Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend Book 2)

by Ivy Layne

  “So?”

  His raised eyebrow was so hot my imagination ditched the board shorts and wallowed in the thought of Royal naked. Naked and wet. Wait, what had he asked? “Um, if it was just the two of us? Maybe a bikini. If anyone else is around, definitely a one piece.”

  “I'll ban them all from the pool if it gets me you in a bikini.” Distracted by thoughts of what Royal and I could do mostly naked, I didn't notice as the gardens transitioned from a formal parterre design into rolling flower beds that welcomed the approaching forest.

  In fact, as I paid more attention, I realized that the forest had well overgrown its original boundaries, small saplings and waist-high weeds taking over what I imagined were once gorgeously abundant flower beds.

  The path left the gardens and crossed through a stretch of overgrown grass and weeds, the gravel we walked on thinner and spotty as if it hadn't been refreshed or raked in a long time. Before I knew it, we were in the woods. Here the path was narrower with even less gravel but still clear enough to follow.

  The woods enveloped us, leaves rustling in the wind, insects chattering. Now and then a branch would break, signaling the presence of a squirrel or maybe a deer. “Do you hike much?” I asked. “Right now, I'm thinking about how long it's been for me. J.T. and I used to hike all the time, but then work got in the way. I can't remember the last time we hit a trail.”

  Royal reached to take my elbow as I scrambled over a fallen log. “Same here. I pretty much grew up rambling around these woods. Even after I started at The Inn, I hiked the trails there at least once a week, but lately, it seems like I spend all my time behind a desk.”

  “I'm glad I love my job,” I said, “but sometimes I think I like it too much.”

  “Exactly. Do you want to go for a hike the next time we both have a day off?”

  “I'd love to.”

  Royal took my hand, tugging me closer so that we walked the narrow trail side by side. “What else do you like to do when you aren't working? “

  “Oh, not much, really. Watch movies, I like to read. Go out with a friend if we can get our schedules to match up. And—” My shoulder hitched in a sheepish half-shrug. “I like to mess around in the kitchen. Trying new recipes, flavor combinations. Just playing, I guess. It's more fun when I'm not working. Less pressure. I love baking for work, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it's fun to do it for me. Just to see what's going to happen.”

  “I bet you get your best recipes that way.”

  “You'd be right. Sometimes what I come up with is inedible, but that's the fun of experimenting. I can't wait until we can add tables at Sweetheart and I can start playing with a lunch menu. I—”

  I was going to say something else, but I have no idea what. All words were swept from my mind as we stepped into the clearing surrounding the watchtower.

  Now I understood why they called it a watchtower. Set on a thrust of granite that lifted most of the clearing a good fifteen feet above the path, the entire building looked as if it had grown organically from the mountain itself. The watchtower was only one room in size, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet, but it was tall. Really tall.

  We climbed steps carved into the granite, wide and deep enough to have withstood well over a century of use. Not that they'd been used recently. Weeds had taken root in every available crack and fissure, leaving the surface slippery.

  Royal took my elbow. “Didn't realize the steps would be this bad. I don't want you to slip.”

  “I'm good,” I assured him, but I liked that he was there, just in case. The grass was damp and my borrowed sneakers weren't the best fit.

  I was only a little out of breath by the time we reached the door. I tilted my head back and stared up. And up. The entire building was three stories. The first two stories were made of stacked stone with a few narrow windows, every one of them dingy with dust.

  From the outside, it looked like each level was taller than normal, putting the third well above the trees. And what a third level it was. Where the first two were solid granite except for those dusty windows, the third was all glass framed in dark wood with barely a roofline to obscure the view. Oddly, while the glass didn't exactly sparkle, it wasn't dull with grime like the first two levels.

  “The view from up there must be incredible. I bet you can see all the way to Asheville.”

