Sweet Surprises (18 page)

“They don't need more to worry about” came out instead.

“Isn't that for them to decide?”

“You've seen Byron. He's not a young man anymore. Adeline is pregnant. My mother—”

“I think your mother can handle anything you throw her way.”

“Don't let her fool you, River. She puts on a good show, but she spends way too much time and energy worrying about us.”

“Like I said, isn't that for her to decide?”

“You don't know my family.”

“Up until I was thirteen, I didn't know any family at all,” he responded. “Finally having one taught me just how valuable they are.”

“I value my family.” She tore open a package of coconut, dumped it into a blender, and ground it into a fine powder.

He didn't say anything, so she turned to face him again. “I
do
value them.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I'm not sure you realize how much they value you.”

“They value what they think I am,” she said. “That's not the same as valuing me.”

“You're limiting their love if you think that.”

“What I think—”

Is that it's none of your business
, she was going to say, but something in his expression stopped the words before she could say them.

“Go ahead,” he offered. “Say what you're thinking.”

She didn't have a chance. The back door flew open and Janelle rushed in. She'd pulled her hair back into a tight bun, wrapped some kind of frilly fifties apron around her waist.

“I'm here to help!” she proclaimed. “I heard you were in the weeds and I . . .” Her voice trailed off as she saw River. “I didn't realize Byron had hired a professional. How fun! We'll all work together and get this shop open!”

“Wonderful,” Brenna muttered, but Janelle was too busy eyeing River like he was a piece of dark chocolate fudge to hear her.

* * *

Janelle was a force to be reckoned with.

It took River about three minutes to realize that and about a half a minute longer to realize she knew nothing about making candy. She sure as hell thought she did, though. She moved around the kitchen like a whirlwind, gushing over everything he did and criticizing Brenna's efforts.

It seemed like nothing her youngest daughter did was right.

Not the coconut she'd turned into powder: too chunky.

Not the white chocolate she'd melted for her coconut dream bonbons: too thick.

Not the way she'd rolled the chocolate for the bonbons or the way she'd set them in the display case. An hour in and River had had about all he could take of the woman. He also thought he'd figured out why Brenna hadn't been honest with her family.

It would be really hard to admit to a woman like Janelle that you'd been tricked by your fiancé. Not just cheated on but robbed blind and left with nothing.

That's the way River read things.

He could be wrong.

It could be that the guy hadn't taken nearly what River thought he had. Didn't matter. He was still a bastard, and Brenna deserved better.

She also deserved better than what she was getting from her mother. He washed the last pot, eyed the inventory list. They only had one thing left to make: the Lamont fudge.

“You have a recipe for the fudge, red?” he asked, and Janelle frowned.

“Red? Is that any way to describe a beautiful woman?” She laughed, but there was a sharpness to it that set River's teeth on edge.

“It is if she has the reddest hair a person has ever seen.”

“Not red, River,” Janelle corrected. “It's more of a—”

“Let it go, Mother,” Brenna said with a sigh.

“I'm simply saying—”

“You don't have to say anything. I like the nickname. It doesn't bother me that he calls me that.” She met River's eyes and offered a tight smile. “Let it go.”

“Fine, but I hope you're not planning to show him Byron's recipe. Your grandfather will have a stroke if you do.”

“Only if he finds out,” Brenna muttered.

“I hope you're kidding,” Janelle huffed. “You know how he feels about it.”

“Yes, Mother, I do. Rest assured, I'll keep the secret recipe secret. If a dozen armed men break into the shop, demanding that I either reveal the recipe or give up my life, I'll gladly sacrifice myself for the cause.”

“Well!” Janelle set her hands on her slim waist. “There's no need to be sarcastic, Brenna.”

“And there's no need for you to criticize someone who has done nothing wrong.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing? Criticizing?”

“What would you call it?”

“Standing up for my daughter.” She frowned. “But obviously, that isn't necessary or needed.” She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with irritation and something that looked a lot like hurt. “So, I'll just go to work and do what I do best: stay out of my daughters' lives.”

