Sweet Surprises Read online

  She sat at one of the two booths that had been added to the shop sometime in the fifties, the old book falling open to the center. She’d planned to start from the beginning, but there was a recipe card attached to the page with a paper clip. Laminated and smudged from years of being held and read, it was handwritten in spidery cursive that looked nothing like Byron’s. Surprised, she lifted it from the book.

  Forever Kisses was scrawled at the top. Beneath that, a list of ingredients:

  A dash of humor.

  A pinch of patience.

  A tablespoon of truth.

  A cup of love.

  A pint of faithfulness.

  A gallon of commitment.

  Mix well and dust with laughter, sprinkle with tears, bake with friendship that lasts through the years.

  She smiled, turning the recipe over and looking for a name. There was nothing. Just that sweet little card with its cute little recipe. She probably should have put it back in the book, but she tucked it into her pocket instead.

  She had a heck of a lot to learn about candy making, but she was beginning to think she had even more to learn about love. She’d seen it in action with her grandparents, but she’d forgotten just how close they’d been, just how much they’d clung to each other in the good times and in the bad. Dusted with laughter and sprinkled with tears, baked with friendship that lasts through the years.

  She could use a little of that.

  She pushed the thought aside, the sound of Jax moving around in the kitchen filling her ears as she opened the recipe book to the beginning and began to read.

  * * *

  It had been a hell of a night and River was in no mood to have a hell of a day. Based on the fact that Byron Lamont was standing on the porch, banging on the door at five thirty-four in the morning, he had the feeling he was going to get one anyway.

  He opened the door, tried to smile. “Good morning, Byron.”

  “What’s so good about it?” Byron snapped, stepping into the foyer without being invited.

  “If this is about last night—”

  “It isn’t, but if you want to explain how a brick ended up being tossed through my shop window, I’m willing to listen.”

  “If I had answers, I’d give them to you.”

  “Were those two nitwits here when I dropped Belinda off last night?” he demanded.

  “Which two nitwits?” He might not be all that keen on Huckleberry and Angel, but he wasn’t going to let someone else bad-mouth them.

  “Don’t be dense. The pregnant girl and that red-haired boyfriend of hers.”

  “Huckleberry isn’t Angel’s boyfriend.”

  “Huckleberry? What kind of idiotic name is that?”

  “Apparently, the one his mother gave him.”

  “If you believe that, I’ve got some swampland to sell you in Florida.”

  “Look, Byron, I appreciate your frustration—”

  “Frustration? I’m damned angry. I’ve been running that store for over fifty years and I’ve never had even a hint of vandalism. Until now.”

  “I appreciate your frustration,” River repeated. “But you don’t have the right to come into Belinda’s house and add stress to her already stressful life. If you want to discuss last night and the two kids who might or might not have had something to do with it, let’s go outside.”

  Byron’s mouth opened, slammed shut.

  Finally, he shrugged. “You’re right. And you’re a lot more polite about it than Dillard would have been. He’d have booted me out five minutes ago, and I’d have let him because I’d have known I was wrong. Sorry, son. Long night, and I’m not fit for company. Or so my granddaughter is telling me. Which is why I’m here. Brenna said Belinda has therapy this morning.”

  “She does, but not until nine.”

  “She didn’t mention that part. Just told me to get my sorry behind out of the shop until I could be more pleasant company. Then she said I might as well make myself useful while I was at it and take Belinda to therapy. Next thing I knew, I was outside the shop and she’d locked the door on me.”

  “Don’t you have extra keys?”

  “Sure as hell do, but it’s good for Brenna to open the shop by herself because she’s going to have to do it Monday.”

  “She mentioned you were going on a fishing trip.”

  “Alaskan fishing. You ever been, son?” Byron walked down the hall and straight into Dillard’s office. He took a seat in the easy chair, pulled a cigar out of his pocket, and clamped it between his teeth.

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “That’s surprising.”

  “Why?”

  “I do my research. Saw some write-ups on your restaurants. Fresh and local, right?”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t sure where Byron was going with this, but River was supposed to be at Chocolate Haven in fifteen minutes, so he’d better get there quickly.

  “Seems to me, a highbrow chef like yourself would know the joy of fresh Alaskan salmon and halibut.”

  “I’ve eaten it.”

  “But you’ve never caught it and then fried it up, right there in a pan on the beach, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Tell you what, son. You help me out and I’ll bring you the next time I go.”

  “Fishing?” The last time River had fished, he’d been a teenager still living at the ranch.

  “Just think of all the recipes you could come up with while you’re out there in the Alaskan wilds. Think of how you could market that down in Portland.” He was selling it hard, and River was just curious enough to ask what he wanted for the favor.

  “What do you need help with?”

  “I’ll tell you, but you breathe a word of it and I’ll swear you’re lying.” He took the cigar from his mouth and leaned forward, his light green eyes gleaming. “I’ve got a problem with Brenna.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “She’s got no confidence. The girl has everything she needs to make chocolate right here.” He jabbed himself in the region of the heart. “But she’s so busy doubting herself that she’s just about useless in Chocolate Haven’s kitchen.”