  “Not quite that far, but the view is amazing. My great-great-grandfather built this place. His excuse was that we needed to watch out for forest fires. I don't think he ever ended up stationing someone here full time, I think he mostly built it because he wanted to.”

  “Whatever the reason, it's gorgeous.”

  Royal looked up, for a moment lost in thought. A drop of water hit my head. Then another. The sky was still clear mostly, but clouds clung to the treetops to the east. The sprinkles didn't alarm me—showers sprang up in the mountains without notice all the time, dropping rain and disappearing as quickly as they'd arrived.

  Royal pulled a key from his pocket.

  “Do you want to see if this key works before that rain kicks in? I have to check a few things for Griffen, and we can wait out the weather.”

  “Sure.” I thought of my brand-new dress and the dust that was likely everywhere in the watchtower. I'd have to be careful because I really, really wanted to see the inside.

  Royal's key turned in the lock with only a little jiggling. The first floor of the watchtower wasn't as dusty as I expected. Maybe because it was bare of furniture except for a few ancient-looking trunks shoved up against the walls. It was dim inside, not a light bulb or lamp to be found.

  Answering the question I hadn't asked, Royal said, “No electricity out here. There used to be some oil lamps around. Probably upstairs. Do you want to go up?”

  “Absolutely.” I followed Royal to the tight spiral staircase in one corner of the room.

  “I haven't been out here in years. It was off-limits when I was a teenager. Prentice had it all boarded up so we couldn't sneak in behind his back. Let me get to the second floor before you come up just in case any of these stairs are loose.”

  The place might have been dusty, but the spiral staircase was solid as a rock. The second floor was almost as empty as the first and equally as dusty. No trunks up here, just a folding card table and some chairs. This room looked like it was used as seldom as the first.

  Royal made a few notes on his phone, probably for Griffen. The spiral stairs continued one more flight up to the third floor. That was the one I couldn't wait to see.

  I followed Royal again and stopped well before the top, surprised to find a solid ceiling above my head. I was even more surprised to see Royal raise a hand and push, lifting a neat square from the ceiling. A trapdoor.

  We climbed through and emerged in what felt like a completely different building. A narrow iron rail surrounded the trapdoor, most likely to prevent an accidental fall through the open hole in the floor. Up here there was a lot less dust, and there was no question what Royal's father had used the watchtower for.

  A king-size bed dominated the space, hewn of stripped pine logs polished to a golden shine. There weren't any sheets on the bed, but the mattress looked almost brand-new. I couldn't imagine how they got it up there in the first place. Not through the spiral stairs, that was for sure.

  There was another trunk against the wall, and what I thought might be an oversized closet in one corner of the room. Wine glasses sat on a table in another corner, an empty bottle between them.

  It wasn't the furnishings that drew my attention. It was the view, even more magnificent than I'd expected. The Blue Ridge Mountains spread around us, a rolling blanket of green in every direction, the slowly setting sun spreading shadows and illuminating the treetops, turning the mountains into a kaleidoscope of green.

  “So beautiful,” I breathed, mostly to myself.

  Royal came up beside me,
his arm settling around my shoulder. “It really is. When you see these mountains every day you kind of take them for granted. But seeing them like this, with you…” He turned to face me, his eyes serious. “It reminds me how lucky I am.”

  His hand came up to cup my face, the side of his thumb stroking my cheek. I leaned into him, his steady, solemn expression filling an empty place in my heart. Filling it so full it hurt.

  “I know what you mean,” I said, my breath so tight in my chest the words barely squeaked out. “I'm feeling pretty lucky, too, right now.”

  Royal's eyes crinkled at the edges, chasing off his serious expression. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Oh, really? Feeling lucky? How lucky?”

  “This lucky.” I wound my arms around his neck, tilting my head up and tugging him closer. It felt like a million years since I had his lips on mine. As always, Royal didn't disappoint me.

  His kiss started out gentle, his lips caressing mine, teasing them open, though I didn't need the tease. So many kisses and so little of anything else. I wanted Royal. Wanted his kiss, his touch. Wanted everything.

