ALMOST BLUE

by Williams, Mary J.

  When Sawyer fell in love with David, she promised forever and though their vows said, ‘til death do us part, her feelings didn’t die with him.

  Beck deserved to be loved without reservation. Until Sawyer knew her heart was open to him without reservation, she would keep her thoughts, and feelings, to herself.

  As if he sensed a change in her mood, Beck let out a hefty sigh.

  “I’d ask if you want to make out, but I don’t want to wrinkle my suit. You get rowdy when excited.”

  “Maybe on the way back,” she said, hiding a smile.

  “Go easy on me,” he warned. “I’m not a young man.”

  “Poor baby.”

  Sawyer walked her fingers up his thigh. As she dipped between his legs, his response to her touch was instantaneous.

  “You’re right,” she whispered, cupping his rapidly growing erection. “Practically ancient.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE BEVERLY HILLS mansion occupied by generations of Hale descendants looked the same as Sawyer remembered. Twelve Italian marble steps led to a solid oak front door stained a stark, pristine white. A line of eight columns flanked the entrance like soldiers protecting the pampered and privileged, while the first and second-floor windows gleamed in the sunlight, not a smudge or speck of dirt to be found.

  Yet, somehow for all the ornate grandeur, the house seemed smaller, less intimidating. As Sawyer sat in the passenger seat of the rented SUV, she tried to figure out the difference between the moment she walked out the door for good and today, almost six years later.

  Then a light went on in Sawyer’s head, bright and clear. The house hadn’t changed—she had.

  She turned to Beck who sat patiently behind the wheel, the motor running in case she changed her mind. He didn’t ask or exert his influence. He was there if she needed him, to stand strong by her side, or pick her up if she weakened.

  “I’m no longer a confused, grief-stricken, twenty-year-old young woman,” Sawyer said.

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “I finally have the maturity and backbone to kick Camille Hale’s boney butt.”

  “I never doubted you for a second.”

  “Glad one of us was certain.”

  Sawyer flipped down the visor and used the mirror to check her lipstick and hair.

  Beck jogged around the car. He opened her door and helped her to her feet then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. Together, they started up the steps.

  “Not too late,” Sawyer said. “No shame in waiting in the car.”

  Beck chuckled, letting her know without words just how ridiculous he found her suggestion. He pushed the doorbell and raised an eyebrow when the first bars of Ave Maria rang out loud and clear.

  “And to think, ours only goes, ding, dong.”

  Sawyer muffled a snort as the door opened. She recognized the butler, the same somber man who’d haunted the Hale hallways for over five decades. If she remembered correctly, according to the more talkative members of the household staff, he hadn’t cracked a smile since the early seventies.

  “Hello, Alfred.”

  He inclined his head with a short, barely perceptible nod. Sawyer always suspected the reason Alfred perfected the slight movement had little to do with his over-starched collar and everything to do with the permanent stick up his ass.

  “Miss Sawyer.” Alfred ignored Beck. “If you’ll follow me to the sitting room, Mrs. Hale will be with you shortly.”

  “Fun guy,” Beck said once they were alone. “What’s laughing boy’s story?”

  “He thinks Nixon received a raw deal.”

  “Richard Nixon?”

  “Like everyone else in the Hale household, Alfred knows how to hold a grudge.”

  Beck laughed, and Sawyer felt some of her tension ease. She would have been fine on her own. However, with him along, she found a way to cull a bit of mirth from an otherwise humorless situation.

  As he rubbed his chin, Beck picked up a carved figurine from the table near the door.

  “Nice do-dad. Heavy.”

  “Ivory,” Camille Hale said as she entered the room.

  Trailing behind his mother came Mills Hale. Sawyer wasn’t surprised to see David’s brother. Except when he followed her to New York, he tended to stay close to Mommy’s coattails.

  Mills wasn’t tall nor short, fat nor thin. Other than a weak chin and hair the color of carrots, nothing about him stood out. With little to say under the best of circumstances, he moved to a chair, sat and stayed silent.

