“On your way where?” River asked, grabbing Brenna's wrist as she tried to walk past. She didn't know what she'd planned to do. Follow Mack? Tell him it was okay, that he didn't have to leave?
“To a place I can't cause any trouble. Tell Belindaâ”
“No way,” River cut him off, his voice sharp. “You're not getting off that easy. You want to go, you can look her in the eyes and tell her.”
“I'd like to see you make me,” Mack responded, hiking the duffel higher on his shoulder and heading toward the back of the barn.
There was an open door there, and Brenna expected he'd walk through it, head across the acres of fields to some little road that led to nowhere.
“You need to stop him,” she said loudly enough that she knew Mack would hear.
He didn't even hesitate, just kept moving toward the door and whatever place he thought he'd be better off.
“Mack!” she called, trying to pull away from River.
He dragged her in a little closer.
“Don't,” he whispered, the word just a breath against her ear. “He'll be happier if he stops himself.”
What if he doesn't?
she wanted to ask, but she met his eyes, found herself caught in his gaze. Again. Caught in that beautiful face with all its angles and sharpness. She wanted to look and keep looking. She wanted to spend an hour, a day, a week, studying him.
Surprised, she looked away, focused on Mack, who'd stopped at the threshold of the door and was standing there as if some invisible force kept him from walking through.
Finally, he turned, his shoulders slumped, his head down. “Fine. I'll talk to the damn sheriff,” he muttered. “But I won't go to jail. I'm not going to jail. And I'm not staying around here causing more trouble than I already have.”
He dropped his duffel and walked past them, heading back toward the house. Broad-shouldered, lean to the point of emaciation, he looked exactly like what he was: a soldier tired of the fight.
Brenna tried to dart after him, wanting to offer somethingâwords of reassurance, promises that she wasn't going to press charges, apologies for her part in the fiasco.
“Don't,” River said quietly, not holding her back this time. Except for that word and all the meaning she heard in it.
“I just want him toâ”
“Know that you pity him?”
“I don't.” She swung around, saw that he hadn't moved.
“You do, and he doesn't want it any more than you or I would.”
“I just want to make sure everything is okay with him and the sheriff.”
“You think he can't handle that himself?” He moved closer, his eyes glowing oddly in the muted light.
“I don't know what he can handle. I've barely spoken to him.”
“Then don't presume to fight his battles, okay? You've got your own to worry about.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” she demanded as he cupped her elbow, urging her out of the barn.
“Just a statement, red. A woman like you doesn't just end up in her old hometown because she's having a great life.”
“I'm here to help my grandfather. I already told you that,” she retorted, her cheeks blazing hot. Was she that obvious? Did she look that desperate? God, she hoped not!
“Maybe you're here to help your grandfather,” he said, his hand still on her elbow, his fingers warm and callused against her skin. “But maybe you're also here because you need to be. For you.”
“Look, River, you know nothing about me or my situationâ”
“I know you like books,” he replied, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth and dancing in the depth of his gray eyes. “And that you used to hide in the corner of the library with your book hoard, reading until they kicked you out.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long. You're the same person you were then. Except that your hair is shorter.” He touched the shorn strands. “Looks like the sheriff is here.” He gestured to the house and the sheriff standing on the back porch with Mack. “Let's go see how this all plays out.”
* * *
The day had gone to hell in a handbasket, but at least Mack hadn't run off. No matter how much River wanted Belinda's house empty and free of trouble, he couldn't stomach the idea of breaking her heart. He walked across the dried-out yard, Brenna beside him.
Chocolate and strawberries; that's what she made him think of. Probably because the scent of both clung to her, drifting through the air every time she moved.
Soft hair. Soft skin. The sweet scent of strawberries and the darker scent of chocolate? Not an easy combination to resist, but he would because he had more than his fair share of trouble to deal with, and Brenna? She looked like more.
Sheriff Rainier nodded as they approached, just a quick acknowledgment, his gaze on Mack. Neither seemed angry or defensive. That was good. What was better was that Huckleberry was still in the house, minding his own business and staying out of the way.
“Everything okay?” River asked as he walked up the porch stairs. Two of them needed to be replaced, the warped boards rotted from rain and exposure.
“We were discussing a meeting I attend twice a week. For vets. We get together, hash things out,” the sheriff said, pulling out a business card and pressing it into Mack's hand. “I think it would be good for you, Mack, and good for Belinda. She wants to see you healthy and happy. I'm sure you want the same for her.”
Mack shoved the card into his pocket and didn't comment.
If he planned to attend the meetings, he didn't let on.
“Anything else, Sheriff?” he finally said, and Rainier shook his head.
“You're free to go. Hopefully, we won't have another incident like this one, though.”
Mack shouldered past River, offered a curt nod in Brenna's direction, and headed back to the barn.
He looked defeated, and that bothered River. He didn't know squat about the man, but he knew the guy deserved better than whatever he'd gotten.
“Mack,” he called. “I'm going to start scraping the trim on the windows. You want to grab the tools from the shed?”
Mack didn't slow his stride, but he did offer a thumbs-up.
Progress compared to what he usually gave River.
“I guess we'll see if he shows up at the meeting,” Sheriff Rainier said, his gaze following Mack's progress. “For Belinda's sake, I hope he does. She's had her hands full around here the past couple of years. I'd like to see her live the next part of her life in peace.”
“Had her hands full how?” Obviously, what River was seeingâthe house falling to ruin, the strangers living in a place that had once been filled with family and friendsâwas just the tip of the iceberg.
