by Mara Jacobs
“Any depth to that? Glass house. Stones?”
“Hmmm. Sounds downright Freudian when you put it that way.”
She smiled, even though he couldn’t see her. “Well, whatever works, I say.”
“Actually, the stones and glass house came a little later, after I got over the worst hump.”
“And how did you do that? Just time?”
“No. Alison.”
“Alison, my Alison?”
“Well, first she was my Alison.”
“You saw her professionally? She never mentioned it.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very professional of her to, would it?”
Of course not. She felt stupid for even thinking it.
“She did tell me that your wife had died in a car accident.”
He waved that away. “That’s common knowledge, she wasn’t breaking any confidences with that. In fact, I’m kind of surprised you heard that first from her, and not at the office.”
“Nobody at the office ever talks about you.”
“I guess that’s better than speculating that I’m the Brockway Mountain Hermit.”
“So, Alison, eh?” She shook her head, still not quite believing it.
“Yep. Saw her for over a year. Huck and Twain waged a semi-intervention and got me to go. And I’m glad I did. She really pulled me out of it.”
“Becoming a hermit is being pulled out of it?”
He laughed. “Compared to the road I was probably headed down, oh yeah.”
She wanted to ask what that road was, but he spoke first. “In fact, I have Lucy because of Alison.”
“Alison gave you a puppy?”
“No, but she suggested I get one. I made the mistake of telling Twain about that and the next thing I know, he’s showing up at my door with a seven-week-old Lucy.”
“I’ll bet she was adorable.”
“She was a pain in the ass, is what she was. God, it took me forever to housebreak her.”
“Alison was smart. So was Twain.”
“Yes, she is. Twain, maybe on his good days. But what do you mean?”
“She knew that you could stop caring for yourself and let your life fall into ruin. You had Andy to take care of the business, so in a way you could check out of life. But if you had to take care of somebody else, like Lucy…”
“She took a gamble, ’cause it was close to that little puppy being put out into the snow to fend for herself.”
“Nope. No way in a million years would you let that happen, Sawyer Beck, no matter how much pain you were in.”
He didn’t say anything to that. What could he say? She was totally right, and she knew it.
“Hmmm. Whatever.”
“No. She saw it in you. So did Twain. You weren’t so far gone that you couldn’t care for something, or someone, else.”
“But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to care for anybody else. Ever.”
A moment passed. Deni was afraid to ask the question that hung in the room. “And now?” she finally said.
He pulled her out of his embrace so that he faced her. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his.
“And now I want to,” he said, and leaned forward to gently kiss her. “And now I do,” he added, and kissed her again before hugging her tight.
Chapter Twenty One
Whatever good things we build end up building us.
~ Jim Rohn
He lifted her from his lap and rose from the chair with her in his arms. She felt so good in his arms, so right. He carried her to the bed and lowered her down. Then he went to the door and let Lucy in.
“Did you hear us talking about you, girl? Did you?” She wagged her tail excitedly, snow flying from her fur as she did. “Go see Deni,” he said. Lucy did just that, bounding onto the bed and butting her head against Deni, who immediately began petting Lucy and cooing to her as Sawyer put some food in her dish and poured some bottled water in another.
“Come eat, girl,” he said, and Lucy left Deni and found her food and water in the candlelight.
“Hungry?” he asked Deni, ready to pull some hotdogs from the icebox to roast over the fire.
“You know what? I’m really not. But you go ahead.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m not really, either.” He made his way around the room, blowing out the candles. Then he put two large logs on the fire and joined her on the bed. He’d have to feed the fire throughout the night, but that was fine. He never slept longer than a couple of hours here and there anyway.
“God, I’m beat,” he said as he lay down next to her and pulled her onto his chest.
“I can’t imagine why? Outdoor activity, mucho sex, a blistering sauna and an emotional purging. Hmmm. Wonder what wore you out?”
He kissed her, and they smiled at each other. She rolled off him and situated them like they’d been before when they’d napped, his head upon her chest, his arm around her waist and both of her arms around him. “Sleep, Sawyer,” she softly said.
She was wearing her long johns, but he could feel she was without the bra this time. He started to knead her breast, but she put a hand on his and held it in place. “Sleep,” she whispered.
Oh, sure. How was he supposed to sleep with his hand on her tit? It was the last thought he had before falling into a deep slumber.
The morning sun coming through the glass ceiling woke Deni. Or maybe it was Sawyer’s hand on her hip, pulling her back into his front. Sunlight or Sawyer’s erection—both seemed to have an effect on her mood that surpassed any kind of serotonin rush.
She let out a long sigh as his hand crept under her thermal top and up to cup her breast just as the sun rose over the eastern tree line.
“Way better than any light box,” she said quietly.
“Hmm? What light box?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “God, it’s freezing in here.” She bundled deeper under the covers.
“Sorry,” he said, and was gone from the bed before she could stop him. “I…I guess I let the fire go out.” He was shaking his head in disbelief as he tore some newspaper up and put it on the grate, and then put some kindling on top of that. He let Lucy out while the dying embers caught. After a moment, he added a log and then crawled back into bed with her. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“What? You were going to wake up every three hours and feed the fire?” She turned over and curled into him, sliding one leg over his.
