Sweet Surprises (24 page)

The top-secret family recipe could only be entrusted to family. River could respect that, but he had a feeling she'd be willing to entrust it to someone she could actually put her trust in. Apparently, he was not that person.

A thought for another time.

A time when he wasn't still irritated by the phone call from the asshole.

Jax flashed a light toward the Dumpster. The lid was down, but there was a thick cloth grocery bag on the ground nearby.

Not empty. It looked like it was bulging with stuff.

“This might be what our guy was doing,” Jax said, pulling out gloves and slipping them on, then crouching next to the bag and peering into it. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“Look at this.” He lifted a box from the bag. Looked like cards of some sort. Invitations? River leaned closer. Baby shower invitations.

“And these.” Jax pulled out a baby-name book—well used from the look of it—a small package of cookies that looked exactly like one that had been at the ranch, a large bag of jelly beans he'd seen Huckleberry carrying into the house the previous day. For Angel, he'd said, because she was craving them.

“Shit,” he muttered as Jax snapped a few pictures.

“You recognize the stuff?” Jax asked, taking what looked like a blue ribbon from the bag, something a kid would get at school. Maybe for winning a spelling bee or completing the mile run.

“Some of it looks like what we have at the ranch, but I'm sure there are dozens of houses in Benevolence that have jelly beans and cookies in them.”

“And baby-name books?” Jax opened the front cover of the book. “With Angel's name written in the front of them?”

“Shit,” River said again, because that was about all he could manage.

“Do you have any idea where Angel is this evening?” Jax asked as he lifted something else from the bag. A packet of crackers, a few colorful stickers stuck to its side.

“Last time I saw her, she was back at the ranch.”

“I guess I'll head over there to see if she recognizes any of this stuff.” He put everything back in the bag and lifted it.

“You don't seriously believe Angel was sitting in this alley, planning for her baby and spying on Brenna, do you?” River asked, following him into the parking lot.

“The evidence seems to point to that, doesn't it?” Jax opened the trunk of his squad car and placed the bag in it. Then he turned to face River. “We suspected her of tossing the brick through the window. She denied it. I'm curious to see what she has to say about this.”

“She's very pregnant,” River pointed out, just like he had before, because he was feeling protective again. As if he were an older brother determined to keep his kid sister out of trouble.

“So you've told me,” Jax said wryly. “Even if you hadn't, it's kind of difficult to miss. That being said, Angel works eight- and nine-hour shifts at the diner five or six days a week. She's young and healthy, and I don't think the pregnancy is slowing her down. She could easily toss a brick through a window or crouch near a Dumpster.”

“The brick maybe,” River conceded. Angel had always been at the top of his personal list of suspects for that. “But crouching near a Dumpster? Why would she do it? And how fast could she have moved if she'd wanted to get away from the shop before you arrived?”

“Why leave a bag of her stuff around?” Jax added. “They're all good questions. I'm going to see if I can get some answers.”

“And do what once you have them?”

“Not toss her into jail, if that's what you're thinking. If she was here, I'd like to know why.”

“She's not easy to talk to.”

“Yeah, I know. We questioned her before, remember? Look, River, I'm sure you're feeling responsible for the people who are living out there with Belinda, but you don't have to. They've all made their choices about how they want to live. Everyone in town knows it, and there's not one person who'd blame Belinda for any trouble that was caused by Angel or Mack or anyone else at Freedom Ranch.”

Good. Great.

River should probably be jumping for joy and celebrating, but this wasn't just about Belinda. It wasn't about her reputation, her sanity, or, even, her health. It was about Angel. If she'd committed a crime, she needed to be punished, but River hated to see it happen.

He'd been where she was.

He'd balanced for a while between the street kid from Seattle—the one who'd spent most of his early years fending for himself and doing everything he could to survive—and the teen from Freedom Ranch. He'd bucked the system plenty, trying to maintain the independence he was used to, but mostly just trying not to be hurt again.

He could see that in Angel.

Maybe that was why he was learning to have a little more patience with her.

“I'm going to tell Brenna what I found and where I'm heading. Then I'm going to talk to Angel. Feel free to go on ahead and prepare Belinda for my visit. I wouldn't want to upset her.”

“What isn't upsetting about the police showing up on her doorstep?” he responded, and Jax frowned.

“Would you rather bring Angel to the station to discuss it?”

No way in hell was he going to do that. If he did, everyone in Benevolence would know about it before morning. What the town knew, Belinda would find out. Better just to have Jax go to the ranch. “Come on out and ask your questions. Belinda should be fine.”

“I guess so. The way I hear it, she had the police out at her place all the time when you were a teenager.” Jax tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed back to the shop.