“Mom—” Brenna began, but Janelle was already at the door.

“Don't forget your sister's birthday party. Unless you think you'll be too busy making chocolate to attend,” Janelle said, as she broke into whatever apology Brenna might have offered. “I'd suggest you bring a date.” Her gaze cut to River. “But you're probably too independent and accomplished to worry about such things.”

“I don't—”

Janelle didn't wait for Brenna to finish. She closed the door firmly enough to rattle the bowls in the cupboards.

“Shit,” Brenna muttered, squeezing the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. “How do I manage to constantly piss her off?”

It was a rhetorical question, but River was just irritated enough to respond. “I think she did a fair job of pissing you off first.”

“No. She didn't.”

“She was critical of you since she first walked into the shop,” he pointed out. “Are you trying to tell me that didn't bother you?”

“She's my mother. She's been criticizing me my whole life.”

“That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.”

“It doesn't.”

“Maybe it should,” he argued.

“Why? She means well, and I know it. Getting offended is a waste of time and energy.”

“And yet, you're worried about offending her.”

“What's your point, River? That I'm some weak-minded woman who lets everyone take advantage of her? That somehow I'm too stupid to know that my mother is putting me down? Or too wimpy to tell her to stop?”

“That's a hell of a lot of baggage you're dumping on me.”

She frowned. “You're right. I apologize. Thanks for your help today. I couldn't have done this without you.”

“Now go away and leave me alone? Is that what you're saying?”

She smiled, shook her head. “What I'm saying is that I appreciate all your help, but I have to make fudge and you can't be here. So, you're going to have to leave. The shop opens in half an hour, and the only fudge I've got is what's left from yesterday.”

“You sure you don't want my help?”

“I want your help, but if I take it, I'll betray every Lamont who ever came before me. That'll piss off Janelle and Byron. Not something I'm in the mood to do.”

“It might be fun,” he said, brushing thick strands of red hair from her cheeks.

“I have this strange feeling,” she responded “that anything we do together would be.”

“We can test your theory out tonight,” he said, his hands gliding along silky flesh, settling on her narrow shoulders.

“Tonight?”

“I'll pick you up at seven.”

“That's probably not a good idea.”

“Have you forgotten about our deal? I help you, you help me?”

“You don't really need my help. Admit it. You're not the kind of guy who'd let someone else design his restaurant. You're not the kind of person who doubts his taste or his abilities. You probably had your hand in every single aspect of building your brand.”

“You're right,” he admitted, because she deserved the truth. She'd been lied to enough, hurt enough, and he'd never add to that. Not even for Belinda and the ranch. “But I do need your help if I'm going to convince the business council to grant my permit. They want someone local—”

“You can buy local without my help. No one around here is going to turn away your money.”

“So, maybe it's not your help with the business council I want. Maybe it's just you.”

“Not the right time,” she said, but she didn't move away.

He didn't think she could any more than he could.

They were tied together, bound in some way he couldn't even begin to understand. All he knew was that there was something between them. Something he couldn't explain away as simple attraction. He'd been in plenty of relationships. He knew heat and desire and lust.

What he felt with Brenna was different.

It was warm and true and compelling.

It made him want to do the right thing. Even if the right thing was stepping back, putting some distance between them.

He let his hands fall away.

“You choose the time, Brenna. When you're ready, let me know. Now, I guess I'd better get going. I've got spark plugs to buy if you're going to bring your car home tonight.”

She didn't argue.

She didn't say another word.

Not as he removed the apron, hung it on the hook, opened the back door. Not even as he walked outside.

He could feel her standing in the doorway, knew she was watching as he walked to his truck. He opened the door, turned, and met her eyes.

They were deep violet in the sunlight, her skin flawless, her expression guarded.

“Thanks again, River,” she said so quietly the words barely carried on the still morning air.

“Chocolate is easy,” he replied, climbing into the car.

