by Mary Campisi
“Uh-huh. What time is it?”
“Almost five.” He lifted her foot out of the water and wrapped it in a dish towel. “Other foot.”
Bree placed her left foot in the pot, wincing when it touched the water. “Ouch.” She lifted her foot from the water and examined her baby toe. “Yuck.”
The underside of her toe was raw and swollen. “Let’s get you fixed up.” Ben took extra care cleaning the area and when he was done, wrapped her foot in a matching dish towel. “There you go.” He leaned back on his heels and smiled.
“My own personal foot-care specialist.” When Bree smiled this time, the smile reached her eyes. She lifted both dishcloth-clad feet in the air and said, “Wouldn’t Gina have a fit if she saw us?”
Yeah, he imagined she would. “I’m sure she’d have a thing or two to say about it.” He paused, added, “More like an hour’s worth of how I invaded her privacy and her personal space.”
Her smile spread. “You’re absolutely right. See, I knew you two were perfect for each other.”
“Bree—”
“No, really.” She held up a hand. “You figured out how she would react and it didn’t stop you; you did it anyway. Most men wouldn’t even try. They’d consider Gina too much work, too odd, and definitely too standoffish.” Her voice dipped, softened to a whisper coated in sadness. “New love is so special. There’s nothing like it.”
Okay, he’d let her think whatever odd-conceived notion she wanted about him and Gina if it got her to tell him what was really going on. “Bree.” He kept his voice low and even. “What’s the matter?”
Her lips quivered and she shook her head. “Have you seen the honeymoon suite at the Heart Sent? It’s so beautiful and Mimi scatters rose petals on the bed.” She paused, and he had to lean closer to hear the rest. “Lots of them. So very beautiful.” Her eyes glistened when she looked at him. “You’ll see. Gina doesn’t like the idea of making love on rose petals, but she’ll change her mind with you.”
“Bree.”
“I know it’s early, but it’s going to happen.” A tear spilled down her cheek, slipped to her chin. “I always know about these things. That’s my gift. I knew Cash and Tess were going to get back together…and Will and Olivia Carrick. I can see it and feel it, just by watching other people. There’s this energy between the couple; it’s like they’re shooting laser beams, even before they realize they’re attracted to each other. But—” her voice wobbled, fell “—it only works on other people, not me.” More tears. “Why isn’t it like that with Brody? He’s my whole heart; shouldn’t I be able to see those laser beams?”
What the hell was she talking about? Ben’s right temple pinched and he wished Gina would hurry up and get home. She’d find a way to put a stop to Bree’s chatter about sorting couples via laser beams and whatever else she thought she sensed. Somewhere between all this jabber was the reason for today. He picked on the point where the tears ramped up. Talk of her husband and a lack of connection? Was that what she meant? Were they having problems? This was way out of his comfort zone and certainly his area of expertise. Ask him about motorcycles or cars and he was all over it, but relationships and how they happened? Nope. Melissa was a casualty of his inability to open up, talk about feelings, and all of that other nonsense.
“I’m not very good with relationships, but you and Brody seem like a good couple.” What did he know about what made a good couple? He’d pick Nate and Christine Desantro and Cash and Tess over Bree and Brody, but what else was he going to say? He couldn’t tell her he hadn’t liked the way her husband summoned her the afternoon of the barbecue, sitting on the deck in a cushioned recliner, asking for a beer, telling her to look after the kids. Wasn’t there supposed to be a sharing of duties and respect for the other person? He might not know much, but Ben did remember that.
Bree sighed. “He wants another baby.”
There it was. That’s what this was all about. He’d bet his Harley on it. “A boy?” Calculated guess.
Another sigh, this one longer, deeper. “Uh-huh.”
“And you don’t.” Guessing again, but with a sigh like that, he’d bet he wasn’t far off.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I still haven’t gotten over losing Samantha.”
“You had a miscarriage?”
“Four months ago.”
