by Layne, Ivy
Edgar shook his head. “I can promise you that whatever is going on now, whatever hornet’s nest Prentice stirred up before he died, it has nothing to do with what your father owed me. Nothing. Now, what I want to know is when is Hope going to quit working for you so she can concentrate on decorating the nursery and being a mother?”
I glanced at Hope to see her rolling her eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head, a tiny smile curving her lips.
“Hope can do both. Hope can do whatever the hell she wants. What she’s not going to do is take orders. From anyone. Is that clear?”
“She’s your problem now. If you think you can keep her in line without ordering her around, then by all means.…”
“I don’t know, I like it when she gets out of line,” I said, squeezing her hip and ignoring the affronted look Edgar gave both of us.
He’d been all fired up for Hope to get pregnant. I was assuming he knew how I got her that way. Hope’s cheeks were pink as she jabbed her elbow in my ribs.
“I don’t know what I want to do, Uncle Edgar,” she said, the laugh still in her voice. “I’ve never had a baby before. I like working with Griffen, and since he works from home, who knows? We’ll figure things out as we go.”
Not caring that we had an audience, I turned my face to press a kiss to her temple, breathing in her sweet apples and cinnamon scent.
I loved this woman with every fucking inch of my heart. With every cell in my body. I didn’t care if she wanted to work with me, or somewhere else, or quit to raise our kids, or do all the above. As long as she was with me and she was happy, I’d have everything I wanted in life.
“You need to be careful,” Edgar cautioned, leaning forward, his eyes serious. “Harvey’s good, but just because he hasn’t spread that will around doesn’t mean Prentice didn’t share the contents with anyone. I’m glad to see you have security locked down here. Your Hawk stopped me at the gatehouse and escorted me in, wouldn’t leave my side until Savannah gave me clearance. He wouldn’t give me the details, but he said the grounds are covered, that no one’s getting anywhere near the house without him knowing.”
“That’s right. The house is as safe as we can make it without turning it into a bunker. You don’t have to worry about Hope.”
“Then you keep your eye on the Inn, Griffen,” Edgar warned. “With the house inaccessible, anyone after you is going to target the Inn. That’s what I would do. It’s too visible, a symbol of the family. Public. And a hell of a lot harder to secure than the Manor. Tell Royal and Tenn to be sharp. They’ve already had some trouble there, could be the usual, but maybe not.”
Edgar levered himself out of the armchair. “I’ll be here for Sunday dinner. Tell Savannah to put me at the head of the table near you. I don’t want to get stuck down at the end with that sister of yours. She has a smart mouth.”
I wondered which sister he meant. They all had smart mouths when they got riled up. Even Parker.
Hope just stared at Edgar. “You’re coming to Sunday dinner?”
“Since when do we have Sunday dinner?” I asked. It had been a tradition when I was a kid, but that was a long time ago, and as far as I knew, no one had revived it since Darcy’s death.
“You do now,” Edgar said. “That’s the way it used to be. Sunday dinner at Heartstone Manor. Sometimes the past is best left behind. And sometimes you need to look back and remember what there is worth saving.”
With another harrumph, he crossed the room and closed his hand around Hope’s arm, pulling her into a rough hug. He kissed her cheek and gave her a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see myself out. Be back on Sunday.”
Hope and I watched him go. “I guess we’re having Sunday dinner,” Hope said. “It’s a good idea. We should have thought of that already. Make it a house rule. Everyone’s here for Sunday dinner.”
“I like it. I forgot about those dinners. I hated them back then. Eating with the grown-ups, Darcy combing my hair, making me wear a tie. Then, when she was gone, I didn’t want to do it without her. Nobody did.”
“Who would have thought Uncle Edgar would be right? Sometimes it is good to look back and remember what’s worth saving.”
We walked down the hall to the entry, Hope probably thinking about what we had to do for the rest of the day and me planning to talk her into a long afternoon nap. The naked kind of nap. My favorite kind.
“So, what’s on next?” I asked innocently.
Hope slanted me a look from beneath her eyelashes. I knew that look. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do much convincing after all.
“I’m feeling a little tired after this morning. So much excitement, you know? I was thinking maybe we could lay down. Together.”
I loved the way her cheeks still turned pink when she thought about sex.
“I like the way you think, Hope Sawyer. You just saved me trying to convince you to throw out your to-do list and let me get you naked.”
She laughed, the sound like bells. “Little did you know. You getting me naked was my to-do list.”
“Even better.” I scooped her into my arms, my heart beating faster at her gasp of surprised pleasure. I strode down the hall, intent on reaching the privacy of our bedroom only to pull up short as Savannah came toward us, her face set, Finn on her heels.
Was I going to have to referee another spat between the two of them? I had much better things to do, namely the woman in my arms.
“You two are going to have to deal with it yourselves,” I said, turning sideways to try to pass them. “We’re busy.”
“No, you’re not,” Finn said. “Hawk called from the gatehouse. We have visitors.”
“Is Edgar gone?” Hope asked as I reluctantly set her on her feet.
“He must have passed them on the road,” Savannah said.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Finn turned to lead us to the front door.
Royal came up behind him, an accordion file folder in hand, and looked between the four of us. “What’s going on?”
“Visitors,” Savannah said grimly and turned on her heel to stride back to the entry hall.
We followed, arriving at the front windows in time to see a classic baby blue Mercedes sedan roll into the courtyard, Hawk’s black armored SUV right on its tail.
The Mercedes came to a stop. The driver’s side door opened and out stepped a young man. Early twenties, he could have been a twin to Sterling or Brax, all shining golden hair and vibrant blue eyes, with a slim athletic build in a perfectly-tailored suit.
He would have looked like a young Greek God if not for the petulant sneer on his face.
The last time I saw him, he was a child, but I recognized him instantly.
“Bryce,” Hope said from beside me.
“Fuck,” Royal swore. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Hawk tried to bar them from the property,” Savannah said, “but Bryce had a letter from Prentice saying he could stay in the house.”
We watched as Hawk opened the passenger door and reached in to not so gently haul out an older woman with frosted platinum hair and the same bright blue eyes as her son.
“Fuck me,” I said under my breath.
Aunt Ophelia.
Hadn’t Edgar warned us about trouble?
Well, here it was.
And from the looks of it, trouble was planning to move into Heartstone Manor.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
Sweet Heart,
Book Two of The Hearts of Sawyers Bend
Sneak Peek
sweet heart
daisy
I should have brought a smaller basket. I fumbled, trying to balance the wide, shallow, 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 seeme
d 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 on to 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 into 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 backwards, 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 hadn’t lived a perfect life, but I’d never been hit in the face before. It hurt. A lot. He swung again, his fist connecting, and 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, wrenching 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 was Daisy Hutchins, part 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.
