Stolen Heart: The Hearts of Sawyers Bend, Book One

by Layne, Ivy

  “Your father was…?”

  “Useless,” she finished. “My father was useless. My mother was always some degree of wasted on whatever she could get her hands on, but still, she was the one who made the decisions. When the man came over, she was the one who talked. He liked me. She always told him, ‘Not yet.’”

  Everything in me recoiled from Hope’s words. Her mother. How could a mother—? My own mother had run off with her lover and abandoned Ford and me, but that was nothing like this. She may not have loved us, but she knew we’d be safe and taken care of.

  Hope’s mother had half-starved her own child, neglected her, and planned to pimp her out to get money for drugs. Fucking hell.

  I didn’t know how a human being could do that to any child, but when I tried to place Hope in that scene, my brain wouldn’t do it. She’d been so sweet. Kind and gentle. Curious and funny. There was a reason we’d been friends despite the difference in our ages.

  Looking back, I could see that she’d been so much older than her years. Knowing her past, so much made sense. Her loyalty to Edgar. Her obedience. The virginity she’d only given up the day before. Oh, God. Had they—

  “That man—did he ever—?” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Couldn’t force her to hear them.

  A flash of a glance at me, her eyes shamed. Tortured. Hope shook her head. “He, uh, touched me, but not like that. I swear, Griffen, not like that. Just his hand on my face. My knee once. It felt like things crawling on me. He was so creepy and gross. He didn’t smell like smoke and vomit like my mother and father, but that just made him scarier. At least with them, I knew they’d pass out eventually. I knew when he came for me, he wouldn’t pass out. I didn’t fully understand what he wanted, but I knew he’d get it. It was just a matter of time.”

  I hated the way she protested. Not like that. As if it would have made her less if that evil man had touched her. Not sure if it was the right thing to say, not sure if I should say anything at all, I ventured, “You know it’s not your fault, right? If he had.”

  She shook her head hard, and I said, “I’m not saying he did, Hope. I believe you. I’m just saying, of all the people in that fucked up situation, you were innocent.”

  “I was never innocent,” she said bitterly.

  “Hope, you’re the most innocent person I’ve ever known.”

  “If you knew the things I’d seen by the time I could walk—”

  “That just makes you more of a miracle, that you were born into that, saw all those things, and here you are. You’re kind, and generous, and sweet, and loyal. You’re one of the best people I know. Your heart has always been innocent, and it breaks mine to know that the people who were supposed to protect it didn’t.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek falling into her almost-empty teacup. Leaning forward slowly, not wanting to spook her, I pulled the cup from her fingers. “I don’t want to crowd you, Buttercup, but I really want to hold you right now.”

  With a choked cry, Hope threw herself in my direction. I caught her in my arms and pulled her on top of me, turning to stretch out on the wide, soft, velvet sofa. Wrapping my arms around her, I held her as tight as I could, not sure I’d ever let her go.

  She was silent in my arms, her face pressed into my neck, her tears hot on my skin. Hope wept for what felt like hours, never making a sound aside from a hitching breath here and there.

  Had she learned to cry quietly as a child? I hated the thought. No, hate didn’t cover it. Hope, my Hope, was everything good in the world. How she’d come from such desperate beginnings I couldn’t imagine.

  I rubbed her back, smoothed her hair, so many details falling into place now that I knew.

  I already knew I’d been a shit by blaming her for what had ultimately been my father and Ford’s machinations. She’d been an easy target and I’d fallen for it. I could forgive twenty-two-year-old me for being a dumb ass. I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself for holding a grudge for so long. Against my father, abso-fucking-lutely. Against Hope? No.

  I thought of Sterling passed out in her bed. Of Brax, and Quinn, and Parker, and even Avery and Tenn who’d been only fifteen when I left. Ford, Royal, and Finn had been old enough to speak for themselves. To understand what was happening. Maybe they deserved a little bit of a grudge.

