by Kaylea Cross
It was her birthday. They were hosting a summer barbecue tonight and she was making her grandmother’s from-scratch strawberry shortcakes for dessert. A domestic goddess she was not, but Beckett didn’t seem to mind, and besides, this recipe was pretty much foolproof.
She set the berries aside and cleared the island to begin making the shortcake biscuits, filled with a sense of newly found peace. The first week or two after the kidnapping hadn’t been easy. She’d had her share of bad dreams but they were starting to lessen now, and at least now when either of them had a bad night they had each other to turn to for comfort.
As for the question of how Natalie had found out what happened in Syria that day, Beckett had been informed that she had used her fiancé’s life insurance settlement to bribe someone in Army Intelligence. That officer had since been removed from duty, charged, and was awaiting trial.
Now Sierra and Beckett could officially move on with their lives, and they hadn’t wasted any time in doing so.
Officially moving in with him here two weeks ago had come as a bit of a shock to their friends and her family, but it was the right decision and she had no regrets. She also didn’t care what anyone else thought about it. She loved her little cottage but she loved Beckett more, and now they were creating a life together in the home that meant so much to him and always had to his parents.
Light footsteps pattered on the back porch. Ella appeared on the other side of the screen door, back from walking the dog, her face worried. “Miss Sierra? Can you come out and help me with Walter? He won’t get up.”
Frowning, Sierra grabbed a kitchen towel and dried her hands. “Why, did he hurt himself on your walk?”
“I’m not sure. He’s lying down on the grass and I can’t get him to move.”
Was he being lazy? Or was something wrong?
Sierra dropped the towel, headed for the back door and walked out onto the porch into the warm summer evening air. Walter was old. She hated to think his body was giving out on him now. He deserved at least a couple more years in a home where he was loved and spoiled beyond rotten before he left this earth.
“Where is he?” she asked Ella, scanning the side yard. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Over here,” Ella said, and scampered around the side of the house and out of view.
Sierra hurried after her, barefoot, already mentally listing some possibilities as to what the problem might be. Degenerative disc disease? The start of congestive heart failure? Cancer?
She rounded the corner, the summer grass soft beneath her feet. She hadn’t been back to the clinic since the shooting, doing house calls instead until Beckett and his crew could change the space enough to hopefully not remind her of the attack every time she walked through the door, but if Walter needed medical treatment, then she would take him in.
At the start of the front lawn, she stopped short at the sight that greeted her.
Ella stood off to one side near the lane with her mother. Jase, Molly and Noah were fanned out behind Beckett, who stood in the middle of the lawn, Walter seated at his feet. Someone had brushed his ears out, and he was wearing his red plaid bow tie. Carter was conspicuously absent. No one had seen or heard from him in weeks.
“Happy birthday!” everyone chorused.
She laughed, relieved that Walter seemed okay. “Well thank you.” Why were they all standing around watching her like that? It was weird. She glanced from Beckett to Ella and back, just to make sure she hadn’t missed something. “So, Walter looks okay to me.”
“He’s fine.” A smile playing around the edges of his mouth, Beckett raised a hand and crooked a finger at her. The sexy sparkle in his eyes made her tummy flutter. He was bossy in the bedroom, definitely liked control and to dish out orders, but it worked for her. It really worked for her.
What was he doing, though? Sierra approached cautiously, half expecting some kind of prank. The audience made her nervous. “What are you up to?”
“Come here and find out.”
When she reached him, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and slow. Her eyes flew open when Ella groaned and muttered something that included the word inappropriate, and Jase’s distinctive whistle of approval sounded.
She broke the kiss, her cheeks growing hot. Lord, Noah must be really damn uncomfortable right now. And what was with Beckett? PDAs weren’t his thing at all, let alone in front of her brother and their friends. “Beckett, what—”
She didn’t finish. Because he grasped both her hands and sank onto one knee in front of her.
Sierra’s eyes widened. “What are…?” She was afraid to say it out loud, in case it jinxed everything. But this couldn’t be happening. Could it?
His dark gaze delved into hers. “I love you, sweetness. I want forever with you.”
Oh, my God, he was proposing here in front of everyone.
She gaped down at him, mouth open in shock. They’d talked about getting married one day, and maybe having kids, but she’d never dreamed he would do this so fast. Let alone so publicly.
He chuckled at the look on her face. “Look at Walter.”
Wait, Walter? Confused, she lowered her gaze to the dog, who was staring up at her with an expression of total boredom on his droopy face. He didn’t get excited about much, except for treats and trips in the truck or on the ride-on mower Beckett liked to drive around. Not a dune buggy, but Walter didn’t seem to mind.
“He doesn’t know any tricks. Or if he does, he’s too stubborn to do them. But I know how much you love him in spite of his bad attitude, and I know that also goes for me too, so I let him help me a little.”
