Blue as Sapphires
by
Constance Bretes
Blue as Sapphires
Copyright © 2017, Constance Bretes
ISBN: 9781944270612
Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.
Electronic Publication: February 2017
Editor: Pamela Tyner
Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs
eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Back Cover Copy
Marissa’s home was her haven, until Riley invaded her space.
Escaping from her abusive ex-husband, Marissa Simpson returns to her hometown to start over. She spends her days working at the local jewelry store, and the rest of her time is dedicated to mining along Red Rock River, searching for precious gems. Marissa has no intention of getting involved with another man, or with the community she left behind all those years ago. That is until Riley McCade shows up.
Riley is the Sheriff of Quartz County. He loves his community and goes out of his way to protect and serve. When he meets up with Marissa, he’s bound and determined to get to know her even though she insists she’s not interested.
The more Riley learns about Marissa’s past, the more he concludes that she may be in danger. When her ex-husband shows up, can Riley protect her? And can he earn her love in the process?
Content Warning: contains some sexual content
Dedication
To my husband, Jim, who is always there for me.
Acknowledgements
I have many people to thank for the release of this book.
I’d like to thank Anastasia Gepp for the photograph on the book cover, and Tara of Fantasia Frog Designs for her excellent skills at designing all my book covers.
I wish to thank my family and my husband for their continued support. Without them, I probably would never have taken the first step in getting my stories out to the public.
I wish to thank Pamela Tyner, publisher at Beachwalk Press, who has faith in me and my writing and continued to publish my books.
Chapter 1
Riley McCade stared out of the large picture window in the living room of his log home. He brought the coffee mug to his lips, took a swallow, and almost spit it out. He’d forgotten the coffee was still hot, and the liquid went down his throat like a jar of jalapeno peppers. It still tasted better than the stuff they called coffee at the office that always left a burning hole in his gut.
He looked at his watch. At six-thirty AM, the sun was coming up in the east. The red sky reminded him of the movie he watched last night, Red Dawn. Good movie, a lot of action. He looked to the west, and the sun made the snow-capped mountains glisten. The pine trees and the dirt roads that came down the side of it hid in the darkness. A mule deer came within view.
“One…two…six…eight…ten…eleven…Wow! Fourteen points.”
The deer stared back at him as if it were saying go ahead and take your best shot.
He glanced at his gun cabinet and then back at the buck. “Lucky for you, buddy, deer season isn’t until October.”
He drank the coffee. It was too quiet in the house. It was suffocating him with its emptiness. He was turning to leave the window when he thought he saw movement. Something moved in the house down the hill. Is there somebody in the house or was it a shadow? Maybe an animal holed itself up in it, or there could be squatters. He would stop by there on his way to work. He looked one more time and a human form came to the back door and turned on the light.
Turning around, he grabbed his Stetson, headed to the kitchen, and placed the mug in the sink. He reached for his keys, closed the back door, and sprinted down the steps to his cruiser. He wanted to buy that twenty acres of land and tear the house down, but he hadn’t had time to research and find out who owned it.
He backed the cruiser out of his driveway onto Highway 17 and drove the short distance to the house. He pulled into the driveway. It had ruts in it, and he bounced around like a kid in the back of a school bus on a bumpy road. An older model Volkswagen with a Nevada license plate was parked in front of the garage. He looked at the wooden gray and white garage with warped two-by-fours that was tilting to one side. If he gave it the slightest push, the building would crash to the ground.
Stepping out of the cruiser, he surveyed the area. The yard used to be immaculate, but the previous owners had died and no one took care of it. Now it was nothing but overgrowth, weeds, sticky burrs, and tumbleweeds. The sweet smell of flowery wild weeds tickled his nose. “Aaachoo.” The smell was strong enough to gag him.
He walked to the Volkswagen and peered into it. There were granola bars in the front passenger seat, and the back seat contained a pillow, sleeping bag, and clothing. Looking up, he saw the path the intruder had made to the house. Weeds covered the original path, and he could almost make it out. Some of the wood on the house was rotted. Slats came off the side of the house and left openings where bats flew in and out at night. He would have to chase the person inside the house out. This couldn’t be a safe place to live.
He walked the path the intruder made, and some burrs attached themselves to him. They pricked like hell when he plucked them off. A field mouse scrambled across the path in front of him as he approached the house. When he reached the porch, he lifted one foot onto the step. The wood snapped, cracked, and bent under his weight. He put his other foot on the porch, and he could hear the boards creaking. He looked around. On the right was a card table with rocks of different sizes lying about. Three buckets, one inside the other, were stacked next to the table. On the left sat two rusted lawn chairs. He rapped on the door.
“Be right there,” a female voice called.
A few seconds later the doorknob turned, and the intruder opened the door and stared out at him.
