Sweet Surprises (22 page)

Not yet.

She had too much thinking to do about how much she wanted to reveal and about how much to hide.

The lies had to stop.

She knew that.

But how did she unsay what had already been said?

“On Sunday? It's the day of rest, Brenna.”

“Leave the girl alone,” Byron said. “If she wants to make chocolate, who are we to say it's work?”

“I guess we aren't, but we have important things to discuss. Willow's party for one. Her wedding for another. And I'd like Brenna to take a look at her room and give me some ideas for redecorating it. She can't stay in the apartment forever.”

Like hell she couldn't!

There was no way . . . absolutely none . . . that she'd ever move back home.

“Really, Mom, I—”

“She has plans,” River cut in so smoothly Brenna almost didn't hear what he'd said.

“She does?” Janelle and Adeline said in unison.

Janelle looked suspicious.

Adeline looked . . . hopeful? She didn't know everything about what had happened with Dan, but she knew more than most about how much betrayal hurt. Maybe she wanted Brenna to find happiness again. Maybe she didn't understand that Brenna was perfectly happy on her own.

Most of the time.

“She's helping me at the ranch,” River responded, glancing at his watch as if they were on some kind of crazy-tight timeline. “Speaking of which, we'd better head out. I'm sure Belinda and the gang are out front, waiting for me to drive them back. You'll have to take your car, red. Belinda's car is packed tight.”

He took her hand and tugged her away from her family and she went, weaving through groups of people who eyed her with curiosity. No doubt they were wondering why she was allowing herself to be pulled away from her family. No doubt they'd be whispering about it as soon as she stepped outside.

Years ago, she would have cared.

Today, she didn't.

The sky was a vivid blue, the air crisp and cool.

A perfect day, and she wasn't going to let it be ruined by other people's opinions.

“If you want,” River said, stopping at her car but not releasing her hand, “I can ask Angel to drive Belinda's car back and we can go somewhere besides the ranch.”

“Chocolate Haven?” she asked, and he smiled.

“That can wait. I have a better idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

“Just yes or no, red. That's all you need to give me. It's not that complicated.”

“It is when I don't know what I'll be agreeing to.”

“You're agreeing to me, to
us
. Just for an hour. Then we'll get back to the real world and all the work we have to do.”

She should have said no.

She knew that.

Making decisions without all the necessary information wasn't something she had ever been willing to do, but she looked in his eyes and the only thing she could manage was, “Yes.”

* * *

Brenna needed time away from her family and River needed time away from the house. He didn't see why they couldn't spend that time together. He had her drive toward the ranch, then turn onto a narrow dirt road that was nearly overgrown with grass and foliage. He knew where it led: up over the crest of a hill and deep into a copse of trees that he and Dillard had once spent hours wandering through.

There was a cabin there, and a view of the Spokane River that could leave a person breathless. He knew. He'd felt that way a few times. Even now, as the Chrysler crested the hill and headed down the other side, he was caught up in it—the conifers that dotted the landscape, their needles dark green against the blue sky, the river meandering lazily in the distance. Dillard's fishing cabin was just a few hundred feet from its shores, its wood gray with age, the windows boarded up.

Who'd done that?

Dillard?

Had he realized there weren't going to be any more troubled teens to take fishing? Had he decided the place would be better off sealed up than left to vandals?

Or had Belinda come sometime after his death, cleaned the place out, and closed it up? Either way, the sight of the cabin sealed off from the world hit River in the heart.

Brenna drove the Chrysler as far as the road would let her, then parked it a few feet from the cabin's front door.

“Look at that place,” she breathed. “It's like a secret hideaway, a romantic little oasis in the middle of a chaotic world. Or maybe—”

“A fishing cabin?” he suggested, and she laughed, opening her door and getting out of the car.

He did the same, the silence of the day, the stillness of the landscape filling him like no amount of success or wealth ever could.

“I like the idea of a romantic getaway better, but fishing is fun.” She walked to the cabin door, her dress hugging her slim waist and skimming over her narrow hips. Her legs were long and slender, the skin smooth and more tempting than River wanted it to be.

She was gorgeous.

No doubt about that.

She was also holding back. Not just from him. From her family. From the town. From the shop she was trying so hard to run.

Because of her ex?

He could have asked, but she seemed fascinated with the cabin, taken with it in the same way he'd been the first time he'd seen it.

