Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend Book 2)

by Ivy Layne

  Sweet Heart: The Hearts of Sawyers Bend, Book Two

  Copyright © 2020 by Ivy Layne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Graphics by Stacy

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ivylayne.com

  Also By Ivy Layne

  THE HEARTS OF SAWYERS BEND

  Stolen Heart

  Sweet Heart

  Scheming Heart

  The Untangled Series

  Unraveled

  Undone

  Uncovered

  THE WINTERS SAGA

  The Billionaire’s Secret Heart (Novella)

  The Billionaire’s Secret Love (Novella)

  The Billionaire’s Pet

  The Billionaire’s Promise

  The Rebel Billionaire

  The Billionaire’s Secret Kiss (Novella)

  The Billionaire’s Angel

  Engaging the Billionaire

  Compromising the Billionaire

  The Counterfeit Billionaire

  Series Extras: ivylayne.com/extras

  The Billionaire Club

  The Wedding Rescue

  The Courtship Maneuver

  The Temptation Trap

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue: Part One

  Epilogue Part Two

  Also By Ivy Layne

  About Ivy Layne

  Chapter One

  Daisy

  I should have brought a smaller basket. I fumbled, trying to balance the wide, woven basket against my hip as I searched through the dark for the staff entrance to The Inn.

  Another of my bright ideas that didn’t quite pan out the way it was supposed to. Lately, I seemed to have a lot of them. I’d been to The Inn at Sawyers Bend hundreds of times, but I’d always come through the front as a guest of the restaurant and bar.

  Today, I was delivering what I hoped was a tempting selection of treats from my bakery, an example of the kind of thing I might provide for The Inn to leave in guest rooms or sell in the small shop by the front desk. Anything to expand my client base. Right now, I needed every penny I could get.

  I usually had a lull in the early morning after the first wave of baking was done and before our doors opened for the day. Grams could handle our first few customers, and I’d figured I could drop off the basket and get back to Sweetheart Bakery in time for the opening rush. And I might if I could find the staff entrance.

  At the back of the enormous timber and stone building, I stared over the gardens, lit with spotlights here and there. Even in the dark, the gardens were beautiful, flowing from the back of The Inn, the gravel paths leading to benches, to soft grass perfect for a picnic, and further to the guest cabins scattered along the river.

  Fatigue pulled at me, and for a moment, I wanted nothing more than to sink onto one of the pretty iron benches, unwrap one of my own cookies, and just take a break.

  Not yet. Not for a while, maybe. I’d been running on too little sleep for too long, but I couldn’t stop until I’d fixed the mess I’d gotten myself into.

  Hitching the basket higher on my hip, I watched as tendrils of light from the rising sun crept through the garden. One more minute. Then I’d get it together, find the staff entrance, drop off my basket, and get back to work. As I soaked in the beauty of early morning in the mountains, the burble of the nearby river, and the mist rising off the gardens, I realized where I’d gone wrong.

  Of course, the staff entrance wouldn’t be at the back of the building. During the day this space was mainly used by guests. I’d passed through the guest parking lot as I’d walked from the bakery and had completely forgotten about the smaller parking lot on the other side of The Inn. That must be where I’d find the staff entrance.

  My energy renewed, I awkwardly re-balanced the basket and started along the gravel path to the far side of The Inn, hoping I wasn’t leaving a trail of prettily wrapped brownies and cookies behind me. Approaching the corner, I took the narrower path to my right, marked with a small sign that read STAFF ONLY, hoping I’d find the door I was looking for.

  I wasn’t expecting to run into a wall. With a yelp, I backpedaled, scrambling as the basket tipped, trying to get my feet under me before I landed on my butt.

  Not a wall. A man. Tall, in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, he barreled into me, the cardboard box in his arms bumping my basket and sending it tumbling.

  I winced at the thuds of brownies hitting the grass and shouted, “Hey, wait a sec,” but the man flung out an arm, shoving me hard. So much for not landing on my butt. My feet flew out from under me, brownies and cookies raining down on the wet grass.

  I stared in stunned amazement at the figure leaning over me, his features hidden by the deep hood of his sweatshirt. For the first time, my heart chilled. I’d assumed he was an employee coming in to work, or a guest out for an early run. That he’d apologize for bumping into me and we’d laugh and go our separate ways.

  He said nothing, only loomed over me, face shadowed, radiating menace.

  My heels kicked at the grass, hands scrabbling to pull me backward, away from this sudden threat. The man in the sweatshirt hesitated, his hands flexing on the box he held before whirling and racing around the corner, exactly where I’d been headed. He disappeared from sight, and I let out a breath of relief.

