“Teamwork is more important than individual glory,” Mack intoned as he descended the ladder, the chandelier in his hands. “Why don't you come help me clean this, Angel? And then I'll help with the crib?”
“Fine. Whatever.” She stalked away.
Brenna thought River muttered something under his breath as she left, but he'd turned away, was jotting notes on a piece of paper, so she couldn't be sure.
She would have joined him, maybe said something about the paint or the project or, even, Angel, but he glanced over his shoulder, met her eyes.
There wasn't a bit of warmth in his gaze, not a hint of amusement or passion or any of the other things Brenna had gotten used to seeing.
“Belinda has a bunch of stuff in the attic,” he said, his voice as cool as his gaze. “She said we could use some of it to redecorate. Would you mind going up and taking a look? Maybe making a list of things that can be used so I have an idea of what I still need to budget for?”
She didn't mind.
Of course she didn't.
“No problem,” she said, the words all hot and watery and horrible, because what she wanted to do was look deep in River's eyes and tell him that she hadn't realized how much she'd been missing until she met him.
A stupid thing to say after the way she'd acted at the cabin. Even stupider with so many people standing in the hall. The thoughts were private ones, not to be shared with a bunch of people she barely knew.
That was the excuse she gave herself, and then she took the notebook and pen River was offering and walked upstairs without saying a word.
* * *
Somehow, River managed to get through six hours without saying one more word to Brenna about her asshole of an ex. He figured he deserved some sort of prize for that, but because no one was handing him one, he settled for a couple of chocolate-covered pretzels he'd snagged from the display case at Chocolate Haven.
They were good, the pretzels crisp and salty, the chocolate rich and sweet. What would have been better was sticking around Chocolate Haven for a while longer, helping Brenna with the rest of the prep for the next day, and saying exactly what he wanted to: Your ex is a jackass; he was never good enough for you. Don't be sorry he's gone; be damn thankful he is.
Discretion is the better part of valor
.
Another Dillard saying, and probably a smart one to live by, but River wasn't any better at biting his tongue than he was at waiting. So, once he'd finished making a couple batches of cherry cordials, a vat of caramel corn, and a few pounds of English toffee, he'd decided it was better to say good night.
And that's exactly what he'd done.
Now he was driving through town, thinking about that kiss, the way Brenna had felt in his arms, and the phone call that had ruined it all. The way he saw things, Dan must be an idiot. He was wanted by the police, his partner was desperately trying to track him down, and if he was caught, he'd be tossed in jail.
So, why a phone call that could put him back on the radar and get his location discovered?
Not love. A guy didn't run off with everything a woman had worked for and then claim he loved her. Money seemed the more likely motivator. Dan had probably blown every bit of his cash and had decided the best way to recoup the loss was to find someone willing to work to fill his bank account.
It wasn't going to be Brenna.
That much was for damn sure.
She was too smart to fall for it.
Apparently, Dan was too stupid to know that.
River would have been more than happy to fill him in. As a matter of fact, if he ever met the guy face-to-face, he'd make sure to teach the guy a lesson he wouldn't forget.
“Asshole,” he muttered as he passed the diner, the five and dime, the library.
If he let himself, he could picture Brenna as a child, walking down the sidewalk with her wagon full of books, her red hair glowing in the sunlight.
Then she'd been an oddity, a quirky-looking kid who'd caught his eye because she was different.
She was still different, but that wasn't the reason he wanted to study her face, her hands, the color of her eyes and of her hair.
She
was the reason. Just Brenna, and he didn't think there needed to be an explanation, didn't think he needed to have a reason.
He passed the sheriff's department. There were lights on in the lobby, two squad cars in the parking lot. He was tempted to stop to see if Kane was there, maybe make a few subtle hints that the sheriff should pay Brenna a visit to ask about her ex.
He didn't.
He couldn't betray Brenna's trust that way.
No matter how tempted he was.
He sped out of town, taking a back road that meandered along the river. He'd forgotten how beautiful it was there, the fading sunlight glittering on the surface of the water. If he had more time, he'd stop, find a spot to sit on the shore and just listen to what the silence would say.
