Sweet Surprises (11 page)

He crossed the porch, trying to ignore the broken swing, the railings that still needed to be whitewashed, the empty flower baskets, but Brenna was waiting at his truck and he could see she was looking, taking in all the little details of a house that had been neglected for way too long.

Her phone rang as he approached and she pulled it out of her apron pocket, glanced at the number.

“Perfect,” she muttered, tossing the phone into her pocket again.

“Your mother?” He opened the truck door and she scrambled in, her cheeks red. Embarrassment or anger, he couldn't tell which.

“My mother would be easy compared to him.”

“Your ex?”

“I wish it
were
my ex, I'd like to give him a piece of my mind. Actually, I'd like to give him a kick in the . . .” She pressed her lips together. “I've really got to stop.”

“What?”

“Thinking about Dan, because I promised myself that I'd clean up my language before Adeline's baby is born, and that's just not going to be possible if I keep dwelling on the jerk.”

“If he's a jerk,” he said, climbing into the truck and starting the engine, “why are you dwelling on him?”

“He screwed up my life, that's why.”

“What did he do? Cheat on you?”

“That question is a little personal, don't you think?”

“Me asking doesn't mean you have to answer.”

She didn't say another word as he backed out of the driveway and headed back into town. The way he saw it, no answer was
the
answer.

The guy had cheated. Brenna had dumped him. Life had gone on, but she hadn't.

It seemed to River that she would have. Unless something else had happened. Something to do with the call she hadn't taken.

“Can you drop me off at the shop before you pick Belinda up?” she asked quietly. “I don't want to leave Byron by himself for too long.”

“Sure.” He didn't point out that Byron seemed perfectly capable of running the shop. He thought she probably already knew it. He also didn't point out the fact that her phone was ringing again.

He thought she already knew that, too.

He pulled up in front of Chocolate Haven and she jumped out of the truck, offering him a quick thank you before she darted inside.

Whatever Brenna's problems, she was home.

That had to feel good.

Or maybe not.

Maybe, like for River, Benevolence had been the one place she'd never planned on returning to.

An odd thought, considering the fact that she was one of the Lamont girls. If there had ever been Benevolence royalty, they'd been it. The little world they'd grown up in had been theirs for the taking, and he'd had moments of pure jealousy about that. He'd had to work his butt off every moment of every day to prove his worth. All Brenna and her sisters had to do was smile.

That had been a long time ago.

People changed.

He sure as hell must have, because the town he'd always looked down on, the place he'd hated when he was a kid, looked a lot better through adult eyes: the quaint shops that lined Main Street, the mature trees that shaded the sidewalk.

Autumn was just around the corner. There were hints of it in the golden leaves of a willow, the deep yellow of distant hayfields. It made him think of the parties Belinda used to host: harvest festivals for the church kids and Halloween parties for the schools. She and Dillard would open up the house and let dozens of kids run in and out. There'd always been games and food, sometimes a live band, and always the ponies Dillard had loved so much.

When had he gotten rid of those?

Sometime after River had left.

Dillard and Belinda had never mentioned it. They'd never asked for help or begged him to come home. They'd seemed content to fly out to visit every couple of months, to play tourist in Oregon and ooh and aah over the big city.

He'd always known they were doing it for him—staying in a place they didn't really like for the sake of someone they loved.

He couldn't do any less for them.

He wouldn't.

He'd stay in Benevolence as long as he needed to.

And, maybe, while he was there, he'd learn to love it the way Dillard and Belinda had.

Four days into her job at Chocolate Haven and Brenna realized something: she hated fudge.

Hated it with a passion that rivaled her hatred of Dan the dope. Probably hated it more than Dan because she couldn't really say she hated the guy. Angry? Yes. Disgusted? Of course. But hate? That took a lot of emotion, and she'd realized long before Dan had skipped town that she didn't have a whole lot of that left for him.

Wasn't love supposed to be about passion? About needing to be with someone almost as much as you needed to breathe?

Or was that all just a romantic notion, written in books and songs, but never the reality of what real love was meant to be?

She had no idea because all she'd really ever felt for Dan was attraction and affection. He'd swept her off her feet. She could admit that, but he'd never really had her heart.

She dumped another batch of rock-hard fudge into the trash can, scraping bits of it off the edges of the pan. She needed to wash it, but she'd run out of energy hours ago. All she really wanted to do was go up to the apartment, curl up with a hot cup of tea, and read the book she'd borrowed on the sly from the library.

Candy Making for Dummies
.

Because she couldn't keep pretending to be good at this, and Byron really, truly believed she had the knack, the magic touch, the thing that made a simple piece of chocolate into something decadent.

Only she didn't.

She tossed the pan into the sink, water splashing up over the edge and onto the floor.

“Darn it,” she muttered, and Byron peeked out of his office.

