Sweet Surprises (25 page)

An old recipe card?

That's what it looked like.

Maybe one that had fallen out of Brenna's purse when she'd grabbed her phone the previous day? She always seemed to be reading recipes, hanging them on the wall of the shop, tucking them into her pocket or into her purse.

He hadn't noticed one falling to the ground, but then, he'd been too busy watching Brenna's face to notice anything else.

He walked down the porch steps and grabbed the card before it could be blown farther away.

Yep. Definitely a recipe for . . .

Forever Kisses?

He almost laughed.

Then he read the ingredients. Read them again. Thought about the things Brenna had said about love and romance. He'd heard longing in her voice, and he'd known she'd never be the kind of woman who'd be satisfied with less than everything a man had to give. She'd never be satisfied giving less than everything of herself either. She wanted all of it: the commitment, the passion, the good, the bad. She'd be the kind of partner who stuck it out. No matter what.

Yeah. She'd want forever. And then some.

He flipped the card, looking for a date or a name. Nothing. The recipe looked old, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy, and laminated so the words didn't smudge. He could imagine Brenna finding it in one of the old recipe books he'd seen in the shop. She'd have been smitten by it, that romantic soul of hers longing to have exactly what the recipe offered.

His phone rang as he tucked the card into his pocket, and he glanced at the number on the screen. It wasn't familiar, but he figured it had to be something to do with Angel or Huckleberry or even Mack.

“Hello?”

“River? It's Brenna.”

“Need some help at the shop?” he asked, because he hadn't gone that morning. He'd wanted to give her what she seemed to need: time and space.

Besides, he couldn't guarantee he'd stay away from her if he helped out in the shop. He couldn't promise himself that he wouldn't taste her lips, touch her soft skin again. Until she decided exactly what she wanted from their relationship, he had no intention of doing either of those things.

“No, but I need you to come down here. Angel stopped by. She says Joe is missing.”

“Joe?” He headed around the side of the cabin, jogged toward the road. “He went back to the group home last night.”

“He was supposed to. He didn't. His housemother called the ranch this morning. Just to make sure he was still there.”

“And Angel is just now informing someone of this?” He eyed the river, the country road, the thick forest that edged the property. A guy like Joe could find himself in all kinds of trouble out in the elements.

Did he know how to swim?

How to stay warm?

How to use a phone if he needed to?

“She didn't want to upset Belinda so she took the morning off work, and she's been looking for him.”

“She should have called the police.”

“I just did. The sheriff is on his way over.”

“She should have called as soon as she realized he was missing.”

“Should have doesn't change anything, River. Maybe you can get Huckleberry and Mack to look around the ranch? Talk to the neighbors. Angel said she checked the barn and went to a couple of Joe's favorite places.”

“Shit,” he breathed. “This isn't good, red. Joe has the mental capacity of a seven-year-old. And that's on a good day.”

“He can't have gone far,” she tried to reassure him, but River kept seeing the flowing water, the slick rocks, the trees that looked exactly like one another. If Joe had decided to wander through them, he'd never find his way out.

Summer was nearly over, the nights were getting cold, and Joe . . .

Had he brought his clothes?

Did he have a blanket?

“River?” she prodded, and he could hear an edge of panic in her voice, hear what sounded like someone sobbing in the background.

Angel?

Probably. If she went into labor because of the stress . . .

He wasn't going there.

One thing at a time.

And the first thing he needed to do was find Joe.

“I'll be there in ten.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and sprinted back to the house.

Huckleberry and Mack were both in the foyer, every wall already coated with gray.

“Hey, man!” Huckleberry said sheepishly. “I just want to apologize again for the mess I made. I should have asked before I opened the paint, and-”

“Joe is missing.” He cut him off, his voice gruff with worry. “Go check his room. See if he brought his backpack and books with him.”

“How can he be missing?” Huckleberry asked, but he was already running up the stairs. Seconds later, he called from the landing, “The backpack is gone. The books are here.”

“What did he have in the pack?” Mack asked, closing a can of paint and grabbing a jacket from the closet. He pulled it on over his T-shirt, zipped it, and pulled the collar up so it covered the burn scars on his neck. He grabbed a baseball cap, slammed that over his hair.

“I have no idea.” Huckleberry panted as he sprinted down the stairs. “What I want to know is how in the hell he can be missing. He's supposed to be home.”

