Bittersweet by Shirlee McCoy (5)

Willow woke to the sound of voices. Male. Female. More than one of each. They sounded close. Maybe outside the window. Which would be possible, except that she was on the second floor of the building.

Wasn’t she?

She opened her eyes, wondering if she was back in Seattle and if the last twenty-four hours had all been a dream. The work in Chocolate Haven, the crazy night and the newborn baby. Jax. Seeing her at her worst. Helping her up the stairs. It was all there, the memories fuzzy from the effects of the medicine she’d taken.

How many hours ago?

She looked for the alarm clock, remembered that Jax had taken it. Looked for her cell phone, but it was in her purse. She had no idea where that had gone. Bright sunlight filtered in through the shades, illuminating the old rocking chair, the pale yellow walls, the 1960s prints framed and displayed on either side of the door.

She was most definitely in the apartment in Benevolence, and she was most definitely hearing voices.

She got to her feet, waiting a few seconds to see if pain would jolt through her head again. The headache was there, but less incessant. She could function. She could think. Hopefully, she could make chocolate.

She shuffled to the window that looked onto Main Street. There were cars, news vans, and people everywhere. The national news must have picked up the story about the baby. It was going to be a busy day, and Byron was on his own in a shop that was probably overflowing with people.

She grabbed the first thing she saw in the closet—a soft gray sweater dress that was perfect for a cold day but maybe not so perfect for working in a kitchen. She didn’t have time to look for something else. She took a quick shower, pulled her hair into a tight bun, and yanked the dress over still-damp skin.

No makeup.

No lip gloss.

She couldn’t find her keys, but Granddad was already in the shop, so she didn’t waste time with an all-out search. She was hours behind her schedule and hours behind her grandfather’s, but she still felt sluggish, her body moving in what felt like slow motion as she stepped outside.

Cold air stung her cheeks and seeped through the knit fabric of the dress, but it did nothing to wake her up. She needed coffee. Stat!

“Ms. Lamont?” someone called.

She glanced toward the end of the alley that opened onto Main. A group of people had gathered there, pressing close to crime-scene tape that had been strung between buildings.

“Willow Lamont, right?” the person continued. “You found the baby?”

She wasn’t sure who was asking, and she really didn’t care. In her line of work, dealing with the press was a necessity, but in Benevolence, she wasn’t a high-profile prosecutor. She was a chocolatier.

Or, at least, a chocolate maker.

If what she’d been producing the past few days could be called chocolate.

She frowned, hurrying down the stairs and into the alley, ignoring the flashing camera and the shouted questions. Everyone wanted the inside scoop, the newsworthy information that could rocket their ratings into the stratosphere.

They weren’t getting it from her.

She hadn’t spoken to Kane, and she didn’t know what information he’d released to the press and what he wanted to keep a lid on. Until she found out, she was keeping quiet.

She hurried past the Dumpster and into the back lot. It was empty, the sheriff’s car blocking the entrance. Kane stood near it, talking on his phone. He waved but didn’t seem in a hurry to chat. She’d have to check in with him later. She had a few questions to ask about the investigation. Right now, though, Byron needed her.

She shoved open the shop door, the scent of chocolate filling her nose and clogging her throat. She nearly gagged, the migraine pulsing to life again, the memories scrambling to come out of hiding.

She’d made it through nearly a week by doing that. She’d make it through another day. Eventually it had to get easier.

She hoped.

The front of the house was full. She could hear the crowd of people, the excited chatter and soft clank of the old-fashioned cash register. She pulled an apron from a hook near the door and tried not to look at the hallway. Even when the shop was filled with people, even when the lights were on and people she loved were nearby, that opening, that little passageway between the front of the shop and the back seemed like the portal to hell.

She frowned, putting on the apron and going to the whiteboard list. Every item had been crossed off. Byron must have been working fast.

There were a few dishes in the sink, and she went there instead of the front of the house. She needed a minute to get herself together, to gather up all the stores that had carried her through the years. Once she did that, she could walk through the hall. She could pretend this was any other place, and she was just a regular person doing regular things. Not a victim fighting to hold herself together.