  I made a little sound in the back of my throat and the kiss turned hungry, Royal's mouth demanding. My fingers curled, gripping his shirt. Our teeth clashed, tongues tangling, but neither of us pulled back. I arched into him, needing to get closer. More. I wanted more.

  I was so lost in Royal's kiss, I almost missed it.

  A low thump, like metal hitting wood. Then more—a harsh scrape of metal on metal and the muffled thud of footsteps.

  Footsteps.

  Royal got his head together before I did. He dropped his arms from around me and nudged me behind him, eyes scouring the room.

  It didn't take us long to spot the trapdoor, flush with the floor. I thought we'd left it open. Royal must have agreed because he bolted across the room and yanked on the handle. The trapdoor didn't move.

  He stared at it for a long moment before straightening and moving to the windows facing the path back to Heartstone. I joined him just in time to see a tall figure with gilded blond hair disappear into the trees.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Daisy

  That fucking son of a bitch. Goddammit.” Royal spun around, eyes searching the room once again.

  “What? What happened? Who was that?” Watching Royal pace back and forth, I had the distinct feeling he knew a lot more about whatever was going on than I did.

  “It was Bryce. And I'm almost positive he just locked us in here.” Royal went back to the trapdoor and yanked again with no better luck than the first time. “It's supposed to lock from above, not below,” he muttered. “Bastard must have jammed it.”

  My hands automatically went to my pockets for my phone. Nothing. This dress didn't have pockets, and even if it had, I'd left my phone in Royal's car. I hadn't planned on taking any calls while at dinner, and I'd figured it was close enough if I needed it. Close, maybe, but it might as well have been on the moon for all the good it would do me now.

  “What do we do? What about your phone? Can you call the house?”

  Royal pulled his phone from his pocket, scowling at the screen. “No service.” He tried to dial anyway, but the call didn't go through. “Useless,” he grumbled, tossing the phone onto the table.

  I watched Royal pace around the room, looking out of the windows as he moved, studying the space for anything he could use to pry open the trapdoor. There wasn't much. And by not much, I mean there wasn't anything. The small room I'd taken for a closet turned out to be a rough bathroom with a composting toilet, a few jugs of water, and some towels. Good to know we had a bathroom since we were locked in here, but I would rather have had a way out.

  Royal unearthed several bottles of wine and a few blankets from one of the trunks against the wall. In another, he found three of the oil lamps he'd mentioned, neatly stowed beside a box of matches and a can of oil.

  There wasn't a single tool, radio, phone, walkie-talkie, or carrier pigeon. No way to break through the trapdoor and no way to let anyone know we were stuck. It didn't make sense.

  “Why would Bryce lock us in the tower? Just to be a jerk?” From everything I'd heard, being a jerk seem to be Bryce's raison d'être, but trapping us in the abandoned watchtower seemed a little extreme.

  Royal took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling and thinking furiously, his hands wrapped behind his head. He exhaled slowly, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “Daisy, I'm so sorry this happened. If I'd had any idea he was following us, I never would have brought you here.”

  “It's not your fault, Royal. I just don't get why he'd do it. Is he that much of an ass?”

  “He is, but that's not why he did it.” Royal started to pace the room again, checking out the windows.

  “What are you looking for? Do you think he'll come back?” Royal stopped and met my eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “What? What's going on that you don't want to tell me?”

  “It's not that I don't want to tell you,” Royal admitted, “it's that I'm not sure if I'm right, and if I am no one is supposed to know, including me.”

  “Can we get out of here? On our own, I mean.”

  Royal leveled a heavy glare on the closed trapdoor. “Unlikely.”

  “Then you might as well tell me why we're here. I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Fair enough. I'll tell you over wine and cake.” He glanced up at the beamed ceiling a good ten feet above our heads, then to the increasing rain outside. “At least the roof doesn't leak.” Royal cracked one of the smaller windows and a gust of damp, clean air swirled through the watchtower.

