He helped Belinda into the wheelchair and rolled her around to the side of the house. Mack had installed a ramp there. In the days when things had been touch and go and the doctors wouldn’t say one way or another whether Belinda would survive, Mack had worked hour after hour to craft a handicap-accessible entrance that would help Belinda return to the home she loved.
River supposed it had been an offering of hope, an act of faith.
It had paid off.
Fixing up the ranch, getting the fields and the garden going again? That was River’s act of faith. He had to believe it would make a difference in Belinda’s life, that it would take the sadness from her face and leave her with the kind of happiness she deserved.
He didn’t tell her that, though.
Getting her hopes up and crushing them would be worse than letting her believe the glory days of Freedom Ranch were behind her and all she had to look forward to was a slow fading of the vibrant property she and Dillard had loved.
Angel unlocked the side door, scowling as River pushed Belinda into the huge dining room. Years ago, the doors had stayed unlocked. Belinda and Dillard hadn’t believed in keeping people out. Since River had returned, he’d insisted on keeping the house secure.
The world had changed. It only made sense for the ranch to change, too, but even that seemed to make Belinda sad. She shook her head. “Time just keeps marching on. Whether I want it to or not.”
“Would you rather it stood still?” he asked, wheeling her through the dining room. Someone had been cleaning the old china cabinet and wiping down the picture frames, the wood gleaming, the glass smudge-free. Even the old seventies chandelier Dillard had probably installed before the first foster kid ever crossed their threshold, had been polished to a high shine.
“No, I guess I don’t. There are things I miss and things I might even want to have back, but if time stood still, you wouldn’t be so successful and accomplished. All the children Dillard and I helped would still be in need of helping.”
“You two did a great thing. I hope you know how much of a difference you made.”
“To just a few people,” she said quietly. “There’s a whole world filled with hurting people out there, River. And they’re all just waiting for the next Dillard and Belinda Keech to come along.”
“They may be waiting a long time, Belinda. You and Dillard were one in a million.”
“So are you, River. I’ve always known it. Dillard did, too,” she said quietly.
He didn’t want to think about what he meant.
He refused to put her comment together with his.
No way was he the kind of person Dillard had been. No way was he the kind of person Belinda still was.
He didn’t want to be.
Cleaning up messes other people made wasn’t his thing.
Taking care of people who didn’t want or appreciate it?
Also not his thing.
He stopped the wheelchair at the stairs, helped Belinda out of it. Up until a week ago, she’d had a hospital bed in the living room. Now, she insisted on making the long walk up the stairs and into the room she’d once shared with Dillard. It wasn’t the biggest room and it wasn’t fancy, but she’d refused to give it up.
She brushed his hands away as she took the first step and then the second. She’d been working hard in therapy, but stairs were still a challenge, and he couldn’t imagine a time when he wasn’t going to worry that she might fall.
“You need to stop hovering,” Angel hissed as she followed him up the stairs. “She can do it without you. We can all do it without you.”
There was a message there.
He heard it loud and clear.
Too bad he had no intention of listening.
Whether Angel liked it or not, he was there.
She could get used to it or . . .
She could leave?
He glanced at her, saw her pale face, her tired eyes. A backpack dangled from her arm. Belinda’s purse hung from her wrist and her free hand clutched a library book about childbirth.
She met his eyes. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“Why would I?” he asked.
But, he did, because she was a kid having a kid and she had nothing but this drafty old house and the people who lived in it to support her.
A family?
River didn’t want to think so, but he supposed, in some strange way, it was.
Chapter Twelve
Family: Couldn’t live with them. Couldn’t kill them.
Unless you wanted to go to jail.
Brenna didn’t.
What she wanted—all she wanted—was to get through church without Janelle commenting on the length of her skirt, the style of her hair, or the fact that she hadn’t applied a stitch of makeup.
Not powder. Not blush. Not foundation or lipstick.
She hadn’t even had time to put on ChapStick.
Because she was running late.
Very late.
As a matter of fact, the entire parking lot of Benevolence Baptist Church was full. She managed to find a spot on the street, parked the Chrysler, and sprinted up the hill that separated her from the building she should have been in five minutes ago.
The double-wide doors that led into the sanctuary were closed and she stopped in front of them, smoothing her hand down the simple blue dress she’d worn. The hem fell just above her knees, the sleeves hitting midforearm. Everything that could be covered had been.
Janelle should approve, but she probably wouldn’t.
She took a deep breath.
It had been a long time since she’d attended church with her family. Who was she kidding? It had been a long time since she’d attended church. She and Dan had made a habit of going on Easter and Christmas. Sometimes she’d gone in between those services, hoping to find some kind of connection in the filled pews of the neighborhood church.
Of course, in New York City, the neighborhood church had contained hundreds of people. Brenna had been one of the crowd, and she’d never felt more lost and more alone than when she’d sat in an old wooden pew, squeezed in between strangers who didn’t even meet her eyes.