She heard footsteps as she scrubbed a pot, but she didn’t turn around. She was afraid Byron would see the fear and the sickness in her face. She was afraid he’d ask questions that no one had thought to ask when she was thirteen. She’d kept her silence then, and it had only grown deeper and harder to break since. At this point, she couldn’t see any reason to talk about what had happened. It would only hurt her family to know what she’d gone through. And that was the last thing she’d ever want to do.

“It sounds like things are crazy out there, Granddad,” she called in the fakest, most cheerful voice she could manage. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time. Byron has things under control,” Jax responded, his voice so surprising, she spun around, spraying water and suds across the kitchen and him.

“God! I’m so sorry,” she murmured, grabbing a hand towel and wiping a few sudsy splotches from his cheek.

“I’m already covered with chocolate. I don’t think we need to worry about a little soap and water.” He took the cloth from her hand and set it on the counter.

“Covered? I don’t see a speck on you.”

“That’s because this is my third apron. I spilled an entire pot of chocolate on the first one. The second met a similar fate.”

“Death by chocolate?”

“Death by exploding mixer.” He pointed to the mixer that sat on the marble-topped island. There was a bowl under the blades and bits of chocolate and cream splattered on every nearby surface.

“Flourless torte?” she guessed, and he nodded, his beautiful blue eyes looking straight into hers.

“Byron said I win the prize for most ingredients wasted in a single day. Brenna will be happy to know that she’s currently in second place for the award.”

“Byron may be underestimating my sister’s failure. From what Brenna has told me, she wasted hundreds of dollars’ worth of stuff.”

“I may be verging on thousands. Mine is a very special talent,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and spinning her around.

“What—?”

“You didn’t tie your apron.” He tugged the strings tight, his fingers gliding along her waist as he straightened the sash. “An untied apron is a safety hazard.”

“Words of wisdom from Byron?”

“Rule number fifteen of the company guide. I have a booklet to prove it.” He turned her back around, and they were facing each other again, her eyes chest-height with him. She had to look up to see his face, and when she did, her heart skipped a beat.

God! He was handsome. He could have been a model for the cover of one of the romance novels Brenna liked to read.

But he wasn’t.

He was Jax Gordon, a guy she’d known for two decades, but who she didn’t really know at all. Because the Jax she remembered? He never would have been content to live in a place like Benevolence. All he’d ever talked about was getting back to LA.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s spent the morning being attacked by chocolate,” she said, and he smiled.

“There are perks to the job.”

“Free chocolate?”

“Laurie Beth brought breakfast. She said it was going to be a long day, and Byron needed sustenance. Since she brought enough for ten people, I got my share of biscuits and gravy. There’s more left, if you want to eat before you start.”

She shuddered, just the thought of food making her stomach churn. “I’ll pass. But thanks. What’s left on the inventory for today?”

“We’ve made everything.”

“Really?”

“Is it that surprising? Byron could run this store with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back.”

“Both hands? That might be tough.”

“After watching him work this morning, I’d say it’s entirely possible.” He reached past her, grabbing the dish she’d left in the drainer and drying it with a dishrag.

She’d been wrong about the chocolate. There were tiny flecks of it in his hair and a few more on the side of his neck.

She reached out without thinking, rubbing at one of the spots, and feeling something she hadn’t expected, something she didn’t want. Her fingers wanted to linger. Her body wanted to sway close, and if he hadn’t grabbed her hand, she might have done both.

“That’s probably not a good idea, Willow,” he said quietly, and she thought she heard something in the words, a warning about just how far things could go between them and just how quickly.

“Sorry. I just . . . You have chocolate on your neck.”

“I may be terrible at making the stuff, but I’m pretty damn good at cleaning up messes. I’ll take care of it later.”

“How much longer are you planning to stay?” she asked, turning away to wash another dish, because she didn’t want to look into his eyes or his face. She didn’t want to feel that thing that seemed to be there every time she did.

Temptation was a good word for it.

Longing.

