Rhonda Nelson - The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

“Think he’ll ever move back here?” Kate asked conversationally, a question that had been widely speculated, debated, otherwise mulled over and betted on since his swift to-hell-with-all-of-you departure.

Ha, Eden thought as her lips slid into a rueful smile. “Maybe when Hell freezes over.”

And considering how quickly she and her brain and various items of clothing tended to part company anytime he came around, that was soon enough for her.

WELCOME TO HELL.

Population 7,958 and growing. The only thing hotter than our hospitality is our barbecue sauce!

A broken laugh erupted from Bennett Wilder’s throat as he read the sign heralding his hometown’s city limits. Now that was apt, he thought darkly. It might not be the literal eternal hereafter for the damned, but it might as well be the equivalent to him. His fingers involuntarily tightened on the steering wheel and he bit back a blistering curse.

He still couldn’t believe he was coming back here. Couldn’t believe that he’d finally found his place in the world, made his mark and now…Bennett expelled a weary breath.

As though the devil himself had a hand in his fate, he’d been lured back to Hell, Georgia, the last place on the globe he wished to visit, much less live. In all truth, nothing short of a hot poker applied to his ass could have brought him back, either—and even then it would have been a hell of a fight—but one call for help from his grandfather had been all it had taken to make a liar out of him.

I’m sorry, but he has to go, Bennett, Eva Kilgore, the director at the Golden Gate Retirement Home, had told him two weeks ago. He’s a pip, I’ll give you that. But he’s simply too…disruptive. Relatives who encourage their loved ones to live here expect what our brochures advertise. Peace, harmony and well-being. Since your grandfather moved in, we’ve had none of those. He’s organizing protests against the menu. He’s fleecing everyone out of their pocket money at the card tables when we’ve repeatedly told him that gambling for cash—or change— she’d emphasized sternly —is forbidden. And that’s only the minor infractions. She’d blown out a disgusted breath and shaken her head. Frankly it’s the womanizing that’s turned this home into a circus. We can’t have the women getting into catfights over your philandering grandfather during movie hour, Bennett, she’d said. It’s not good for them. Not good for anybody.

No amount of pleading, flattery or even bribery had convinced Eva that she shouldn’t kick Grady Wilder out of the retirement home. Since Golden Gate was the only facility in the county, it had left Bennett with no options. Even if Grady would have been willing to move into nearby Willis County, Bennett wouldn’t have had the heart to make him.

Hell, for better or worse, was his home.

So here Bennett was, moving back after three blissful years away from the poisonous gossip and grueling grind of being the bastard son of two of Hell’s most notorious citizens. Kathie Petri, his mother, had been a teenage drifter who’d migrated from southern Louisiana to Hell without parents, without money and without morals. His father, Kirk Wilder—whose own mother had died during child-birth—had been a local boy, but a bad seed. So the two of them hooking up had been as disastrous as it had been inevitable.

Bennett had learned the hard way that no matter how much effort he put into being an upstanding member of the community, he’d never successfully shirk the weight of his parents’ mistakes. He’d always be “that Wilder boy.”

Could he help it that he’d been born to a couple of low-life misfits who hadn’t been fit to own a pet, much less raise a child? Was it his fault that his mother had been a shameless whore the other women had shunned? His father a mean, shiftless, jealous drunk? A perpetual embarrassment to the community?

No.

But that didn’t matter because here in Hell his parents’ drinking-whoring-fighting legacy would always be a shadow he couldn’t shake. Thanks to an unpleasant and ultimately life-altering chat with Giselle Rutherford—the mayor’s wife and the mother of the only girl he’d ever cared about—Bennett had realized that at eighteen, but hadn’t had sense enough to accept it until he was twenty-five. That’s when he’d cut and run, leaving his grandfather and the only girl he’d ever considered a…friend…behind.

Friend couldn’t begin to describe what Eden Rutherford had been to him, but anything more than the casual label made his skin feel too tight for his body. Made his palms sweat and his mouth parch. Made him wish that he’d fought for her rather than taking the path he’d chosen.

You are nothing and will never amount to anything, Giselle Rutherford had told him. Less than the trash your parents were. And I will not permit you to drag my only daughter down with you. You say you love her? She’d sneered as though he were incapable of such an emotion. Prove it. Because every time she sees you, I’m going to punish her. And it will be your fault.

At eighteen, Bennett hadn’t known what to do, had felt powerless to fight back. And he hadn’t doubted for a minute that her mother would make good on the threat. He’d witnessed too many of her spiteful reprimands, most notably when she’d destroyed a wooden heart he’d carved for Eden. The bitch, Bennett thought now, remembering how devastated Eden had been. He’d known at that point that she’d be better off without him, and though it had almost ruined him, Bennett had caved to Giselle’s threat.

With no other choice available, he’d broken up with Eden and had given up any pretense of trying to be good enough to make up for his parents’ reputation. He couldn’t be, he’d decided, because his good would never been good enough. Not by Hell’s standards. By the time he and Eden had gotten back together years later—no longer intimidated by her, he would have as soon told Giselle to kiss his ass than look at her—he’d realized that, in taking that path, he’d unwittingly fulfilled her mother’s condescending prophecy. He’d become the very nothing she’d said he would be.

In what could only be described as divine punishment, he hadn’t made that realization until Eden had told him that she loved him. That’s when he’d left town and made a new life for himself. His insides twisted with bitter humor.

He had Giselle Rutherford to thank for that, if nothing else.

Regardless, the mere thought of Eden made his gut clench, his heart ache and his dick invariably stir behind his zipper. Kind but fierce green eyes, a soft, slightly crooked smile that promised as much mischief as pleasure and an easy yard of hair as pale as a moonbeam.

In a word: gorgeous.

And if Hell had royalty, she’d be it. She was a true Hellion, Bennett thought, smiling in spite of himself, and the label fit on more than one level.

The only daughter of the perpetual mayor—which was not 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.