“Um…yeah, I kind of thought I was.” He still seemed slightly puzzled that he hadn’t.
“Forget about the fire,” she said, her hand moving down to his briefs. “Keep me warm some other way.”
The grin on his face told her he definitely would.
They took another sauna in the early afternoon and then packed up and headed back to the pole barn the way they’d come up—Sawyer taking Lucy first, then coming back for Deni.
When he came back into the house from dropping Lucy off, he found Deni not looking out at the spectacular view but instead staring at his stone jar.
Should he have even shared that story with her? She was young and didn’t have the baggage he had. Would knowing how he’d struggled after Molly’s death scare her off?
Was that why he’d told her?
He did a mental gut check and came to the conclusion that no, he hadn’t wanted to push Deni away. He’d just wanted her to know what she was getting into with him.
And now, this afternoon, seeing her staring at the manifestation of his near-madness, he found himself saying a silent prayer that she would stay with him—monstrous baggage and all.
When they got into Copper Harbor, where he would typically go straight to keep going to Eagle Harbor, he put on his blinker and turned left instead.
“Oh, Sawyer, you don’t have to do this,” she said. He wasn’t surprised that she’d picked up on it so quickly—that he was taking the Covered Drive back to Calumet. And what that meant.
“It’s okay,�
�� he said. And he truly meant it.
She scooted a little closer to him in the truck and put her hand on his thigh. Not in a sexual way, just to let him know she knew. Even Lucy seemed to sense something monumental was happening, sticking her head over the seat and resting it between them.
He didn’t mention when they came upon the spot where Molly—his sweet, outgoing, beautiful Molly—had died, but he must have tensed up or something because Deni removed her hand from his thigh at that point, as if trying to give him some privacy or something. As if she didn’t want to intrude on his “time” with Molly.
He’d been oddly attracted to Deni since that first day in the conference room, standing over her shoulder. “Oddly” because she wasn’t in any way like Molly or any other girl he’d ever dated.
And he’d really enjoyed seeing Deni’s mind work this past week as they put the driving range proposal together. That was a major turn-on to him.
Well, not as much of a turn-on as her standing in front of Lake Superior in a red satin bra and rose-covered long johns. God, he nearly got hard again thinking about it. Shocking, since he’d had about as much sex in the past twenty-four hours as he’d had in the last ten years.
But this gesture—taking her hand from him when she sensed they were at the site—tore at his heart and made him realize just how hard and fast he was falling for Deni Casparich.
And surprisingly, it didn’t scare the shit out of him.
When they were nearing Calumet, Sawyer said, “Are you in a rush to get back to Hancock? Would you like to stop at Tootie’s for a beer?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” she answered. He hadn’t said much of anything since they’d turned in Copper Harbor, and she’d tried to give him his space, such as it was in a truck cab. But Deni didn’t want the weekend to end with the pall of Molly’s accident freshly hanging over them.
Sawyer let Lucy out of the truck with them when they parked in front of the bar. She thought it was to just let Lucy do her business, but Sawyer walked up to the window of Tootie’s, looked in, and said to his dog, “Shorty’s bartending,” which made Lucy wag her tail and give a bark.
“Your dog knows the bartenders at Tootie’s?”
He shrugged and held the door open for them, Lucy bounding in the bar first. “She knows that Shorty lets her in the bar and feeds her beef jerky.”
“I guess I’d wag my tail for Shorty, too,” she said, and they both laughed. Sawyer swung an arm around her shoulder, and they walked into the bar together.
Lucy, however, had bypassed her bartender friend, who had shouted a greeting to the lab and beelined for a man at the end of the bar who could only be Sawyer’s brother.
“Oh, shit,” Sawyer said, not quite under his breath.
“Twain or Huck?” she asked.
Sawyer chuckled, sliding his arm from around her. She felt a moment’s disappointment until he took her hand in his and started leading them to the far end of the long, narrow bar. He said a few hellos to some of the people drinking at the bar but didn’t stop.
“Twain. Do we really look that much alike?”
As they neared the man who had squatted down to scratch Lucy’s neck, Deni realized that up close there were not as many similarities as she’d first thought.
Twain was much larger than Sawyer, for one thing. Like, Petey Ryan larger. And his hair was a few shades darker than Sawyer’s, more of a light black than deep brown.
Twain looked up from Lucy as they approached. Deni saw his eyes dart from Sawyer to Deni to their clasped hands and then back to Deni with an assessing look.
Same shrewd, green eyes as Sawyer. And same sexy-as-hell, but troubling, look of world-weariness on his face and around those beautiful green eyes.
“I thought you had Matt this weekend?” Sawyer asked as they reached his brother.
“He’s not feeling good. Flu, Liv thinks. So she kept him at home with her.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Sawyer said. He dislodged his hand from hers and placed it at the small of her back. “Twain Beck, Deni Casparich.”
She stuck out her hand, which Twain shook. His hand was huge and rough and swallowed hers up.
“Great to meet you, Deni. What are you drinking?”
“You too. Um…how about a Sam Adams?”