River couldn't deny them.

His first year or two at the ranch, he'd probably caused more trouble than every other foster kid Belinda and Dillard had ever had. And that was saying a lot, considering the kinds of kids they took in.

He'd grown out of it.

With their help.

Hopefully the same would be true of Angel.

He glanced at the alley as he walked back to his truck. It didn't make sense, Angel sitting near a Dumpster. If she wanted to watch Brenna, if she had some kind of score to settle with her, why hide in an alley? Why not knock on the door and leave some new message? Slash a tire? Spray-paint the apartment?

That was more Angel's style.

The
brick
was more Angel's style.

But hiding in alleys? He couldn't picture it.

He'd ask her, though, before Jax showed up at the house, because she was part of the little family Belinda had created and that mattered. A lot.

He pulled out of his parking space, the truck headlights splashing across the back façade of the shop. He caught a glimpse of Brenna in the window, her bright hair untamed, her face pale. He thought she waved, but by the time he waved back, she was gone.

They needed to talk.

There was no doubt about that.

Timing was everything, though, and the timing wasn't right. Not for either of them.

She had the shop to run.

He had the new project at Freedom Ranch and all the people who came with it.

The way he saw it, things would play out the way they would. His thoughts drifted back to the cabin, to the kiss, to Brenna's soft skin and softer lips, to the way it had felt to hold her in his arms.

He hadn't wanted it to end.

He didn't think Brenna had either. He could go back to Chocolate Haven later, and he was pretty sure he could make her admit it.

What good would it do, though?

He'd heard her on the phone with her ex, and he knew damn well the guy was a consummate manipulator, and Brenna? She was a romantic at heart. She covered it with her sharp tongue and dry humor, but she wanted the flowers, the chocolates, the kisses in the moonlight. Backing her into a corner and forcing her to admit how she felt? That was about as romantic as proclaiming undying love at a landfill.

No. He wouldn't do it, but he wasn't going to let her go either. He wasn't going to pretend he hadn't tasted the sweetness of her lips or rested his hand on the velvety flesh of her thigh. He wasn't going to try to convince himself that what he felt when he was with her was just a trick of the light, a fluke, a product of stress, fatigue, or, even, loneliness.

He'd been looking for something for years.

He'd tried to find it in success. He'd built his restaurants from the ground up. He'd built his brand. He'd made a name for himself, but he'd never been able to fill the void. Even his relationships hadn't done that, because they'd never touched that empty spot.

He'd figured he'd just go on the way he was because he was happy enough and content enough. He had most of what he wanted and everything he needed, and life was so good that he'd almost forgotten there could be more.

Then he'd stood on the porch with Brenna, looking at the river and the trees, and he'd felt the contentment that came from being in the right place at the right time with the right person, and he'd realized that everything he'd had before had been a lie, and this? It was the truth.

Strange how quickly things had changed.

He'd come to Benevolence with one thought: getting back out of it. Now? It was starting to feel like home.

Brenna had always wondered.

Now she knew.

People got pissy.

Especially people like Millicent.

“What do you mean, you don't have fudge?” the older woman crowed, her voice ringing so loudly through the shop every person in it shut up and listened.

Awesome. That was just what Brenna wanted: a very public announcement about the sorry state of Lamont family fudge. That way she wouldn't have to explain the situation a dozen times.

“I mean,” Brenna said, making sure her voice was just as loud as Millicent's, “that we don't have any fudge.”

“You just opened. How could you possibly have sold out already?”

“I didn't say we sold out. I said we didn't have any. We do have some delicious peanut butter truffles. Would you like a few?”

“I came for a pound of fudge,” Millicent huffed, but she'd obviously been distracted by the other chocolates. There were plenty of them to choose from. Which just might save Brenna's hide.

“I'll have some for you tomorrow,” Brenna lied, because there was no way she'd ever have fudge for anyone by that time. She'd made her fifteenth batch that morning and it had tasted as crappy as the first one. “Today, I've got almond nougat bars, cherry cordials, mint patties . . .”

“I can see what you have,” Millicent huffed, eyeing the display case, her jowls nearly vibrating with excitement.

She'd buy a pound of something. No doubt about it. And none of the other customers had gone running out the door when they'd realized there was no fudge, so the day's profits might not be totally shot to heck.

“If you want a minute to think about it,” Brenna said, smiling at the gentleman who stood behind Millicent, “I could help the person behind you, and then—”

“Are you implying that I'm taking too much of your time?” Millicent set her hands on her ample hips and scowled. “Byron would never do such a thing.”

“Byron is fishing. In Alaska. If you'd like to wait for him to return, I'm sure he'll give you the same wonderful service he always has. That'll happen in about 336 hours.” The words just kind of slipped out, and someone at the back of the line stifled a laugh.