  On the other hand, once you met Camille Hale, you didn’t forget her. Today, she wore a tasteful dress in oyster white—her signature color. With effortless ease, she glided across the room. The mark of a true lady, she once told Sawyer, was to hold your head high, your shoulders back, and never, under any circumstances, let your hips move.

  Sawyer never had the nerve to ask if Camille applied the same principles during sex.

  Not a wrinkle in sight—on her face or dress—Camille changed clothes several times a day to maintain the unruffled persona she presented to the world.

  “Interesting.” Beck nodded. As he sent Sawyer a telling look, he returned the life-like polar bear to its place of honor.

  “Carved by Eskimos over a hundred years ago. My husband’s great-grandfather acquired the piece while in Alaska during the gold rush.”

  “Acquired is an interesting term.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Somehow, with each word, Camille’s nose rose farther into the air.

  “Just saying, after everything white men acquired, maybe the native Alaskans would like something back. You could start with the bear and see where things go from there.”

  Camille ignored Beck and turned her icy gaze on Sawyer.

  “You didn’t mention you planned to bring… a friend.”

  “Beck is a friend. And my husband.”

  Sawyer didn’t blink, matching Camille’s frigid smile with one of her own. However, she couldn’t help muttering under her breath, “Dare you to say the word husband and not choke on your own bile.”

  “Did you say something?” Camille asked, one perfectly arched brow lifted toward the ceiling.

  “Had a little something caught in my throat.” Sawyer coughed to cover her lie. “Camille Hale, I’d like you to meet Beck Kramer. Oh, and the man in the corner is Mills, David’s brother.”

  Mills blinked.

  “Ah, yes.” Camille lifted one perfectly tweezed brow. “The failed rock and roll singer.”

  “Ouch,” Beck gasped. He clutched at his chest as though the pointed putdown hit the mark.

  “Very amusing,” Camille sighed. “Your taste in men leaves something to be desired.”

  “Beck is a better man than I deserve and more than capable of defending himself.” She smiled, giving him the floor. “Anything you’d like to say?”

  “Not really.” Beck shrugged. “Except one thing. I’m not good enough for Sawyer, not by a long shot. However, when you disparage her taste in men, don’t forget, your son loved her, very much.”

  “David was young and foolish. Sawyer was a mistake he compounded by marrying her then running off to play war.”

  Play war? Sawyer was a heartbeat away from dropping Camille like the hot pile of steaming dog doo she was when Beck intervened. He took her hand, massaging the back with his thumb until her fingers unclenched.

  “Question. Why listen to her?” Beck asked. “Her words are empty and meaningless.”

  “Thank you for the reminder.” Sawyer squeezed his hand. “My fault for allowing myself to get sidetracked.”

  “Happens to the best of us.” Beck winked. “Let her have it.”

  Camille, unimpressed by the show of affection and unity, flicked a non-existent piece of lint from her dress.

  “Whatever you have to say will need to wait until my lawyer arrives.”

  “I’m here
so you won’t need legal counsel, Camille.” Sawyer opened her purse. “David’s will, the last page states—”

  “Don’t bother. Every word is etched into my broken heart.”

  “I do believe David’s death hit you hard, Camille. However, the loss of the family fortune is what really hurt.”

  “The money was amassed by generations of Hale men and women. You don’t deserve a dime.”

  “Finally, we agree on something,” Sawyer declared.

  “First—and last—time for everything,” Beck chimed in.

  Camille leveled a glare at her unwanted guests.

  “An outsider should not be privy to Hale family business.” She pointed a French-tipped nail at Sawyer, “You barely qualify; he certainly does not.”

  “Privy?” Beck whispered.

  “Shh.” Sawyer shook her head. “Stay on track. Your life may depend on it.”

  “You’re right,” Beck sobered. “The sooner you finish, the sooner we can leave this mausoleum disguised as a house in our dust.”