“Make it two,” Sawyer added, pulling a stool down to join the empty one next to Twain, which he waved her to sit on. Twain pulled the stool he’d vacated out a little from the bar so he could see Sawyer on the other side of Deni, then sat back down.
“Shorty, two Sam Adams,” Twain called out, then turned his attention to them. The beers were in front of them before Twain finished saying, “So, Deni Casparich, tell me everything about yourself.”
Lucy left them then to visit her buddy Shorty, who had come out from the end of the bar with some kind of treat for the dog.
“Um…not much to tell, really.”
“Is that because you’re soooo young?”
“Ha ha,” Sawyer said on her left. Twain gave his brother a grin that Deni recognized from Sawyer. It seemed more natural on Twain, as if he smiled, and grinned, with more ease.
“Born and raised in the Detroit area, went to Tech, fell in love with the area, work at Summers and Beck,” she said.
Twain gave her a wink and said, “You’re right. Not much to tell.”
She laughed as Sawyer gave his brother a stern look. “So, you’re the charmer in the family, I take it? I thought the middle child was supposed to be the quiet, shy one?”
“Well, we Bad Luck Beck Brothers never really did things in the right order,” Twain said, and she saw Sawyer cringe out of the corner of her eye.
“Bad Luck Beck Brothers? People call you that? Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah,” Twain said, almost with some pride. Sawyer’s large sigh confirmed it.
“Well, not to our face,” Sawyer said.
“Well, not sober to our face,” Twain clarified. “And not if they want to keep their teeth.”
Deni laughed again and took a drink from her beer.
“So, from the scent of Irish Spring wafting from the both of you and your still-wet hair, Deni, I’d guess you’re both freshly sauna-ed?”
She nodded, feeling a flush crawl up her face. “Is that a verb? Sauna-ed?”
He shrugged. “If it isn’t, it should be.” He took a swing from his beer bottle and then set it on the bar. “So, this sauna…was at…” He looked at Sawyer pointedly.
“The ice cube,” Sawyer said, causing Twain to grin again.
“Really? So a female has breeched the glass walls? Interesting.”
“Can it, Twain,” Sawyer said in what was obviously his big-brother voice.
Twain gave a taunting laugh and wiggled his eyebrows in what was obviously a little-brother move.
Deni had the brothers to know all the moves.
Twain regaled her with stories of the Beck brothers as kids, told her about his own son, Matt, and just generally endeared himself to Deni in a very brotherly way.
“You didn’t feel it necessary to carry on the Mark Twain obsession with your son?”
“Hell no. And even if I had, Liv would have had the good sense to shut that down.”
She took another sip and looked around. She was having a beer with her boyfriend and his brother in a neighborhood bar on a late Sunday afternoon…and all was right with the world.
Twain left first, saying he wanted to go check on his son. He gave Deni a kiss on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “Stay with it. He’s worth all the bullshit.” She could only nod at him, her chest suddenly tight.
He hugged his brother and said in a fake whisper, “Don’t fuck it up, bro. She’s a keeper.”
Deni and Sawyer stayed for another drink, though Sawyer switched to Coke at that point.
He also moved his stool closer to Deni, threaded his legs between hers, and cupped under her knee with one of his hands, just like he had last Monday when they’d been here.
Onl
y one short week ago when she’d laid it on the line and told him she’d wanted more than a snack.
And here they were after a weekend feast.
Yes, all was right with the world.
“So, what does Twain do?”
“He’s a logger.”
“Ah, that explains the rough hands.”
Sawyer nodded and absently looked at his own hands. “He played hockey. Was pretty good.”
“Better than you?”
Sawyer chuckled. “Oh, yeah. A fact he never lets me forget.”
She rubbed her hand on his knee and kept it there. After last night’s gut-wrenching story about Molly’s death, it felt good to be just a normal couple enjoying the day together.
“He actually played at Tech with Petey Ryan. They’re about the same age.”
“Oh, did he get his degree in forestry, then?” Besides engineering, Tech’s forestry department was top-notch.
“No. He dropped out after his second year. That’s when he and Liv got married. Matty was born a few months after the wedding.”
“Ah. But they’re not still together?” she said with sadness in her voice.
“Nah, Twain fucked up. Well, I mean, they were both young and stupid, with a lot of pressure on them. They made it eight years but just couldn’t make it work.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah, it is. But Matt’s great. Turning sixteen this year,” he said with obvious pride.
“Do you see him much?” There was skepticism in her voice, which he picked up on.
“What? Hermits aren’t allowed to visit their nephew?”
She giggled. “Well, it does kind of defeat the purpose of being a hermit.”
“I wasn’t totally cut off the last ten years. I saw family. I built the ice cube with my brothers. I’d have dinner at Liv and Twain’s once a month or so when they were still together. I just didn’t want to deal with the business—which I’d spent too much time on and not been available for Molly—”
She started to interrupt him on that, but he held up his hand. “Or that’s how it felt at the time.”
She nodded at that—you couldn’t change the way someone felt ten years ago.
“You said you and Molly had a house in Houghton?” He nodded. “But not anymore?”