“Have you fished a lot?” he asked, leaning past her to unlock the door. He caught a hint of that decadent scent—chocolate and strawberry and misty fall mornings—and he wanted to forget the cabin, the river, the beautiful scenery. He wanted to pull her into his arms, smooth his hands along her spine, kiss her until the only thing either of them knew was each other.

“It's one of Byron's favorite things to do. After my father died, he needed a buddy for his Saturday evening trips to the river. I was it.”

“I wonder if he still takes those trips to the river.”

“Probably not since he busted his hip and leg. I think the fishing trip to Alaska is the first one he's taken in over a year.”

“You're going to miss him while he's gone.” The door creaked open and he walked in, inhaling dust and mildew, mold and age. The place had been locked up for a long time, the old kerosene lamps that had once hung from the walls removed, the couch and easy chair covered with white sheets. Fishing tackle lay on the table, Dillard's tackle box beside it.

“So will the shop and the customers and, probably, the entire town.” Brenna lifted an old newspaper that lay on the easy chair. “Benevolence really does love its fudge.”

“It loves your grandfather, too.”

“Also true. Look at this.” She held up the newspaper. There wasn't much light coming through the open door, but River could see that an article had been circled in red pen.

He took the paper from Brenna's hand and took a closer look. The paper wasn't the Benevolence
Times
; it was the Portland
Herald
. The article wasn't about small-town stuff, it was about the grand opening of River's first restaurant.

“I can't believe he kept this,” he said, placing it back on the chair.

“Why not?”

“Do you know how many foster kids Belinda and Dillard had? If he kept reminders of every accomplishment they'd ever made, the cabin, the house, and the barn would be full.”

“Does love have some limit, River?” She walked to the fireplace, ran her hand along the polished wood mantel. A few photos sat there. One of Dillard and Belinda. One of the two of them with River. One of the land the way it had been before Dillard died: lush cornfields, apple trees heavy with fruit. “It seems to me that someone like Dillard could love every single one of his foster kids, but it also seems to me that you were special.”

“Yeah, special at getting into trouble.”

“Dillard never said you were trouble. He said you were more creative than most kids. I can remember him talking to Byron about the sheep incident. He said only someone with a good brain and a lot of creativity could have thought up a prank like that.”

“What did your grandfather say?”

“I can't repeat it. I'm trying to clean up my language before Adeline's baby is born.”

He chuckled. “I'm sure your sister will appreciate that.”

“She'll appreciate the fact that I quit smoking more.”

“A smoker, huh?”

“Since I was eighteen. It's the kind of thing that happens when you're a kid spending most of your time with other kids who are all independent and have been for years.”

“I get it. I smoked until I was thirteen.”

She laughed, the sound fading away as she realized he was serious. “You're not kidding.”

“That's when I moved to the ranch. The first couple of weeks, Belinda and Dillard didn't say anything about my smoking. About a month into my stay, Belinda started making pie.”

“Pie?”

“Peach. Pumpkin. Apple. Every night, that's what she'd serve for dessert. One night she made chocolate cream. My favorite, and she knew it.”

“What does that have to do with smoking?”

“Belinda refused to let me have any; not one slice of any of the pies she'd made. She said smoking put me at high risk for all kinds of diseases, and she wasn't going to nudge me closer to the grave by feeding me sweets. After a couple of nights watching everyone enjoy pie, I decided I just might like that more than I liked cigarettes.”

“I wish someone had made me pie. It might have made the process easier,” she joked, but there was a hint of longing in her voice and a softness in her eyes made him think she'd needed what he'd had: people who'd cared.

Strange, because he'd always thought the Lamonts were an impenetrable wall, a fortress built to protect everyone who bore the name.

“You don't think they would have if you'd asked?”

“Probably, but I guess I've forgotten how.”

“To ask for something you want?”

“To admit there's something I need. I had it all, River. A career that people in town admire, a decade of traveling the world, a million opportunities opened up to me. That's what everyone around here thinks. Even my family. What am I supposed to say? That it's not enough? That all the wonderful things so many people would give anything to have aren't good enough for me?”

“Would it be the truth?”

“I'm not even sure I know the truth anymore.” She sighed, walking to the door that led out onto the back porch and lifting the wooden bar that held it closed. He followed her out into the afternoon sunshine, stood beside her as she leaned against the porch railing and looked out at the river.

“Is it that complicated?” he finally asked, and she shrugged.

