A Matter of Trust (4 page)

She almost choked as she tried to swallow,
taking the plate Alice shoved at her and setting the rest of her
bun on it. Her stepmother’s expression was disapproving.

“Good morning, Ben,” Alice said. “I hope you
slept well and were warm enough. I know the cabins can be quite
chilly this time of year, especially in the morning. We’ve got
electricity in there, just haven’t added the electric heaters
yet.”

“Thank you, Alice. The cabin was great.” He
extended a dashing smile to Alice, a million-dollar smile, just as
Carrie had suspected. When his gaze landed back on Carrie, his
smile faded. She swallowed the lump of bun. He was still watching
her, and he didn’t say good morning. He didn’t say anything to her.
What did she expect, after the welcome she had given him? She had
tossed and turned with shame last night. Maybe that was why her
cheeks were burning now.

There were footsteps behind Ben as Jack
Richardson, her father, stepped up beside him. She noticed then how
his round face had begun to age. His expression was guarded as he
took her in, his daughter, his only daughter. She wished for a
moment that she could know what was going through his head.

“What?” she finally said.

Her father shook his head as if she’d gotten
herself into trouble again. “Ben, this here is my daughter, Carrie.
The one who was responsible for your welcome to our community
yesterday.” Jack gestured to Carrie, stepping toward her.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. He looked good today
in his dark plaid shirt, with blue jeans and a belt under his
expanding middle. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he just
shook his head at her again.

“Didn’t know you were coming by this
morning, Carrie,” Jack said as he stepped back. He kissed Alice,
who slid the still sizzling sausages onto a platter. “Smells good,
Alice.”

Alice smiled brightly at Jack before setting
the frying pan in the sink and running the tap over it. “Ben, grab
a plate and dig in. We’ll eat in the dining room. Sorry, we’re
going to be informal this morning, if that’s all right. Carrie,
you’re welcome to join us for breakfast.” Alice didn’t look over at
Carrie as she poured coffee into another mug. “Ben, coffee?”

“Please,” he said.

She handed him a mug. “Cream and sugar’s
right there. Help yourself.” She gestured to the flowered blue
sugar and cream holders beside her.

Carrie didn’t move, holding her plate
stiffly. Ben didn’t hesitate to step up beside her and pour cream
into his mug. He was so close she could feel his heat. Mr. Idaho
Bachelor himself was standing there in her father’s kitchen. She
figured he probably stared at his face in the mirror a couple dozen
times a day, in love with himself. Yes, of course. He was a
handsome, arrogant jerk. Maybe he expected her to just fall over
and smile sweetly at him. Fat chance that would ever happen! He was
probably a conceited prick, thinking he was entitled to everything
he had.

“Excuse me,” he said, jolting her from her
thoughts. Her face burned again.

“Yes, can I help you with something?” she
snapped. She didn’t miss the hiss behind her from Alice.

Ben just smiled. Of course he had a perfect
set of teeth, probably all capped. Were those dimples, too? She
wondered if she was staring. He lifted his finger to her face, and
she thought he was going to touch her, so she pulled back. “What do
you think you’re doing?”

He reached behind her and held out a napkin.
“You have some cinnamon on your face,” he said, and he winked as
she snatched the napkin, mortified. Then he stepped away and
started talking to Alice and her dad as if she didn’t exist. Alice
rolled her eyes and shook her head at Carrie before giving all of
her attention to Ben.

He was sitting across from her at a solid
oak dining table for twelve, which took up most of the space in the
separate dining room. There were windows at each end so they could
look out at the paradise around them. The view was spectacular, in
a refreshing kind of way, completely opposite the pixie—which was
what Ben had taken to calling Carrie, at least mentally.

Her hair was so blond that it was almost
white. He couldn’t tell how long it was, as she’d pinned it up in a
messy bun, fastening it with one of those big clips. She had on a
light blue sweater that hugged what curves she had, though she
wasn’t stacked at all, not like the women he dated. In fact, she
didn’t seem to have much going on there at all. She probably never
bothered wearing a bra. She was thin, too, and short—but it was her
eyes that stopped him. The unusual blue was almost cerulean. He
wanted another look because he was sure one was lighter than the
other. It could have been a trick of the light, though, as she kept
flushing a brilliant red and then looking away. She was nervous
around him, and he told himself he should take some enjoyment from
her discomfort.