Music drifted through the door, a somber hymn Brenna remembered from her childhood. Once, an eon ago, she’d loved going to church. She’d sat between her parents, her sisters on either side of them, her grandparents in the pew behind. She’d studied the old paintings that decorated the walls, ran her hand along the smooth wood of the pew in front of her, and thought that the church was the most beautiful place in the world.
She’d been to a lot of places since then.
She’d seen a lot of beautiful things.
She doubted the little chapel would touch her soul the way it had when she was a kid.
She opened the door, walking into a nearly full service. People were on their feet, hymnals open in their hands, voices blended in questionable harmony.
Her sister, mother, and grandfather were up near the front with Chase and Larkin Lyons. The teen and his sister had moved in with Adeline a few months before she’d married Sinclair. They’d been there ever since. Which was something else, in Brenna’s opinion. She’d liked Sinclair the first time she’d met him, but when she’d realized he was willing to provide a home to two kids who had nowhere else to go, she’d fallen in sisterly love with him.
Yeah. He was a good guy and Adeline was a great woman.
They deserved every bit of the happiness they’d found.
It was good to see her sister standing near people she loved. Adeline had pulled her hair into a pretty braid that fell halfway down her back. Her black skirt hugged curvy hips, and Brenna was certain her blue sweater emphasized the subtle swelling of her abdomen. She couldn’t see past the sea of bodies blocking her view, but she was also certain Adeline had her own personal Bible. Probably a black leather one with notes written in the margins.
She was the accessible daughter. The always-there one.
The go-to gal who’d n
ever, ever asked anyone for anything.
Seeing her unconscious, her face pale and devoid of all its normal vitality, had shaken Brenna. She’d spent years away, years not realizing people were changing and growing and aging.
She’d missed out on a lot, and she hadn’t realized how much that mattered until she’d come back and seen all the things she’d left behind.
She skirted around the back pew, trying to find a place that wasn’t so close to the front because she didn’t want to take the walk of shame that every latecomer had to take. Up the center aisle to the only seats that were usually available: front row closest to the pulpit.
Nope. She wasn’t going there. It was bad enough half the congregation had turned to watch her progress.
She scanned row after row. Not an empty seat in the place.
Fine. She’d stand in the vestibule.
She turned, nearly walked smack-dab into a hard masculine chest.
“No sense trying to run now,” River whispered in her ear. “You’ve already been seen. May as well make the best of it.”
“Where’d you come from?” she whispered back.
“The other side of the sanctuary. I figured me getting up and walking over here would distract at least half the people from watching you.”
“And give everyone more to talk about tomorrow morning?”
“Do you care?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t.” He touched her lower spine, his fingers warm, his touch light.
She could have walked in the other direction, but somehow she found herself walking with him. They made their way to the front pew as the hymn wound to an end. By the time the last piano chord died away, they were seated. Just the two of them on a polished wood pew, Janelle, Adeline, and Byron behind them.
She thought she heard her mother whisper something, but she decided not to ask Janelle to repeat herself. As a matter of fact, she decided to do exactly what River had suggested: not care. So what if half the town’s population was there? So what if she and River were going to be the topic of every conversation in town the following day? The chapel was still as lovely as she’d remembered it. The beautiful wood floors and hand-carved pews a reminder of yesterday and the yesterday before that. Generations of people had sat in the pews. Generations had been married there, baptized there, their bodies buried in the cemetery outside. The thread of belonging ran through every beam, every floorboard, every old hymnal tucked beneath a pew.
She wasn’t sure anything else mattered but that.
This was what she’d been missing during her years of wandering the globe. It was what the hollow spot in her heart had been craving. Not just a place to worship but a place where everything seemed to just fall into place, where all the parts of self came together and became something more.
She’d forgotten how that felt.
Or maybe she’d never known.
Maybe she’d been so busy looking for something more that she’d failed to see what she had.
By the time the service was over, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, more content than she thought she could be.
“Ready?” River offered his hand and she took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.
He was smiling, that easy, open smile that made her think of all kinds of things she shouldn’t: hand-holding and whispered promises and kisses under the stars.
Forever Kisses.
Those words again, the old recipe card tucked in her purse. She’d been carrying it around for some reason, loath to stick it back in the cookbook and have it be forgotten again. She’d planned to ask Byron if he knew who’d written it, but things had been . . . hectic.
“You look beautiful today,” River said, lifting her injured hand and eyeing the bandages. She’d removed the gauze from the stitches and covered them with a Band-Aid. She had a lot of work to do before the shop opened in the morning and she hadn’t wanted to be hampered by lumpy gauze. It was bad enough that she’d be hampered by her own inability to make the fudge.
“I’m a mess,” she responded, smoothing hair that hadn’t wanted to be tamed. She’d tried to control it, but the short, trendy style was growing out and was becoming a shaggy, uncontrollable mop in the process.
“If you are,” River responded, “you’re a beautiful mess.”
She wanted to say something flip and funny. She wanted to make light of the words, play them off as flirtation, but she was looking into his eyes and there was nothing flirtatious in his gaze, nothing light or humorous or simple.
