The Ex-Girlfriends' Club. Rhonda Nelson
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unusual in the South—and his ultimate bitch of a wife, Eden had grown up in a relatively loving home. Her father had loved her, at any rate. Her mother didn’t appear capable of loving anything but an appearance and, as such, had made Eden’s life a living hell.
Despite that, however, she’d been a straight-A student, a cheerleader and choir girl—odd hobbies for a tomboy, but that was Eden—and from the moment she’d shared her apples and cheese with him in the second grade when he’d arrived without a snack, he’d viewed her with equal amounts of suspicion and awe. She was sweet but feisty, with a strong sense of fair play and a penchant for acting first and thinking later. From the time they were small she’d had the unique ability to make him feel like something other than a contaminated outcast. Bennett frowned.
Years later, of course, things would take a romantic turn and she would make him feel something much more substantial and altogether more frightening, something that would ultimately make him ashamed of himself, would drive him out of town and into his new and improved life.
And it was new and improved, dammit, if occasionally empty. But better empty than here, Bennett thought, feeling the familiar niggling of inadequacy erode his self-confidence as he drove farther into town. God, he hated it here. Hated how he felt when he came here.
In Savannah he was Bennett Wilder, sought-after artisan. He’d built furniture for some of Hollywood’s A-list, for pop stars and politicians. He attended all the right parties, could pick and choose his dates—not that he’d bothered much—and enjoyed all the perks of being a local celebrity of sorts. Nobody cared who his parents were or where he came from. It was refreshing, had been like being reborn and coming out right this time. He’d dusted the red dirt off his feet, had made regular monthly visits to his grandfather and had moved on.
Or as on as he could without Eden in his life.
Did he want to live in Hell? Be looked down upon once more? Feel the suspicious stares of the local folk? No.
But that was only the half of it.
Knowing that he was going to be living in the same town as Eden Rutherford and knowing that she could never be his was infinitely worse—his real hell on earth.
Bennett had known when he’d walked away the last time that he was permanently severing ties, though at the time he’d never anticipated seeing her again.
Which, admittedly, made things quite difficult now.
He couldn’t move back here and not see her. Even keeping the lowest profile possible, Bennett knew he’d inevitably run into her again. And when that happened…well, who knew what would happen? Would she slap him? Certainly possible. Frost him? Another option. The only thing he knew for sure—could count on as well as the sun rising in the morning—was that he’d want her again. Ha! As if he’d ever stopped. He’d want her with the same all-consuming, blinding need that inevitably struck him whenever he saw her. Bennett chuckled darkly. Not wanting her was like commanding his body not to breathe. Likewise, not having Eden was about as successful as him holding his breath indefinitely.
A moot point.
Eden had always been his kryptonite, his downfall, his saving grace and his ultimate weakness. For both their sakes, this time he was going to have to be stronger than the attraction, stronger than the emotion that never failed to twine around his heart and make him long for things he knew weren’t in his future. A wife, a family…Nah. He’d let those things go when he’d walked away last time, as well.
Frankly, being flayed alive and dipped in boiling oil held more appeal than moving back to Hell, but there was simply nothing for it. Bennett might have been an out-of-control teen, might have made multiple stupid youthful mistakes, but he was man enough to repay his debts—and he owed Grady Wilder.
The old man had been the only constant in his life, the only person who’d stood between him and a foster home when his parents had perished in a house fire. He’d been eleven at the time. Just old enough to understand that their lives didn’t remotely resemble the families on TV, the beginnings of shame rounding his usually bruised, too-thin shoulders.
Too much to drink, a careless cigarette…a fiery end to their equally combustible lives.
A mail carrier with a penchant for minding everyone’s business—retired now, of course; a fact that the citizens of Hell no doubt appreciated—Grady had been there. Ornery, obstinate and a bit on the eccentric side, but he’d loved Bennett all the same, and that had made the difference. Just knowing that someone had given a flying damn about him had made living seem as though it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Come on, kid, he’d said. Let’s go home.
And that had been that.
He’d moved in, had learned that it was okay to speak even if he hadn’t been spoken to. That spilled milk wasn’t going to land him a backhand across the face and that outgrowing his clothes wasn’t a cause for punishment. He’d learned that a good work ethic and honesty made the backbone of a man—a fact his father had missed though they’d both ultimately been raised by the same man. And most importantly he’d learned that, with patience and creativity, a block of wood could become a beautiful thing. Bennett swallowed.
Damn straight he owed Grady Wilder. And while returning to Hell might not have been on his top-ten-things-to-do list, he’d do it anyway.
After a lot of blustering and roaring, Grady had finally agreed to let him renovate the house and the barn. Speaking of which…Bennett thought, reaching for his cell phone. He needed to call Ryan Mothershed—his previous employer, his soon-to-be contractor and the only friend he’d kept in contact with since leaving Hell.
He and Ryan had forged a friendship on the gridiron which had survived despite Bennett’s abrupt enrollment into Badass 101 after high school, as well as his subsequent move out of town. Ryan had participated in a foreign exchange program to England during college and returned with more than a degree—he’d brought back a wife, as well. Bennett often teased him about successfully transplanting an English rose in Hell. They had a little boy—Tuck—and another baby on the way.
“Mothershed,” Ryan answered by way of greeting. Bennett could hear various saws buzzing in the background as well as the hydraulic whoosh of a nail gun firing.
“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