Jack took a seat beside his daughter,
setting his full plate down: scrambled eggs, sausages, a muffin,
and a cinnamon bun. Alice set her plate down by Ben, and Ben wiped
his mouth with his napkin as he stood and pulled her chair out for
her.

“Oh, thank you, Ben. Quite the gentleman,
you are.”

Ben helped her slide her chair in and then
sat back down, taking in these folks. What a coincidence that
Carrie happened to be Jack and Alice’s daughter. Ben was
ninety-nine percent sure now that Jack had told Carrie he was
coming. Whether he had been behind that greeting committee, as
well, Ben didn’t know, but right now wasn’t the time or place to
ask. Those were manners his mom had drilled into him: When you were
a guest, you minded what you said. Not to say he was going to
ignore what had happened. Hell, no! He planned on having a word
with Jack after the meeting. Carrie…there was something about her
that was trouble.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
Carrie said, setting her fork down with a clatter. She was feisty,
he’d give her that. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Carrie, mind your manners. Ben is a guest
in our home,” Jack said in a low voice.

“It’s all right, Jack. I’d rather she talk
than to have something come flying at me from across the table,”
Ben said.

“What in heaven do you mean?” Alice asked,
looking confused.

Ben gestured with his fork to Carrie. “Well,
your daughter gave me quite the welcome last night.”

Alice groaned, and Jack shook his head. Ben
wasn’t sure if the irritation was aimed at him or Carrie.

“First, let’s get something straight,”
Carrie said. “Alice isn’t my mother. She’s not responsible for what
I did last night.”

“Carrie!” Jack snapped.

“I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t say that to hurt
you,” Carrie said quickly. She glanced at Ben, and he wondered for
a moment if she had said what she did for shock value.

“Excuse me,” Alice muttered, scraping her
chair back. Ben didn’t miss the hurt in her voice. Jack followed
his wife into the kitchen.

When he glanced back over at Carrie, she had
fisted her hands and was looking down at her plate. Her lips were
tight.

“You want to take a walk?” he said. He
tossed his napkin down, and, for a second, he couldn’t believe he
had asked her that.

He expected her to tell him to go to hell,
but she seemed to consider something and then simply nodded,
scooting her chair back. She lifted her dark blue coat off the
hook, and Ben helped her slip it on. He lifted his leather jacket
as he followed her out the door, listening to Jack talking softly
to his wife in the kitchen. Whatever was going on here, it was none
of Ben’s business. He should have politely excused himself to go
back to his cabin and fine tune his presentation, but instead he
found himself outside, in the cool morning air…with Carrie.

Carrie wanted to take it back. As usual, she
had opened her mouth and the words had just come flying out. Being
twenty-two, she considered herself older and wiser, even though her
father had told her that she still had a lifetime of learning to
do. At times, she was her own worst enemy. Her father had told her
that, too, and so had Alice. That much they did agree on. The fact
was that Alice didn’t deserve the way Carrie had snapped so rudely
that she wasn’t her mother. What was with her and this need to
always set the record straight? She just hated lies and deceit—yet
here she was, walking side by side with the enemy. How screwed up
was that?

“You’re probably wondering why I said that
Alice isn’t my mother,” she began.

He matched her steps, his hands shoved into
both pockets of his dark brown coat. She could smell the rich
leather, and his scent was intoxicating—even the hint of soap and
water, the fragrance she recognized from the brand of soap Alice
bought. She’d never had her senses stirred by a man’s scent before,
and she found it unsettling. She had to swallow before she could
glance his way.

He was frowning, shaking his head. “No, I’m
not,” he replied.

“Oh, I just assumed…” Now she was flustered,
feeling like such a fool.

He stopped her by putting his hand on her
shoulder. “Why?” he asked. He was so dynamic, nothing soft about
him. His attention was on her like a hundred-watt bulb, and it was
causing her to lose her train of thought. She couldn’t remember
ever being this scattered.