She could probably think of dozens more, but she had work to do, and she had a life to return to, and Jax wasn’t part of either of those things.

“Now that you’re here? Not long. Byron needed me to restock product. Once I do that, I’ll go.”

“Jax!” Byron called, as if mentioning his name had drawn his attention. “You having trouble finding the bonbons? I can get them if you want to work the register.”

“I’ve got them,” Jax responded, opening the cooler and pulling out a tray of glossy chocolates.

“Want me to bring them to the front of the house?” she offered, and he nodded, handing her the tray.

“Thanks. I’m sure Byron will be happy to have more proficient help.” He smiled, but there was an edge to his voice, a hint of tension that hadn’t been there before.

“No problem. I really appreciate everything you’ve done the past few hours.” She smiled, too.

Or, she tried to.

It was difficult with the hallway just in front of her and an entire day of chocolate-making failures looming. Her life in Seattle wasn’t perfect, but it was predictable, high-stress but routine. When she was there, she felt confident and capable.

Here, she felt like a colossal failure.

“Like I said, Byron has been really good to my uncle. I don’t forget that kind of thing. Tell him I appreciate the chocolate lessons,” Jax said as he opened the back door. “I’ll give you a call later, let you know what I find out about the baby.”

He stepped outside, and cold wind swept in. She wanted it to chase away the cobwebs, clear the air of all the old stuff that seemed to make the sweet smell of chocolate rancid. Of course, it didn’t, and she was left holding the tray of bonbons, watching as the door swung closed.

“Jax!” Byron called again, a hint of impatience in his voice. He had high standards. Just like Willow’s father had. He liked things done a certain way and at a certain time. Willow was the same. Peas in a pod is what her grandmother Alice had called the three of them. Until Willow’s father had died and everything had changed.

She took a deep breath and marched through the hallway, the tray of bonbons in her hands. She wasn’t a kid anymore, and all the hurt that had been done to her, all the ugliness that had happened, was in the past.

The past could haunt a person, if she let it.

It could make someone who loved small towns and chocolate shops and the family business despise all of those things.

It couldn’t steal a person’s future, though. It couldn’t take away joy or triumph. It couldn’t prevent someone from finding love and contentment and purpose. Of all the things Willow believed, that was the truth she held on to most tightly. She was going to face her demons. She was going to defeat them, but first, she had to bring the damn chocolates to her grandfather.

* * *

Jax took a quick nap, ate a late lunch with Vera and Jim, and did a little work on the old house he’d been restoring since he’d moved back. His old house. He’d purchased the huge Victorian for a song. Not because he planned to fill it with family, but because it was within walking distance of his uncle and aunt’s house. Another year or two of being abandoned, and the place would have been condemned. It was no longer in danger of that, but there was still plenty of work to do.

He liked working. It kept his mind occupied.

He didn’t like meetings. And yet, he’d just spent two hours of his day in one Kane had scheduled because Benevolence had gone crazy. Traffic jams. A fistfight over parking near Chocolate Haven. Three reports of Peeping Toms.

Benevolence was a small enough town to not need a large police department. Right now, that was proving to be an issue. There were news reporters everywhere, talking to locals, staking out the area outside the Lamonts’ shop, and trying desperately to get the big scoop, the breaking news that was going to make their station the one to watch.

Jax didn’t know what they thought the big scoop would be. Maybe an interview with Willow or him. Maybe a photo of the baby—one that was different from what had been issued to the media. Maybe the name of the person who’d abandoned her. It didn’t matter, and he didn’t really care. Let them look for the story. Just as long as they didn’t destroy the town while they were at it.

The way the day was going, destruction was a distinct possibility, and Kane had asked all his deputies to patrol the streets. It meant overtime and extra pay, and no one had complained. Whether or not the small-town sheriff’s department was prepared for the influx of people remained to be seen.

Jax grabbed his coat from the back of his office chair, surprised by the hint of chocolate that clung to it. He hadn’t been a quick study at the chocolate-making thing, but he’d given it a good effort. He’d had the chocolate-splattered clothes to prove it.