  But the rest—I was holding onto anger over something that had only been good for me in the end. The woman wrapped in my arms had lived through so much worse than Prentice’s bullshit and she’d come out of it with a clean and open heart. I should learn from her and stop being such an asshole.

  Hope fell asleep, her tears still wet on her cheeks, her body held tightly in my arms. When I was sure she wouldn’t wake, I picked her up and carried her to our bed.

  I climbed into bed beside her and pulled her back into my arms, her head over my heart, emotion flooding me as she settled into me with a sleepy sigh. I combed my fingers through her hair and felt her slide deep into slumber, only following when I was sure she’d have sweet dreams.

  She didn’t. I could have guessed that. Dredging up the past, the scene with Sterling—all of it was custom-made to plant nightmares in Hope’s brain. She woke twice, the first time with a start and a gasp, sitting bolt upright and looking around the room, eyes wide in panic.

  I slept lightly out of habit, coming alert and catching her before her panic grew too deep. Framing her face in my hands until her eyes locked on mine, I said, “Breathe, Buttercup. Take a deep breath for me.” With each slow breath, she calmed, and I pulled her back down, stroking her hair from her face until she fell asleep again.

  Later, in the light of early dawn, she tossed and turned, little whimpering sounds coming from the base of her throat. Wounded, frightened sounds. I hated every one. This time, she didn’t wake fully but responded to the sound of my voice in her ear telling her she was safe. That I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  I meant the vow all the way to the marrow of my bones. Hope was precious. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She was mine now. I take care of what’s mine.

  I watched her wake for the last time just before seven, her eyes fluttering open, dazed and sleepy. Before she could remember too much of the day before, I kissed her. A brush of my lips, my fingers sinking into the silken strands of her hair. Gentle, careful. She was sleepy, but she was definitely awake. I didn’t want to overwhelm her.

  I wanted her to choose this.

  Choose me.

  Choose us.

  Her lips opened, her tongue stealing out to graze mine. I groaned deep in my throat at her honest, open desire. Would it always feel like such a gift? That she gave this to me with no reservation?

  I thought that it would, and cradling her face in my hands, I fed from her mouth, drinking in her sweetness, her passion, the innocence that would always be hers because it was the core of her open heart.

  This time, I was prepared. After I slid off her sleep shirt to feast my eyes on her body, after I tasted her breasts, sucking until she cried out, after I slipped my fingers between her legs to find her ready and eager, I drew the condom from beneath my pillow and rolled it on. I wouldn’t take any more chances with Hope. She deserved better from me. She deserved everything.

  This time, I took it slow, easing into her, relieved to see her face showed only pleasure. She raised her knees and spread them wide, rocking up to take me deeper. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. Her mouth seeking mine, her legs wrapped around my hips, I kissed her, drinking in her sighs and moans as I took her slowly, letting it build and grow until the wave of bliss took us both.

  I left her for only a minute to take care of the condom, and I was back pulling her into my arms again. She flicked a shy glance my way before resting her cheek on my chest.

  “It’s moving day. Do you have a plan?” she asked, amusement in the edges of her voice.

  �
��You mean am I going to stand at the door with a clipboard like a cruise director welcoming my errant siblings home?”

  Hope giggled. The sound was sunlight in my soul.

  “Fuck that,” I said—and meant it. “I’d rather go to prison.”

  Hope propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at me. “About that…”

  I knew what she was going to say. I didn’t want to hear it.

  “Later,” I murmured, drawing her face down to mine and kissing her again. The gong would ring for breakfast soon. Just enough time to introduce Hope to one of the many ways I could make her come in the shower.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Griffen

  Hope had a secret smile on her face as we descended the stairs for breakfast. When Savannah met us at the bottom, clipboard in hand, dressed in a housekeeper’s uniform, Hope’s secret smile spread into a wide grin.