“It didn't used to be. It used to be that I just wanted to get away from all the expectations, be something other than the third Lamont sister. When the opportunity to model presented itself, I jumped at it. Not because it was something I always wanted to do. Because it would get me out of a town that was just too . . .” She shook her head, her hair brushing her nape and falling across her forehead.

“Confining?”

“Maybe.” She turned to face him, her eyes violet blue, her lashes a rich, deep red. She'd worn no makeup, no jewelry, nothing but that simple blue dress, those conservative heels, that bright orange purse she'd slung over her shoulder. She still looked stylish, fashionable, ready for the runway. “Probably. Especially after my father died. I guess everything changed then. I had to always pretend like I was happy, that the family was doing okay, but really? We were all falling apart.”

“That must have been tough.”

“Not once it became a habit. Kind of like smoking: you do it because it's what everyone expects. For a while, it doesn't feel natural. Eventually, though, it's just part of who you are.”

“So, you came back to find out who you really are?”

She smiled at that, but there was no humor in her eyes. “That would be sad, wouldn't it? To come back home to find myself?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm closing in on thirty. I should already be found. Look at Adeline: she's got it all figured out. Her life, the people she loves, what she wants to be when she's thirty, forty, fifty, and forever. Willow is the same way. She's settled down, happy with what she's accomplished so far, determined to accomplish even more.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “Why what?”

“Why look at Adeline and Willow when you're the one standing here?”

“I—”

“It's a waste of time, Brenna. Just like it's a waste to stand in front of a beautiful view like this and think about the New York skyline or the Swiss Alps.”

“You really need to stop, River,” she said with a sigh.

“Stop what?”

“Being so . . . right. I find it completely annoying.”

“Then I guess it won't hurt to annoy you more,” he murmured, tugging her closer, his fingers threading through her hair, his lips finding hers as easily as the sun found the dawn.

She moaned, pressing closer, giving as much as she was taking, and he knew they could lose themselves to the moment, forget about the ranch, Chocolate Haven, the dozens of obligations they both had.

That scared him, because he'd never wanted to fall headfirst into something he might not be able to get out of.

But he
was
falling.

And there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could do about it but hold on tight and hope he'd land on his feet.

Someone's phone was ringing.

Brenna ignored it because right at that moment, it didn't seem like there could be anything more important than River's hands, his lips, his body pressed close to her.

It rang again, the loud trill pulling her from a haze of longing that she hadn't felt in . . .

God! What a terrible thing to admit, and what a true one. She had never
ever
felt so completely engulfed and consumed that she didn't care what she lost, what she had to give up, what she might surrender to get what she wanted.

She broke away from River, looked into his beautiful eyes.

“What is it with you?” she whispered, and she wasn't sure whether she was talking to herself or to River.

“Hell if I know,” he responded, his voice as rough and raspy as her breathing seemed to be.

She needed to stop this. Now. Before it went too far and she found herself in so deep she couldn't get out, but his hand swept down the curve of her hip, settled on her upper thigh. Skin to skin and, God help her, she wanted so much more.

The blasted phone rang again, and River's hand dropped away.

“Damn!” he muttered. “You'd better get that.”

“What?”

“Your phone.” He gestured to her purse, and she dragged it from her shoulder, her hands shaking as she pulled out her cell phone.

She didn't recognize the number, but with all the trouble that had happened the previous day, she figured it could have been anyone: police, clinic, doctor's office.

“Hello?” she said, her voice as shaky as her hands had been.

“Babe?” The voice sounded tinny and far away, but she knew it immediately. How could she not? She'd lived with the guy for three years.

“Dan?” She met River's eyes, mouthed
my ex
.

“Who else calls you babe?” Dan responded. “Have you missed me?”

“I miss the money you stole from me.”

“Stole? That's harsh, Brenna. It was in our account. Remember? We agreed that it was best if we combined our assets.”

“We didn't agree. You convinced me. We also didn't agree that you should take every cent out and spend it on yourself and some other woman.”

“I thought you'd understand, Bren. I thought you'd get that a man has needs. Especially when he reaches the middle of his life. Sometimes he goes a little crazy.”

“There's a difference between crazy and criminal,” she growled, knowing River was listening to every word she said, knowing he'd just learned way more than anyone in her family knew.

“Taking what's mine isn't criminal, and those accounts had both of our names on them,” Dan argued. Obviously, he didn't see anything wrong with what he'd done.

Or, maybe, he was hoping he could convince her that he didn't.