Dillard had taught him that: how to be still and to wait. It had served River well in life. Every time he had difficult decisions to make, every time he was struggling to know in which direction to go, he'd find a quiet spot and wait for his answer. Sometimes he got it quickly. Sometimes he had to repeat the process over and over again. Eventually, though, he always found the answers he was looking for.
Behind him, strobe lights flashed and a squad car moved up in back of him. He glanced at his speedometer. Twenty miles an hour over the speed limit.
“Shit,” he muttered, pulling into the breakdown lane and stopping. He could see the officer in his rearview mirror, calling something in on his radio and then getting out of the car. Seconds later, Jax Gordon was peering in through the window.
“In a hurry?” he asked, his voice muffled by the glass.
River unrolled it. “Apparently.”
“You do know you were going twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
Jax laughed. “Sorry, man. I'd have let you go if you were only ten above, but twenty . . . that's pushing it. Especially when you're within the town limits. Lots of kids are still out this time of evening. I'd hate for one of them to get hit because I didn't pull over a speeding car.”
“I'd hate to be the one to hit them, but I am out of the town limits,” he pointed out.
“You weren't when I clocked you at sixty-five. You were passing the station and I just happened to be getting in my car when you sped by.”
“I guess it's my lucky day.”
“It sure is mine. This is the most excitement I've had since that brick was tossed through Chocolate Haven's window.”
“Any news on that?”
“You mean suspects? No. We've spoken to a couple of people. They all have alibis. We sent the brick to the county crime lab, but they couldn't find anything. They're keeping it to do a handwriting comparison, but until they have something to compare it to, that's not doing them a whole lot of good.”
“Did you call her ex?” That was it. Just the question and nothing about the fact that the guy had just called Brenna.
River deserved another award.
He had a feeling it was going to be a citation.
“We haven't tracked him down yet, but we talked to his partner. The surgeon is mad as hell and he doesn't care who knows it.”
“At Brenna?”
“No. He says she's the best thing that ever happened to her fiancé, and he can't believe the guy skipped town on her. He's mad at the ex. Said the guy almost caused his business to go under.”
“Almost isn't the same as it actually happening.”
“In his mind it is.”
“Maybe, in his mind, throwing a brick through a window to let Brenna know he's watching her is a perfectly acceptable thing to do.”
“Could be, but the guy has an airtight alibi. He was in surgery the day the incident occurred.”
“It's easy enough to hire someone.”
“To do what? It's not like Brenna was hurt, and it's not like she was all that scared. If you want to know my opinion, it was a teenage prank.” He used his pen to push his uniform hat up farther on his head.
“Who? Angel?” A couple of days ago, he would have been convinced she was the vandal. Now, he felt the urge to jump to her defense. “She's nearly nine months pregnant.”
“She wouldn't be the first pregnant woman to commit a crime. But she said she was at home, sleeping in her room. No one at Freedom Ranch is willing to say differently.”
“Any other suspects?”
“Mack, but he was helping a neighbor plow.” Jax shrugged. “We've run into a wall. Unless the person commits another crime, we probably won't catch him.”
“Do you think he will?”
“Depends on the motivation. The sheriff thinks the perp was just trying to upset Brenna. Not scare her. If that's the case, the brick might be the end of things. If the perp was trying to scare her, though, I doubt it will end with this.”
“That's not very comforting.”
“Maybe not, but it's the truth.” A call came in over his radio and Jax listened, then frowned. “Tell you what, I'll give you a warning this time. If I catch you speeding again, it's going to cost you two hundred bucks. Drive safely, man.”
He hurried back to his vehicle, and seconds later he was gone, lights on, sirens blaring.
Sirens?
They weren't common in Benevolence.
The fact that Jax was using them spoke to the seriousness of the situation.
There was some kind of emergency in town.
River could think of plenty of things it could be, but his mind kept circling back around to Brenna. The town had been quiet and uneventful until she'd arrived. Ever since then, it seemed like all hell had broken loose.
Or maybe that was an exaggeration.
Maybe it just felt . . . unsettled.
Sure, River could wait things out, read the newspaper in the morning and find out exactly what had happened. That wasn't his style, though. He'd made his fortune by being proactive, by making split-second decisions and then having the guts to follow through on them. He'd doubted a lot of things in his life, but he didn't doubt his ability to make good choices. He might have learned the skill late, but he'd learned it well.
At the moment, a good decision didn't include sitting in his car, wondering what was going on.