He’d kissed her and everything in her had changed.
That was the truth. One she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge before. Now, in the old church with all its history and connection, she couldn’t deny it.
“River,” she began, not sure exactly what she wanted to say, not sure what she should say. How much of a heart could be revealed without all of it being shown? Because being vulnerable had never gotten her anywhere with anything.
“Brenna! You made it!” Janelle exclaimed, interrupting the moment at exactly the perfect time to save Brenna from herself.
Or, maybe, to keep her from what she wanted.
She wasn’t sure which, but she turned to greet her mother, wincing at the dark bruise on Janelle’s cheek. She’d tried to cover it with makeup, but no amount of makeup was going to hide the vivid purple and red. She had managed to hide her splinted wrist, the sleeve of her cardigan pulled over it.
“Yes. Sorry I was late. I—”
“You don’t need to explain.” Janelle pulled her into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re here. It feels so good to have two of my daughters in town. Who knows? Maybe Willow will move back one day.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Adeline said with an unladylike snort. That was one of the things Brenna had always loved about her sister: she only ever tried to be herself. She’d never worn trendy clothes when they were in school. She’d never pursued cheerleading or dance team or sports. She’d joined the math club and been president of the debate team, and she hadn’t really cared who thought she was geeky or awkward.
“Or in the next,” Brenna added, and Adeline grinned, her lightweight sweater cupping her tiny little baby bump just like Brenna had known it would.
“Adeline, you are the cutest pregnant lady I’ve ever seen,” Brenna said, because Adeline really was. She glowed, her skin healthy, her eyes sparkling.
“Yeah?” Adeline patted her stomach. “Give me a couple of months. Once my appetite returns, I’ll be the biggest one. These past couple of days, you know what I’ve been craving?”
“Fudge?” Byron asked hopefully.
“Ha! No way. I’ve been craving fried chicken, mashed potatoes. Gravy. The kind Grandmom used to make.”
“She did make a mean gravy,” Byron agreed.
“She did, and once I’m over this morning sickness crap, I’m going to find the recipe and make it. Then I’m going to smother potatoes and chicken in it and chow down.”
“Of course you’re not going to do that, Adeline,” Janelle chastised. “You need to eat for the baby. Not for your tastes.”
“The baby wants potatoes and gravy, Mother. And fried chicken, and maybe a nice big slice of coconut cake to go with it.” The twinkle in Adeline’s eyes made Brenna smile. Her sister had always loved getting a rise out of Janelle.
“You can’t eat that! What if you get eclampsia or gestational diabetes?”
“One fried fatty greasy meal isn’t going to cause that,” Adeline said blithely, hiking her purse onto her shoulder, a black Bible peeking out from its front pocket.
Of course.
The good girl.
The one always there.
The one who’d had to put up with their mother’s nitpicking all on her own for how many years?
“Besides,” Adeline continued, “Sinclair said I should eat whatever I want whenever I want, and you’ve always said he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I’ll have to have a talk with him,” Janelle sputtered, as if she had any influence over her one and only son-in-law. Brenna knew for a fact she didn’t. Dan had always bowed to her wishes and Willow’s fiancé always did the same, but Sinclair? The only one he ever seemed to listen to was Adeline.
Lucky girl.
Brenna met Adeline’s eyes and smiled. Their sisterly connection, that almost psychic thread between them, still seemed strong, even after so many years and so much distance.
“He’s out of town,” Brenna reminded Janelle, still smiling into her sister’s eyes. How had she not realized how important this was? How had she not known how much she was missing it?
“I’m well aware of that, Brenna. As soon as he returns, I’m going to explain things to him. It’s possible he’s just not aware of how important nutrition is to an expectant mother,” Janelle huffed. “Now, how about we all head over to the house? I’ve prepared a wonderful roast. Lean beef for protein. Carrots. Parsnips.”
“Potatoes?” Adeline asked hopefully.
“Honey, no!” Janelle said. “Starchy food isn’t what you and the baby need.”
“It will be after I puke up the parsnips,” she muttered, and Brenna laughed.
“You won’t get sick. I roasted the vegetables perfectly and added them in with the roast after that. They should be cooked just the way you’ve always liked them. Although, if you’d rather go home, that’s fine. I understand if you and the kids want to eat without me. Maybe you don’t like pot roast, Chase?”
The teen smiled. “I like everything, ma’am.”
“Of course you do. You’re not picky, and neither is your sister.” She smiled at Larkin, who’d braided her hair in the exact same style as Adeline. “But if Adeline wants to eat at home—”
“It’s fine, Mom,” Adeline conceded. “We’d love to join you.”
“Wonderful! You’re coming, too. Right, Brenna?”
“I have a lot of work to do at the shop,” she hedged, because she loved her mother, but she didn’t think she could stomach a few hours with her.
Not yet.
She had too much thinking to do about how much she wanted to reveal and about how much to hide.
Sweet Surprises Page 19