“It's not chocolate I'm talking about,” she said. “See you tonight.”

She closed the door, and he sat where he was for just long enough to convince himself not to go back, not to take what he thought she might be willing to give.

She wasn't ready and he wasn't going to push.

He had time.

Benevolence wasn't what he'd wanted. It wasn't where he'd thought his life would be headed, but there he was. He couldn't say he didn't like it. He couldn't say there wasn't something quaint and wholesome and nice about being back in the place where he'd finally learned what family meant.

He'd let that last for as long as it did, and if that meant forever, who was he to complain? He'd built his restaurants. He'd made good money doing it. Maybe it was time to put a little of the love Belinda and Dillard had given him back into the place they'd always called home.

Twelve hours into her fifth day on the job and Brenna still hated fudge.

She didn't just hate it. She hated it to the very depth of her soul.

She stood at the stove anyway, stirring up another batch of what had made Chocolate Haven famous: Lamont family fudge. The stuff had won awards. Its praises had been sung in magazines and on talk shows. There were celebrities who raved about the stuff, brides who ordered pounds of it for their nuptials, and moms-to-be who craved it like other women craved pickles and ice cream.

Yep. Lamont family fudge was the keystone to Chocolate Haven's success.

Brenna couldn't make it to save her life.

Which was a problem, considering she needed about fifteen pounds of it. Stat. She had orders for it coming out of her eyeballs: Internet orders, call-in orders, walk-in orders. It seemed every person who'd walked into the shop, called the shop, or gotten on the shop Web site that day desperately wanted Lamont fudge. She'd sold all that was left from the previous day and now she had to find a way to make more.

Brenna eyed the pan of melted chocolate, condensed milk, and a few other ingredients that seemed determined to float at the top of the sludgy mess that was supposed to be fudge.
This
definitely wasn't the way.

She'd read the recipe in Byron's office.

She'd reread it and reread it again.

She'd committed it to memory because Byron had made her swear not to leave it where anyone could see it.

She'd followed the recipe.
To a T!

And this was what she had for her efforts: a pot full of crap.

She stirred it frantically, hoping to smooth it out a little more. No such luck. Even with the temperature exactly right, the ingredients precisely measured, the kitchen clean and neat and prepared for greatness, she'd still managed to make a mess of the one thing she absolutely had to get right.

She dipped a spoon into the sludge and tasted it.

It looked disgusting, but it wasn't horrible. So, maybe she wasn't making a mess of things. Maybe she was just making a mediocre facsimile of Lamont fudge. Someone would probably eat it and be satisfied, but that someone sure as hell wouldn't be anyone who'd ever tasted the real deal.

She sighed, pouring the lumpy mixture into a prepared pan and doing everything in her power to make it look glossy and luscious.

It looked like a big pile of shi—

The phone rang and she grabbed it and the yellow pad Byron took orders on. No doubt she'd be asked for another pound of fudge. Milk chocolate. Peanut butter. S'more. Or one of the six other flavors Chocolate Haven offered. She could add another pound of impossible to the list of what she needed, and then she could try the recipe again.

What was this? The sixth time today? The seventh?

“Chocolate Haven. Brenna speaking. How can I help you?”

“It's your mother,” Janelle said, her voice knife-edged sharp.

“Hey, Mom. What's up?” She tried to sound pleasant. God knew she tried, but Janelle had special mother radar that detected every hint of attitude in any of her daughters' voices. Right at that moment, Brenna had a serious attitude. Twelve hours of chocolate, several pans of mediocre fudge, and she had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest. She was willing to admit it. Just not to Janelle.

“No need to get snotty before we even begin the conversation.”

“I'm not snotty. I'm busy,” she corrected, scowling at the pan of fudge. It looked like her life: a mucky mess of disparate parts that would not go together no matter how much she tried to make them.

“Too busy to return my texts?”

