ALMOST BLUE

by Williams, Mary J.

  “I hope these are to Ringo’s taste.”

  “Homemade doggy treats?” Beck chuckled. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “I never joke about baking,” Sawyer said. “Does Ringo like peanut butter?”

  To Beck’s knowledge, his dog liked everything, edible or not. More than once, he and his furry roommate had a conversation about what did and did not constitute a chew toy. Squeaky burlap-covered dinosaur, yes. A pair of brand spanking new, five-hundred-dollar work boots, definitely no.

  “Since I refuse to speak for a friend when he can speak for himself, you’ll have to ask him.”

  Ringo was many things. Rambunctious when allowed, territorial about his home and his people, always. And where food was concerned, he could gobble up every morsel filling his private bowl in record time. However, when necessary, his manners were impeccable. Now was such a moment.

  Sitting with an air of patience few people were privileged to witness, Ringo waited for Sawyer to make the next move.

  “You are the best dog ever,” she crooned, holding out her hand with the biscuit balanced on her palm. “Take a sniff and tell me what you think?”

  Ringo breathed in the peanut buttery scent and with a sigh of approval, caught the tossed treat in mid-air.

  “One for now.” Sawyer snapped the box’s lid into place. “I’ll send the rest home with you and Beck for later.”

  When sad puppy eyes didn’t earn him another mouthful, Ringo found a spot near the window, circled twice, and settled down for a nap.

  “I definitely need to get a dog.”

  “Shh,” Beck warned with a whisper. “Ringo thinks he’s your dog. If you decide to adopt, he’ll adjust. Until then, better to keep the fantasy alive.”

  Sawyer laughed. The sound gave Beck’s spirits a lift. Her color was still a bit on the pale side, but her gold-flecked eyes were clear and shadow free.

  Handing her a plate, he filled his own before settling into his corner of the small but roomy sofa.

  “I’m really not hungry.”

  “Take a bite, and I’ll answer one Razor’s Edge related question.”

  “What makes you think I care?” Sawyer demanded.

  “Everyone does.” Beck winced as soon as the egotistical words left his mouth. “Maybe not everyone.”

  “Damn straight.” Sawyer paused, then took a bite, smiling as she chewed. “Maybe I could think of a question, or two. Not for me,” she rushed to assure him. “For Talia. She’s a fan.”

  “She told me.” Beck hid his smile. If Sawyer kept eating, he’d suffer through a dozen questions. Whoever the answers benefited. “Go on.”

  “You said anything?”

  Beck nodded, preparing himself to open an old wound. Thoughtfully, Sawyer licked a bit of cheese from her thumb.

  “Well? What do you want to know?” he prodded. Now that he willingly put himself in the crosshairs, he wanted to take the bullet as quickly as possible.

  “Sheesh. Give me a second.” As Sawyer reached for her second piece of pizza, her face lit up. “I know. Who was the inspiration for Rapid Fire?”

  Beck didn’t know if he was relieved or insulted. Of all the salacious, personal, probing questions she could have asked, the best she could do concerned a song he co-wrote long before Razor’s Edge got their big break? A happier time when they were a band of brothers, not four desperate human beings barely keeping their shit together and Beck, oblivious to the drama until the world they meticulously crafted came crashing down.

  “Can’t say we had an inspiration.” Beck tried to remember but came up short. “Often you sit, start playing random notes, and a song is born.”

  “You said we. Who was your writing partner?”

  “Morgan Ames.”

  “Let me picture the band.” Sawyer closed her eyes. “Got it. Shaved head, bushy beard?”

  “Health nut. And the truest voice I’ve ever heard. Next time you play a Razor’s Edge song, listen close. Jax and Kane gave the band power, Morgan’s harmonies took us to another level.”

  “You miss him.”

  Beck realized how much he’d said, more than he planned. Instead of a burning acid in his gut, he felt a gentle heat. Almost comforting.

  “I used to miss Morgan. Every day. He was my best friend. I would talk his ear off.”