“Well, you asked me if I wanted to go for a
walk. I just assumed you wanted to know. I’m sorry, I guess I
jumped to the wrong conclusion,” she snapped.

What could she say to make herself look less
like an idiot?

****

“I was thinking you could use some fresh air
and that Alice and Jack could use some space. That’s all,” Ben
said.

In truth, that hadn’t been all, but he
wasn’t about to tell her that. He wanted to know why she was part
of this protest, what was going through her mind right now, what
made her tick, why she had such a volatile relationship with Alice
and Jack. This wasn’t the picture-perfect family and closeness he
had expected. He wanted to know her influence with the group of
protesters—and whether she was single.

Wait, where had that come from? She wasn’t
even his type! Everything about her was the opposite of what he
went for in a woman. He liked stacked, curvy, athletic women who
could dazzle a man, bringing him to heel in a little black dress,
with mile-long legs that could wrap around his waist. He wanted a
tantalizing woman who could drive him wild in bed. Hell, Carrie was
a foot shorter than he was! She was wearing sneakers and ratty blue
jeans. She was even flat chested. A board had more curves than she
did—though he did notice that she had a great ass. The way she
moved, the sway of her hips as she walked ahead of him…well, he
could have stared at her ass all day. There was something
disturbing about her that he couldn’t put his finger on, though.
She was troubled, he sensed that. She didn’t have a happy aura, so
of course he wondered what drove her, what saddened her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carrie said with a sigh.
“Alice is a nice person, but she’s not my mother.”

What was she getting at? She said it as if
she needed to make a point. She needed to talk, she wanted to
talk—maybe this was something she’d bottled up for so long that she
had to get it out now.

“Alice seems very nice,” Ben started. “I
wouldn’t have known that she’s not your mother. She cares for you.
Watching you two together this morning in the kitchen, it seemed
you cared for her.”

She seemed to flinch at his words, and he
wondered what that was about. “Oh, she does, I’m sure of that. It’s
just…” She stopped talking and bit her lower lip.

He hated this. It felt like twenty
questions, the games women played when they wanted him to act like
he cared about something.

“My mom died when I was sixteen, from breast
cancer,” Carrie began. “Alice was her best friend.” She was staring
up at him, and he could see a raw hurt burning in her eyes. She
didn’t even try to hide it. They were just standing there, looking
at each other. “Sorry,” she said. “Everyone’s told me to get over
it and drop it. It’s ancient history, but…Mom hadn’t even been in
the ground for a month when Dad married Alice.” She started walking
again.

Ben didn’t have a clue what to say to make
it better. He didn’t know what to make of it, either. He wasn’t one
to ever take sides, but he could see her point of view and how hurt
she was. How much more was there to the story, though? He forced
himself to push it from his mind. He wasn’t here in Kit Cove to
solve this family’s problems. He had a community to win over.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine
how I’d feel in your shoes. Was your mom sick a while?” he asked,
flinching immediately. Why, why was he still talking about this? He
needed to get back to his cabin, go over his presentation, and get
away from this woman, who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had
spit on him!

She shrugged and wouldn’t look at him. “Four
years. She was in and out of remission. Alice was always here,
helping.”

“I see.”

She snapped her gaze to him. Her eyes were
suddenly flashing with the same anger he’d seen last night.

“Whoa, stop right there!” he said, reaching
for her arm. “Don’t even think about spitting on me again.”

She flushed and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
She was squeezing her fists, fighting something. “There was no
excuse for last night. I’m sorry, really. I don’t go around doing
that, but I was so angry, and sometimes I just say and do things
before I’ve had a chance to think about it. Dad’s always told me I
don’t think before I act, and my temper is going to get me in a
world of trouble.”

“So your dad told you I was coming, and you
arranged that welcoming party for me?”

She stopped walking again and slowly looked
up at him with an odd expression. “My dad didn’t tell me you were
coming,” she said. “I had no idea he even knew anything about you
until he drove up in his truck, and then I had to learn you were
staying here. I suspect he’s going to give me an earful for the way
I acted.” She looked away again, shrugging and starting to
walk.