.”

“That's enough,” River snapped.

“It's true and she knows it.”

“What I know,” Brenna said, her voice cool, her expression cold, “is that kindness is vastly underutilized in this world. When you find someone who gives it to you, it's best to return it with interest.”

She walked through the open doorway, and Angel had the good grace to look embarrassed, her face the color of overripe tomatoes.

“I guess I forgot about that,” she mumbled.

“What?” River asked as he stepped outside. No way was he going to let Brenna walk away without clearing this up.

“Every day she's stopped by the diner and left me a bag of chocolate. Just left it. Sitting on the counter in a white paper bag with my name on it. I'm an idiot,” she sobbed, running up the stairs.

“Women,” Huckleberry muttered, as if he knew something about them.

River didn't have time to explain that he didn't.

He jogged down the porch steps as Brenna's headlights came on and the Chrysler's engine sputtered to life. Died. Sputtered again. Died.

On the third attempt to start it, she gave up.

He could see her sitting behind the steering wheel, her hands in her lap, her eyes closed, her lips moving.

She could have been praying or counting to ten.

He knocked on the glass and she rolled down the window.

“I need to go home,” she said, as if that would make the engine suddenly come to life.

“I'll take you.”

“I'd rather drive myself.”

“That probably won't happen until you get new spark plugs.”

“Do you think that's the problem?”

“I do.” He opened her door, rolled up the window, and took her hand. “It's an easy fix. I'll take care of it tomorrow. While you're working in the house.”

“I don't know if that's a good idea. Angel—”

“Is a pregnant teenager. She's got no control over her tongue or her emotions.”

“Still—”

“It will make Belinda happy.” He helped her into the truck, touched her silky cheek, his knuckles sliding down over satiny skin. “And I know how much you care about her.”

“You play to win, River,” she murmured.

“You're wrong,” he countered. “I don't play.”

Then he shut the door and rounded the truck, the icy rain falling in sheets around him, the lone light on the porch reminding him of just how much he had to lose if his plans for the place didn't pan out.

Midnight, and Brenna couldn't sleep.

Not because of the endless rain splashing onto the tin roof of the apartment. Not because of the howling wind that rattled the window. Not because Jeff had called her three more times.

No. None of those things were keeping her awake.

It was the kiss. That one light touch of lips and her entire world had shifted. For the very first time, she understood what she'd been missing with Dan, why all his praise and ego-stroking and telling her every day how beautiful she was had done nothing but leave her cold.

That one little kiss River had given her? It had packed more punch than all the sweet caresses Dan had offered, because that kiss—that one damn kiss—had been filled with tenderness, patience, passion, and something so indefinable, so real and alive and wonderful, that she still couldn't wrap her mind around it.

It had been like finding the last piece of the puzzle, the one that had fallen on the floor and gotten swept into a vent and seemed destined to be missing forever. And then, right before dismantling and tossing the incomplete puzzle, seeing a hint of color in the vent, pulling out that one last piece and fitting it into the slot.

Yeah. That's how the kiss had felt, and she'd wanted it to go on and on.

She scowled, pacing through the apartment hall and into the living room. All the lights were off and the lights from Main Street filtered in through the closed sheers. She pulled them open, looked out onto the empty road. Not a car in sight. Not a person either. The place was empty and silent, shop owners home for the night. Shoppers tucked into their beds. Benevolence was sleeping soundly and she was up, worrying about something that shouldn't matter.

One little kiss, and there didn't have to be more.

No matter how much she wanted there to be.

Her cell phone rang and she ignored it. She'd said everything she could to Jeff and she didn't have the energy to repeat herself. When the apartment phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Phone calls at midnight were never a good thing, and she hurried to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you, doll?” Byron's grumbly voice filled the line and she nearly sagged with relief. She'd had enough trouble and bad news in the past few months to last a lifetime.

“No. Is everything okay? Did something happen to Adeline? Or Mom? Did something happen to Mom?”

“Calm yourself down, kid. Everyone is fine. You know that old busybody who lives at the corner of Main and Howard?”

“Do I?”

“Mable Grunge. Could you ever forget a name like that?”

Obviously she could because she had no idea who Byron was talking about. “What about her?”

“She was out with that nasty dog of hers. Big brute of a thing called Otis—”

“Granddad,” she cut in, “could you get to the point?”