  “About…?” Sawyer asked.

  “My childhood. My dreams. I told him about the first girl I—” Scratching his chin, Beck cleared his throat. “First girl I, um, kissed.”

  “How sweet,” she cooed. “And did he tell you about the first girl he, um, kissed?”

  For the first time in forever, Beck laughed when he thought about Morgan, and a little more of the old pain burned away.

  “He didn’t share a lot about his past, and I didn’t push. But one time after a few shots of rotgut whiskey, he mentioned a girl. India.” Beck’s smile widened. “Now I remember. India. She was the inspiration for Rapid Fire.”

  “You answered my question. Thank you.”

  And a few more, Beck realized without rancor. Felt good to talk about the old days, his old friends, his past life. His gaze dropped to the pizza. Between them, they had almost finished the whole thing.

  “Not bad for someone who wasn’t hungry.”

  “Guess my appetite rallied.” Sawyer’s smile faded. “I promised to tell you everything. And I will. But…”

  “Don’t know about you,” Beck said, coming to her rescue. “I’m talked out for the night.”

  “Will you stay and watch a movie?”

  “Sure.”

  Jumping to her feet, Sawyer tossed Beck the remote control.

  “Pick something funny. I’ll get dessert.”

  One eye on the television, the other on Sawyer, Beck watched as she emerged from the refrigerator carrying a pie.

  “Strawberry?”

  “As promised. Now, find a movie. I have cream to whip.”

  “Sounds like a fair trade to me,” Beck said with a nod, giving his full attention to his assignment.

  The pie was amazing, the movie only so-so. Sawyer’s eyes drooped. Fighting to stay awake, she lost the battle, falling asleep before the final credits rolled.

  Beck considered taking Ringo and sneaking out. But his dog was dead to the world, and Sawyer chose that moment to turn and snuggle into the side of his body. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her head finding the perfect spot just below his chin.

  Carefully, he reached for the hand-knit blanket Sawyer kept draped over the back of the sofa and tucked the edges around their bodies. Beck closed his eyes, breathing the scent of citrus from Sawyer’s hair and hoped like hell the apartment didn’t catch fire. Unless faced with the threat of imminent death, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  BECK WOKE TO the feel of someone delicately licking the back of his hand. He had no illusions as to the identity of the wet tongue. Who else but Ringo? Certainly not Sawyer. His arms were empty; he knew she was gone before his eyes were fully open.

  Stretching his arms over his head, Beck’s lips curved upward, his thoughts taking a wicked turn. He wouldn’t argue if Sawyer wanted to take a taste of him. But in his mind, her mouth wasn’t on his hand, but lower. Much lower.

  “Where is she?” Beck asked his furry friend. He listened for the slightest noise from Sawyer’s apartment then frowned. Nothing. “How the hell did she leave without waking me?”

  Beck stretched again. Theoretically, every nerve, tendon, and muscle in his body should have screamed in protest. Other than a slight catch in his neck, he felt good. Better than good considering he spent the night upright on a strange sofa with his head cocked at an odd angle.

  Perhaps holding Sawyer was the key. Her body pressed to his provided a magical force field, protecting him against aches and pain. Laughing at such an uncharacteristically whimsical thought, Beck pushed himself to h
is feet. His back might be in good shape, but apparently, his mind had turned to mush.

  As he scrubbed a hand over his face, he glanced at his watch. Five thirty? Where would Sawyer need to be so early? Unless she went for a run?

  “Why wouldn’t she ask us to join her?”

  Ringo let out a soft bark, drawing Beck’s attention. His gaze narrowed when he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked into the dog’s collar. Smoothing out the creases, he moved to the window and scanned the note by the early morning light.

  Thank you for last night. Beck could almost hear Sawyer’s husky voice. Thank you doesn’t begin to cover how grateful I am. You listened. Really heard me and gave me a safe place to share a part of myself I’ve kept locked away for a long time.

  I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk out what happened. I feel closer to David than I have in what seems like forever. Last night gave me back a part of him I’d lost. Again, thank you, Beck.