“Everything okay, doll?” he asked, and she smiled that big fake smile she'd been practicing for the past few days.

Four days of torturous hell, but she'd never let him know it.

“Sure. Just cleaning up.”

“I've finished the books, so I'll give you a hand.”

“What good is it doing for me to be here if you do all the work?”

“I'm not doing all the work.”

“Granddad, you've been here every hour of every day I've been here.”

“Helping you get settled into the job so when I leave on Monday—”

“Leave?” She went cold at the thought. With Chase in college every day, she'd be left alone to make the fudge, the bonbons, the candy hearts, and pretty chocolate roses.

“I've got that Alaskan fishing trip planned. I know I told you about it.” He took a cigar from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth.

He was lying. She could tell by the gleam in his eyes.

“No. You did not say one word about a fishing trip. Ever. Not before I got here and not after.”

“Really?” He tried to look confused, but he wasn't pulling it off.

“You lied to me, Granddad,” she accused. “You didn't need my help while Addie was out, you needed me to run the shop while you went fishing!”

“Could be I was thinking about that when I asked you to come.” He grinned. “But you can't say it hasn't been working out nicely for you to be here.”

“Do you see the mess I've made in your kitchen?” She swung around in a circle, pointing at dirty pans and overflowing bowls. She wanted to cry. She really did, and she wasn't even sure why. “This is not working out.”

“What you need,” Byron said calmly, “is a little time to yourself, a little space with me not hanging over your shoulder telling you what to do.”

“More space to make a bigger mess? Is that what you're saying? That's not going to solve the problem.”

“More space to let the magic happen.” He winked, and she was tempted to yank the cigar out from between his teeth and stomp it into dust.

“There is no magic here. There is just a bucketload of wasted ingredients.”

“How can there be magic when you've got an old man getting in the way of you making it? Once I'm on my trip, and you're on your own—”

“How long are we talking about?” she asked through gritted teeth. She would not let Byron know how much she was panicking.

“Two weeks,” he said cheerfully.

“Your business will be a bust by then, Granddad. I'll have run Chocolate Haven out of the chocolate world. You'll come back from your fishing trip—”

“It's not like you to be melodramatic, Brenna.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “You've traveled all over the world. On your own. You've lived on your own in New York City, for God's sake. What's so scary about being alone in this shop for two weeks?”

“I—”

“If you're afraid of failing, stop. You can't fail at a family business. If you're worried about the fudge.” He poked his finger toward the batch she'd just tossed. “It'll come to you.”

“You're putting a whole lot of faith in that, Granddad.”

“Why shouldn't I? You're a Lamont. Lamonts know fudge. The candy making business—”

“Runs through their blood.” She sighed.

“Well, it does,” he said with a quiet huff. “Now, how about we get to cleaning? I've got a hot date tonight, and I don't want to miss it.”

“Hot date?” The comment was almost enough to distract her from the fact that she'd be running the shop on her own for two weeks. “With who?”

“Might be it's someone you know. Might be it isn't.”

“Laura Beth?” she guessed, and his face flushed.

“Now, why would you bring her up? I'm actually taking Belinda to the cakewalk at Benevolence Baptist.”

“She's in a wheelchair,” she pointed out.

“And I am going to roll her around until we win a damn cake. You got a problem with that?”

“No. I just thought—”

“You remember how close Dillard and I used to be? We used to hunt together and fish together. We were like brothers, and that makes Belinda like my sister-in-law. When I saw her the other day . . .” He shook his head. “It nearly broke my heart that I'd let so much time slip away between visits.”

“You did have a pretty serious accident, Granddad. It's not like you've been healthy.”

“Excuses are easy to make, kid, but time? That's hard to get back once you lose it. So I called Belinda up and we started chatting. Turns out Elmer Wilkinson has been calling on her off and on for the past couple months, but he's afraid to do it now that River is around.”

“Elmer Wilkinson?”

“Owns that farm that butts right up to the ranch? Mary was his wife. She passed about ten years ago.”

She didn't remember, but she nodded anyway. “So what does that have to do with you and Belinda going to the cakewalk?”

“Elmer is going to be there. The two of them can have a little time together and I can hang out with Lau . . .”

“Aha! This is about Laurie!”

“It most certainly is not!” he insisted.

They probably would have continued the argument, but someone knocked on the back door.

“That's got to be her,” he said, rushing to take off his apron and running his hand over his hair.

“Laura Beth?”

“Belinda. River said he'd drop her off after therapy. Get with the program, girl!” he said, swinging open the back door.

Cold air rushed in, and then Belinda was there, being wheeled in by River, who looked . . .

Great.

Really great.

His dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his dark slacks and white dress shirt crisp. A tie hung around his neck, the ends of it brushing the chair as he leaned over to say something to Belinda.

Whatever he said, it made her smile.