“Weren’t you pregnant at the wedding?” She’d been ready to pop at the wedding and that hadn’t even been a year ago. So, she’d gotten pregnant again?
“I was carrying Scarlett. She’ll be one in December. Brody wanted to keep trying for that boy, and, of course, I understand that, but I needed some time to recover. I was just plain worn out.” She swiped at her eyes. “But he said our children were gifts and it was our duty to bring them into our lives while we were able to, no matter the work or sacrifice involved. He said every father wants a boy, kind of like a legacy passed down. Girls are important, too, he said, but we need a boy. Brody provided the legacy for his daddy, but I guess my daddy didn’t get his legacy, seeing as I was an only child, and a girl at that.” Sadness coated her words, slipped a few octaves. “Daddy wouldn’t even let me work in the family business, said manufacturing was a man’s job and when the time came, he’d turn things over to Brody. My husband can’t even balance a checkbook; how’s he going to run a business?” She swiped both hands across her face but the tears kept coming. “Doesn’t matter. My job is babies and providing a legacy.” She sniffed. “I’m not smart like Gina and Tess. I never went to college and I never had a job except cashiering at Sal’s part-time. I understand my responsibility to my family and I love them more than anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered. “But I am pure exhausted right now.”
“Bree.” He didn’t like the way she talked down about herself. It wasn’t healthy for her body or her mind, but she’d probably been hearing how inadequate and disappointing she was her whole life. Why wouldn’t she think these opinions were true? He knew what cruel and hurtful words could do to a young brain, how they could make the person believe they were no good, would never be any good, and deserved the misfortune that came their way. Ben laid a hand on her arm. “It’ll be okay. You don’t have to have more children if you don’t want to. And whoever says a man needs a boy to fulfill some legacy is just plain wrong.” He rubbed her back, spoke in a soft voice. “You’re worn out, mind and body, and you need a recharge. I don’t know anything about having babies but your body’s telling you it needs a rest.”
What kind of jerk would demand his wife keep spitting out babies until he got a boy? What the hell was wrong with Brody Kinkaid? And why did Bree put up with it? He had a long list of questions for Gina, if she ever got home, starting and ending with the backstory on Brody Kinkaid.
Chapter 7
The first thing Gina noticed when she walked in the door was the smell. She sniffed, sniffed again. Was that a man’s cologne? She couldn’t identify the scent and after a few more sniffs wasn’t sure if it was cologne or the scented garbage bag in the trash can. She made her way to the kitchen and had almost convinced herself she’d been imagining things when she noticed the kitchen chair was askew. Not only that, but two dish towels, folded in half, rested on the back of the other chair. And someone had used her pasta pot and set it in the drain board.
Someone had definitely invaded her home, used her chairs, her dish towels, and maybe helped themselves to a bowl of pasta. But who would do that? Bree had been stopping over lately, supposedly for a breather, but the visits had grown more frequent as Bree became more forlorn. Soon, Gina had to tell someone else, maybe Tess and Christine, and then maybe they could all talk to Bree about getting professional help to deal with the loss of her baby. Nobody wanted to talk about it, especially that oaf, Brody. He wanted to move on as though Bree hadn’t carried a child inside of her, as though the baby didn’t matter. One look at Bree and anyone with half a brain cell could tell she was grieving the loss of her b
aby and needed time and closure. What she did not need was another pregnancy.
If Bree stopped over when Gina wasn’t here, she always left a note on the dry erase board in the kitchen, telling her what she’d done: taken a nap, a shower, painted her nails, cooked ham and eggs. Gina glanced at the board and sure enough, there was writing on it. She moved closer but the bold scrawl didn’t mention a shower, a nap, and certainly not painted nails.
