Stolen Heart: The Hearts of Sawyers Bend, Book One

by Layne, Ivy

  When my coffee was almost empty, the door to Hope’s bedroom opened. She’d pulled her hair back into another bun, this one softer around her face. She hadn’t bothered with much makeup, not that she needed it. Red glass beads caught the light at her ears, an exact match for the dress. And the dress— The dress was perfectly Hope.

  It wasn’t too short or too red. Skimming her slender frame, it was neither shapeless nor too tight, hugging her hips before it flared just above her knees. The dress showed almost no skin. It shouldn’t have been alluring, but the way it framed the curve of her breasts, her narrow waist, and the flare of her hips left my fingers itching to touch.

  She curled her fingers over the bell sleeve, tugging, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It needs tights and boots,” she said.

  “Do you have tights and boots?” I asked.

  A jerk of her chin, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

  I wanted to punch Edgar. Hope had no idea what she looked like. As the man who’d raised her, it was his job to make sure she knew her own worth. Clearly, he’d royally fucked that up.

  “Hope,” I said softly. She raised her head, nerves skittering in her eyes when they met mine. “You look beautiful. You have good taste. I don’t know what’s up with those suits, but—”

  “Uncle Edgar bought them. He bought all my work clothes.”

  I didn’t know what to do with that. “Hope, that’s weird, and he has terrible taste.”

  “It’s not weird. He likes a certain atmosphere in the office, and he didn’t like the way I dressed when I picked my own clothes. I got tired of him complaining, so when he bought me some suits, I just wore them.”

  I shook my head. “It is weird. And you’re not working in Edgar’s office anymore. You’re working for me. You can wear anything you want. Though I’ll beg you not to wear those suits he bought you. Otherwise, I don’t care. Wear jeans or pajamas. Wear your robe. Or, you could just work naked.”

  The flush in her cheeks matched her dress. Giving in to impulse, I pressed my lips to hers, tasting Chapstick and toothpaste. The second my mouth hit hers, I wanted more.

  Not the time, damn it. It kept taking me by surprise, how much I wanted her. There was so much wrapped up in being near Hope. Affection and resentment. Anger so old it was starting to crumble.

  And lust.

  Need.

  I wanted Hope, wanted her naked and in my bed.

  I had not seen that coming when I drove back into Sawyers Bend.

  With a jerk, she stepped back, mumbling, “I have to get my tights and boots.”

  I drifted behind her, standing in the doorway of her bedroom, struck dumb. When she swung the door shut in my face I was still standing there.

  I’d been right, her bedroom was a hedonist’s dream. Like the rest of her apartment, it was a kaleidoscope of color, but all I could remember was the bed. Fuck, that bed. It was burned into my brain. It had to be a king-size, though I didn’t want to consider why Hope would need a bed that big. Definitely an antique. Fashioned of heavy brass with four posters, Hope had piled it with pillows, covering the whole thing with a thick blue velvet duvet.

  She’d look like a princess in that bed. And, of course, my perverted brain immediately thought about the convenience of that brass frame, of tying her to the bed and joining her there. Touching. Tasting. Making her beg. That was the kind of bed we could lose a weekend in.

  That bed was coming to Heartstone Manor.

  I was still a little stunned—and more than a little aroused—by the time Hope emerged, tugging up the zipper on her knee-high boot.

  Have mercy. The red dress and those boots were going to kill me.

  Swallowing hard, I tried to play off the lust practically choking me. “Let’s get a move on. I want to hear whatever Edgar has to say and then get some breakfast. We still have to go by Harvey’s and then face the house before we drive to Atlanta.”

  The thought of the day ahead chased the lust from my brain. I hadn’t called anyone in Atlanta to let them know what was going on. I wasn’t ready to see them, to set in motion the end of that life and the beginning of this one.

  I didn’t have a choice. Or, rather, I’d already made my choice. Now, I just had to see it through. It tugged at me as I ushered Hope from the apartment, locking the door behind us.