She looked pretty. Her white hair styled in soft curls that framed her face, a little blush on her gaunt cheeks. Someone had painted her nails pale pink and decorated her black wrist brace with silver glitter.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Byron said, gallantly kissing her knuckles. She smiled, brushing her hand over her blue dress.

She even had heels on her feet. Low ones with tiny little bows on the toes. “Thank you for taking me, Byron. I'm sure we will both have a good time.”

Her words were clearer than they'd been the day Mack had tackled Brenna. Maybe the stress had made speech more difficult.

“Have a good time?” Byron stepped behind the chair and turned her back toward the door. “We're winning a cake, Belinda Mae. You mark my words on that.”

She laughed, the sound smothered by the clatter of leaves blowing across the pavement.

“Do you need help getting the chair—” River began.

“Young man!” Byron interrupted. “Belinda and I can handle this just fine.”

With that, he rolled her out the door.

“I hope this isn't a mistake,” River said, standing in the threshold, probably watching Byron make his way to his old Cadillac.

“They'll be fine,” Brenna said, but she wasn't so sure.

It was true Byron had been moving around the shop like a guy twenty years his junior, but that didn't mean he could help Belinda into a car or lift a wheelchair into the trunk.

“I'd feel a lot better if I were going with them.”

“Who says you can't?” she asked, grabbing a dirty bowl and dunking it under hot water.

“Belinda threatened to disown me if I showed my face at the cakewalk. She says I've been hovering.” He edged in beside her, grabbing an apron from the hook near the door and tying it around his waist.

“Have you been?”

“Yeah. I have. Huckleberry and Mack picked six baskets of apples and three baskets of pears. Belinda is bound and determined to can every last one of them.”

“I've always wanted to do that.” She shifted to the side, gave him room to dry while she washed.

“Can pears and apples?”

“Sure. Why not? Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about her mother putting up jars of vegetables and fruits, and I always thought it sounded like fun.” The words slipped out, the childhood memory something she'd never shared with anyone. Not because she was embarrassed by it, but because it had never come up.

In her other life, she'd talked about fashion and photo-shoots and a dozen other things that really didn't matter. Not in any way that mattered to her. In her head, though, she'd always been one of those women who bustled around a hot kitchen, baking pies and cakes and feeding everyone who stopped by.

She thought River might laugh, but he stopped drying the dish she'd handed him and studied her for a moment. “I trained as a chef, and I've spent a lot of time learning the old way of doing things. Modern techniques are great, but tradition brings us back to the roots of who we are. Seems like someone like you would appreciate that.” He smiled, and she found herself smiling right along with him.

“First you say I'm a bookworm. Now, you say I'm traditional? What clued you in this time? My old-fashioned hair cut?” She touched the hair Dan had always insisted go with her image: hip and chic, modern and edgy.

“Image isn't always the same as identity,” he responded. “Look at me. If you asked around town, people would probably say I rode off into the sunset to rob banks and run drugs. In reality, I graduated from college, went to culinary school. Opened restaurants. I spent more than one summer feeding ranch hands. I learned to bake bread, can vegetables, and make a lot of good food out of a few very good ingredients while I was at it. If you really want to learn, I can teach you.”

“I couldn't ask you to do that.” She
wouldn't
ask him because there was no way on God's green earth she was going to spend any more time than necessary with River.

There was just something about him . . .

Something she hadn't been able to put out of her mind. She knew, because she'd spent four days trying, four nights tapping her fingers against an empty cigarette box, thinking about the way he'd been with Mack and with Belinda and with her.

Idiot
, her mind shouted, but her heart gave a tiny little jump as she looked into his eyes.

“I could teach you a little about chocolate, too,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “I apprenticed under a master chocolatier in France. It's not my thing, but I did learn a lot. There's an art to tempering. Once you learn that, the rest is pretty easy.”

“Like I said, I couldn't put you out.”

“You wouldn't be. Besides,” he set the bowl in the cupboard, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What kind of favor?”

“No need to sound so suspicious, red. It's all on the up-and-up.”

She grabbed a pan from the stove, this one filled with the remnants of the marshmallow she'd been trying to make. “What favor?” she repeated.

“I've been thinking about what you said regarding the ranch, about how much Belinda always loved having people around. She needs a way to make money to keep the ranch running.
Local
and
organic
are big terms in the food market. People want to eat clean and they want to be closer to their food sources.”

“Okay,” she said, her pulse beating a little faster. Not because she was looking in his eyes or because he was staring into hers. No. This time, it was because she heard passion in his voice, determination. He'd been thinking about this a lot, and whatever it was, he planned to make it work.

“Belinda has that huge old farmhouse, and aside from the dust and age, it's in pretty good shape. I'm going to clean it up, furnish it, and advertise it as a bed-and-breakfast where people can come to help with the harvest and learn to make good, wholesome food from ingredients grown right in their own backyards.”