  I cleared the small table, wiping off the thin layer of dust covering it. Royal set out a plastic container holding two generous slices of cake along with a corked bottle of white wine, two plastic, stemless wine glasses, two forks, and two linen napkins. Before he sat, he lit the oil lamps, and a golden glow spread through the watchtower.

  “I like a man who comes prepared.” I sat, taking a sip of the crisp, sweet wine.

  Royal winked. “Oh, I'm prepared for all sorts of things.” I liked the sound of that. He glanced at the trap door again. “Except for that.”

  “About that…” I prompted.

  “Yeah, about that. You've heard about my father's will, right?”

  “Hope told me a little. That he put all of your inheritances in trusts with Griffen as trustee, and you have to live at Heartstone for five years before you can get the money.”

  “That's part of it. We can't sleep away from the house more than a few nights a year. Prentice created a separate trust for the house. That's where the bulk of his assets went. Houses like Heartstone are a bitch to keep running. Impossible without a truckload of cash. If we don't follow his rules, the balance of our trusts is put into the trust for Heartstone, and we're barred from all family property, including our places of employment if we work for the company. Which all of us do.”

  “That's…” I tried to think of a word for it. On one hand, forcing his children to live in the family mansion wasn't the cruelest thing Prentice could have done, especially if the reward was a big chunk of cash. On the other, threatening to take both their home and their livelihoods for not doing as they were told… “That's weird. Could you contest it?”

  Royal let out a laugh tinged with bitterness. “That was the 'stinger', as Prentice called it. If we contest the will, everything goes to Bryce.”

  I stared back at him in shock. “Everything? Did your father like Bryce?”

  Another laugh, this one more than tinged with bitterness. “Hell, no. He thought Bryce was as much of an asshole as the rest of us. Prentice knew we wouldn't follow his bullshit rules for his sake, but we'd do almost anything to keep Bryce from getting the Sawyer estate. Bryce would burn through every cent before we could stop him.”

  “But as long as you don't contest
it, everything is safe from Bryce, right?” I was more convinced than ever that Prentice Sawyer had been a major bastard, but I still didn't get why his will would drive Bryce to lock us in the watchtower.

  “Based on what the family lawyer told us, yes. But after he was done reading the will to the rest of us, he sent us away and kept Griffen and Hope for a second, private meeting. No one but the three of them knows what was said, but when they were done, Griffen and Hope were married, and they haven't been apart since.”

  Royal didn't elaborate on what that might mean. He leaned in and took a hefty bite of cake, leaving me to work out the puzzle on my own.

  Clearly, there had been further stipulations on Hope and Griffen. Hope had been closed-mouthed about the whole thing with me, at least about what had driven her to marry Griffen so quickly. I hadn't pressed because she'd been so happy, and Griffen clearly doted on her.

  Almost as an afterthought, Royal added, “When Griffen got run off the road, West thought it might have been me. Hope spilled that I wasn't in the line of succession anymore. If anything happens to Griffen before he has an heir, Bryce inherits. Though Harvey—our lawyer—swears he hasn't told him anything about that part of the will.”

  “Good thing Hope is pregnant then,” I said, the implications spinning in my brain. Suddenly a puzzle piece clicked into place. “You think there's a stipulation about Griffen and Hope being together. Like with the rest of you and living at the house.”

  Royal took a slow sip of wine. “I do. They've been joined at the hip, which could be normal for newlyweds, especially with Hope pregnant and not feeling well. I don't think Griffen would willingly leave her side right now, even if he could. But back at the start they weren't exactly head over heels and still, they stuck together. I always thought the will forced them to get married—you know Hope's uncle Edgar was practically Prentice's partner. Their businesses are so intertwined. They're like two feudal kings, bartering an heir to keep the wealth intact.”