“People in and out all the time. A few of them not the kind of people I'd want living with my mother. Fortunately, Belinda always seems to win the lottery when it comes to the people she helps. Mack has been around for a while and he's chased more than one bad seed off. It's why I don't want to be too hard on him. When you leave, Belinda is going to need someone who has her back.”
“Who says I'm leaving?”
“You're not?”
“Until things are settled around here, no.” River sounded defensive. He felt defensive. He loved Belinda more than he'd ever been able to love his biological mother. That was the truth. The other truth was . . . it had been easy to pretend Belinda was doing just fine because she'd wanted him to believe it.
And because he'd wanted to be convinced.
He'd had his life, his business, his thriving career, and he'd been so focused on that, he'd happily swallowed every half-truth she'd fed him.
“Belinda says you own a couple of restaurants in Oregon,” the sheriff commented.
“That's right.”
“She's pretty proud of that. She says you were the hardest headed of all of her kids, but seeing you thrive has been the most rewarding thing she's ever experienced. The way she says it, the sun rises and falls on you.” Nice to know, but River was certain there was a hell of a lot more the sheriff wanted to discuss. He was also sure it had nothing to do with what Belinda thought about him or his restaurants.
“Look, Sheriffâ”
“Kane. People around here aren't big on formalities.”
“Fine.
Kane
, you've got something you want to say. How about you just come out and say it.”
The sheriff nodded. “Fair enough. People around here are worried.”
“I'll bite,” he said, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. “What are they worried about?”
“Angel is saying you're planning to move Belinda to Oregon when you go back.”
“We've discussed it.” Briefly, just a few days after Belinda had finally been released from the hospital. He'd been outlining all her options for therapy and recovery. She'd listened silently for a long time before she'd told him that she wasn't moving anywhere.
Obviously Angel had been eavesdropping and hadn't listened to the entire conversation.
“You discussed it with Belinda?”
“Does anyone else's opinion matter?”
“It doesn't, and as long as she's onboard with the plan, I guess I've got nothing to say about it.” Kane glanced at his watch, frowned. “I've got a meeting with the mayor. I'll check in with Mack in a couple of days. See if he wants to attend that meeting with me. See you around, River. Brenna.” He disappeared around the side of the house, and River was left standing there with Brenna who looked about ready to blow a gasket.
“Are you really moving Belinda to Oregon?” she demanded.
“I said we discussed it. I didn't say we were doing it.”
“In other words, you wanted her to move there, and she refused.”
“I want what is best for her. This,” He jabbed his finger at the nearly rotted porch stairs, then at the yellowed grass and dried out fields, the peeling house paint and sagging eaves “is not what's best.”
For a moment, she didn't say anything. Just stood there, her hair lying soft against her nape, her cheeks sprinkled with freckles, her gaze tracking the path his finger had taken, lingering on one mess after another.
“I'm sorry, River,” she finally said.
“For what?”
“It sucks to see something you love falling to pieces.”
“It sucked the night I got here and realized how far things had gone. Now, it's just a job I have to do to make sure Belinda can stay in the home she loves.”
“You're a good guy. That's going to shock a lot of people in town.”
“And you're a bookworm disguised as a fashion model. That will probably shock them too.”
“How'd you guess? The hoard of books in the library when I was a kid?”
“And, the red wagon that you used to pull down Main Street. It was always filled with books, and you always looked like the most contented person in the world.”
She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I can't believe you remember that.
I'd
almost forgotten.”
“It's hard to forget finally seeing what happiness was supposed to look like.”
“That was a long time ago,” she murmured, her cheeks tinged with pink, her eyes more purple than blue.
“Not so long ago,” he said, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, tugging her a few steps closer, because she was there, and he was, and he thought it might not be a bad thing to get a little closer.
“I see, you were back in the battle,” he murmured, touching the speck of chocolate on her temple.
“It wasn't a battle. It was an all-out war.”
“Should I ask who won?” he said, rubbing the speck away.
“The fudge. But, I plan to win the next round. Which reminds me. I've got to get back to the shop.” She tugged away, darted to the back door and into the house. He followed, walking into the kitchen, the scent of furniture polish hitting him in the face. It smelled like someone had sprayed an entire can of the stuff.
“What the hell?” he muttered, stalking into the hallway.
Huckleberry was there, one of the kitchen chairs beside him, piled with pictures and frames. The kid had a dust rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other, and for the first time since River had been back, the wood banister wasn't coated with dust.
“What are you doing?” he asked, the question as redundant as the squirt of polish Huckleberry added to the rag.
The kid lifted a picture, swiped the rag around the frame, and hung it back on the wall. “Cleaning. No sense in Belinda coming home to a mess.”
“Good job,” Brenna said, sashaying past Huckleberry and out the front door.
She was keeping her distance.
No doubt about that, and that's what River should be doing too. His life was full to overflowing, and he didn't need or want to add anyone or anything to it.
He needed to bring Brenna back to the shop, get Belinda from Janelle's, call his restaurant managers to make sure all their suppliers had come through. Fresh and local: that was his goal with every dish served. He'd made his fortune and his reputation off that, but maybe it wasn't as important as he'd once thought. Maybe there were other things he should be focusing on.
He left the house, the scent of furniture polish seeming to follow him out into the bright sunshine. He could remember the place the way it used to be. He could make it that way again if he wanted to. He had the money. He could make the time.
But . . . Benevolence?
Not the place he'd ever wanted to return to. Not a place he'd ever wanted to live.