  “I’m planning—”

  “Wait.” Byron held up a finger. “Give me a minute to say my piece. With Adeline laid up with morning sickness and Chase tied up with college, there’s no one around to help Brenna out. If I hadn’t been planning this trip for a year, I’d cancel out, but I have been.”

  “Brenna—” And I already have an agreement was what he was trying to say, but Byron was on a roll.

  “She’s smart. No doubt about that, and she’s got the heart for it, but that bastard fiancé of hers wore her into the ground. You’ve seen her. Skinny as a rail, no color in her cheeks. She’s lost her confidence. Her mojo. And she needs some people to come alongside her to help her find it again. I’m trying to do that, but since I’m going to be gone for two weeks, I need a stand-in. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and you’re the only one I can think of who has the skills necessary to make the chocolate and run the business. You help me out and I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, hold on a minute,” Byron said, then he frowned. “You said okay.”

  “Right.”

  “Hmm.” He clamped the cigar between his teeth again. “That went a lot easier than I imagined.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Just considering why that might be.”

  “Tell you what, Byron,” he said, glancing at his watch. “How about I go check on Brenna’s progress and you stay here with Belinda.” He walked out of the room and Byron followed.

  “Now, hold on a minute, son. I’m thinking that Belinda would not appreciate me helping her get ready for therapy.”

  “Angel will take care of that. She’ll get her up before she goes to work and have her ready before she leaves.”

  As if his words had conjured her, Angel appeared at the top of the stairs, an ov
ersized nightshirt barely covering her belly, the cuffs of her flannel pajama bottoms dragging the floor.

  She saw Byron and stopped cold, her eyes wide with surprise, her hair falling lank around her pale face.

  Byron looked surprised, too, the cigar nearly falling from his lips.

  He grabbed it, shoved it in his pocket.

  “What’s going on?” Angel demanded. “Why’s he here? Does he want to accuse me of causing more trouble?” If she was guilty of throwing a brick through the window at Chocolate Haven, she wasn’t showing it.

  “He’s taking Belinda to therapy this morning.”

  “Like hell he is,” she growled. “If you can’t do it, I’ll take the day off and take her.”

  “You better watch your mouth, young lady,” Byron snapped. “In another couple of months you’re going to have a kid listening to your every word. You want that kind of language coming out of your toddler’s mouth?”

  “No.” She had the good grace to look embarrassed. “But Belinda doesn’t need someone like you causing her problems.”

  “Someone like me? All I’ve done is call the police because someone threw a brick through my window. Whoever threw the brick is the problem,” he countered. “Besides, me and Belinda go way back. Dillard was my best friend. You ever meet him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, come on into the kitchen and I’ll tell you how Dillard and I got to be buddies while I make some breakfast. You hungry?”

  “I guess,” Angel said, and to River’s surprise, she walked down the stairs, stopping just a few feet from Byron. She looked softer than River had ever seen her, all the hardness that was usually in her face gone.

  “You guess? Doll, you’ve got to eat for that kid. You want him to be healthy, right?”

  “How did you know it was a boy?”

  “Looks like you’re carrying around a basketball. My late wife always said that meant it was a boy. Now, hurry it up. I’ll teach you how to make the best scrambled eggs and French toast you’ve ever eaten.”

  “I’ll eat any French toast anyone puts in front of me.”

  “Not after you taste mine. Best in the state, but don’t tell Laura Beth I said so. Wouldn’t want to offend her.”

  “No, I guess not.” Angel looked confused.

  River felt confused.

  He’d been sure the two were about to have a rip-roaring fight. Instead, they suddenly seemed like the best of friends.

  Good.

  That saved River a lot of hassle. If Angel liked Byron, she’d be a lot less likely to repeat her mistake of the previous night. If it had been her mistake. The sheriff had seemed highly suspicious. As a matter of fact, he’d stopped just short of accusing Angel of the crime.

  She was young, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d known exactly why he was there and exactly why she was the one being questioned. She’d said some idiotic things to Brenna and she’d admitted them to the sheriff, but she’d insisted she hadn’t been anywhere near Chocolate Haven.

  River had believed her.

  For what it was worth, he thought the sheriff had, too.

  That didn’t mean she was innocent. River had spent most of his childhood with people who made an art of deception. He’d listened and watched and learned how easy it was to convince someone of a lie. He’d even practiced it himself, telling caseworkers and teachers what they wanted to hear because it was so much easier than telling them the truth.

  Yeah. Anyone could lie, and there were plenty of people who could do it well. Hopefully, Angel wasn’t one of them, but River wouldn’t count on it.

  He watched as she and Byron walked down the hall. Old and young. Upright citizen and pregnant runaway. They shouldn’t have connected, but it seemed they had. Whatever the truth about the previous night, that connection would be good enough to get them through the next few hours.

  That was all River needed. Just enough time to meet with Brenna, teach her a few things about candy making, and seal the deal they’d made: his help for hers. A remodeled house. A happy business council. A smooth-running shop. Two people working together to get what neither of them could achieve alone.