  “Savannah! You look fantastic! Is this what you meant when you said you figured out a uniform?” Hope walked a circle around Savannah, taking in her calf-length, long-sleeve gray dress in a tight herringbone pattern, starched white apron, black tights, and comfortable-looking shoes.

  It was similar to the uniform Miss Martha had worn. I felt compelled to say, “You know you don’t have to wear a uniform.”

  Savannah’s lips quirked into a grin. “I know, but it just doesn’t feel right for the housekeeper of Heartstone Manor to show up to work in jeans. I thought about khakis and a polo—that’s the uniform I decided on for the house staff if it works for you—but the housekeeper—”

  She spread her arms wide and gestured to the grand entrance hall. It was still dusty, the chandelier wreathed in cobwebs, but I got what she meant. When the house was fully restored to its glory, it would feel wrong to have the housekeeper strolling around in jeans.

  “You look great,” I said. “I like the gray better than the black your mom used to wear.”

  “Me too,” Hope agreed. “More elegant and easier to keep clean. Black shows dust.”

  Savannah winked at her. “Exactly what I was thinking. The pattern is even better than the color for that. Keeps it looking neat even when it’s not. And the skirt length is actually comfortable. I have a similar style in mind for summer. I also got myself a set of the khakis and polos the house staff will wear for when there’s a messy job.”

  “I don’t know how you found the time to get all this done,” Hope said as we followed Savannah to the dining room.

  “I put my mom on temporary retainer until we fill out the house staff. She knows so much and she can do a lot from home when Nicky’s with her. He’s in preschool this morning so she’ll be training the new cook in the kitchen and serving breakfast. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take that time to go over a few things with you.”

  “Works for me,” I said, my hand on Hope’s lower back as I ushered her into the dining room. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “An hour ago, but I’ll have coffee with you.” We took our seats at the end of the table, me at the head and Hope to my right as before. I reached out to squeeze Hope’s hand after we sat, and she slid it away, her palm leaving smears of moisture on the shiny dining room table, her eyes skipping away from mine.

  Was she shy in front of Savannah, or was she withdrawing from me again?

  I got it. Or I thought I did. It was second nature to Hope to keep herself safe. Even from me. Maybe especially from me. I kept reminding myself that just because having her in bed had changed everything for me didn’t mean it had done the same for Hope.

  Didn’t that happen to couples all the time? One thinks sex equals love and the other is all about the orgasm.

  Internally, I jolted. Love? Is that what this was?

  I get Hope in bed and suddenly I’m in love?

  I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought about love in years. Not like that. Not since Vanessa. Love was a trap and a lie. What I had with Hope wasn’t some mushy sentiment, it was blood and bone. It was history and loyalty. I owed her more than lies about love. I wanted to give her more than words. I wanted to give her everything.

  It was very possible that all she wanted from me was sex. Now that she’d had a taste and discovered she liked it, maybe that was all she was interested in.

  The idea of that burned. I reminded myself that we had time for me to change her mind. Time to show her that I was good for more than orgasms.

  Miss Martha came in, dressed in her old Heartstone uniform, similar to Savannah’s except the dress was solid black. With a wink and a smile, she slid full plates in front of us. “I’ll be right back with coffee.”

  Savannah looked down at her clipboard. “I’d like to give you an update on where we are.”

  “Go for it. You’ve worked a miracle in a few days.”

  “Not quite a miracle, but close enough.” Savannah picked up her pen and pointed to the top item on her list. “The bedrooms are ready. All but Sterling’s. As ordered, I did not touch that one.”

  “She can clean up her own mess,” I said, irritated all over again by my baby sister’s behavior. “When the room is no longer a toxic waste dump, feel free to put it on the rotation.”

  “Gotcha,” Savannah said, underlining something on her list. “We have a cook, and we’ll see how she works out. I’ve hired two day maids. I’m not sure that’ll be enough with this many people in-house, but I thought we’d start small and add later.”

