The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

“I just rode into town,” Bennett told him.

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“The collective gasp of horror from the old biddies I heard echo through the streets.”

“Smart-ass,” Bennett groused, chuckling. “So have you looked at your schedule and figured out when you can get started on my renovations?”

The house needed a little TLC and some updated wiring to competently hold what would be his second office, and the old red barn would house his new shop. In the meantime, there was a small shed in the backyard that would accommodate him. It’s where he’d started, after all. He’d hired movers to transport his must-haves, and barring any unforeseen problems, he should be back on track by the end of the week. In truth, Bennett could have done the majority of the renovations himself, but he simply didn’t have the time. A good thing, he told himself, whether Grady agreed or not.

“I can have a crew out there Wednesday,” Ryan said. He shouted an order to someone in the background, then swore under his breath. “I just thought you might need a little time to talk Grady around.”

“Done,” Bennett told him.

“He’s completely agreed? He isn’t going to give me any trouble?” The last time Ryan had worked for Bennett’s grandfather, repairing a section of the front porch, Grady had positioned his rocker within a foot of the crew for optimum critiquing power. Needless to say, it hadn’t been a positive experience for his friend.

“He knows that the work has got to be done if I’m going to stay here.”

Provided he had the right space, he could work here just as well as in Savannah, he’d assured Grady, who’d immediately given up any pretense of wanting to live alone.

The fact was he simply wasn’t able. Hip replacement had corrected the majority of his physical problems, but getting around was still a chore. Add his failing sight to the mix and he was an accident waiting to happen. Bennett didn’t think Grady needed round-the-clock care, but another warm body in the house would go a long way toward his peace of mind.

Initially Bennett had tried to talk Grady into moving in with him in Savannah, but he might as well have been asking Thomas Jefferson to trade places with George Washington on Mount Rushmore for all the good it had done. His grandfather had been every bit as solid in his reserve. Hell’s not a bad town, he’d said. You’ll see when you come back. Perspective changes things.

Bennett didn’t know about that, but he did know one thing. He would not allow anyone the privilege of making him feel like a second-class citizen again. He’d done a lot of growing up over the past three years, knew that he’d given everyone in Hell plenty of reason to treat him like the bad seed he’d tried to live up to as a bitter kid, and later, as a bitter adult.

But he’d changed, and the difference between the old Bennett Wilder and the new one was simple—he liked himself now. Screw ’em if they didn’t like him. Other than making a few late-in-coming apologies—particularly to Eden, he thought with another mild grimace—he didn’t owe them anything. He was who he was. They could either accept him or not, but it wasn’t going to change his attitude or the purpose of his moving home. Grady deserved better. Hopefully he could simply slip back into town and become part of the scenery. Blend in. Keep it low-key. Be unremarkable.

That was the plan, at any rate, inasmuch as he had one. Only time would tell if it would come to fruition.

“You want to meet up at Ice Water tonight?” Ryan asked.

Bennett knew what his friend was doing and appreciated the show of support, but shook his head. “Thanks, but no.” Walking back into Hell’s infamous watering hole—the gossip hub of the community—the first night he was back in town didn’t coincide with his keep-a-low-profile plan.

“All right,” Ryan told him. “I’ll see you Wednesday morning then.” He paused. “Happy to have you back, man.”

Then that made one of them, he thought grimly, but thanked his friend anyway and disconnected.

Welcome to Hell, my ass, Bennett thought. He damned sure wasn’t expecting anyone else to be happy with his return.

3

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT son of a bitch said to me, Eden?” Josie Brink screeched as she aimed a loaded. 22 rifle at her quivering husband’s privates.

Eden rounded the hood of her patrol car and released a weary sigh. “No, I don’t, but you can tell me after you’ve put the gun away. You know better than this, Josie. Don’t make me call the chief. I’ll look like an idiot, and you know he promised to take that rifle the next time you threatened to emasculate your husband.”

Josie blinked and shot her a questioning glance. “Emasculate?”

“Shoot his dick off,” Eden clarified.

Understanding dawned and she nodded, then her eyes narrowed into angry slits once more. She cocked her head. “Yeah, well, after I shoot his sorry ass, I won’t need the gun no more, will I?”