That's what Joe had asked, and River hadn't realized just how badly he must have wanted it to be.

“He didn't get on the bus last night,” River explained, checking in Dillard's office and in the dining and living rooms. No sign of Joe, but he hadn't expected there to be.

“Yes. He did. I saw him with Angel last night. She walked outside with him. She always walks him to the bus stop.”

“She didn't last night.”

“But . . .” He shook his head. “It doesn't matter. We have to find Joe. I'll check the barn.”

“Angel already checked it.”

“Then I'll go over to Elmer's. Joe loves hanging around with him. Maybe he's there.”

“I'll go down by the river,” Mack said quietly, the concern in his face echoing River's. “Joe is fascinated by it. I told him I'd take him fishing next weekend. Maybe he didn't want to wait.”

And maybe he'd gotten too close. Maybe he'd fallen in.

Maybe a dozen things had happened that River didn't want to imagine.

Mack ran outside, Huckleberry on his heels. They split at the driveway, each heading in a different direction.

River grabbed his keys and hopped into his truck.

He didn't speed toward town, and not because he was worried about getting a ticket. He rolled along the road, looking for any sign of Joe. His backpack, a piece of clothing, a footprint in the earth.

By the time he hit Main Street, his shoulders were tense, his neck tight. He'd seen nothing, and that scared him. People disappeared all the time. They walked out of houses and off buses and out of stores and were never seen again.

Someone like Joe? He was the perfect victim. Naïve, trusting, eager to please. Anyone could have talked him into anything. The more he thought about that, the angrier he got. It would have taken five minutes of Angel's day to walk the guy to the bus and watch him get on.

Five minutes in comparison to someone's life?

Yeah. It wasn't much.

He pulled up in front of Chocolate Haven, parking the car in a no-parking zone and sprinting into the store. Several customers were there, being served by an ancient woman who looked vaguely familiar.

“Thank God you're here!” she cried, the high-pitched voice familiar, too.

May Reynolds? His old home economics teacher?

It had to be.

She had the same bulging blue eyes, the same nervous tics.

“Thanks, Ms. Reynolds.”

“Mrs. Welch now. I married Jim Welch a few months ago,” she corrected. “But that's not for us to worry about now. That poor boy. Lost and alone somewhere.” She nearly sobbed the words, and he patted her on the shoulder.

“It's okay. We'll find him.”

“I certainly hope so. I've called the pastor, of course, and he's getting a group together at the church. They're going to spread out and search.”

“Did you mention that to the sheriff?”

“He's been busy talking to Brenna and Angel. That poor girl is just beside herself. That's why Brenna called me. I had my own shop for years, you know, so I can be counted on to run the place for a few hours.”

“That's great, Mrs. Welch. I know Brenna appreciates it.” He walked past her, following the sound of voices and sobs into the kitchen.

Kane was on the phone, speaking so quietly River couldn't hear the words.

Brenna crouched next to Angel, holding the young girl's hand as she sobbed.

And Angel? She was sitting in a chair, her belly pressing against her T-shirt, black eye makeup smeared down her cheeks. She looked pale as paper, her legs and arms so skinny he wondered how she could be nurturing the baby she was carrying.

He'd been mad as a hornet in the truck, thinking about how lazy and selfish she'd been, but seeing her there, crying her eyes out, stole the wind from his sails.

“I'm so sorry!” she sobbed, as if he were the one she had to apologize to.

“We all make mistakes,” he responded.

“Not mistakes that kill people,” she wailed, and Kane hung up the phone, crossed the room.

“I've got the doctor on the way, Angel,” he said gently. “Being this upset isn't good for you or the baby. You need to calm down.”

“How can I calm down when I killed poor Joe?”

“You're assuming he's dead, and that is a pretty weighty assumption.”

“He's like a little kid. He doesn't even know how to tie his own shoes or make a piece of toast.” She hiccupped, her belly moving beneath the shirt.

“He's lived in a group home for a while,” Brenna said. “He probably knows a lot more than you think he does.”

“He doesn't know how to survive. Not like me or Huckleberry.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, but the tears were still slipping out.

“How about you stop worrying about what can't be undone?” River said, crouching in front of her, his knees brushing Brenna's. She had chocolate on her face again, bits of it in her hair and on her shirt.