He hadn’t realized he’d splattered his coat, too.

Or, maybe, the scent of chocolate had just permeated the fabric.

Not a bad smell, but it reminded him of Willow, and that reminded him of the way she’d looked when she’d woken from her nightmare, screaming and fighting, empty-eyed and hollow.

He’d seen that look hundreds of times before. On the faces of people who’d been victimized, abused, hurt, and abandoned. He’d seen it on women and children and men. Old, young, and everything in between.

Hell! If he looked back at photos taken the first few years after his family was murdered, he’d see it on his own face!

He’d never expected to see it in Benevolence, and he sure as heck hadn’t expected to see it on a Lamont’s face.

Willow was an adult, and she knew how to deal with her own crap. It wasn’t his right to barge into her life and try to fix things. He wasn’t even sure anything needed to be fixed. He just knew what he’d seen, and what he couldn’t unsee.

“Knock-knock,” a woman said, and Sunday Bradshaw stepped into the office. Petite, with pretty green eyes and soft brown hair, she’d been head of the cheerleading squad in high school and had married Matthias Bradshaw a day after graduation. Everyone in town had assumed the high school sweethearts had wed because Sunday was pregnant, but she’d never had a baby. Ever. Currently, the couple had six children through adoption and ran a profitable organic farm ten miles outside the town limits.

“What’s up?” Jax said, looking past her to see if any of her kids were hanging out in the hall. Usually, she had at least one clinging to the hem of her cotton skirt. Today, she was alone. “Hopefully not problems with the press camping out on your property. I thought they’d stay close to town.”

“It’s nothing like that. It isn’t even really a problem.” She shifted, smoothing a hand down her loose-fitting shirt and not meeting his eyes.

“Is there something wrong with one of the kids?” If he remembered correctly, the oldest Bradshaw kid was ten. Probably not quite at the age of rebellion, but he’d seen younger kids get into trouble with the law. “Do you need me to talk to one of them? Maybe instill a little fear of God or the law?”

“No,” she laughed. “They’re all doing great. I just . . . have a few things I wanted to donate to the baby you found.”

“Things?”

“Clothes. Nearly brand-new. When we got Moisey, she was tiny. Six months old and barely in newborn clothes. We fattened her up pretty quickly, so most of the stuff is in great shape. A few things were never worn. I’d thought . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she smiled brightly. “Well, whatever I thought, I’ve got a box of things we’re not going to be using. I thought it would be nice for that poor baby to have some of them. I’d deliver them to the hospital myself, but I heard on the news that they don’t want any visitors. Someone somewhere in town is collecting stuff, but I’ll be darned if I can figure out who it is. Every time I try to make a phone call, one of the kids starts screaming in my ear. I figured you might have heard something. Since you found the baby.”

“Janelle Lamont might be in charge of that, but I’ll be heading to the hospital at some point. I’d be happy to deliver the clothes for you.”

“It won’t be any trouble?”

“None.”

“Then I’ll get them for you. They’re in my van.”

“I can grab them. I’m on my way out, anyway.”

“You’re heading to the hospital?”

“Not yet. Kane asked me to work an extra shift.”

“I’m not surprised. Matt drove through town this morning. He said it was a madhouse. People everywhere. Reporters. News vans.”

“That’s an apt description. Is Matt on the road today?”

“He’s out on delivery. We have a few clients in Seattle, and he’s bringing them some really nice relishes and fruit compote from our greenhouse crop.”

“You sell the stuff at stores?”

“It’s not stuff, ” she corrected, grinning to take any sting out of the words. “It’s high-quality organic product that restaurants are willing to pay big bucks for. We make it all in small batches and with only our own ingredients. This time of year, business is limited by the size of our greenhouses. During the summer and the fall, he drives out to Seattle every week.”

“I hadn’t realized that.”

“Most people don’t. Matt is a private person.” She glanced at her watch. “And, I’m running late. Clementine is going to kill me.”

“Clementine?”

“Warren. She rents my parents’ rancher. Sometimes she watches the kids.”