“Yes?” Her eyes were blue, and her blonde hair was unkempt and pulled back in a ponytail.
“Ma’am, I’m Sheriff McCade, and I’m here to see what business you have with this house.” He pulled his identification card out of his pocket to show her. He slid his sunglasses down a notch, eyeing the woman holding on to the door tightly, as if she was guarding something. Okay, approximate height, five foot three inches, one hundred pounds, blonde hair, and blue eyes. He liked what he saw.
The woman crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe but still didn’t open the door any wider. She’s defensive, what is she hiding?
“I’m the owner of this house.” Her voice was soft.
He watched as her gaze went down the front of him, then came back up, and met his.
“What do you mean, you own this house?” When was the house listed for sale? He didn’t recall seeing a for sale sign. “It’s been vacant for several years now. No one has occupied it since the previous owners died.” Damn if she didn’t have pretty eyes. They were as clear as day.
“I know that,” she muttered hastily, but did not elaborate.
“You know that? Tell me who you are and why you’re here.” His voice was courteous but patronizing. He pushed his Stetson up to look at her closely. Where have I seen her before?
“I’m Marissa Simpson, and I own the house. My parents left it to me.” She rubbed her upper arms with her hands as if she was cold.
Marissa Simpson...where had he heard that name? Then it came to him. “Oh, you used to be Marissa Saxton.”
“That’s me.” She had a wonderful voice, soft and clear. She had on a pair
of worn-out jeans, a yellow shirt, and she was wearing tennis shoes.
“I see. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you intend to do with the house?”
“I’m going to live in it,” she said flatly. She reached up and pulled a loose strand of hair off her forehead and wrapped it behind her ear.
“Live in— What? You’re kidding, right? This house should be torn down. I doubt a single thing is up to code.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the house. It’ll be fine,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing.
“Marissa, I don’t think you understand me. Look, the steps to your porch bent under my weight and are ready to collapse. Some of the boards have come off the side of the house, and there are bats living between your walls from all the openings in the wood. If I’m not mistaken, I think the last year your parents lived here, they didn’t have heat.” He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m aware of the problems, and everything will be fixed by the end of summer.” Her words were as cool and clear as ice water.
“I suggest you reconsider staying here and find a place in town. I have concerns for your safety in this house.”
Couldn’t she see the danger she would be in if she stayed there? A couple of houses had recently caught fire because of old electrical wiring. He wouldn’t be surprised if this house were no longer up to code and a fire hazard.
Riley’s cellphone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “McCade.” He listened to the person on the other end of the phone. “Okay, I’m on it.” He snapped the phone shut and turned to walk down the steps. “I have to go. You think about what I said. Okay?”
Without giving her time to respond, he rushed to the cruiser. He backed out of the driveway, turned the siren on, and headed to town.
* * * *
Marissa had no intention of living in town. She’d be damned if she’d allow the great and mighty sheriff to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do. No man would ever have that authority over her again.
So what if he was a welcome sight and made her heart skip a beat? Damn if he wasn’t still handsome with his short, brown hair tucked inside his Stetson. He had clear, observant, gray eyes. His body was more mature than it had been when he was the high school quarterback. There were powerful arms under the uniform shirt that had his badge on it. She noticed how he walked with an easy gait down the uneven path she’d created earlier.
She shook her head. Just stop and put away such childish thoughts.
Closing the front door, she looked around the house. It was a mess. It would take an all-day cleaning marathon for her to get rid of the dust and dirt. She didn’t have heat or hot water. Everything had to be hand-washed in the sink with water heated on the stove and hung out to dry or taken to the laundromat. With no money in her pocket, the laundromat would be out of the question for now.
Lucky for her, the house was one thing that Mark hadn’t gotten his hands on. She doubted that he even remembered she had it when they got divorced and he left her with nothing. This was her haven. This was a place where she didn’t have to fear anything and could work to rebuild her life.
Before she got to her house, she spent two days sleeping in her car at a state park outside of town and using their facilities until she could get the utilities turned on. It hadn’t been comfortable, and she was eager to get to the house and get it in order. But it started with cleaning, so if she wanted to get it done today, she had to get to work.
She walked to the broom closet and opened it. “Oh good, cleaning supplies.”
She pulled out sponges, cleaning rags, furniture polish, window cleaner, detergent to scrub the walls and floor with, a bucket, and a mop. Now, for something to heat the water in. She walked to the cupboard and peeked inside where she found a large stockpot. Viola! She could still smell the chicken stock that her mom used to make in that pot. She smiled as she remembered sitting at the table, eating her mom’s delicious soup. She took the pot to the sink and put water in it then put it on the stove and turned the burner on. While waiting for the water to get hot, she grabbed the rag and furniture polish and waxed the dining room table and chairs.