She met his eyes and he could see her concern, her fear, but her voice was calm as she patted Angel's shoulder and said, “River is right. You have to stop worrying about what has already happened. Just concentrate on taking care of yourself and the baby right now. We'll take care of the rest.”

She stood, untied her apron, and hung it on the hook.

“I've been thinking about last night,” she continued, “and the things Jax found in the alley. They all came from the ranch, right?”

“Yes,” River agreed, his mind connecting the dots, putting things together the same way she was. “The candy. The crackers with the stickers. The jelly beans. If I were seven, they'd be the kinds of things I'd pack to run away.”

“What about the baby-name book and the invitations?”

“Joe was so excited about the baby,” Angel said, jumping up, her eyes alive with hope. “He heard me talking about having a baby shower and he asked me all about it. I showed him the invitations and . . .”

“What?” Kane prodded.

“I said I wanted to have a party to celebrate the baby, but I was embarrassed to invite people because . . . Well, I'm not your typical mother. And Joe, he said he'd give them to everyone because he loved me and he loved my baby and we both deserved to have a party. He also wanted to help name the baby. I guess he might have taken the book, too.”

“So we can assume Joe came into town yesterday evening and stopped in the alley,” Kane said, opening the back door and looking out into the parking lot. “Five miles is a long way to walk. He was probably tired, so maybe he made it to Main Street, but all the shops were closed, so he found a quiet place to rest.”

“And I probably scared him.”

“Or maybe the sirens did,” Kane suggested. “Doesn't matter. He ran off somewhere. We just need to figure out where a guy like him might go.”

“We were at the church yesterday,” River said. Joe loved church. He loved the people and they all seemed to love him.

If he'd been scared, he might have found his way there.

“Looks like the doctor is here. How about we let him take care of Angel and the baby and we go to the church. See if there's any sign of him there.”

It sounded like a good plan to River.

“Ready?” he asked Brenna, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet.

“I was ready twenty minutes ago,” she responded, and then she dragged him outside into the morning sunshine.

There were twenty people at the church when they arrived and probably seventeen dogs. Small dogs. Big dogs. Hound dogs and fluffy poodlelike dogs. Every owner of every dog insisted that Fluffy or Brutus or Hunter would be able to track Joe easily.

Brenna doubted it, but she kept her mouth shut as the sheriff organized the search and sent people out in pairs to look for the missing man.

Finally, it was just the pastor, River, Kane, and Brenna, all of them moving through the cemetery, checking behind giant tombstones and beneath memorial benches and drooping willow trees.

If Joe had been there, they didn't find any sign of him.

“This isn't working,” River said, running his hand over his hair and surveying the churchyard. “If he was here, we'd have found him by now.”

“Are there other places in town that he likes to go?” she asked, worry making her stomach churn. Joe had been outside all night and now it was getting later in the day and he still hadn't shown up.

That couldn't be a good thing.

No matter how much she'd tried to reassure Angel, no matter how many times she'd said they'd find Joe, she wasn't sure they would.

“No.” He shook his head, then frowned. “Actually, yes. The library. I've been taking him there on Saturdays, but I didn't have time this weekend. Maybe he was angry that he didn't get a chance to go and decided to get there himself.”

“I can't picture Joe angry about anything,” she said, turning away from the church and heading down the hill that led to town.

“You're right. He probably wasn't, but I think I hurt his feelings.”

“I can't imagine that either, River.” She meant it. She couldn't imagine River ever hurting someone like Joe. She couldn't imagine him knowingly hurting anyone. At least not anyone who was younger or weaker or less capable than he was. She'd seen his face when he'd walked into Chocolate Haven. He'd been furious. Once he'd seen Angel, that had faded away.

“Yeah. Well, I'm the guy who sheared sheep, released a bull, and got myself into so much trouble while I lived here, I didn't want to ever come back. Trust me when I say I have a way of opening my mouth and putting my foot in it. Remember when I told him he was going to be going home?”

“Yes.”

“Remember what he said?”

She did. “‘I'm not home?'”

“He was probably thinking about it, trying to work things out in his head. Maybe it scared him, made him think we were going to send him away and not let him return. With someone like Joe, it's hard to tell.”

“You can't blame yourself for that.”

“No? Then why do you blame yourself for what happened with your ex?”

“Who says I do?”

“It's obvious from the way you act.”

“How, exactly, do I act?” she asked, knowing she was going to regret it, because River might not be into hurting people, but he was sure as heck into telling the truth.

