Sweet Surprises Read Free Page A

“I just wanted to apologize for scaring you.”
    â€œYou didn’t scare me,” she panted, yanking open the door of an ancient Chrysler and hopping in, “you terrified me.”
    She slammed the door, and he thought she’d speed off to wherever she’d come from, tell whoever she lived with all about the guy who’d chased her through the cemetery. If she happened to know who he was, he’d be screwed. Benevolence was a typical small-town with a typical small-town rumor mill. Everyone in town knew he was back. Everyone in town knew he’d been taking care of Belinda since her stroke.
    Everyone in town also knew his past, knew his teenage mistakes, his foolishness. They had good reason to eye him with suspicion, but he didn’t have time to play up to them, mend fences, prove that he’d grown up, and become someone. There was too much going on at Freedom Ranch. Too much that he hadn’t expected and wasn’t all that prepared to deal with.
    He was doing it. For Belinda.
    Otherwise, he’d have washed his hands of the motley crew he’d found living there a month ago.
    He reached the car, leaned down so he could look in the driver’s side window.
    The woman was sitting still as a statue, her forehead resting against the steering wheel, her shoulders slumped.
    He tapped on the glass.
    She didn’t move.
    God! He hoped he hadn’t scared her into heart failure.
    â€œMa’am? Are you okay?”
    â€œI’ve been better,” he thought she said, but the window was closed, her voice muffled.
    â€œI can give you a ride home if you’re not up to driving,” he offered.
    She lifted her head, looked him right in the eye.
    â€œI just ran for my life because of you,” she said, and this time her words were clear as day. “Do you really think I’m going to let you drive me somewhere?”
    â€œMaybe not, but I hope you’ll give me a minute to explain.”
    â€œNo need for an explanation. You go your way. I’ll go mine.” She shoved keys into the ignition, started the car, and probably would have pulled away if he hadn’t tapped on the glass again.
    â€œWhat?” she snapped, watching him dispassionately. She looked . . . familiar. Something about her face—the angle of the jaw, the shape of the nose. He couldn’t quite place it, but he was certain they’d met before.
    â€œDo you live around here?” he asked.
    â€œDo you always wander around cemeteries in the middle of the night asking women questions about where they live?” she replied, and he laughed.
    â€œIt’s an unusual night. For both of us, I’d say.”
    â€œYou’re right about that.” She grabbed a phone from the seat next to her. Maybe to show him that she had one. Maybe just to check for messages. For a moment, her face was illuminated by its light. Pale freckled skin. Bright red hair.
    He had a flash of a memory: a young girl with long red hair and freckles, trudging down the road, a red wagon filled with books rattling along behind her.
    One of the Lamont girls. Little Brenna.
    That’s what Belinda had told him. He wasn’t sure why he’d been curious enough to ask. Maybe because the little girl was so much the opposite of every kid he’d ever known. She’d been clean, her clothes pressed, her shoes shiny and new. And, she’d looked . . . content, as if the wagon-load of books had filled her up to overflowing.
    That had changed after her father died.
    He knew that part of her story, too.
    Just like he knew that she could be the answer to one of his most pressing problems. He needed access to her family’s chocolate shop. Scratch that. All he really needed was a piece of the Lamont family fudge. That damn kid Huckleberry had eaten the last of Belinda’s supply.
    Huckleberry . . .
    Just thinking about the eighteen-year-old made River’s blood boil. If he’d known Belinda