We need to talk. See you at 7:00. I’ll bring dinner. You’re low on dish soap. Ben
How had that man gotten into the house? She ran outside, knelt down, and looked at the base of the hydrangea bush for the small box where she kept a key. She spotted the box, grabbed it, and flipped it open. Empty. How could he possibly have known she hid a key outside, let alone under a gigantic bush? This was all about those damn roses he sent and the phone calls she’d ignored. Did the man really not understand that maybe she just didn’t want to see him, that maybe she had nothing to say?
If he thought a meal and roses could get her to spill her guts on the town’s who’s who, he could think again. Why on earth had he selected her? She wasn’t good at reading people, had never understood the subtle nuances that marked a person upset or merely annoyed. The ability to differentiate wasn’t in her DNA.
Of course, he’d be used to women tripping over themselves to thank him—for a smile, a kind gesture, a dozen roses. She wasn’t interested in a conversation where he would apologize and then try to weasel information from her. And what had he been cooking in her kitchen, and why were two dish towels neatly folded on the back of her kitchen chair? And the comment about needing more dish soap? What on earth was that about?
Ben Reed had broken the law and waltzed into her house and should be glad she wasn’t going to press charges. How would it look if the new police sergeant were charged with breaking and entering? The whole town would read about it in the Magdalena Press, and if they had doubts about the pretty city boy and his intentions before, those doubts would disappear. They’d probably want to get rid of him, maybe beg Bud to return, despite the bad knee and weeks of physical therapy ahead.
Gina changed into jeans and a navy top, glanced at her watch, and realized she still had twenty minutes before he arrived. When he pulled in the driveway, she should tell him to go home and take his dinner with him. No man had ever brought her dinner and she certainly didn’t need one to start now. She could fend for herself, which included preparing meals that, while not exactly gourmet, were palatable and filling.
As for the twelve breathtakingly beautiful long-stemmed roses, well, she should box them up as well and hand them back. She glanced at the cut glass vase and knew she couldn’t do it. The roses were too beautiful, the gesture too rare.
Gina planned her interrogation down to the way she’d hold her head and the tone of her voice. But when she opened the door and saw the look on his face, she forgot the anger and arsenal of accusations. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bree.” He stepped inside, carrying two bags. As he passed, she smelled the same scent that had filtered through the house earlier: Ben Reed’s cologne.
“Bree?” She followed him into the kitchen, stared at his back as he removed containers from one of the bags. “What about her? Is she all right?”
He turned to face her. “Not really. A phone call came in this afternoon of suspicious activity outside your house.”
“Here?”
“I took the call. When I got here, I found Bree on your deck. She was in bad shape.”
Poor Bree. She could not get past her loss. “Did she talk to you?” Did Bree tell him about the baby she’d lost? Or that Brody wanted more, a son to be exact? Or that even if he got his son, he’d want another one? And what about the fact that Bree’s heart was breaking with sadness over the child who had died in her womb. She could barely talk to her friends about it, and certainly hadn’t mentioned it to her parents or Brody’s.
“As a matter of fact, she did.” He glanced around the kitchen and asked, “Where are the plates and utensils?”
Gina made her way to the cupboard and pulled out two plates, opened the silverware drawer and removed forks, knives, spoons, and placed them on the table. “What did she say?”
He ignored the question as he filled their plates with chicken, brown rice, and asparagus. “We need napkins and something to drink. Water’s fine. The chicken breasts were marinated in balsamic vinaigrette with garlic and rosemary. Mimi said you liked rosemary.” He placed each plate on a Gerbera daisy placemat and sank into a chair. “I guessed on the asparagus.”
Gina handed him water and a napkin and sat down. “You guessed right.” She studied the food on her plate, a reasonable portion size with protein, fiber, and a healthy green. “Did you cook all of this?”
He shrugged and a tiny swirl of red crept up his neck. “I did. Mimi let me use her kitchen. She offered to send over chicken parmesan, but I wanted to cook.”
“Oh. Thank you.” No man had ever cooked a meal for her before. She took a few bites of chicken and rice, then forked an asparagus. “This is delicious, but you really didn’t need to do this.”
His gaze pulled her in. “Yes, I did. I owed you an apology.”