“The rancher is on the farm, right?” he asked, trying to map it in his head.

“Yes. She and Sim rent the house, and we let them have an acre of land to plant.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Nine months.”

“They have kids?” he asked, surprised that he hadn’t realized they were there.

“No. Just another couple living with them. Elias and Phoebe are younger, but seem to work hard. They certainly always pay the rent on time.”

“They come to town much?” If so, he’d never noticed them.

“Please! As if I have time to notice what other people are doing!” She laughed as she walked outside. “The only one of the group that I’ve spent any time at all with is Clementine, and that’s only because she offered to help with the kids in exchange for an extra half-acre garden plot. She’s smart and quick. She mentioned a master’s in education, but never said where she got it.”

“She an older lady?”

“Young. Probably late twenties. Why?” she asked as she crossed the parking lot, heading toward the old red passenger van she and Matt transported their crew in.

“Just curious. There aren’t many new people in town that I haven’t met or don’t know.”

“We’re not really in town. Remember?”

“Not too far from the town limits, so we’ll include you in the next census.”

She grinned. “I’ll make sure to tell Matt just how lucky we are.”

“Or, you two could move your crew into Matt’s house. That place needs a little love.” The Bradshaws’ house was two blocks off Main Street, the huge old place nearly hidden by overgrown bushes and tangled weeds. Matt and his brothers had been raised there, and they’d left there. One by one until the only person remaining had been Matt’s father—a mean miser of a man who’d died a decade ago.

“Matt and I have discussed it. The house is big enough, and it would be nice for the kids to be closer to their school buddies, but the farm just seems . . . right. Besides, Matt isn’t the sole owner. His brothers are on the title. We’d have to get all of them to agree, and we’d probably have to buy them out. That would cost—”

“There’s no need to explain, Sunday. You and Matt can make whatever decision you want, and you don’t have to answer to anyone but God and yourselves for it.”

“Matt always says that, but I know people in town are wondering when we’re going to clean that property up, and I feel bad that we haven’t. I drove by there a few days ago, and it’s becoming an eyesore.” She opened the back of the van and reached for a cardboard box filled with pink and yellow and white clothes. “Matt said he and his brothers might clean it up and rent it out sometime this year. If they manage to do that, the place will look more like the rest of the town.”

“How does the rest of the town look?” he asked, taking the box from her hands.

“Perfect. Pristine. Impossibly quaint and charming. The town voted the fifteenth most wonderful place to live three years running. But you know all that, so why ask?” She sighed, the watery sunlight highlighting a few strands of silver in her dark hair. They’d graduated two years apart, and Jax knew she was in her late twenties. She looked older. Or maybe she just looked tired. She had no fine lines near her eyes, no commas bracketing her mouth. Her skin still looked smooth, her cheeks tinged with pink. Somehow, though, she’d aged.

“You sound like you don’t think your family belongs here.”

“My family is . . . wild. That’s on the good days. Other days, it’s nuts. Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids. I love farm life. I love what Matt and I created, but I don’t think the town is ready for the likes of us. Now, I really do have to get back. I’ll see you around, Jax!” She hopped into the van and drove away, a cloud of black exhaust following her.

He waited until she was out of sight, then put the box in his cruiser and headed back inside.

He had a lot of questions. Not about the Bradshaw brothers’ property. He couldn’t care less about the old house. Sure, the yard was a mess, but the Bradshaws had hired a company to paint the exterior of the house three years ago. They kept the place winterized, the windows and doors boarded up to keep vandals out, and had replaced the roof recently. It wasn’t like the property was a health or safety hazard. They owned it free and clear, paid the taxes on it every year. They were welcome to do what they wanted with it.

What he was wondering about was Clementine and her group. They’d been at Matt and Sunday’s farm for months, but he’d never seen them around town. He doubted anyone else had. He’d have heard people talking. There was always talk when newcomers showed up.

He hadn’t heard a word.

That was strange, and it made him think the four people who lived on the farm were purposely staying hidden.

Which made him wonder why.