  “David’s will,” Sawyer continued. “He wanted two things. For me to move on and find happiness again. And to let the money he inherited do some good, rather than buy you another facelift or a trip to the south of France for the winter.”

  “Can’t she afford both luxuries without David’s money?” Beck asked.

  “She can.”

  “How dare you,” Camille gasped.

  “Oh, I dare,” Sawyer assured her. “The terms of the will are easy to understand. Let me be just as clear. I wish David hadn’t felt the need to run my life. However, I’ve found peace with his choices.”

  “I assume you have a point?”

  “Hear me, Camille. If anything happens to Beck between now and the day the money is legally mine, I will sick the police on you so fast, your bleached-blonde hair will turn black again, just like your heart.”

  Something flickered in Camille’s eyes—a momentary loss of cool. Sawyer noticed, as did Beck.

  “Whatever your plan? Stop. Now,” he said. “No matter how careful you are, you’ll leave a trace, everyone does. With nothing to follow but a cyber-blip, the people on my payroll can trace the origin of a fart to the center of a typhoon. Think about what they’ll do with your big, fat carbon footprint.”

  “Camille. Forget the money. Forget me.” Sawyer lowered her voice, the warning in her tone, and words, unmistakable. “Forget my husband. If you don’t, life in prison will be the least of your worries. I’ll personally take you down. Then, Beck’s people will cover my ass. They can, right?”

  “In their sleep,” Beck said. “Finished?”

  “Oh, yes,” Sawyer sighed. “Finally.”

  Camille Hale wasn’t the type to run after anyone. Nor would she screech her displeasure. She remained silent, head high. But as Sawyer took one last look, suddenly the woman who once could intimidate her with a single withering glance, seemed to shrink to nothing right before her eyes.

  In the car, Sawyer felt tired and invigorated all at once. As Beck started the engine, she buckled her seatbelt.

  “I need to admit something.” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad Dalton loaned you his plane.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t smirk. Just because the idea of long lines and cranky fellow passengers doesn’t appeal right now, doesn’t mean I want a plane of my own.”

  “Noted.” Beck shifted the car into second gear. “How are you feeling?”

  “Depends. You were there. Do you think Camille is capable of murder?”

  “Not personally. The son gave me pause.”

  “Mills?” Sawyer frowned. “Why?”

  “Just a feeling. Creepy little guy. Hard to imagine him making a play for anyone.”

  “He did,” she assured Beck.

  “Because his mother pushed.”

  “You think Mills would kill to make Camille happy?”

  “No. However, with the temptation of a billion dollars and change, plus Mommy’s undying gratitude, he might hire a hitman.”

  “Not what I wanted to hear,” Sawyer muttered.

  “Hey, the thought doesn’t exactly make my day.” Beck gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “We put the fear of God in her. Especially you. Hell, you scared me.”

  “What about you? A fart in a typhoon? Really?”

  “I may have exaggerated. But not by much. Between Kai, Tilly, and their network of friends, we’re covered.”

  “Good.” Sawyer relaxed for the first time in hours. “Tilly has your back?”

  “You know he does.”

  “Promise you’ll be careful?”

  “If you will, I will.”

  “Deal.” Sawyer shook his hand. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “I’d like to keep you around for a while.”

  “I’m not going anywhere except back to Eatonville, with you.”

  “Mm,” Sawyer sighed. “Home sounds like heaven.”

  “You really were something.”

  “Felt good to shove some self-righteous anger down Camille’s throat.”

  “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” Beck sang. “Everything I wish I could be.”

  Sawyer’s eyes popped open. The impromptu serenade came out of nowhere, and she wanted to send it back to the same place.

  “One more note of cheesy eighties pop-glop, and I’ll upchuck all over our fancy rental car,” she warned. “Try to get the security deposit back with chunks of this morning’s scrambled eggs stuck between the leather seats.”

  “Totally worth the risk.” Beck cleared his throat and finished in a rich, deep baritone. “I can fly higher than an eagle. ‘Cause you are the wind beneath my wings.”