She glanced at River, saw that he was watching intently, not even trying to hide the fact that he was listening. Why would he? She was having the conversation half a foot away.

“I lost everything because of you.” She walked down the porch stairs, the heavy scent of pine needles and wet earth filling her nose as she headed toward a path that led from the cabin to the river.

“Babe, you still have your looks, your body, that special something that made you a hot commodity in the modeling world. All you'd have to do is say the word and you'd be working again.”

“You know I hated modeling.” He was one of the few people she'd ever told the truth.

“And you know what I told you when you said that to me: you don't hate it. It paid a lot of dividends, and once you appreciate that, you'll appreciate the job.”

Not true. Any of it, but she'd explained that over and over to him and he'd never listened. He'd wanted what she didn't: Brenna as the runway-walking, world-traveling model.

She wasn't going to explain things to him again.

“What do you want, Dan?”

“Us. Together. The way we used to be. I'm in Thailand: one of the most beautiful places on earth. Blue water. Sunny skies. But I don't have the most beautiful woman on earth with me.”

“What? Your new girlfriend's left?” She'd reached the water's edge and she stood there, heels sinking into muddy earth.

“You're not listening to me. I want
you
. I even hooked you up with a great gig. There's this cutting-edge fashion designer in Bangkok, and when I showed him your pictures, he wanted to hire you to walk in his December show. He's not the only one. I've got six other designers begging to work with you. You know how much money you could rake in working the runway here?”

“Not the amount of money you took from me.”

True to form, he completely ignored the remark. “Brenna, I'm being honest. I'm speaking from my heart. Walking away from you was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“Funny, because saying yes to our first date was my biggest mistake.”

“Come on, babe. Don't be that way.”

“Do. Not. Call. Me. Babe.” The sun was bright and high. She could feel it on the crown of her head and on her nape, but she was cold with rage.

“That's what you are to me. Remember how good we were together?”

“What I remember is what an asshole you were for cheating on me, emptying our bank account and my business account. What I remember is—”

“Let me,” River growled, snatching the phone from her hand.

“Hey!” she protested, but River turned away, pressed the phone to his ear.

“Dan? Brenna's done with you, so how about you hang up and call your business partner? Jeff is a lot more interested in hearing what you have to say.” He ended the call, handed the phone back.

“What the hell was that?” Brenna demanded.

“Me. Getting rid of a nuisance.”

“I know how to handle myself.” She shoved the phone back in her purse, every cell in her body humming with anger.

“I hope you also know you need to call the police and give them the loser's number.”

“I'm not stupid.”

“I don't think I said you were.”

“Well, you're sure as hell acting like I am.” She stalked back to the cabin, knowing she was being unreasonable, knowing the way she felt wasn't River's fault.

It was Dan's.

Hers.

She hated failing. Hated it, but she'd failed at what should have been as simple as breathing. Her parents had had a great relationship. Her grandparents, too. She'd seen what love should be and she'd known that wasn't what she'd had with Dan.

But she'd stuck things out with him because it had been comfortable and easy, and because she hadn't wanted her mother and sisters and grandfather to think the Lamont who'd traveled the farthest, seen the most, couldn't find a man who could really, truly love her.

There it was.

The crux of the issue: she'd been so busy trying to fulfill other people's expectations, she hadn't fulfilled her own.

Whatever they were.

She rounded the cabin, her feet wet and muddy, the pretty dress she'd chosen for church suddenly seeming lank and lifeless.

God, she was a mess.

Which only pissed her off more, because she'd come to Benevolence to help Byron, but she'd also come to figure things out, to find the path she needed to take so she could damn well take it.

She opened the door of the Chrysler, slid into the seat, and waited while River locked the cabin door.

A few seconds later, he climbed in beside her.

He didn't say a word.

She didn't either.

They'd planned to go to the ranch and do some work, but she wasn't sure that was in the cards anymore. It would probably be better if she just dropped him off and went to the store herself. She'd come a long way in her candy-making abilities. Eventually, she'd conquer the Lamont family fudge. In the meantime, she could just muddle through alone.

Except she didn't want to.

She was getting used to having River around. She was getting used to his smile, his voice, his hand on her back or her arm or her thigh.

She wanted more of that, more of the little nuances that were part of being a couple.

The silence between them stretched out, became its own thing, big and daunting.

She wanted to break it, but she didn't know what to say.

By the time she stopped in front of Belinda's house, she knew she'd blown it.