Sierra scanned the dog, still not understanding. What was she looking for? Maybe Beckett wasn’t proposing, and she was an idiot.
Walter chose that moment to flop to the ground and roll to his side with a loud groan, his protruding tongue lying on the grass, red-rimmed eyes gazing up at her. Just kill me now and end my humiliation, his expression said.
“Walter, you’re killin’ me,” Beckett muttered, and reached for the dog while everyone laughed. He hauled Walter back upright, holding the dog by the chest so he couldn’t lie back down again.
Sierra stifled a giggle. They looked too ridiculous.
Beckett shook his head, his eyes glinting up at her with silent laughter. “Stop laughing and look down.” He tapped his finger on the bow tie.
And then Sierra saw it. A round diamond nestled into the center of a red ribbon that someone had woven into the shape of a rose. Beckett had pinned it to Walter’s bow tie.
“This was my mother’s,” he explained as he unfastened the rose ribbon, his strong fingers untying the knot as deftly as he’d freed her from her bonds on that awful day over a month ago. Hands that had protected and comforted her, given her pleasure that stole her breath, and would always be there to hold and support her when she needed it.
“We’ll get it set into a ring you love this week,” he said, “but I wanted to do this today with everyone here to witness it.”
He held up the diamond, and the symbolism in the act wasn’t lost on her.
Beckett was essentially holding his heart out to her. This strong, incredibly private man jaded by the warrior’s life that had made him, was down on one knee in front of her. Making himself vulnerable to her, exposing his tender insides to her and everyone watching. To publicly prove just how deep his love ran for her, and how much she meant to him.
Oh, my God, she loved him so damn much.
Love shone in his eyes, the late afternoon sunlight turning the black coffee irises into shades of dark chocolate and burnt toffee. “Sierra, will you marry me?”
Her throat closed up. She put a hand to her mouth and nodded, reaching for the diamond while her vision blurred. “Yes,” she choked out. This was everything she’d ever dreamed of, and more. “Now get up here and kiss me.” She yanked on his hand, reaching for him as he stood and wrapped his arms around her, their friends cheering in the background.
He kissed her, then nuzzled her cheek, his chest vibrating with silent laughter. “Are you mad that I asked you in front of everyone?”
She shook her head. She understood why he’d done it, and the intent behind it meant the world to her. “No. This was perfect.”
Life was rarely perfect. But sometimes, it was just right.
She and Beckett were just right for each other. That was the only thing that truly mattered.
—The End—
Dear reader,
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Kaylea
Excerpt from Buried Lies
Crimson Point Series
By Kaylea Cross
Copyright © 2018 Kaylea Cross
Chapter One
For some, gardening was good for the soul. For him, it was a necessity.
It kept him sane. Silenced the insidious voice in his head—at least temporarily.
He paused in the strip of lawn between two flowerbeds to draw in a deep breath, the air faintly tinged by the salty tang of the sea just over a mile away. Heaven.
This was his favorite place on earth, and his favorite time of day. After a solid eight hours of honest, physical work, he could come here and let the world fall away while he enjoyed all his flowers.
His beautiful, secret flowers.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted down on him between the tall evergreens that bordered the edge of the property as he strode from the gardening shed with his tools. He’d bought the half-acre nestled into a band of forest bordering a vineyard outside the town limit years ago, before he’d started his garden.
Back then it had just been a place to build his refuge, a spot all his own where he could camp in a location no one would bother him, but over the past few years it had become so much more important. Here he had absolute privacy, no one around to see what he was doing. He could simply be himself and let the mask drop.
It had been over a month since he’d last been here. Weeds had sprung up in a few of the beds, and he still needed to remove the pipe sticking out of the newest one.
Birds chirped overhead, the only sound out here, even the muted crash of the sea absent this far from the beach. It was so quiet here now, so different from the last time he had been here a month-and-a-half ago.
He paused to admire his latest addition, remembering the day he’d planted it. The sense of satisfaction that had encompassed him from having finally, finally finished his secret garden.
Graphic images flooded his brain, triggering the usual response. He fought it, tried to stop the pictures running in his head, shove them down deep where they belonged. If he wasn’t careful, they would control him instead of the other way around.
He shook himself. Work. Physical exertion always helped clear his mind and kept the terrible need away.
Most of the time.
The blade of the shovel sank deep into the soil he’d amended in late spring, in preparation for his newest addition. He sang quietly as he worked, to keep his mind busy along with his hands.
After digging out the soil surrounding the pipe, it came out easily. Still singing to himself, he set it aside and filled in the hole. Then he pulled out the weeds that threatened to ruin his masterpiece and raked the rich, dark earth in between the perennials and annuals until the bed was pristine once more.