He didn’t have much to go on, but he typed Clementine’s first and last name into the system. She had a clean record. No criminal history. Not even a parking ticket.

That meant just about nothing, but it didn’t give him any reason to go for a visit.

Not that he needed a reason.

He’d just drive on by there while he was on shift, introduce himself, make certain that Sunday’s renters weren’t growing more than fruits and vegetables in their garden.

Marijuana was his first thought, but Sunday hadn’t seemed suspicious. She was a savvy lady. Smart. Quick. Driven.

She also had a boatload of young kids.

She could have missed the clues.

Or maybe her renters were just as innocent as she thought, and maybe Jax had spent too much time working in LA. His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the number and frowned. Chocolate Haven. He’d called the shop a couple of times in recent months, but they’d never called him.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Jax?!” Byron Lamont nearly shouted. “I’ve got a problem, and I need you to solve it.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“You’re damn right it is! I caught Randall Custard trying to pilfer the family fudge recipe.”

“Why would he do that?”

“How the hell would I know? He probably wants to sell it to the highest bidder.”

“You know he’s got more money than Midas, right?” Randall was a lot of things. Desperate for money wasn’t one of them.

“Maybe he needs more. Or maybe he just wants to plaster it all over the front page of the Benevolence Times, so he can ruin my family. Thank God I had it locked up when he broke in.”

“He broke in?”

“Walked right in the back door of the shop and straight into my office!”

“Was the door locked?”

“Why would it be locked in the middle of the day?”

“What you’re saying is that he didn’t break in. He just walked in without permission.”

“Are you coming or not? I’ve got him locked in the office. Guy is hee-hawing louder than Clinton Myer’s prize mule. If you don’t get here soon, I may have to stuff his mouth with a few dozen chocolates just to keep him quiet.” Byron disconnected without so much as a good-bye.

“Great,” Jax muttered.

“I guess you heard from Randall?” Kane said, stepping into the office. “I just got off the phone with him. He didn’t waste any time putting in an extra call for help.”

“Actually, that was Byron. He wants me to come free Randall from his office. He’s threatening to stuff chocolates into the guy’s mouth if he doesn’t shut up. Not sure if we’d classify that as a felony or misdemeanor.”

“I’d call it a public service, but that wouldn’t be the right thing for the sheriff to say.” Kane glanced at his watch. “I’d take care of the problem myself, but I got a call from the hospital. The baby isn’t doing well.”

Jax’s heart dropped at the news. “How bad is she?”

“They may do surgery tonight or tomorrow morning. I’ve got a meeting with CPS and the hospital security team. Once the press gets word of this—and they will—they’ll be heading in that direction. You want to deal with Randall and Byron for me?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks. The good news? With the press rushing to the hospital, our evening just got a lot quieter. Take care of things at Chocolate Haven, and then punch out. You’ve worked too many graveyard shifts lately, and I want you to have a night off.”

“You know that’s not necessary.”

“I know you’d work twenty-four-seven if I let you. I’m not letting you. Call me if there are any problems.”

“I will,” Jax responded, stepping out into the hall and heading toward the exit. The sooner he took care of things at Chocolate Haven, the better. Kane wasn’t the only one who wanted to be at the hospital. Jax wanted to be there too. He still thought there was a good chance Miracle’s mother would show up. But that wasn’t his only reason. The baby needed someone there for her. Someone who wasn’t being paid to change her, hold her, feed her.

Not that the nurses and doctors weren’t exceptional, not that Alison and her team didn’t want the best for Miracle, but he wanted to be that person who didn’t need to be paid to show up. Like Jim. Like Vera. The steady presence who stuck it out. No matter how tough things got. With Miracle that would only be necessary until a family was found for her, but he was willing to stand in the gap until then.

He wasn’t going to get emotionally invested.

He was simply going to show up, because when he’d lifted Miracle from the fruit crate, he’d been reminded of his life before—mother, father, brother, sisters. All of them living a normal, simple, happy life.

Until they hadn’t been.

Some nights, he still dreamed about those times.