As she was cleaning, she thought about how fortunate she was to have gotten the job as a gemologist at Southerlyn’s Jewelry and Gem. She would be working in the back room, away from the spotlight, which was fine by her. No one would see her and recognize her. She’d be testing and firing sapphires and diamonds. No one knew that she’d returned home with her tail between her legs and it would stay that way too. Except that now the sheriff knew she was there.
She turned to the buffet to clean it. Her senior picture sat on top of it in an wooden frame. She picked it up and wiped it down. How different life was then. She stared at the picture for a few minutes. She remembered she was so happy that she would be away from there soon after graduation. But she had felt sad too, because she would be separated from her parents for the first time in her life.
She put the picture down and picked up the heavy, white marbled statuette that her dad had received on his retirement day. It was his recognition award for thirty-plus years of service at the University of Montana. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
Like everything else in her life, her parents were dead. They had always been there for her when she needed them. After she left for college, her parents bought a place in Florida to live during the winter months. It had been five years since a drunk driver killed them. It felt like a sharp knife inside her that repeatedly twisted and never went away. She’d never been a supporter of the death penalty until then. It didn’t seem like justice that the driver of that car was sitting in prison, having three meals a day and a bed to sleep in, and she was an orphan. She sniffed and went back to cleaning.
She hesitated for a few minutes, wondering if she should open the drawers on the buffet. If she opened them, it would bring back more memories. After a moment’s debate she pulled one of the drawers open and found her dad’s Smith and Wesson. She stared at it for a few minutes, and then she took it out and studied it. She ran her fingers over the smooth metal. Was it loaded? She snapped open the chamber and looked. The gun was unloaded. She snapped the chamber shut, put the gun in both hands, and stood with her legs apart, arms outstretched, taking aim. She’d never fired a gun before. It gave her a strong and powerful feeling that nothing would ever get in her way, not now, or ever again.
Her dad had always said never go out to the dig site without a sidearm, because you never knew who or what you might run into. “Well, sorry, Dad, I need to change that statement. Never leave the house without a sidearm.” She grabbed a handful of bullets, then walked to the living room and put the gun and bullets in her purse.
Retrieving the stepladder from the broom closet, she set it in front of the dining room window and climbed up on it. Maybe she shouldn’t remove the drapes, but hell, out there, no one peeked in windows. The nearest neighbor was up the hill in that beautiful log home. No one would see anything. She unhooked the drapes one by one from the metal slip-in hooks, sneezing when dust flew around the room. She dropped the drapes to the floor then stepped down to fold them. With each fold, more dust went flying around the room, causing her to have a sneezing fit. Why hadn’t she used a facemask?
A boiling sound came from the kitchen. Finally, hot water. She went to the kitchen and poured some hot water in the bucket with lemony smelling detergent. Returning to the dining room, she cleaned the walls, humming Chariots of Fire as she worked. She’d always loved that song, and the movie. She mopped the floor, and after she cleaned the dining room, she cleaned the kitchen.
Taking a much-needed break, she walked out the front door and stepped down on the steps. She could feel them giving underneath her. The sheriff was right, the steps were about to give way. Another thing to add to my ‘get ’er done this summer’ list.
She walked over to the old aspen tree in the front yard. She used to climb up in it and sit for hours daydreaming,
doing her homework, and reading romance books. When she was sixteen years old, on one side of the tree, she’d carved MS loves RM 4 ever. She’d had such a crush on Riley. He’d been two years ahead of her in school. She ran her fingers over the carving and remembered what life was like for her back then.
No one ever knew the carving was there and her crush on Riley had been her secret until someone grabbed a paper from her notebook that had her name and Riley’s name with a heart around it.
Her English teacher had called her name to come up to the front to get her test paper, and while she was gone one of the boys in class had grabbed the paper off her desk. Everyone laughed as they passed the paper around. When she returned to her desk and discovered that the paper she scribbled on was missing, she was horrified. She knew they were laughing at her. The bell rang, and she walked over to get the paper from the boy, but he wadded it up in a ball and threw it to another student. Another boy said, “Riley ought to see this,” and he took off down the hallway with the paper clutched in his hand. Marissa had been humiliated and embarrassed, hiding her face in her book as she walked to her locker to get her stuff for her next class.
High school sucked, and once she graduated she hightailed it out of Frankenburg and never looked back...until now.
Marissa walked over to her Volkswagen and pulled out her sleeping bag, pillow, and her clothes, along with the box of granola bars. She had two boxes full of the bars that were to be her breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for the next two weeks until she got her first paycheck. Yes, she was starving herself, but not on purpose. She had no money or resources for getting food. Fortunately, she had water, and she drank plenty of it to stay hydrated. She took everything inside and put her clothes, sleeping bag, and pillow in her bedroom and the granola bars in the kitchen.
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