  “Security is a concern,” I said, “so, at the moment, the fewer strangers in the house the better. I spent some time with my former employers putting together a security plan for the house. They’ll send a team down this week to get started. The groundskeeper I hired used to work with us and he’ll head security. I planned to put him up in the gatehouse, but I don’t know what kind of state it’s in.”

  Savannah scribbled something at the bottom of her list and murmured, “I’ll get out there and take a look. As far as I know, it hasn’t been used in years, so it might not be habitable.”

  “Hawk isn’t picky. He’ll be fine with whatever we have for him until we get the details worked out. I don’t know when he’s going to show up. Could be today, could be next week. Hopefully sooner. I’ll try to get an update.”

  “A timeframe would be helpful,” Savannah agreed. “As soon as we get everyone settled in today, I’ll get our team working on the rest of the house. Unless you want a big crew in here, we’ll have to take it room by room.”

  “Room by room works. Hope and I will be working out of the office here most of the time. Today we’ll be out, so we won’t need lunch. If anyone shows up to move in before we get back and they give you any trouble, just call.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Savannah said evenly. I wasn’t so sure, but I liked her confidence.

  When we finished eating, we followed Savannah through a hidden door in the rear of the dining room to a butler’s pantry with dumbwaiters on either side, two long counters, and storage for linens, flatware, and everyday crystal. At the end of the butler’s pantry, we found the elevator, door locked, and the back stairs that led to both the second floor and the lower level. We followed Savannah down, faint voices from below coming clearer with every step.

  “I just want to walk you through what we’ve done down here so if you need anything from the kitchen or the laundry you know where to find it,” she explained.

  I needed the tour. I hadn’t been in the lower level of Heartstone Manor in fifteen years and not often before that. The lower level was the staff’s domain, lorded over by Miss Martha when I’d grown up here. Not only were the Sawyers not expected to venture below, we weren’t exactly welcome.

  While the upper levels of Heartstone Manor were dominated by dark wood paneling, tall windows, and hardwood floors, the lower level felt like it had come from a medieval castle.

  The walls and floor were stone, the arching barrel ceiling high, g
iving the feeling of space while at the same time reminding me of a crypt. Here, the pipes were exposed and electrical wiring ran through conduit drilled into the stone.

  The main kitchen was opposite the base of the stairs, doors open wide. A huge room over thirty feet across, it had a massive cast-iron and enamel stove on one end, and a huge island running down the center, shining copper pots and pans hung neatly on hooks along the wall. Woven baskets were organized on tall wood shelves, faded labels reading everything from Root Vegetables to Spices.

  Miss Martha and the woman I assumed was the new cook stood in front of the baskets inspecting what looked like produce. Miss Martha looked up and spotted us. Now that we were away from the formality of the dining room, she was no longer the former housekeeper of Heartstone Manor. She moved to pull Hope into an embrace.

  “You look gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful.” Stroking a hand down Hope’s shiny hair, she cupped her chin and turned Hope’s face this way and that, shaking her head and smiling. “I heard you cleaned out Atlanta and brought home a whole new wardrobe. About damn time.”

  Hope hooked her arm through Miss Martha’s elbow and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “When it’s time to restock, you can come with me.”

  With a kiss on the cheek, Miss Martha said, “I’d love to.” She caught Hope’s left hand in hers and turned it so Hope’s ring caught the light. “Exactly where it always belonged.”

  Hope flushed and Savannah came to her rescue. “Griffen and Hope Sawyer, this is Melissa Stiles. She’ll be keeping us fed. For the moment, Mom is walking us through some of the procedures for the kitchen. I’ll check with everyone else and see if we have any dietary requirements or food allergies I need to be aware of. I’ve asked Melissa to plan to serve a full breakfast and dinner every day. I think it’s easiest—if it works for you—if lunch is less formal. I know you and Hope will be eating at home most days, but I think everyone else will stay in town. If that changes and we end up having a full crowd every day we can always add lunch to the schedule.”