“Young lady,” Millicent snapped, “if I wanted to wait 336 hours, I'd have stayed home. Because you're obviously struggling to keep the shop afloat while Byron is out of town, I'll do my part to help. I'll take a pound of the peanut butter truffles, six cherry cordials, and six mint patties. Do you need me to write that down so you don't forget?”

“I think I can manage.” She smiled through gritted teeth, filled two pretty little boxes with Millicent's choices, wrapped both with gold ribbons, and handed them across the counter. “There you are.”

Millicent slammed her money onto the glass display case and stalked off without her change.

“She's a feisty little thing,” the next customer said, his gaze following Millicent as she pushed her way through the crowd.

“Little?” Brenna murmured, and then wished she hadn't. The guy looked confused. Obviously he wasn't local and had no idea just how big Millicent was. Big boobs. Big hair. Big lips and smile and teeth. Big personality and big attitude, but if the guy wanted to chase after
that
, more power to him.

“Just a turn of phrase.” He smiled, ordered four chocolate-covered pretzels, and handed her a twenty. “Keep the change on that.”

“Thanks.” She'd add it to the coffers and hope she'd make up in tips what she was losing in fudge sales. She didn't want Byron to come home to a shop that was in the red after being in the black for a hundred years.

“So, you're one of the Lamont sisters,” he said, taking the box of pretzels she offered him.

“Yes.”

“All of you live in town?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious,” he said. “I heard one of you is a lawyer. She live in town?”

Okay. That was a little too nosy for Brenna's liking.

“I don't answer personal questions about family,” she responded, studying him a little more carefully than she had before. He had dark hair, green eyes, and a sharp, intense stare that made her feel uncomfortable.

“Too bad. It would have saved me a little effort. Tell you what.” He reached into his jacket pocket and she tensed, not sure what she was afraid of but suddenly very, very afraid. He pulled an envelope out, passed it across the counter. “When you see Willow, give her this.”

He smiled, but there wasn't a bit of warmth in it, and then he walked out of the shop.

He'd already known which sister was the lawyer, so why had he been fishing for information?

It didn't sit well and she was worried, but she had a line of people twelve deep and she had to keep working.

She shoved the envelope in her apron pocket, tried to tell herself that there was nothing sinister about the guy and nothing worrisome about the envelope, but she could feel it like a lead weight in her pocket as she filled orders, rang customers up, took money, and offered change.

Two hours straight of nothing but front-of-the-house work. Constant customers. Constant questions about Lamont family fudge. Constant excuses for why she didn't have any. Constant talking people into different products. She sold so much, she had to run to the back when the line abated and whip up another batch of chocolate bark and two batches of peanut butter truffles.

She was able to do it quickly and with a minimum of mess. She was feeling pretty damn proud of herself when the bell above the shop door announced the next round of customers. She hurried out front, a sheet pan of candy in her hands. She'd fill the display case and then take orders.

“I'll be right with you,” she called as she hurriedly filled the case.

“It's okay. I'm not in a hurry.”

Brenna knew the voice and looked up, surprised to see Angel standing near the door. This was the first time she'd actually come into the shop since Brenna had been there, and she looked nervous, her dark eyeliner and dark red lipstick adding to her natural pallor.

“Angel, this is a . . . pleasant surprise.”

“I hate liars,” Angel responded and then lowered her gaze, brushed imaginary crumbs from her oversized black T-shirt. It looked like she'd either been at work or was on her way to it, her hair scraped back from her face, an apron tied under her belly. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

“Being rude?”

“Striking before I'm struck.”

It was an honest answer, and a more mature one than Brenna had expected.

“I get it,” she said, and Angel sighed.

“I doubt it. Sure, you've got an ass of an ex and your own problems, but you've had an easy life, Brenna. A really easy one by my standards.”

“Should I apologize?” she asked as she placed the chocolates in the case.

“No, I just thought I should say it. Look, I came for two reasons. One, I have to apologize.”

“You broke the window?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks went bright red, her eyes filling with tears. “It was stupid. I was mad because you caused trouble for Mack and that caused trouble for Belinda.”

“I didn't—”

“I know. It wasn't your fault. River already read me the riot act about it, and he told me I had to come to apologize, and that I was going to have to pay for the window. And I will.” She touched her belly, frowned. “I already asked Laurie for extra hours. I'll pay fifty dollars a week until it's paid for.”

“I don't want you to do that, Angel.”

“Tough shi . . . tough. I owe you and I'm going to pay. The thing is, Belinda is more of a mother than I've ever had. I'd do anything for her. Seeing her hurt or upset or in pain, it just kills me.” She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and grimaced. “I'm such a baby sometimes. I don't even know how I'm going to raise this kid.”