“Did you text me?” She hadn't had time to grab lunch, let alone check her phone and return texts or calls. She pulled it out of her apron pocket. Four text messages and three phone calls, probably from Jeff. She set the phone on the counter, went back to trying to smooth the fudge.

“Did I text you? I texted you
four
times.”

“Like I said, I've been busy. Granddad wasn't in the shop today.”

“Because you kicked him out,” Janelle replied. Obviously she and Byron had been talking, and obviously the discussion hadn't made Janelle happy. The two might disagree at times, but they loved and respected each other. No way would Janelle let any of her daughters treat Byron badly.

Not that any of them would.

Not that Brenna
had
.

She'd simply stated the obvious: Byron was in a pissy mood and he needed to get out of the kitchen until he got over it.

He'd taken her suggestion seriously.

So seriously he hadn't bothered returning.

She'd managed.

With help from River
.

She shoved thoughts of him away. She wasn't going to think about how nice it might be to take a chance, be a little adventurous, allow herself to explore what he was offering.

“You did kick him out, right?” Janelle pressed, that sharp edge still in her voice.

“Kick him out? That's a gross exaggeration.” She poked the fudge with a fork. Hard as a rock, it now looked like brown cement. Gorgeous.

“Not according to Byron. He said you told him to leave his own store. He was very hurt by your rudeness.”

“Byron can take it as easily as he can dish it out, Mom. I'm sure he wasn't heartbroken.”

“You didn't see the look on his face when we met for coffee. Fortunately, I was able to smooth things over by reminding him that you just recently got out of a bad relationship.”

“It's been months.”

“It still must hurt. You loved Dan so much, and to have him betray you with another woman like he did . . . I just can't even imagine.”

Brenna could picture Janelle shaking her head, her hair not moving an inch from whatever perfect style she'd lacquered it into. “Like I said, it's been months, and I'm trying to put the entire fiasco out of my mind.”

“As well you should. There is no sense wasting another second of your passion on that asshole.”

“Mother!” Brenna exclaimed, genuinely surprised by her mother's language. Janelle had always been too refined and ladylike to use crass language.

“What? It's not like you haven't referred to him that way.”

“Not in front of you.”

“Does that make it any less the truth?”

“I guess not.”

“My point is this, Brenna: You're young and beautiful. There are dozens and dozens of men out there who'd gladly take Dan's place.”

“I'm not looking for a replacement.”

“You should be. Look at your sisters. Both of them are so happy.”

“I know,” she mumbled, hacking at the chocolate cement as if it had committed some crime against her. Bits of hardened fudge flew into the air, smacked her in the cheek, bounced off the wall.

“They are, Brenna. It shocked me more than anyone when Adeline and Sinclair got together, but they're the perfect couple. Don't you think?”

“As perfect as any couple can be,” she admitted, telling herself that she wasn't at all envious of that. She loved Addie. She was excited to see her in love and married and pregnant, but—God help her—she wanted all those things, too.

“And Willow . . . she's such a lovely girl. She's always been just so . . .”

“Perfect?” Because that was how Brenna had always thought of her. Perfect student, perfect daughter, perfect sister. Unlike Brenna, she'd never caused her family a moment of worry. A prosecuting attorney with a reputation that had brought her into the national spotlight on more than one occasion, Willow made her living putting criminals behind bars. When she wasn't doing that, she was volunteering in homeless shelters, working with battered women, mentoring young women.

“No one is perfect, but Willow sure tries. Hopefully, that won't come back to haunt her the way it did . . .” She paused. “Never mind. I didn't call to talk about your sisters. And I didn't call to harass you about Byron. I know the man can be a pain in the butt. I called because I owe you an apology.”

“For . . . ?”

“This morning. You girls are too sweet to complain about it, or maybe you're just too used to it to notice, but I can be a little critical sometimes. A little more negative than I should be.”

“It's okay.”

“No. It really isn't. I used to be like you, Brenna: a free spirit, the entire world stretching out in front of me. I had big dreams and I thought they'd all come true. Then I met your dad, and none of those things seemed to matter.”