  I should have collected what was left of my treats and gone back to the bakery to try again another time. Or brought what I could salvage to the front desk and dropped it off there.

  I should have done anything other than follow the stranger with the box.

  I don
’t know why I did, why I was so sure he was up to no good, or what I thought I could do about it.

  I followed anyway. My life had given me good instincts for people who were up to no good. I didn’t always listen—and wasn’t that biting me in the ass these days—but when I did, I was usually right.

  I rounded the corner of The Inn and found the man in the sweatshirt leaning over a metal square protruding from the side of the building. It looked like an HVAC vent or an air intake. He was opening the box, tilting it toward the vent as if getting ready to dump something inside. What the hell?

  I fumbled for my phone. My pockets were empty. Crap, I must have dropped it when I’d hit the ground. That would have been the time to run, to head for the front desk and a working phone.

  Running would have been smart. Smart, but too slow. If I ran, he’d be gone by the time I got the police on the phone, and it would be too late to stop whatever he was doing with that box.

  He hadn’t seen me. I still had time to get away. Instead, I called out, “Hey! Do you work for The Inn? I’m calling security!”

  Stupid, I know. Alone in the dark with a stranger I’d already figured out was up to no good, and instead of going for help, I shouted at him.

  Not my best move.

  Not my best move, but it worked.

  The cardboard box fell from his hands. In the growing light of the rising sun, I watched in horror as it spilled to the ground, a flood of shiny black cockroaches disappearing into the grass. Oh, gross.

  Had he been about to dump those into the air intake at The Inn? The ramifications hit me in a split second. I ran an establishment that served food and beverages. I knew exactly how bad a flood of cockroaches would be. On top of that, the sheer size of The Inn would make it nearly impossible to root them all out.

  Plus, cockroaches. Yuck.

  All of that hit me in a flash just before I turned to run. Where, I didn’t know. He was between me and the fastest route to the front desk and a phone. I took off anyway. Anywhere was better than alone in the dark with a pissed off stranger.

  I turned on my heel to bolt. I made it three whole steps before a hand closed over the back of my shirt, yanking me down to the ground. I landed hard, the breath whooshing from my lungs. The man in the sweatshirt was on me a second later, his arm raised, hand balled into a fist.

  If he was thinking straight, he would have run. I guess that made two of us who weren’t thinking. I twisted, trying to throw off his weight, but he held me down easily, muttering, “Dumb, nosy bitch fuckin’ gettin’ in my way.”

  He swung his fist, catching me on the cheekbone. Pain exploded, my head flying to the side, wrenching my neck. I’d never been hit in the face before. It hurt. A lot.

  He swung again, his fist connecting. A moan slipped out as I struggled to raise my arms to protect my face, unable to knock him off of me.

  I’m not tiny, about average size and weight, but he was a lot bigger. He hit me again, this time his fist bouncing off the arm I’d managed to pull free. I screamed with everything I had, knowing sound was my only defense.

  Sucking in air for another scream, I braced for the next punch and rolled as his weight was gone, dragged off of me.

  I heard a low, “What the fuck?”

  I knew that voice. I stopped screaming and sagged into the damp grass, lungs heaving as I tried to catch my breath. A heavy fist struck flesh with a thud, followed by a pathetic moan. Opening my eyes, I watched as Royal Sawyer pinned my assailant to the ground, one knee in the man’s back, and wrenched both of the man’s arms behind him.

  “Daisy?” Royal asked, shooting a quick glance my way. “Daisy Hutchins? Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” I said slowly. “I was coming by to leave some cookies—Hope said I should drop them off with my card—and I couldn’t find the door and I saw him. He—”

  “Slow down, Daisy. Catch your breath for a second.” His voice was low and soothing. Strong. I lay back in the grass, letting the absolute authority in his tone chase off my fears. No one was going to get through Royal. Everything was okay.

  “Hope said you’d be by,” he went on. “Why were you back here? Who is this guy?”

  I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts together, and sat up. “I thought I should come in through the staff entrance. I was going to leave the basket so someone could deliver it to your offices before you got in, but it was dark and I realized I didn’t know exactly where the door was. I guess I was wandering a little, and then I saw that guy. Oh, God, I think he was trying to dump cockroaches into your air intake system. He was over there—”

  I pointed at the spilled box on the ground by the HVAC equipment outside the building.

  Royal swore under his breath. “Can you get up? Could you do me a favor?”

  I nodded, still trying to get my bearings and, to be honest, a little intimidated by Royal Sawyer. As first meetings go, this wasn’t the one I would have chosen.