  “Okay, Bette Midler,” Sawyer chuckled despite herself. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE LEMONADE, TART and sweet, was the perfect balm for Sawyer’s flagging energy. She stood with her back braced against the kitchen counter, gazing out the window. Ringo lay in the shade of a huge oak tree, dreaming doggy dreams.

  Sawyer was tempted to join her favorite overgrown puppy, but she only stopped by the house for a quick shower and a change of clothes before she headed back to the nursery.

  Her day started before the crack of dawn as she and her landscaping crew rushed to finish a backyard water feature before the owner’s annual Halloween party.

  The last pieces came together, and the tropical island themed oasis was complete. With the owners watching, Sawyer held her breath as she turned on the waterfall. She did a silent cheer when the scene she envisioned and sweated to create sprang to life without a glitch or hiccup.

  The client was happy, and Sawyer earned an incentivized bonus for finishing ahead of schedule—money she passed along to her hardworking crew.

  As always, she made one final tour, double checking the details while taking pictures for her growing portfolio. Before she left, Sawyer received an extra thank you from the lady of the house, Jana Reinhardt.

  Calling Sawyer a lifesaver, Jana invited her to the October thirty-first bash. Eatonville’s version of high society, the Reinhardt’s annual Halloween costume extravaganza was considered the social event of the fall.

  Sawyer put her glass in the dishwasher just as a pair of strong arms slid around her waist. She was pulled against a hard, muscled chest and a warm, seeking mouth unerringly found the sweet spot just under her ear, lingering with a sensual kiss.

  “Magic lips,” Sawyer sighed. “Almost as good as my husband’s.”

  “Maybe your husband needs tutoring,” a deep voice teased.

  “Are you volunteering?”

  “Only if the lessons include you.” The whisper sent a shiver down Sawyer’s spine. “Shall we start now?”

  She turned to face him. And oh, what a face. Beck had the kind of good looks guaranteed to make a woman’s heart beat faster. Swoon worthy, some might say and
though Sawyer wasn’t the type to fall at any man’s feet, she couldn’t argue.

  Last week, he put on a suit and adopted the aura of a man who was born to the high life of Beverly Hills. Today, sweaty, with a streak of dirt across one cheek, he carried a working man’s grit and grime with ease.

  Neither persona was an act—simply parts of the whole. Sophisticated and down-to-earth businessman and construction worker. And though he would swear on a stack of Bibles those days were behind him, Beck Kramer possessed an air of rock star cool he would never shake if he lived to be a thousand.

  Beck belonged wherever he chose to hang his hat. Thank goodness, he chose here, in Eatonville, with her.

  “Sorry.” With a sigh of regret and a teasing twinkle in her eyes, she pushed his hands away. “The only man who touches me is my husband.”

  “He’s a lucky guy.”

  “I’m a lucky woman,” she said. “Now, I need a shower. If my husband is so inclined, maybe he’ll join me.”

  Slowly, Sawyer walked across the room, giving him plenty of time to catch up. She was halfway to the door when Beck swooped her into his arms.

  “I can walk, you know,” she laughed.

  “My way is faster.”

  Beck’s long legs ate up the distance between the foyer and their bedroom in record time.

  “I don’t want to break the mood.” To prove her point, Sawyer nibbled his ear. “But you have a show tonight. Do we have time to fool around before your final rehearsal?”

  “Not my show,” Beck said as he pushed open the bathroom door with his booted foot. “The kids worked hard on the music and their performances. Tonight is all about them. And yes, I always have time for you. Always will.”

  Sawyer felt a flutter in the region of her heart. The feeling happened more and more often with greater intensity each time. One look from Beck, and her body would tense with anticipation or melt like butter on a scorching hot day.

  To want someone and be desired in return was a heady feeling. When Sawyer looked into Beck’s clear gray eyes, she had no doubt he desired her. Around him, she felt like a goddess. Adored, respected, admired, sometimes worshiped.