“Until he was gone?”

“No. They didn't even matter after that. I'd had what I wanted, and I wanted to make sure you girls had it, too. All the love and contentment and joy. I guess I started nitpicking to make sure none of you got on the wrong path. Noah says . . .” She stopped herself again.

“Noah?”

“Story. He was here for May's wedding. Remember?”

Of course she remembered. Janelle had blushed like a schoolgirl every time she'd looked at the guy. If Brenna hadn't been so caught up in the drama of finding out Dan had cheated, she would have asked some questions, found out a little more about the guy who'd once taught at Benevolence High.

“I remember him. Is he still in town?”

“He moved back a few months ago.”

“And you talk to him often, do you?”

“Did I say that?” Janelle hedged. “I need to go. I've got a meeting with Katie Flemings at In Season Blooms. She's going to make flower arrangements for your sister's party.”

“Do you really think Willow is going to want you to go to the trouble? She likes things simple.”

“These will be simple and elegant. Just like your sister. I'll see you at church tomorrow, dear.”

“I'm not going to—”
church
.

“Of course you are. Adeline needs her family's support while her husband is away.”

“He's in Seattle, Mom. It's not like he's been deployed.”

“Does it matter? Adeline has always been there for us. Never once has she ever said no when we've needed her.”

True. Every bit of it.

“So, of course you'll be there to sit beside her when her husband can't.”

“What about you?”

“I always attend church. Wear a dress that covers your thighs or Millicent Montgomery will have something to say about it.” Janelle hung up.

Great. Wonderful. Now Brenna was going to have to walk into the Lord's house with dozens of lies hidden in her heart.

Lies about why she'd closed her store.

Lies about what had happened between her and Dan.

Lies about her financial situation, her home, her happiness.

Lies about her ability to make the Lamont family fudge.

She scowled, snatching the pan from the counter and carrying it to the trash can. She tried to dump it out, but it stuck fast. Just like all the stupid lies she'd told.

Why couldn't she have been transparent? Why couldn't she have been as vulnerable and real as Adeline had been when her high school sweetheart had dumped her? Why couldn't she have just run home the minute she'd realized what Dan had done, let her family enfold her the way they'd enfolded Adeline all those years ago?

Because she wasn't Adeline, that's why.

The expectations for her were different. It was fine for Addie to stay in Benevolence. It was fine for her to buy a little house and run a business there. It was fine for her to mourn the loss of her first love.

Brenna was supposed to be above that.

Janelle thought she was.

The entire town thought she was, and she hadn't wanted to disappoint. She hadn't wanted to let them know just how human she really was.

“Idiot,” she grumbled, grabbing the knife and sliding it between the fudge and the side of the pan. She tried to pry the chocolate out, but it still wouldn't budge.

“Give me a break! Okay? Just this one time, can something please just work?” The fudge suddenly flew from the pan and the knife slipped, slicing across her knuckles so quickly she didn't even realize what had happened until blood bubbled from the wound.

Wound
s
?

She eyed the gashes that ran across the pointer, middle, and ring finger on her left hand.

“Dang it!” she yelled.

She probably would have been proud of herself for the improvement in her language if she hadn't been bleeding like a stuck pig.

She grabbed a hand towel, pressed it to her knuckles, kicked the lump of fudge that had somehow missed the trash can and landed on the floor.

“This was not what I meant,” she muttered, blood seeping through the towel and dripping onto the floor.

She'd need stitches. No doubt about that.

She ran into Byron's office and grabbed the first aid kit, found a roll of gauze she could use to wrap her fingers. The towel was too bulky, so she replaced it with gauze pads, wound more gauze around that.

“Good enough,” she muttered as she grabbed her purse and headed for the back door.

She was out in the parking lot before she realized she didn't have a car. It was right around that time that she realized she didn't have her phone either. She did have her keys. At least she thought she had her keys. She dug through her purse, found a pack of tissue, a piece of gum, her empty wallet. Keys!