  Please read the document I left on the kitchen counter. The contents will fill in some of your unanswered questions. If my ramblings from last night made any sense, if you still want me and my slightly lighter emotional baggage in your life, send me a text where to meet, and I’ll be there with the rest of the answers.

  P.S.

  I let Ringo out so he could take care of his morning business and gave him a peanut butter treat to hold him until his regular breakfast.

  “If I want you in my life?” Beck shook his head.

  Strange how much Sawyer could trust him yet still not understand who he was deep down. In time, she would because he wasn’t going anywhere. Friends might walk away from him, but he didn’t do the leaving. Not in the past, not now, not ever.

  In the kitchen, Beck tapped Sawyer’s document against the counter. He decided a cup of coffee was needed to clear the last bit of sleep before he tackled the official-looking papers.

  As he searched the cupboards, he remembered she purchased her morning brew at the café across the street from Hale’s Nursery. About to give up and resigned to facing the morning un-caffeinated, Beck spied a jar of brown crystals. He shrugged when he read the label that claimed the contests consisted of instant espresso powder. Who was he to doubt the black lettering highlighted by a red, white, and green Italian flag?

  Beck heated a cup of water in Sawyer’s microwave, stirred in the powder, decided the smell was palatable and took a tentative sip. Not bad in a pinch. He drank again. Not bad at all.

  Ringo gobbled another homemade treat. With a warning that digging up Sawyer’s roses would be rude, Beck opened the sliding glass door and left the dog to wander the backyard while he settled on the sofa with his espresso and the document.

  Last Will and Testament.

  I, David Edison Hale, being of sound mind and body, hereby leave all my worldly possessions to…

  Beck stopped before he finished the first line, unsure how to proceed. Sawyer wanted him to read David’s will. But he felt strange delving into something so private and personal.

  Since she could have told him the pertinent details without divulging everything, she obviously felt he needed all the words.

  Taking a bracing gulp from his cup, he continued.

  Beck read and digested legal contracts all the time. He was familiar with the wording and easily sifted through the lawyer talk to the meat of the document. After boiling away the fat, he found the facts in the first part of the will straightforward.

  The second part, in Beck’s opinion, landed firmly in batshit crazy territory.

  David Hale inherited a sizable trust fund on his eighteenth birthday. Enough to live a very comfortable life to a very old age.

  Tragically, the end came too soon, but he was smart, signing the will before he was deployed. What no one could have anticipated was the sequence of events that began with his father’s death, then a week later, ended with his own.

  Somewhere in the short seven-day period after David received the news of Ward Hale’s fatal heart attack, he added a codicil to his will, drawn up by an Army lawyer and witnessed by two fellow lieutenants.

  “You were on the ball, David,” Beck said, after reading the document for a second time. “Your desire to make certain Sawyer was looked after financially was admirable. But the rest? What the hell were you thinking?”

  Ward Hale left a sizable inheritance for his wife and younger children. David, as the oldest was heir to the bulk of the family’s vast fortune. If he’d died first, his brother was next in line.

  The quick and dizzying sequence of events meant the money was legally David’s. Now a billionaire, he left everything to Sawyer per his hastily drawn-up but legally binding instructions.

  “Bet momma Hale and her little Hales were none too happy about that turn of events,” Beck muttered.

  Sawyer’s options, thanks to the man she loved and the ball of insanity he dropped in her lap, were limited. She wasn’t allowed to simply hand the money back to her ex-mother-in-law. If she tried, the money automatically would be distributed between several dozen charities listed in the codicil.

  As a result, Sawyer was stuck with the Hale fortune. Oh, David left her an out. Unreasonable, irresponsible, and if he knew anything about his wife, one she wasn’t likely to take. She could do a lot of good with the money, but he put a high price on her inheritance.

  “Jerk.”

  Beck tossed the will onto the coffee table before he gave in to temptation and tore the offending document into a million pieces. Pacing across the room and back, he called David Hale every foul word in his vocabulary and a few he made up on the spot.