And there was that, Eden thought, trying desperately to summon patience. This had been the day from hell. Jeb Wheeler had once again been on his cross crusade, stealing the little white memorials which had been placed on area roadsides by loving family members in honor of accident victims.

For reasons no one could explain, Jeb would periodically troll the roads, steal the little wooden crosses and install them in his front yard. Evidently he thought they made fetching lawn ornaments. Jeb’s pulled his little Arlington again, was the usual call that went out over the radio.

Eden had spent the majority of the day convincing Jeb to give up the crosses—she was the only person who’d ever successfully talked him into giving them up, which is why she always got stuck with the call—then returning them to their rightful owners. She’d had less than an hour to go on her shift when this call had come in.

As the only woman on the force, she generally got any calls the guys dubbed “girl trouble.” Sexist? Yes, but given Josie’s current state of mind, Eden couldn’t imagine any of those tactless oafs she worked with being able to handle this one, either.

“Come on, baby,” Neal Brink cajoled his wife. “I was only kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”

No, stupid, Eden thought exasperatedly, a fact Neal apparently hadn’t deduced yet. But in Josie’s defense, Neal’s “jokes” were rarely funny. Neal, the twisted little jerk, liked to play his jokes on his wife during sex. The last time Eden had been called out here, Neal had been in the middle of an intimate service for his wife, looked up from between her legs and said, “Not as sweet as your sister’s, but it’ll do.”

Predictably, Josie had Katie-kaboomed, and it had taken Eden the better part of an hour to talk her out of doing permanent injury to her husband. God only knew what he’d done this time, Eden thought, and tonight she wanted nothing more than a cool beer from Ice Water and a steaming plate of hot wings. Thanks to Jeb, she’d missed lunch, and it was beginning to look as though Neal’s twisted sense of humor was going to screw her out of a reasonable dinner.

Eden glared at Neal. “Judging from that rifle pointed at your family jewels, Mr. Brink, I don’t think Josie finds your jokes funny.” She looked at Josie, who seemed heartened by Eden’s support. “What did he do, Josie?” she asked, calling upon every shred of patience she had left.

Josie shifted, causing the spaghetti strap on her pink nightie to slip off her slim shoulder. “Remember what he did last time? What he said about my sister?”

Oh, hell. “I do,” Eden replied, blasting Neal with another withering stare.

“Well, he did sort of the same thing, only this time he looked up at me and said—”

“Mmm, mmm. Tastes like chicken,” Neal finished with relish, then dissolved into a fit of guffaws that made Josie’s finger snug dangerously close to the trigger.

Eden gasped and covered her mouth to prevent a rebellious giggle from escaping.

“See!” Josie screamed. “See what I have to put up with? He’s not sorry! He doesn’t care that he’s hurt my feelings!”

“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you that it was a joke?” He laughed at her and shot Eden a look that said his wife was evidently lacking a sense of humor. If that was the case, then Eden was lacking one as well because she probably would have murdered him by now.

Josie fired a shot at the ground at his feet. A clump of grass flew up and hit him in the shin. The smile quickly vanished from Neal’s lips, and his eyes widened in fearful horror. “Woman, what the hell are you doing?” he gasped.

“Excellent shot,” Eden commented with an impressed nod. She wasn’t worried about Josie killing him. If she’d wanted to do that, she would have done it already. Furthermore, Neal deserved Josie’s joke.

Josie discharged another round, this one at a hanging plant next to Neal’s head. Potting soil and hot-pink petunias flew, showering him in a dirty spray. “Playing a joke, Neal,” she said sweetly. “Isn’t it funny? Ha-ha!”

Neal’s outraged gaze swung to Eden as he batted a torn bloom from the top of his head. “What kind of law officer are you?” he demanded. “Are you going to let her keep shooting at me?”

“That depends. Are you going to stop playing jokes on her?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned casually against her car.

“And he’s got to apologize, too,” Josie piped up, flipping her hair away from her face. She raised the rifle once more, narrowed one eye and took aim. “’Cause if he don’t, he’s gonna be real sorry.”

“I’m sorry!” Neal shrieked when it was evident that Eden didn’t intend to intervene on his behalf. “Dammit, woman, I’m sorry!” He let go a shaky breath. “Sweet Jesus, just put the gun down.”

Josie considered him for a moment, then looked at Eden. “What do you think?”