“She thought she saw someone near the shop. Being a busybody, she decided she'd better call the cops. They called me.”

“Near the shop?” She tried to walk back to the window, but the old-fashioned phone had a cord that was too short to reach. “Where?”

“The sheriff didn't say. Just said she thought the person looked suspicious, so he was sending someone to check it out. I wanted to give you a heads-up. You've got the apartment door locked, right?”

“Yes.”

“And all the windows?”

“Someone would have to scale two stories to get to them, but yes—”

Somewhere below glass shattered, the sound muted but distinct. She froze, her heart beating a slow, terrible rhythm. A broken shop window? Was someone trying to get into Chocolate Haven?

“You okay, doll?”

“When is the sheriff sending someone?” she hedged, because she didn't want Byron to show up and try to face down the perpetrator.

“What's going on over there?”

“Nothing.”

“You're lying. I'm coming over.”

“Granddad—”

He'd already hung up, and she was left standing with the phone in her hand, her ears straining for some other sound, some sign that whoever had broken the window was still hanging around.

She placed the phone in its cradle, crept across the kitchen and into the living room. She couldn't see anything from there. Just Main Street and the businesses across it, the twinkling of light from neighborhood houses, the trees whipping in the wind.

Maybe the person had gone around back?

She hurried into her bedroom and looked out the window that faced the back lot. At first she saw nothing but rain bouncing off the wet pavement. Then a shadow moved near the edge of the parking area, someone running toward the park that edged the property.

She couldn't make out a face, gender, height. Whoever it was seemed like part of the shadows, just a black shape against the darkness. There for just a few seconds, then disappearing behind a tree. She waited, her breath held as if somehow that would make the person appear again.

Someone rapped on the apartment door and she screamed, all her tension and fear letting loose in a high-pitched screech that probably could have shattered crystal.

“Brenna?” Another hard rap. “It's Kane Rainier. I got a call that there might be trouble over here. Everything okay?”

“Yes. No,” she called, running to the door and yanking it open. Kane was there. Not dressed in his uniform. Just a black T-shirt soaked with rain, faded jeans, and work boots.

“What's going on?” He stepped into the apartment, his hand on the gun still in its holster.

“I don't know. Byron called, and while I was on the phone with him, someone broke a window. At least, that's what I think it was. I heard glass breaking, but I didn't see what happened. I did see someone running into the park, though.”

“Stay here. I'll check it out.”

“I'd rather check it out with you.” She grabbed one of Byron's old rain coats from the closet and pulled it on over her tank top and flannel pajama pants. She had an obligation to her grandfather and to the family to make sure everything was okay.

“I think your family would rather you waited here. There's no sense putting yourself in danger, Brenna.”

“I saw the guy running away. How much danger could I be in?” She followed him onto the landing, the metal cold beneath her bare feet. She probably should have gone back for shoes, but he was moving fast, jogging down the stairs and around the side of the building while she picked her way down the slick exterior staircase. These were the same stairs Byron had fallen down. He'd gotten a broken hip and femur out of it.

Brenna didn't want to repeat his mistake.

By the time she made it to the back of the building, Kane was snapping pictures and speaking to someone on his cell phone. He put up his hand as she approached.

“Watch it,” he said, pointing to a few shards that had fallen from the kitchen window. The glass had been pristine when she'd left for the night. Now it had a fist-size hole in it.

“What the he . . . ck?”

He tucked the phone in his pocket. “I've got a couple of deputies on the way. Do you have your keys? I'd like to see if there's any damage to the interior.”

“I'll get them.” She darted back the way she'd come, stopping short when headlights splashed at the mouth of the alley.

Suddenly, she was being yanked backward with so much force she nearly fell over.

“Get near the building,” Kane growled. “Stay there.”

“What—?”

But he was already running toward the oncoming vehicle, his hand up as if the power of the gesture could stop whoever was driving toward him.

She had about three seconds of panic.

Three long seconds of thinking the person she'd seen running into the park had come back and was going to run Kane down.

Then the vehicle braked. A door opened and closed.

“What in the name of all that is holy is happening here?” Byron shouted, and Brenna was so relieved her knees nearly went out from under her.

“Broken window,” Kane responded as if he hadn't nearly been run down.

“Broken by who?” Byron strode through the rain, a tiny hitch in his stride. He was probably tired from the cakewalk and his hot date. His limp was always more pronounced when he'd worn himself out.