He pulled back onto the road and followed Jax's cruiser, keeping just far enough back to be out of the way. He didn't want to gum up the works or cause any more problems than there already were, and he didn't want to get his butt tossed in jail. He just wanted to make sure the emergency didn't include someone he cared about. When he'd arrived in Benevolence, that list had been pretty short. Now it was longer. It included a whole group of people he'd have kicked out of his life a month ago if he'd had the opportunity. Now he felt responsible for them. A pain in the ass, but the truth. No matter how much he might tell himself that he wanted all of them gone, he'd worry if they were.
Which sucked, but he guessed that was the way it had been for Belinda and Dillard when they'd been fostering troubled teens. They'd stuck it out anyway, brought every one of the kids they'd taken in up through high school. A lot of those kids had gone on to college, and most of them had made a go of having a productive life.
Pretty impressive.
River had always thought so.
He just hadn't ever wanted to follow in their footsteps. He had no desire to sacrifice his sanity on the altar of another person's life.
He was beginning to realize that sometimes a person didn't have a choice. Sometimes they found themselves on a path and they just had to keep walking down it because there was no way to turn around, no way to step off.
That's what had happened when he'd returned to Benevolence. He'd started out thinking he had a choice about how long he'd stay and what he'd accomplish while he was there. Now, he knew the truth. The minute he'd walked into Freedom Ranch, he'd sealed his own fate. There'd been no way he could ever leave it behind again.
Up ahead, Jax raced onto Main Street, and River's pulse jumped. There were plenty of businesses there, plenty of places that could have been vandalized or broken into, but he had a feeling Jax wasn't going to any of those. He had a feeling he was heading straight for Chocolate Haven.
Chapter Fourteen
Brenna clutched a long-handled knife, her ear pressed to the office door. She didn't know what she was listening for. Maybe the sound of someone breaking the brand-new window and climbing into the shop or, maybe, the wild pounding of fists against the back door. She knew what she wanted to hear: the cavalry riding to the rescue, because someone had been in the alley. She'd seen him when she was carrying the last three batches of mediocre fudge out to the Dumpster. First, he'd been just a strange shadow, a lumpy bit of darkness mixing with the early evening shadows. Then he'd moved, shifting just enough for Brenna to realize she wasn't alone.
She hadn't stuck around to ask questions. She'd run for the back door, darting inside and slamming it closed.
She didn't think she'd ever moved so fast in her life.
The guyâwhoever he wasâhad moved pretty fast, too. She'd seen his shadowy form outside the kitchen window seconds after she'd closed the door. She'd freaked, grabbing her cell phone and calling the police as she'd searched frantically for the knife she'd sliced her fingers with.
It was sharp, and that's what she'd wanted because there was no way anyone was going to take her down without a fight.
I'm watching you.
That's what the message on the brick had said. Brenna hadn't been too concerned. She'd figured Angel had tossed it through the window, and she'd just kind of put it out of her mind. If the police had proven the teenager had committed the crime, she'd have asked for restitution, but she wouldn't have pressed charges.
People made mistakes. They made them all the time.
Look at her. She'd gone off to pursue a career she hadn't liked for the sake of some imagined pressure from the people in her life. Then she'd compounded the matter by settling for less than what she deserved.
She'd meant every word she'd said when she'd told Dan that the first date with him was the worst mistake she'd ever made.
She was trying to make fewer mistakes.
But she was thinking that her assumption about Angel had been one. Maybe she hadn't tossed the brick, and maybe she hadn't sent the message. Maybe someone else had, someone who really had been watching her, lurking in the shadows, creeping through the alley, peering in the window while she worked.
She shuddered, dropping onto her stomach and peering under the door. She could see the light from the hallway. That was it. No shadows broke through it. No feet moved past. Still no sound of anyone entering the shop or moving through it. She thought she could hear sirens, but she didn't want to get her hopes up.
When her cell phone rang, she jumped, the knife dropping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. She flicked on the office light, saw the knife a foot away, and snatched it up, then answered her phone.
“Hello?” she gasped, fear making her voice shake.
“Brenna? Jax Gordon. I just pulled up outside your shop. I'm at the back door. You want to open the door for me?”