River climbed out and didn't even glance her way.

She thought he'd walk into the house and leave her sitting there in the car, wondering if she should drive away or stay.

He rounded the Chrysler, opened her door.

When he offered his hand, she took it, allowed herself to be pulled out of the car. Her cut fingers hurt, each slow, hard beat of her heart echoed by that throbbing pain.

She needed to call Jeff.

She needed to call the police.

She needed to do a lot of things, but none of them seemed quite as important as telling River she was sorry.

She stopped as they reached the door. “River—”

“It's okay, Brenna,” he said, the words as cool as the breeze that wafted under the porch eaves. “You'll figure it out eventually.”

“Figure what out?” she asked, but the front door flew open and a dark-haired man with a receding hairline peered out at them.

“River? That you, River?” the guy said, his blue eyes wide behind big round glasses.

“Yeah. It's me, Joe,” River responded kindly. “How did you like church today?”

“I always like church, River. I always do. We're going to paint. Are we going to paint? Belinda said we're going to paint?” Joe said.

River patted his shoulder and smiled.

“We're going to choose paint. You can help, but we're not painting today.”

“Tomorrow? I can help tomorrow.”

“You'll be home tomorrow.”

Joe's face fell. “I'm not home?”

“Of course you are. Sorry, buddy. I wasn't thinking. Let's go inside and look at the paint colors.” He steered Joe back inside, and Brenna was left to follow.

She walked into the foyer, nearly bumping into a ladder that stood against the wall. Mack was perched on top of it, removing the chandelier that had hung there for as long as Brenna had been around. Pretty little plastic raindrops falling from swirling metal arms, that's what it looked like, but as he lifted it, she could hear a soft musical chime.

Crystal and brass?

At the end of the hall, Huckleberry was on his knees patching a hole in the floor with some kind of wood putty. Belinda, River, and Joe were a few feet away, eyeing paint that had been dabbed onto the wall. Creamy beige. Butter yellow. Pale gray. Soft blue.

“What do you think?” River asked as she approached.

What she thought was that he looked like a hero, his hand still on Joe's shoulder, his hair ruffled by the breeze.

“Gray,” she said. “And all the trim crisp white. You can go darker in the living room and parlor and use that yellow for the kitchen.”

“That sounds lovely, dear,” Belinda said, beaming as if Brenna had just cured cancer or found the answer to world peace. “I'm so excited to have the place updated again. River is so sweet to do all this before he goes home.”

“Goes home?” she repeated, meeting River's eyes.

Apparently, he still hadn't shared his plans with Belinda.

“I'll be out of this chair in no time.” Belinda patted the arm of her wheelchair. “And then I'll be back to cleaning and cooking and keeping my little family happy and healthy. River will be free to head back to his restaurants. He's already been away for too long. Thanks to me.”

“Belinda, I'm here because I want to be,” River said gently. “The restaurants can function just fine without me in Portland.”

“So you say, but if you lose everything you've worked so hard for, I'll never forgive myself.”

“What does he have to lose?” Angel said, strutting into the room, an ice cream cone in one hand and a book in the other. “A couple of restaurants that will probably be six feet under in another couple of years anyway?”

“Angel!” Belinda frowned. “That's a horrible thing to say.”

“It's the truth. Most restaurants don't survive. Especially when they're run by people who don't know what they're doing.”

River's jaw tightened, his gaze moving from the ice cream to the book and then to Angel's belly.

Her shirt was too small and it rode up just enough to reveal a hint of a tattoo and a few stretch marks.

Maybe the sight of them curbed River's tongue.

“Did you put that crib together?” was all he said.

“Not yet. Sunday is my only day off and I wanted to relax for a while.”

“If the baby comes tomorrow, are you going to be happy that you relaxed today?”

She scowled. “The truth is, I tried to put it together. I failed. It's a lot more complicated than it looks.”

“You should have asked for help,” Huckleberry said, finally getting to his feet. He looked young and very tired, his thin, freckled face pale, his eyes shadowed. “I'll take care of it for you.”

“You need to finish patching the floor,” River said. “I've got a company coming out tomorrow to refinish it, and I want to make sure the patches are dry before then.”

“I'll do it later, then,” Huckleberry muttered, and Angel scowled.

“Does everyone in this house always do what the as . . .” Her voice trailed off, her gaze darting to Belinda. “Does everyone have to do what River says? Is there some reason why we've all lost our backbones?”