Now all that remained in the bed were the flowers and its crowning glory. And this particular variety of pink peonies was as beautiful as it was rare.
He’d planted them to remind him of the pretty brunette with the pink dress. The fabric had been the exact shade of the petals. He’d taken great pains to find a match, using his job to contact nurseries all up and down the Oregon Coast to find it. And the day he’d brought it here to plant it…
Images fractured in his head, getting all mixed up. He shook his head, trying to clear the cloud of confusion. The look of delicious terror on her face. A swirl of pink fabric. Peony petals shivering in the breeze. The sound of her muffled screams, growing fainter and fainter…
No.
No, no, no, it was too soon. Much too soon.
But it was too late to stop the inevitable.
The sudden rise of excitement shot through him like a lightning strike, stronger than ever before. His heart rate doubled. His breathing turned harsh and erratic. Sweat popped out across his skin, his hands trembling.
His body tightened. Hardened.
He clenched his teeth and gripped the shovel handle until his knuckles ached, swallowing hard. Fighting the powerful swell of arousal. The burning need to undo his pants and stroke himself to relieve the sudden pressure in his groin.
His whole body shook as he rode it out, until finally after endless minutes, it passed. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, battling the raging need. His breathing was still harsh as his gaze strayed back to the gorgeous pink peonies, their petals all but glowing in a shaft of golden sunlight.
It was like a sign from above. The dark urges had only gone away for a few weeks this time and now they were back, more powerful than ever.
It frightened and electrified him at the same time.
He glanced around, taking slow, calming breaths. There were more weeds to be pulled in the other beds, but he couldn’t tend to them now, he was too shaken. Instead he gathered his tools up and carried them back to the shed, a hollow, heavy regret mixing with the heady sense of anticipation humming through him.
His secret garden wasn’t complete after all.
Now he would have to break his most important rule of allowing himself only one perfect victim per year. Hunting again so soon would increase the risk of getting caught, but maybe that would make this one last kill that much more fulfilling.
Maybe this next one would satisfy him enough to forever silence the hungry monster that never gave him rest. Maybe it would finally bring him peace so he could stop.
****
Noah Buchanan jerked awake when the generator started up next door.
What the hell?
He rolled over to squint at the bedside clock. “You gotta be freaking kidding me,” he muttered.
It was seven-twelve on a Saturday morning. Wasn’t there an unspoken rule everybody understood that you had to be quiet until at least nine on the weekends? As a matter of common courtesy?
His new neighbor was from South Dakota. Maybe they didn’t have that rule there.
Noah sighed, trying to remember if he had any earplugs lying around. Thanks to yet another file sent over from the FBI on the latest missing women case from six weeks ago, then a domestic disturbance call just prior to the end of his shift, he’d only gotten home an hour ago. That meant he’d been asleep for probably twenty minutes, max.
Outside, the generator got louder.
“Noooo,” he groaned. So much for sleep. What the hell was she doing over there, anyway?
He growled as he sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d showered as soon as he’d gotten home but hadn’t shaved, because he’d thought he would have plenty of time to do it after he’d had at least four or five hours of sleep. Silly him.
Grabbing a pair of jeans from the chair in the corner, he dragged them on over top of his boxers and stumbled down the hall tow
ard the kitchen. Through the wide window above the sink he caught a flash of blond hair over the back fence. Definitely his new neighbor.
Since sleep was no longer an option, he hit the button on the coffee maker on his way to the back door. Barefoot, he stepped outside into the warm late-June morning and headed across the back lawn, the grass soft and slightly damp beneath his soles.
He stopped at the neck-high cedar fence that separated the properties, and the moment he saw his sexy new neighbor at the far side of her yard, he suddenly wasn’t annoyed anymore.
Poppy stood in profile to him as she raised the wand of the power washer and started on her back fence. She was young, maybe mid-twenties. She wore a tiny pair of frayed cutoff shorts and a string bikini top that framed full, round breasts, leaving her midriff and long legs bare.
Christ. It took superhuman effort to drag his eyes up to her face.
Her honey-blond hair was up in a ponytail, and he could see the wires from the earbuds she had in. Completely absorbed in her task, she had no idea he was standing there staring at her.
As a cop, it was hardwired in him to be cynical. He’d kept an eye on Poppy Larsen since the night he’d met her when she’d first come to town. It seemed odd to him that she’d shown up all by herself and decided to open a business here. So far he hadn’t managed to dig up anything of interest about her, but everyone had secrets. He wondered what her real story was.
She continued washing her fence down, making a thorough job of it. On the one hand Noah had to admire her work ethic. But why the hell was she power washing her fence at this hour on a Saturday morning?
He stood there for another minute admiring the view, since she couldn’t see him, then ambled down to the west end of the fence. Resting his forearms on the top of it, he waited for her to notice him.
It was almost comical when she did.