  I was hoping he’d get my beautifully presented basket of treats along with the brochure and proposal I’d tucked into the basket and ask me to The Inn for a meeting. I would have shown up dressed like the businesswoman I was, not in a flour-streaked t-shirt with my hair in a messy poof. I definitely would not have been covered in grass stains with a rapidly swelling cheek. Damn.

  We’d never officially met, but I knew who Royal was. We’d both grown up in Sawyers Bend. We knew who everybody was. That’s a small town for you. I’m Daisy Hutchins, granddaughter of Eleanor Hutchins, the owner of Sweetheart Bakery. My amazing baked goods aside, I wasn’t anyone of importance.

  He was Royal Sawyer, one of the Sawyers of Sawyers Bend. As his name indicated, around here he was practically a prince. Not that he sat around polishing the crown jewels. He and his brother Tenn ran The Inn at Sawyers Bend, and given the way it had taken off in the last decade, they did a hell of a job at it.

  Maybe he wasn’t actual royalty, but he was still a Sawyer. Wealthy, connected, and did I mention hot? There wasn’t a single ugly Sawyer in the whole family.

  Their father had been a bastard, but a handsome one, and he’d chosen his wives—according to Grams—mainly based on looks. He hadn’t been able to hold on to any of his women for long, but they sure had made some pretty children.

  Not that I spent a lot of time ogling male Sawyers. I was too busy for that.

  If I did, I would have chosen Royal. Thick, wavy, dark hair he wore a little too long. Deep blue eyes. Broad shoulders with a lean, powerful build. A smile that was all dangerous charm, one he used easily and often.

  I was kind of shocked he knew my name. I’ll admit I was a little lightheaded, not just from getting punched in the face but from the focus in those blue, blue eyes narrowed directly on me.

  Chapter Two

  Daisy

  Daisy? You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, really.” I got to my feet, relieved my head stayed clear.

  What a dork. There I was, sitting on my butt in the wet grass mooning over Royal Sawyer when there were more important problems at hand. Like the man in the sweatshirt and the cockroaches in that box.

  “Can you grab my phone?” Royal asked, those sharp eyes locked on my face, narrowing as they took in the swelling of my cheek.

  I nodded and spotted the phone strapped to his arm, the earbuds in his ears. Taking in his grass-stained running shoes and the athletic shorts currently stretched across his muscled thighs… Pay attention, Daisy. Eyes off his legs. Not easy with legs like that.

  Royal must have been out for an early run, just like I’d thought the man in the sweatshirt was when I’d first seen him. I guess that explained how Royal kept that lean, strong body when he spent most of his day behind a desk.

  Trying not to notice the clean, salty scent of him, I leaned in and unstrapped his phone from his arm. I definitely did not notice the bunch o
f his bicep under my fingers. Not at all.

  “Would you pull up West in the contacts and give him a call, tell him we need him over here?”

  I angled the phone at Royal’s face to unlock the screen and found West in the list of favorites. Weston Garfield was the police chief of Sawyers Bend and apparently a friend of Royal’s. With a few words, he was on his way.

  “Do you want me to call Tenn?”

  “If you don’t mind,” he drawled. The comment could have been sarcastic or impatient, but the smile curving his lips told me it was neither. How could he be smiling when he had sweatshirt guy pinned on the ground and that box a few feet away?

  The box. Tenn answered, and I filled him in as I crossed the grass to the box, still laying where he’d dropped it, mostly on its side. As I’d hoped, a few cockroaches still scrabbled at the bottom. Gingerly, I nudged it upright to keep them inside.

  I moved to hand Royal back his phone, then shoved it in my pocket when he shook his head.

  “Hang on to that for now, would you? Do you have a few minutes before you have to get back to the bakery? West is going to want to take your statement.”

  “I’m good for now. I just have to find my phone and text Grams. J.T. is working today, so he can help her out.” The guy who’d hit me was lying motionless under Royal, his chest jerking as he sucked in breath. “Why would he want to dump cockroaches into your air vent? Is he trying to get you shut down?”

  “That’s a good question,” Royal said conversationally. “I’m sure we’re going to have all sorts of questions for this guy. I’d like to know if this is the first time he’s tried something like this. And if it was his idea or if he’s working for someone else. But West is going to have plenty of time to ask while he’s rotting in jail.”

  “Fuck you,” came from the face shoved in the grass.

  “Creative. I expected better from someone who was about to dump roaches into the HVAC.”

  Tennessee Sawyer came around the corner of the building, almost a carbon copy of his brother, except Royal’s hair was more of an auburn brown and Tenn’s was pure espresso. Tenn had the same build as Royal, the same perfect Sawyer bone structure, but he’d never done it for me the way Royal did.