  I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to stay here, to take my father’s place, to deal with my siblings. I didn’t want any of it. But when I imagined chucking it all and going home to Atlanta, I kept seeing Hope by my side.

  Wouldn’t it be ironic if, in trying to punish me, my father ended up giving me the one thing I never knew I wanted? The one thing I needed most?

  He would have hated that.

  At that thought, a genuine smile spread across my face for the first time since I’d arrived back in Sawyers Bend.

  Chapter Eleven

  Griffen

  Edgar had his office in a brick building a block from the town hall. Hope was quiet on the ride there, staring out the window and fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. I followed her into the lobby, bumping into her as she swung open the office door and stopped abruptly. A woman sat behind the desk in the outer office, her hair in a steel gray bob, a pen tucked behind her ear.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Hope didn’t appear to have a response. I nudged her in the back, not sure what was going on. Finally, she swallowed hard and said in a choked voice, “Who are you? What are you doing at my desk?”

  The woman rose from her seat and held out a hand, appearing unruffled by Hope’s question. “I’m Peggy Carmody. Mr. Daniels interviewed me for the position a few days ago. You must be Hope. He’s expecting you. As requested, I put your things together.”

  I noticed a cardboard box on the edge of the desk, the leaves of a plant sticking out of the top. What the fuck? I knew Edgar was cold, but this… Hope looked from the box to Peggy Carmody. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to me. Her eyes were blank, all emotion locked away.

  In a cool, perfectly-controlled voice, she said to me, “Would you sit out here for a moment?” Not giving me a chance to answer, she strode to Edgar’s office door.

  Peggy moved as if to stop her, then appeared to think better of it. Maybe I should have taken a seat and waited, but I followed Hope, lingering on the other side of the door, close enough to eavesdrop.

  “Can I get you anything?” Peggy asked, the sound of her voice drowning out whatever Hope was saying to Edgar.

  “No. Be quiet or get out,” I said. She shut up. I listened. I couldn’t catch everything.

  I’d planned to let Hope handle Edgar herself, but when I heard him demand, “What the hell are you wearing? You look ridiculous,” I changed my mind.

  Shoving open the door, I found Edgar rising from behind his desk, scowling at Hope. She stood in front of him, her spine so stiff I thought it might break, her face completely blank. Her expression showed nothing, but her eyes were fractured pain. How could Edgar not see it? His glance flicked to me, and he sank back into his seat with a sigh of satisfaction.

  Lacing his fingers over his ample midsection, he leaned back into the leather chair. “Peggy,” he called into the front office, “go get yourself a coffee or something. Give us about twenty minutes. Bring me back a danish.”

  “Yes, sir,” came through the open door. Hope’s replacement was obedient. A minute later the front door shut behind her and we were alone.

  “Lock it,” he ordered Hope, who stared at him in silence. I didn’t know if she was too angry to speak or too shocked. Either way, I locked the front door myself. I had to agree with Edgar. Whatever was about to be said, we needed privacy.

  Hope still said nothing. I wasn’t sure she’d welcome the touch, but the look in her eyes and the satisfaction in Edgar’s had me winding an arm around her waist, drawi
ng her to my side.

  “It’s done?” Edgar asked. “You’re married?”

  “We are,” I confirmed. “How did you get Prentice to make your niece the queen of Heartstone Manor? What did you have on him?”

  “Nothing you’ll ever know,” Edgar said.

  Hope finally found her voice. “Why is there someone sitting at my desk?”

  “You’re married, girl. You don’t need a job. It’ll take her some time to get up to speed, but she’ll do well enough for me.”

  Hope just stared at him in mute horror.

  “That makes things easier for us, doesn’t it?” I said, squeezing her closer to my side. Her eyes flashed up to mine in confusion. In comfort—and to keep myself from crossing the room to knock Edgar out cold—I dropped a kiss to her lips.

  To Edgar, I said, “We were planning to tell you Hope was quitting, that she’s working for me now. Convenient that you saw it coming and already replaced her.”