  It sounded good.

  It probably would be good.

  He grabbed his jacket and his keys, walked out into the cool morning. The rain had stopped, and he caught a hint of fresh-cut grass and late summer flowers in the air. It made him think of Brenna: her vibrant hair and stunning eyes, the velvety feel of her lips, the warmth of her skin.

  Good was nice.

  Good was comfortable.

  But maybe he’d get something great out of the little town he’d once despised.

  Chapter Nine

  Six o’clock and River hadn’t arrived.

  That shouldn’t have surprised Brenna. How many times had she waited for Dan? How many hours had she wasted in restaurants or at parties, hoping he’d show up soon?

  Too many to count, but she’d admit that she’d expected better from River. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who’d make a deal and back out of it. He also hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who’d be late for a meeting or an appointment.

  Of course, she hadn’t thought Dan seemed like the kind of guy who’d lie, cheat, and steal. She’d been wrong about that. She’d been wrong about a lot of things in her life and she really needed to start being right.

  River hadn’t shown and she’d kicked Byron’s grumpy butt out of the kitchen, so she’d have to get everything ready for the shop to open. She had exactly four hours to do it.

  That wasn’t a lot of time.

  The way Brenna saw things, she could either curl up in a ball and cry like a baby or she could tackle chocolate making like she’d tackled everything else in her life. Because she wasn’t much of a crier, she opted for the latter. Careful planning, step-by-step execution of that plan, and clear and precise steps to reach her goal.

  Her goal being not running Chocolate Haven into the ground while Byron was on his fishing trip.

  She eyed the recipes she’d printed out and taped to the backsplash. She’d been up almost all night, reading the old recipe books and learning everything she could about what it took to be a chocolatier. It took a lot. She might not have it all down, but she had brains enough to measure ingredients properly, pay careful attention to temperature, and she sure as heck could follow a recipe.

  Why that had seemed so daunting before she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to let it be daunting today. She’d seen Byron’s face when he’d looked at the smashed bowl. It had told her everything she needed to know about how deeply he’d loved Alice, how hard they’d worked to keep Chocolate Haven going, and how much that meant to him.

  To him, this wasn’t just tradition. It wasn’t just a family business. It was his life, and she was currently holding it in her clumsy hands.

  “Fake it ’til you make it,” she muttered, grabbing ingredients from the pantry. Carefully this time. Everything set out on the counter in the order she’d need it. Dark chocolate nibs. Peanuts. Miniature marshmallows Byron had made the previous day. Nut oil.

  She lined a large baking sheet with foil, set that on the long butcher-block island that stood in the center of the room. She set an empty bowl near it, grabbed the double boiler, poured in water, and set it to simmer. She found the candy thermometer in a drawer and grabbed it, arming herself for the battle.

  Not too hot. That was what all the recipe books had cautioned. She poured nibs into the top part of the boiler, the heat from the simmering water turning them glossy and soft.

  This was the part she’d failed at previously.

  She’d been impatient, heating the water too quickly, letting it splash against the bottom of the boiler and overheating the chocolate.

  Not this time.

  She attached the thermometer to the side of the pan and stirred the chocolate with a spatula. Outside, the sun was rising. She could see hints of it through the plywood Jax had nailed in front of the window.

  Byron
had already called someone to fix it.

  She had no idea who, but the person was supposed to be there before noon.

  The chocolate’s temperature crept up while she stirred, the nibs just gobs of deep brown chocolate stuck together in the bottom of the bowl. She watched the thermometer, pulled the chocolate when it was nearly all melted, and poured it into the clean bowl. She stirred it there until every bit of the nibs had disappeared and all that remained was rich, velvety melted chocolate. She added nut oil, just the way Byron did, then stirred in the marshmallows and peanuts.

  Finally, she poured it onto the sheet pan, let the rich confection spread out whatever way it would.

  Don’t mess with it, she could almost hear Byron whispering in her ear. The beauty of our candy is that it’s handmade. People like to see different-sized pieces, different shapes. They want that handcrafted look, and we always give it to them.

  She resisted the urge to use the spatula to smooth chocolate to the very edges of the pan. She didn’t add more nuts on the top or toss extra marshmallows where she didn’t see any.

  She let it be and stood back, shocked at what she’d accomplished. The chocolate bark looked beautiful.

  “Good enough,” she said, even though she knew it was better than that. Byron would be thrilled that she’d finally mastered something more complicated than shaping chocolate roses.

  She pulled a pen from her apron pocket, put a huge check mark next to chocolate bark on the inventory sheet.

  Now, for caramel clusters.

  Someone knocked on the back door as she was stirring butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, and milk, creating caramel from scratch just the way Byron did, just the way his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather had.

  “It’s unlocked,” she called, sure it was the window repairman. “Come on in.”

  The door opened and chilly morning air swept in. She didn’t dare look away from the thermometer. The temperature was increasing rapidly, the caramel bubbling happily.