Some days, he thought he might like to try to have all the things that he’d lost that day. Then he’d remember how it had felt to lift his dying little sister from her crib and try to breathe life back into her.

God!

Not a good memory, but it was there. Always. Just like the sunrise and sunset, the blue sky and distant mountains, the cold winter and brutally hot summer.

Yeah. He knew it as well as any of those things. Probably better. But he couldn’t dwell in it, because that was a surefire way to ruin the life that had been gifted back to him.

He walked outside, letting the crisp, cold air fill his lungs and chase away the blood-tinged memories.

No emotional attachment, but Miracle needed someone, and he might as well be that person. For now.

He climbed into his cruiser, pulling out of the parking lot and making the quick drive to Chocolate Haven. The press had mostly cleared out, all but a few stragglers headed for the children’s hospital in Spokane and the next addition to their Miracle Baby story.

He parked on the street a block down and walked around to the back of the shop. He didn’t want to call attention to his visit. He doubted Randall and Byron would keep quiet about their altercation, but it was their story to tell. He preferred to deal with trouble quietly and with as little drama as possible.

He knocked on the back door, then opened it.

Chocolate.

Vanilla.

Berries.

Something dark and rich and earthy.

The scents that filled the shop were as alluring as the woman who stood at the counter, red hair pulled into a neat bun, bright yellow apron tied loose around her waist, soft knit dress hugging slender curves that made his blood heat and his mind go blank.

Willow turned as he’d walked in, and he could see specks of chocolate on the apron, a smudge of what looked like cherry on her cheek, and a weariness in her eyes and on her face that cooled his blood and cleared his head.

“I heard there was some trouble with Randall,” he said.

“Trouble? World War Three almost broke out.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Slight exaggeration.” Her lips curved into what should have been a smile. “No bombs. No guns. No threats of bodily harm. Just puffed-up chests and idle lawsuit threats.”

“Did Randall clear out?”

“He and Granddad are in the office. Working out their differences.”

“Did you lock them in there?”

She laughed. “Tempting as it was, no. I just threatened to head back to Seattle if Granddad didn’t start acting reasonably.”

“And that convinced Randall to have a deep and meaningful conversation about their conflict.”

“I told him that he’d be banned from the store if he didn’t work things out with my grandfather.”

“He’s a big chocolate fan?”

“His new girlfriend will be.”

“He has one?”

“Not yet, but he will eventually. When he does, she’ll want Lamont fudge. They always do.” She turned back to whatever she’d been doing when he’d walked in. Cleaning a mess, it looked like. Bits of chocolate splattered across the marble work surface and a slick of something dark and oily. No pans in the sink, though. No pots piled up to the rafters. Unlike when her sisters had helped with the shop, Willow seemed capable of keeping things neat and orderly.

She also seemed capable of keeping secrets, because the thing he’d seen in her face earlier? It was still there. Not as stark or as vivid, but he could read it clearly, and—God help him—he wanted to know what had put it there.

“Willow—”

“That you, Jax?!” Byron called, interrupting whatever he might have asked. Good. Great. Because Jax shouldn’t be asking questions. He shouldn’t be getting involved.

Yet, somehow, he was nudging Willow out of the way, taking the rag from her hand, swiping at the oily brown mess.

“Jax!” Byron called again, this time walking into the kitchen, Randall a few steps behind him. Both were red in the face, breathing hard, and ready for a fight.

Or for work.

Jax had spent a hell of a lot of time doing physically demanding chores when he was a kid. He’d had a chip on his shoulder and a need for revenge that could have turned him away from the law and toward something uglier.

Jim’s solution?

Work, work, and more work.

What had been beneficial for an angry kid should be beneficial for two pissed-off men.

Jax grabbed an apron from a hook and tossed it at Randall.

“What’s this?” he asked as he caught it, his too-smooth brow furrowed in surprise.

“You trespassed.”

“So?”

“This is your community service. You can work here for the next couple of hours while Willow goes to Spokane.”

“Since when am I going to Spokane?” she asked, but Jax was too busy fielding protests from Randall and Byron to answer.