“I don't know,” Brenna said, taking a small box from the shelf and putting several different chocolates in it. “You've got a job. You're working hard. You're correcting your mistakes. That's a lot more than a lot of adults do.”

“Yeah. Well, I feel like an idiot, and if River and Jax hadn't threatened to go to Belinda about the window, I wouldn't be here. That's the honest-to-God truth. But I don't want to upset Belinda more than she's already going to be.”

“If she's not going to be told about what you've done, why would she be upset?” She pushed the chocolate across the service counter and Angel eyed the box.

“I can't take that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm a horrible person, okay? Because I don't deserve it.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Brenna said, keeping her tone mild and her expression neutral.

Truth?

She felt pretty damn bad for Angel.

She'd had a tough life. She obviously hadn't had anyone care about her until she'd arrived at Belinda's. She wanted to protect the one person who'd cared about her, and Brenna really couldn't fault her for it.

“I'm not,” Angel snapped. Then she smiled sheepishly. “Okay. I am.”

“So take the chocolates and drown your sorrows in them.”

“If only it were that simple.” She sighed, took the box, and met Brenna's eyes. “Joe is missing,” she said, the words flat and tight and so surprising it took Brenna a minute to process them.

“Joe?” she repeated.

“Yes.
Joe
. I was supposed to walk him down to the end of the driveway and wait for the bus with him, but I was tired. My back hurt and the baby had been kicking me all night the night before. So . . .” She swallowed hard. “I didn't. I mean, he's a thirty-one-year-old man, and I've walked him to the end of the driveway a million times. He knew where to wait. There's never any traffic on the road, and he's smart enough not to go off with strangers.”

“How do you know he's missing?”

“His housemother called this morning. Thank God I was the one who picked up the phone. Belinda would freak.”

“What did his housemother say?” Brenna asked, biting back impatience. She wasn't sure why Angel had come to her with the problem, but she had to get as much information as possible if she were going to help.

“He wasn't on the bus last night. I guess he told the driver he was staying another night.”

“And the driver decided not to check to see if that was okay?”

“That's what I asked!” she replied, her voice breaking. “The housemother said that isn't the driver's responsibility. Joe knows what he's supposed to do. She almost didn't call to check on him, but it's so unusual for him not to return, she thought she'd better.”

“Too bad she waited all night,” Brenna muttered.

“I said that, too,” Angel said, and then she burst into tears.

* * *

River was back at the cabin.

Just sitting on the porch and staring at the river, because Huckleberry had somehow managed to dump an entire gallon of paint on the floor that was supposed to be refinished that day. Now it wasn't being refinished. It was being cleaned. Every speck of dove gray paint wiped up. The floor guys had agreed to come the following day, but River's carefully planned schedule had been wrecked by a kid with a thing for finding trouble.

Just like you
, he thought he heard Dillard laugh from somewhere inside the cabin.

Yeah.

Probably.

And at least Belinda had already been at therapy when it happened. She hadn't heard Huckleberry's loud cursing, Mack's muttered response, or River's . . .

Well, he hadn't blown a gasket. He could at least say that. He
had
asked the teen what the hell he'd been thinking, opening a gallon of paint they weren't ready to use.

To his credit, Huckleberry had a reason. He'd wanted to paint the hall foyer and hall before the floor was refinished. That way if he dripped paint or scraped the ladder on the floor, it wouldn't matter so much.

Yeah.

Well, he'd dripped the entire gallon of paint, but River had done worse in his life, so he'd told Huckleberry to clean it up and get started on the walls, and then he'd left the house.

He needed some air and a little bit of time to clear his head.

By the time he'd reached the cabin, he'd calmed down enough to be reasonable.

So what if the floors wouldn't be done until the next day? By the time Belinda returned from therapy, the walls and foyer would be soft dove gray, the trim bright white. She'd love it, and what she loved, everyone else loved.

That was one of the things River was learning.

Everyone at the ranch wanted the best for Belinda. Even Angel, who'd stomped out of the house that morning with a muttered promise to make her apology and offer of restitution to Brenna. She loved Belinda. It had taken River a while to see that, but now that he did, he couldn't
un
see it.

It changed things for him. Made him want to be better at . . . what? Being a mentor? A friend? A father figure?

He was almost old enough to be Huckleberry's father.

Not that the kid was looking for that.

A breeze rustled the pine boughs and sent leaves skittering across the path that led to the river. Something skittered along with them. A piece of paper? A 3 x 5 card?

He watched it for a moment, tracking its course as it skipped across rocky earth.