“Sure.” She fiddled with the office lock, finally managed to get it open, raced through the kitchen she'd managed to make another god-awful mess of. She didn't know what it was about the family fudge, she really didn't, but every time she made it, chaos happened.
She yanked the door open and stepped aside so Jax could enter. His eyes widened as he took in the chocolate dripping down the front of the stove, the condensed milk spilled on the floor, the broken bottle of vanilla that had somehow slipped from her hands. The fudge recipe was lying in a pile of sugar, flecks of fudge smeared across the laminated 3 x 5 card. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her apron pocket.
“Was he in the front of the store, too?” he asked, taking out a camera and snapping a few shots.
For about a half second, she was tempted to let him believe someone else had wrecked the kitchen.
“Actually, he wasn't in the shop,” she admitted. “I did this all by myself.”
He lowered the camera, his lips twitching with what was probably the beginning of a smile.
“Impressive,” he said, and she just shrugged because she didn't have any energy left to be amused.
“Thank you.”
“Want to tell me what happened?”
She explained it all: the heavy bag of discarded fudge, the trip outside, the shadow near the Dumpster.
“And you're sure it was a man?”
“I'm sure it was a person.”
“People do walk through that alley, Brenna,” he reminded her. “It isn't unusual on a beautiful Sunday evening for someone to want to stroll through the park. This is the easiest way to get to it from Main Street.”
“I know, but . . .”
“What?”
“If it were someone I knew, he'd have called out and said hello. He wouldn't have been hiding near the Dumpster.”
“Maybe he wasn't hiding? Maybe he was throwing something away?”
He didn't believe her. That was the impression she got. It should have been fine, but she was tired of fudge and chocolate and sugar and sweets. She was tired of drama and trauma and pretending things were okay when they weren't. She wanted to be up in the apartment, a glass of wine in one hand and a good book in the other, all the things she'd worked for still available to her.
She couldn't have any of that, so she at least wanted to be taken seriously. “I know what I saw.”
“Okay,” Jax conceded. “We'll say he was hiding. Did he come after you when you ran?”
“I saw him outside the window after I locked the door.”
“You're sure it was him?”
“Who else would it have been? It's past seven on a Sunday night. Despite what you may think, people don't usually cut through the alley and walk past the shop's window. If they want to go to the park, it's a straight shot across the parking lot. No need at all to walk past my back door.”
“You're angry,” he said, looking up from the tablet he was writing notes on.
“I'm frustrated,” she corrected. “I know this is small-town America, and I know the things I'm reporting are small-town incidents, but I want to feel like I'm being taken seriously.”
“Am I giving you the impression you're not? Because I can tell you right now that I'm taking your complaint very seriously. I'm just trying to weed out fact from speculation. Everything you've said could mean that someone was hiding in the alley stalking the shop or watching you. It could also mean that you just happened to walk into the alley while someone was doing something stupid: sneaking a drink of alcohol where his parents couldn't see, lighting up a cigarette or popping a couple of pills. Small town doesn't mean no crime, and just because something happened at Chocolate Haven a few days ago doesn't mean this is connected.”
He was right.
Of course he was. And he said it all without heat or accusation. Which only made her feel twice the fool for being frustrated.
“Sorry, I'm justâ”
“There's no need to apologize, Brenna. Your feelings are well-founded. If I'd walked into the alley and seen someone, I'd be shaken too.”
She doubted it.
Jax didn't look like the kind of guy who'd be shaken by anything. It wasn't just his scar; it was his whole persona. Confidence oozed out of him, but he didn't have an arrogant bone in his body, or a mean one. He never picked a fight, but he never backed down from one either. He'd been like that from the day he'd arrived in Benevolence, the wound on his face still healing, the story of how his entire family had been murdered and he'd been the only one to survive whispered in every corner of the school, every field on the playground.
He'd seemed above it all. He hadn't worked to make friends, but he'd never been unkind. As far as Brenna knew, the only one he'd really connected with was Adeline's husband. Jax and Sinclair had both had difficult childhoods, they'd both lost their parents, and they'd both wanted nothing more than to escape Benevolence.
“I know you're doing your job, Jax. I didn't mean to imply that you weren't. I justâ”
“Want answers?”
“Yes. But I also just want my life to start being more . . . normal.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Let me know if you figure out what that means. Kane said you got a call from your ex tonight?”