“You haven't shared the truth with your family. They have no idea Dan was way more than a cheater.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You're embarrassed. You think Dan's actions are some reflection of you as a person.”

“Bull,” she said, but there was no heat in the word because he was right. She knew it.

As much as she tried to pretend otherwise, she did see what happened with Dan as a reflection of her and of her failures.

“I see.”

“You see what?” she snapped, angry with herself and with him.

They were out there looking for Joe.

It wasn't the time or place for deep discussions about her psychological shortcomings.

“That you haven't moved on. That's too bad, red.” He stepped onto the sidewalk, turned to the east, heading toward the library. “Because I really thought we might be able to have something together, but I'm not into threesomes.”

“Who said I was?”

“You are if every time we're together you're thinking about the past, about what went wrong and what should have gone right and what you could have changed and didn't.”

“I'm not—”

“Sure you are.”

They reached the library, the sun glinting off the glass doors. She could see her reflection and River's, could see the distance between them. A foot. Maybe less, but it seemed like miles because she couldn't make herself say what she should, couldn't get the words out of her mouth:
I've already let it go.

They'd be a lie if she did say them because she hadn't. She was holding on tight to her mistakes, remembering every bit of her stupidity, her naïveté, her blind devotion to the cause of love.

A cause that had been useless and empty because she hadn't really loved Dan. Not in any way that mattered. She'd cared about him. She'd wanted to make things work, but she'd wanted it because she'd wanted that childhood dream, the one where she fell in love with a nice guy who fell in love with her.

Dan had never been nice.

He'd been interesting. He'd been determined. He'd pursued her with every bit of his attention, and she'd enjoyed that. She could admit it. From the New Year's Eve party to the day he'd given her a gaudy engagement ring, he'd showered her with compliments and flowers and gifts.

She hadn't wanted any of those things, but she'd wanted the dream, and so she'd accepted them and pretended what she had with Dan was good enough.

River didn't say another word, just opened the door and walked inside. She followed more slowly, the cool, dry air of the library filled with dozens of memories of summers spent curled up in the reading corner, a good book in her hands.

For some reason, that made her teary-eyed. Or maybe it was River that made her that, his cold expression and hard gaze daring her to pick up the conversation where they'd left off.

“Brenna!” someone cried, and the moment for saying what needed to be said was over.

She turned, pasting on a smile as a short, dark-haired woman ran over and threw herself into Brenna's arms.

“I can't believe you're really here. Everyone has been talking about you working at Chocolate Haven, but I've been so busy, I haven't had time to stop in.” She pulled back, smiling in River's direction. “And is this who I think it is?”

“River Maynard,” Brenna offered, and the woman squealed with delight.

“I knew it! If you'd known what a crush I had on you when I was a kid, River? You'd surely have taken advantage of me.” She laughed, the pealing sound of it bringing back the memory Brenna had been looking for.

Amanda Dillinger.

The shy, awkward girl she'd made friends with in kindergarten. They'd been buddies all through elementary school, but middle school had changed Amanda. She'd gotten a little wild, started hanging out with kids who liked to push the envelope. That hadn't been Brenna's kind of thing. She'd been content with her books and her daydreams and her studies.

“Sorry, I'm not sure I remember you,” River said as he scanned the library.

“Amanda. Used to be Dillinger. Now it's Waters. Do you remember Jack? He was the star football player your senior year.”

“Not really.”

Amanda blushed, but she was undaunted. “Well, most people do. He was quite the star. Anyway, we got married right after high school, had a couple of kids. They're both in middle school now and Jack does estate planning. I work here.” She smiled, waving toward the library's shelves. “Are you two looking for anything in particular today? Some special book I can help you find?”

“We're looking for some
one
actually,” River responded. “A guy named Joe. He—”

“Joe? He was out back this morning, sleeping next to the Dumpster. He asked me if it was Saturday. I guess that's when he usually comes? I'm never here, so I wouldn't know.”

“Did he leave?”

“No. I felt so sorry for him, I let him come in and help me stack books. Then I gave him some hot chocolate and a doughnut. Next thing I knew, he was sound asleep in the back office.”

“He's still there?” River asked, and Amanda nodded.