  How could a man who loved his wife commit such a thoughtless act? Sawyer might have an idea, but it would be nothing but speculation. Beck suspected the answer died with David Hale.

  Tossing the unfinished espresso into the sink, Beck grabbed his phone and sent Sawyer a text.

  Tonight. Anytime after six. My place. Nothing required but your appetite, and answers.

  Beck retrieved Ringo, locked the front door behind them, and was halfway to his truck when his phone pinged, signaling Sawyer’s response.

  I’ll be there with all the answers I have. Can’t guarantee my appetite.

  Certain he would get her to eat—last night’s pizza was proof—Beck drove toward home. He needed to change before heading to work and leave a note with instructions for his housekeeper.

  Tonight, cook dinner for two.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  “THE CASSEROLE NEEDS to come out of the oven at six-thirty and rest at least fifteen minutes before you eat. Otherwise, the cream sauce won’t have a chance to set, and the chicken and noodles will run everywhere. Any questions?”

  “For the tenth time, Tilly, I understand,” Beck said with a hefty, put-upon sigh. “Plus, you left the instructions on the refrigerator. In red ink.”

  Jedidiah Tillman—Tilly to his friends and anyone who wanted to keep their teeth—raised an eyebrow, his burly, tattooed arms crossed over a chest wide enough to comfortably serve eight for dinner. He didn’t look like a typical housekeeper, because he wasn’t. Beck paid his salary, and he kept the three-story home gleaming from top to bottom, but Tilly would always be more a friend than an employee.

  Which meant the ex-Marine master sergeant wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.

  “What happened the last time I left dinner in the oven?”

  “The lasagna burned,” Beck admitted. “With good reason. The pipe burst under Mom’s sink. Was I supposed to let her kitchen flood?”

  “No,” Tilly conceded. “Moms always take top priority. But first, turn off the oven and save the fire department an unnecessary trip because your neighbor reported smoke billowing out the window.”

  “I made up for their wasted time with a hefty contribution to the new fire truck fund.”

  “Mm.” Tilly didn’t sound impressed—he rarely was. “Salad’s in the fridge. Add my special dressin
g at the last minute and toss.”

  “Dressing, toss. No problem.”

  “Maybe you should let Sawyer handle the salad.”

  “Go home before I kick your ass.”

  Tilly didn’t dignify the threat with an answer. The idea Beck could take down the mountain man singlehanded was too ridiculous to warrant more than a mild snort.

  “Give me more of a head’s up next time.” Tilly hung his apron on a hook in the pantry. “I’ll cook your lady a real meal.”

  “Sawyer’s a friend.”

  “She’s a lady. Yes?”

  One pointed look from Tilly made Beck want to lower his head and kick the floor like a guilty eight-year-old.

  “Yes,” he grumbled.

  “Then what’s your point?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  Tilly’s lips twitched before he broke into a huge, jovial smile. Under all the gruff and muscle, he was a pussycat. Or as the women of Eatonville liked to say, a big, sexy, intimidating marshmallow. Beck saw no reason to argue.

  “Serve the peach cobbler with the fresh-churned vanilla ice cream. I’ll take care of the dishes in the morning.” Tilly slapped Beck on the back. “And lighten up. You’re about to entertain a beautiful woman, not have a tooth pulled.”

  Beck didn’t respond because there was nothing to say without spilling Sawyer’s private information. If the residents of Eatonville knew the contents of her husband’s will, the details would have spread all over town long ago.

  Now that he knew Sawyer’s secrets, he couldn’t blame her for holding them close.

  Alone, Beck checked the oven before setting the timer on his phone. A storm front had settled over the town, bringing a steady, welcome fall of rain and ruling out dinner on the back deck.

  Always one step ahead, Tilly left the table set for two with blue-rimmed china plates and crystal goblets. A bachelor with no immediate plans for a change in his marital situation, tonight was one of the rare times the formal dining room saw any action.