“Yes.” She'd called Kane while she was digging through Belinda's attic. She'd also called the detective in charge of the New York City investigation. She'd left Dan's phone number with both of them, along with all the information she'd gleaned from the conversation. She was hoping they could track him by contacting fashion designers in Bangkok. Dan was just loud and arrogant enough not to have hidden his true identity.
“Did you contact the partner? Winthrop, right?”
“Yes. I called him after I spoke with the New York City police.”
“And . . . ?”
“I gave him the number, too.”
“So the likelihood that he was hanging around here, hoping your ex was going to show up is pretty slim?”
“I'd say it was nonexistent. He's got a thriving medical practice in New York. He doesn't have time to travel across a continent to lurk in an alley.”
“He did hire a private investigator to help locate your ex, but he insisted he didn't send the guy this way.”
“Why would he? I'm as anxious to see Dan brought to justice as anyone.”
“You didn't file charges against him.”
“To punish him for what? Taking money from an account that had both of our names on it?”
“Legally, half that money is yours. Whatever loss you accrued because of what he's done is half his to pay. You can't have him charged with a crime, but you can slap him with a civil suit and demand he repay your half of what was in those accounts.”
She knew that. She had a friend who was a divorce lawyer. Shauna had been very clear about what Brenna's legal rights were and what legal actions she could take. Shauna had even offered to represent her for free, but Dan was gone and Brenna had just wanted to move on, get to that sweet place where she'd crossed the river of her challenges and was prancing around on the other side of it.
So far, she'd done a piss-poor job of it, but she was working toward something better, and she'd get there eventually.
“I cut my ties, Jax. I didn't want years of legal battles and court appearances and fights over what was mine and what was his. I just wanted to move on.”
He nodded, tucking the tablet under his arm and walking toward the door. “I'm going to check the alley, see if there's any evidence that could give you some closure on this.”
“I appreciate it.”
“It's my job.” He opened the door and frowned. “Someone's in the parking lot.”
“Who?” she whispered, stepping closer and peering around his shoulder. She could see his cruiser, parked right near the back door. Behind that, a truck idled in the streetlight, engine purring, paint gleaming.
Her heart jumped because she knew it was River. Knew it without seeing the color of the truck, without seeing his face, without seeing him.
Her heart thumped in acknowledgment, her pulse thrumming happily. She tried to stop it. She tried to tell herself how much trouble she was going to be in if she kept looking for River, reaching for him, hoping he'd be around.
Because it seemed he always was.
She couldn't remember the last time there'd been someone like that in her life. She couldn't remember if there ever had been.
He got out of the truck, his lean, muscular body as familiar as a sunset, as welcome as the first hint of fall in the summer air. She wanted to run to him. God, but she wanted to, but she stood rooted to the spot, watching as Jax walked outside and went to greet him.
River glanced her way, his face as cool and unreadable as it had been since the cabin and the phone call. Dan . . . ruining everything again. She could have let herself believe that, but the truth was, she was ruining it all on her own because she was afraid, because she cared too much, cared more than she ever had before.
She wanted River like she wanted her next breath, and she was terrified of what would happen if she acknowledged that. So, she took the cowardly way out. Again. She stepped back into the kitchen and let the door close.
Then she went to work scraping thick chocolate goop off the counter and the stove. She listened to the sound of voices just outside the window, but she didn't look, because if she did, she might just give in and go after what she wanted.
It would be good for a day, a week, a year. Maybe a little more, but then what?
She'd be left high and dry, clinging to the shattered bits of forever while he went on his merry way.
Not true
, her heart whispered.
She was too busy cleaning up her mess to listen.
* * *
River hadn't been invited, but he followed Jax into the alley anyway. Dusky light cast dark shadows across the narrow pavement, creating alcoves and hiding places that weren't there during full light. The Dumpster was set against the wall of the building, with just enough room behind it to allow the lid to open easily. The shadows were deeper there, and he could see how Brenna might have missed a person who'd crouched low in them.
“This must be the bag she was carrying out,” Jax said, nudging a black trash bag that had been abandoned near the mouth of the alley.
Fudge.
River could smell it, and he had a feeling the bag was chock-full of Brenna's discarded efforts. He'd offered to help. Again. She'd refused. Again.