“That's what I plan to find out,” Kane said grimly. “You want to get the keys so we can go inside, Brenna?”

“I've got keys.” Byron unlocked the door, flicked on the light. “Damn it! That fool took out my favorite mixing bowl.”

“And your window,” Kane reminded him.

“Windows can be replaced. This—” Byron bent over the shattered remains of the big yellow Pyrex bowl he always used to mix the dry ingredients for his fudge, “can't.”

“I'm sure I can find one on eBay or at some little antique shop somewhere.” Brenna touched his shoulder, realized for the first time just how frail he felt, how thin. He'd always seemed larger than life. Had he shrunk or had she just grown up enough to see him for the man he was? Tall and lean, a little stooped. Strong but not superhuman.

“Nah,” he said, his voice tight. “This one your grandmother bought the day I took over the shop from my dad. We'd just gotten married and we didn't have much money. She'd scrimped and saved to buy it. Said a cheerful color would brighten up the store. She was right.” He lifted a large piece of yellow porcelain. “But Alice brightened it up more.” He tossed the piece into the trash, kicked a brick that lay a few inches from the bowl. “I guess I'm a little tired, doll. You mind cleaning this up for me?”

“Of course not.” She hugged him, and he grumbled something about foolish emotions, kissed her cheek, and left.

Kane followed him, and she stood in the kitchen alone, looking at the broken pieces of her grandfather's favorite bowl. How had she not known what it meant to him?

Had she been that self-absorbed, that determined to separate herself from the town and the people, all the traditions, that she'd forgotten how important those things could be?

She grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet.

“Hold on a minute,” Kane said as he walked back into the kitchen. “I'd like to get a look at the brick and take a few pictures before you move anything. You can wait in your apartment or in the storefront. Whichever you prefer.”

She nodded, but she didn't leave.

She kept hearing her grandfather's words and seeing his face: tired and a little defeated.

Kane snapped picture after picture, then used gloved hands to lift the brick, frowning when he saw the white letters scrawled across the red-brown surface. “Interesting,” he said.

“What?”

“See what it says?” He held it so she could, the words all block letters: I'M WATCHING YOU.

“That,” she mumbled, her heart racing, “is about the creepiest thing I've seen in a while.”

“Anyone you can think of who might have a reason to taunt you?”

She thought about Angel, the anger in her face when she'd accused Brenna of causing trouble for Mack. And then there was Jeff, calling her all day every day, trying to get information out of her that she didn't have.

“Brenna?” he prodded, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Protecting someone isn't helping them. It's just enabling them to continue down the wrong path.”

“I'm not protecting anyone. I just . . . Angel seemed unhappy about what happened to Mack.”

“Nothing happened to him,” he pointed out.

“She says people around town are talking about him. She thinks I ruined his reputation.”

He dropped the brick into a plastic bag. “I guess I'll head over to the ranch to see what she has to say for herself.”

“It's past midnight.”

“That doesn't mean she shouldn't have to answer for herself if she did this.”

“But, Belinda—”

“Raised a lot of kids who got into a lot of trouble. She'll take the visit in stride.”

“Kane, I really wish you wouldn't.”

“Unless you have some other lead, this one is all we've got. I have an obligation to find the perpetrator, Brenna. I think you know that.”

“There's something else,” she said hurriedly as he walked to the door. She hated bringing it up. She hated admitting how stupid she'd been, but Angel wasn't the only possibility and she couldn't let Kane think she was.

“What?”

“My ex got into some trouble. He embezzled money from his business partner, then he skipped town.”

“You think your ex did this?”

“No, but his business partner has been calling me several times a day every day. He thinks I know where my ex is and he's determined to get me to tell him.”

“What's the guy's name?”

“Jeff Winthrop. He's a plastic surgeon in New York. A really busy one. I doubt he's hopped a plane to come to Washington to stalk me.”

“He's not so busy that he hasn't had time to call you several times a day,” he pointed out.

“I know, but—”

“Brenna, someone did this. More than likely it's someone you or your grandfather knows. Your grandfather has been here for decades and never had any trouble, so I'm thinking the brick was probably for you.”

He paused and she nodded, because she wasn't sure if he expected a response, wasn't sure what the response would be if he did.

“If that's the case, the perpetrator is someone who has a bone to pick with you,” he continued. “It's my job to find out who and why and put that person in jail. I'm sure you understand that.”