  Edgar leaned forward, his heavy brow creasing. “Working for you? What’s this about? She’s going to be at Heartstone Manor, taking care of the house and making babies. Raising the next generation of Sawyers.”

  Hope made a choked sound in her throat. For a second I thought she might be laughing, but no. One look at her face told me that wasn’t amusement, that was rage. I waited for the explosion. It didn’t come.

  Her voice arctic, Hope said, “Why?”

  “Because he owed me,” Edgar answered as if that explained everything. Maybe to him, it did. Now I knew where Hope got it.

  “And that’s it?” Hope pressed. “You’re fired, now go have babies?”

  “Don’t get emotional, Hope,” Edgar said with a dismissive shake of his head. “I did my duty by you. Now you’re Griffen’s problem.”

  Another choked sound from Hope. If she wanted to scream, to hit him, I wouldn’t stop her. Hell, I’d help. Hope disentangled herself from me. Turning for the door, she said, “I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she was gone.

  Disappointed, I looked at Edgar. Beneath his smug satisfaction was a thread of unease. Good. Maybe he had a conscience buried somewhere in there. “You’re a complete asshole,” I said.

  I moved for the door.

  “Griffen.”

  I stopped, curious to hear whatever he had to say.

  “If you want to keep everything that just fell into your lap, I suggest you get her pregnant as fast as possible. Until then, you’ve got a big, fat target on your back.”

  I didn’t need to hear any more. All I could think about was getting back to Hope. I found her exactly where she’d said she’d be—sitting in the passenger seat of my car, hands folded on her knees, face still blank. I got in and started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot before asking, “Are you okay?”

  Hope turned shattered eyes to me as she said, slowly and deliberately, “No, I am not fucking okay.”

  “What do you—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she shrieked. “He fired me? I’ve done everything he ever asked. Went to the school he picked, got the degree he wanted, sat at that desk and took his orders every single fucking day, and he fired me?”

  “He—” I started, but she cut me off again.

  “And then he sold me to you—to Prentice, but it’s the same thing. Like a piece of god-damn chattel. This isn’t the fucking fifteenth century for fuck’s sake.”

  That was an impressive number of ‘fucks’ in a short amount of time. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever heard Hope swear before this. She hadn’t as a teenager. Not when I knew her.

  “What did he say after I left?” she demanded.

  Thrown by her anger, I didn’t think when I said, “He told me to get you pregnant as soon as possible.” Wrong answer. I was distracted by the flash of her eyes, the flush in her cheeks.

  “What?” she screeched. “He told you to what? Impregnate me? Like I’m a farm animal? I’m a fucking virgin! I’ve never even had a boyfriend! He never let me date and now he wants me knocked up! Why? Did he tell you why?”

  I had no answer. I was still stuck on the part where she said she was a virgin.

  Hope was thirty-one years old. How was she still a virgin? I thought about those suits. Edgar not letting her date. Choosing her college, her career. How long had he been planning this? What was he saving her for? I had to be his backup plan for Hope.

  Unless Edgar Daniels had killed Prentice—or known he was going to die.

  “Griffen!” Hope’s shout cut into my thoughts.

  “Do you think Edgar killed Prentice?” I asked before she could get a word in.

  Silence. I glanced at Hope to find her staring out the window, lost in thought. “Maybe,” she said eventually. “He couldn’t have done it personally. He was out of town on a business trip. The Sheriff has already verified his alibi. But he could have paid for it, I guess.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “I don’t know what to think. He must have interviewed Peggy as soon as he found out Prentice was dead. None of this makes sense.”

  I waited for her to address the baby issue. I wasn’t going to tell her what Edgar had said about me having a target on my back. It didn’t matter. A baby wasn’t going to happen.

  Sex was definitely going to happen. When Hope was ready. But children? No fucking way. We were not having a child to appease my dead father and Edgar Daniels. The will tied us together for five years. A child would bind us for a lifetime.