“But the roses—” she stopped, cleared her throat “—they’re beautiful, but again, not necessary. We can just agree that we were at odds on that particular subject and move on.”
“Right.” He studied her a few seconds too long, as though seeing more than she wanted him to see.
“Tell me about Bree.”
He shook his head, sighed. “That whole situation is one big train wreck waiting to happen. Has she been like this since she lost the baby?”
“She told you about that? I’m surprised because Bree doesn’t really talk about it, though it’s not like we can’t tell she’s struggling. Anyone who knows her can see the sadness in everything she does: her voice, her actions, her smile.”
“She said you leave a key for her in case she stops over and wants to rest a bit or needs a break. I didn’t ask what she needed the break from because I figured it had to do with the kids, but now I’m wondering if it’s her husband.”
Gina clamped her mouth shut, trying to keep her personal feelings for Brody Kinkaid inside. The man was an idiot, bursting with testosterone and the desire to procreate. She chewed her food and let the seconds tick away. Maybe Ben Reed would continue speculating and she wouldn’t need to say anything.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure the husband is a big part of the problem.”
Bingo. “That man is the main problem. Bree isn’t allowed to be a person. She can be a mother and a wife, but not Bree Kinkaid, person.” The words spilled out before she remembered that she wasn’t going to say a word.
He toyed with his fork and said, “I’m not much on analyzing marital relationships, but she seemed happy last year.”
“Oh, you mean at the wedding? Bree is always happy when she’s pregnant.” She tried to yank the words back but they kept coming. “That’s the only time she is happy, and she wants everyone to have babies, even those who don’t want them.”
Those blue eyes pierced her. “Like you?”
“What? I’m not looking to have a baby.”
“Now. Or ever?”
“That’s a very inappropriate question,” she blurted out. “And my personal life has nothing to do with Bree’s issues. We’ve tried to get her to counseling, alone or with Brody, but she refuses. We even told her we’d find a therapist in another town, but she didn’t want to hear about it.”
“Who’s the we?”
Gina eyed him, trying to decide whether she should divulge that information.
“I don’t even have to take an educated guess and I’m fairly certain I’ll get the names right.”
Which meant he already knew. “Tess and Christine.”
“Do their husbands know?”
“You mean did they give their wives permission to help a friend?”
“No
. I meant exactly what I said, because I’m guessing Cash and Nate Desantro would not sit by and do nothing if they thought a woman was in distress.”
He was right. Nate would have a face-to-face with Brody and demand he grow up and learn to respect his wife. Cash wouldn’t be so diplomatic; he’d probably try for a quick left hook to the jaw, followed by a right. Brody might be a mass of muscles, but he didn’t have the fight in him that Cash did.
“Well? Do they know their wives are trying to help with a domestic situation that could get ugly?”
She shook her head. “Brody might be a lot of things, but he’d never hurt her.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that? Usually right before the guy hurts her.”
Brody wouldn’t hurt Bree. He wouldn’t. “Bree just kind of lost it after the miscarriage. Some days she doesn’t shower and that is so not Bree. She used to put on makeup and a nice outfit to go to the mailbox. Her house was spotless, not a smudge or paper out of order. Now?” She shook her head and sighed. “You saw her house at the cookout. That’s not normal. And the way she forgets to—” Gina stopped. She’d said too much. Way too much.
“The way she forgets to what?” he prodded.
“Nothing. We’ll take care of it. I’ll call Tess and Christine tomorrow and we’ll talk to Bree again. Please don’t say anything to Nate and Cash. Let us try to work it out. If they get involved it’s going to get messy.”
He stared at her. “I don’t like it.”
“Please.” Her voice dipped, softened. “We’ll talk to her.”
Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Only if you keep me informed.” When she frowned and opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand to stop her. “Those are my terms. If it were my wife getting involved in a domestic dispute, I wouldn’t like it, but I’d sure as hell want to know.”