“I didn't have the heart to wake him up. I planned to call my supervisor later to ask what she thought I should do with him, but . . . I guess I won't have to do that now. He's this way.” She walked through the main room of the library, then through a dimly lit hallway. She opened the door at the end of it. “I thought he was homeless or something. Not that it's common here in Benevolence, but every once in a while people find their way here from a city.”

She flicked on a light, stepped aside.

At first, Brenna didn't see anyone. Then she noticed the lump on the floor under a desk. Joe was curled up on his side, his head resting on his backpack.

“Thank God,” River said quietly.

He stepped into the room, knelt down near the desk.

“Joe?” he said.

Joe didn't move.

“Joe!” he said more insistently, touching Joe's shoulder and giving it a little shake.

Joe swiped at his hand, mumbled something incoherent.

“Come on, buddy,” River insisted, all the patience in the world in his voice. “We need to go home.”

Joe mumbled again, but he turned over, his face breaking into a huge smile as he saw River.

“I've been looking for you, buddy,” he said, sitting up and nearly bumping his head on the bottom of the desk. “Where you been, River? Huh? Where you been?”

“I've been looking for you,” River replied, taking Joe's hand and tugging him to his feet. “You didn't get on the bus. We were worried about you.”

“I had to run away,” Joe said, waving at Brenna. “Hi,” he said, and she smiled, relief making her knees weak and her muscles limp.

“Why in the world would you do something like that?” River grabbed Joe's backpack and hefted it onto his own shoulders.

“You said I was home.”

“You were.”

“They wanted me to get on the bus and leave, but I was at home. Right? I was already at home. And now I'm at the library. I'm at the library, right?”

“Yes.” River sighed, dark shadows under his eyes and a hint of a beard on his jaw. He looked tired, and Brenna wanted to reach out and take his hand, ask what she could do to make his burden lighter. She'd waited too long.

Just like she always seemed to.

Before she could act, he was moving, leading Joe toward the door. “Come on. I need to bring you back to the house, and then I need to go get Belinda.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “Scratch that. We're both going to have to go get Belinda. Then we'll go home.”

“What should we scratch? Huh, River?” Joe bounced enthusiastically. Obviously, his night outside had left him none the worse for wear.

“I'll take you home, Joe,” she offered, and River frowned.

“You've got enough going on at the shop,” he said, his expression still cool, none of the warmth she was used to seeing in his eyes.

“The chocolate is made. The fudge . . . well, that's going to take way longer than I'll ever have. May will be fine for another half hour. You go get Belinda. I'll call the sheriff and tell him that we have Joe. You ready, buddy?” she asked, and she walked out of the library, Joe bouncing along beside her.

She should have felt good about what she was doing.

She should have felt happy.

They'd found Joe.

She was taking him back to the ranch.

All was right with the world.

Except that it wasn't.

She grabbed her purse from the shop, let May know she'd be back soon, and then got in the Chrysler. It started up like a charm, the new spark plugs River had put in doing their thing.

She was a fool and she knew it.

Worse, she'd missed every single opportunity River had given her. And he'd given her plenty; he'd offered her plenty. He'd demanded nothing except that she be brave enough to take a chance, honest enough to admit her failures, and confident enough to move toward what she wanted.

When had she stopped being those things?

Before Dan?

After him?

Did it even matter?

“Idiot,” she whispered, and Joe gasped, his eyes and mouth wide open.

“That's a bad word,” he said. “I know it's a bad word.”

“I'm sorry, Joe,” she said, pulling up in front of Belinda's house, her heart heavy and aching and sore.

She'd thought she'd come to Benevolence to start again, but maybe River was right. Maybe she just wasn't willing enough to let go of the past to do that.

Mack and Huckleberry were waiting on the front porch. They converged on the car, helped Joe out of it, grabbed his backpack, and ushered him into the house.

Brenna thought Mack might have muttered a thank you, but she wasn't sure.

She pulled out of the driveway, headed back toward town, but that little road, the one that led to the cabin? It was right there, and she found herself turning onto it, driving down it, parking the car.

Yes. She needed to be at Chocolate Haven.

Yes. She needed to learn how to make the dang family fudge.

But she thought that more than that, she needed just a few minutes to be alone.

* * *

Dillard again, his voice speaking out of the past and straight into River's mind. The sun had set hours ago, the freshly painted walls glowing softly in the chandelier light as River moved through the downstairs, checking windows and doors, making sure everything was locked up for the night.