  They’d stolen too much of Hope’s future. I wouldn’t take more than that by getting her pregnant just to save my own ass.

  I waited for Hope to say something. Anything. It seemed her mini-rant after we got in the car would be it. No more profanity, no more anger or frustration. She sat beside me in silence, staring out the window, lost in thoughts she didn’t share.

  When I didn’t think I could take the quiet any longer, I dared to ask, “Hope, are you okay?”

  Weirdly, she answered with, “Why are we here? I thought we were going to breakfast.”

  I looked up to see the granite and iron gates of Heartstone Manor rising in front of us, imposing and forbidding. I’d forgotten about breakfast. After the bizarre meeting with Edgar and Hope’s outburst, I’d apparently forgotten everything. I’d driven by rote, passing over roads I’d once known like the back of my own hand, and found myself at the last place I wanted to be.

  Heartstone Manor.

  Home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hope

  Griffen stopped the car in front of the gate and got out, staring at the entrance to Heartstone Manor, face blank. He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else. I couldn’t blame him.

  I’d been handling things pretty well up until we’d walked into Uncle Edgar’s office and I’d seen that woman sitting behind my desk.

  I could deal with marrying Griffen to save the town, with giving up my apartment, changing my job, but at the sight of that woman behind my desk, I fell apart. I’m sure it wasn’t her fault. She seemed clueless. Peggy whatever-her-name-was had no idea what she was in for. Uncle Edgar wasn’t exactly a treat as a boss.

  I couldn’t get my head around what had happened. Fired? How could Uncle Edgar fire me? Bad enough that he’d handed me over to the Sawyers like chattel in a feudal marriage contract.

  But to tell Griffen to get me pregnant? To dismiss me as if my only use was as a broodmare?

  Uncle Edgar wasn’t affectionate, but I’d always believed he loved me, if just a little. Now I wasn’t so sure. Had I just been an investment? A useful tool? But how was pawning me off on the Sawyers useful?

  I’d said it before. None of this made sense.

  I didn’t want to think about it anymore. This was my reality. A temporary marriage to Griffen. Moving into Heartstone Manor. I could spend the rest of my life tr
ying to work out Edgar and Prentice’s motives and still come up blank.

  I wouldn’t think about the hurt. The abandonment.

  I couldn’t consider that I was suddenly adrift in the world, cast off by my only family and tethered to a man who didn’t want me. The weight of it threatened to crush me.

  Griffen didn’t look like he felt much better than I did. He stood in front of his sleek Maserati, hands hanging loosely at his sides, staring at the open gate as if he’d never seen it before. I got out to join him.

  “Do you mind getting breakfast later?” he asked distantly after the thunk of my door closing had faded.

  At the idea of food, my stomach turned over in protest. “That’s fine. We might as well go in. Since we’re here.”

  Neither of us made a move. It had been fifteen years since Griffen had been driven from this place. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be back. I remembered the feel of his arm around my waist as I’d faced Uncle Edgar. Solid and strong, his support had been exactly what I’d needed as I felt my world crumbling beneath me.

  Stepping closer, I took his hand in mine, squeezing tight. “What if we do this like pulling off a band-aid?”

  “Huh?” Griffen blinked, looking down at me as if he’d forgotten I was there.

  “I know this is weird. Hard. Whenever things are hard, I try to focus on the practical. Just get through it.”

  “You’re saying we should storm the castle armed with lists?” A faint thread of amusement tinged his words.

  “Basically. I haven’t been here in more than two years. Prentice started coming to the office for meetings. Edgar said he’d fired the staff, said he was acting paranoid, claimed he couldn’t trust anyone in the house. He and Ford fought about it. Ford moved into the Inn almost a year ago. At the very least, we’re going to need to hire more help than Savannah. And we need to figure out where everyone is going to stay—”

  “I assumed they’d stay in their rooms,” Griffen said blandly. I didn’t take the bait. I was just relieved he sounded amused instead of distant.