The same could be said for most of the seven-bedroom colonial Beck called home.
Purchased two years ago, the plan was a complete renovation followed by a quick sale. Keep costs down and turn a big profit.
Once Beck started, he couldn’t bring himself to refurbish the once grand residence with anything that wasn’t top of the line. From the bathroom fixtures to the kitchen stove, he was halfway to finished when he did the math. Between the cost of labor and materials, he’d be lucky to break even.
Though completely impractical for a bachelor, instead of putting the house on the market and maybe making back his investment, he decided to move in himself.
Ironically, every few months, he received an offer from an eager real estate agent whose client would pay a price well above market value.
Beck didn’t hesitate to say no. The size and cost were irrelevant. Through hard work, a little decorating help from his mother, and Tilly’s dedicated housekeeping skills, he turned the old, rundown forgotten house into a home.
The doorbell rang, more of a chime really. Either way, Beck didn’t want to leave Sawyer waiting. Tail swishing in anticipation, Ringo waited in the foyer with a what took you so long look on his face. The dog loved company.
Beck felt a moment of nerves as he opened the door. Seeing Sawyer’s tentative smile, the jitters vanished, and a calm settled over him like a cool breeze.
“Hi.” She took a deep breath. “Hi.”
“Come on in.”
“I love your home.” Sawyer cleared her throat. “Every time I drive by, I wonder what’s on the inside.”
“Want a tour?”
“Yes. Please. Later.” She slipped off her jacket and looked down. “My shoes are wet.”
“Not just your shoes.” Beck brushed a raindrop from the end of Sawyer’s nose. “Don’t you own an umbrella?”
“Of course. I have one stowed in the trunk.”
“Doing you no good at all. Wait there.” Beck walked around the corner to the downstairs linen closet, bringing back a fluffy towel which he handed to Sawyer. “You can leave your shoes by the door.”
Dry, or rather, less wet, Sawyer followed him into the living room where a fire burned bright and cheery. As she dried her hair, she stood close to the heat and sighed as her bare toes tapped a random rhythm on the tiled hearth.
Beck enjoyed the sight of her slim feet tipped by scarlet-colored nails, but he knew in some weather, the hardwood floors could be cold to the touch and didn’t want her catching a chill.
“Would you like to borrow a pair of socks?” he asked.
“I prefer to go barefoot whenever possible,” she said. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, the light from the fire catching the red highlights. “If you don’t mind?”
“Long as you’re comfortable.”
Silence fell. They looked at each other as if waiting for the other to start. Beck opened his mouth, not sure what he would say. Sawyer spoke first.
“Beck, I—” Sawyer’s pensive frown turned into a laugh as Ringo butted his head against her hand. “Hello. Sorry I didn’t greet you when I arrived.”
With a sigh, Beck waited as woman and dog went through the ritual of saying hello.
“I brought the rest of the treats,” Sawyer said and sent Beck a sheepish smile. “They’re in the car.”
“With your umbrella?” Beck chuckled. “I’ll get both after dinner. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. Better I keep a clear head.” She moved to a wingback chair near the fireplace and took a seat. “I want to apologize. Leaving you alone to read David’s will was a coward’s way out.”
Beck remained standing. Something told him before they were through, he’d feel the need to pace.
“Would have been nice if you were there to answer my questions on the spot.”
“As I said, coward.” Sawyer pointed at herself. “I know a will can be hard to decipher.”
“I’m familiar with lawyer lingo.”
Sawyer nodded. On the surface, she seemed calm. However, the way she tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair told a different story.
“Take a deep breath,” Beck instructed. “And another. Now, exhale. Better?”
“A little.” She breathed in once more for good measure. “Okay. Questions?”
“One or two.” He met her gaze. “Or three hundred. But I’ll start with the most obvious.”
“Which is?”
“What the hell was your husband thinking?” Since he doubted Sawyer had a logical answer, he plowed ahead. “Leave you the money or don’t. But what gave him the right to dictate how you live your life?”
The codicil David Hale added to his will was unusual, but brief. Sawyer would inherit his fortune if and only if she remarried. He gave her six years to find a husband, and she had to remain married for at least one year.
If she remained single, the money wouldn’t revert to the Hale family but would go to charity.
“I’ll give him points for altruism but nothing else,” Beck said as he felt his temper rise. “Why aren’t you angry?”
“Don’t forget. I’ve lived with the fallout for almost five years.” She frowned, marring her calm expression. “But I was angry. For a day or two, I thought I hated David. Leaving me forever wasn’t enough. He decided to sic his mother on me. Because have no doubt, I’ve been in Camille’s crosshairs from the moment the terms of his will were revealed.”
“She wasn’t happy.”
“She was livid. Until she decided to play the sweet, understanding mother-in-law.” Sawyer’s laugh held an edge of bitterness. “The role did not come naturally. But she tried, and I let her. The day after David’s funeral, a parade of potential husbands began to appear.”
“Wow.” Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t let any grass grow under her feet.”
“All I wanted was to crawl into a dark corner and mourn my husband. She wouldn’t let me.”
“Bitch,” Beck muttered, then shrugged. “Sorry.”
“I’ve called her worse,” Sawyer said. “I put up with her obvious machinations because I was in shock. Camille unearthed every blue-blooded man who possessed even a whiff of Hale blood. Rule number one. The money had to stay in the family. Rule number two. She had to be certain she could control my husband.”
“If you remarried, she had no guarantee your new guy wouldn’t go rogue.”
“So, she found the perfect person. David’s brother.” Sawyer's hands balled into fists. “I was reading in the library; my chair hid me from view. Camille entered with her lawyer, so excited about her plan.”
“Wasn’t he still a kid?” Beck asked as he tried to wrap his head around the idea.
“Mills was barely eighteen and about to graduate from high school. Old enough, in Camille’s twisted mind, to marry and father a child.” Sawyer shuddered.
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say that didn’t involve a string of profanity. Crouching by the chair, he eased open her fingers, keeping her hands in his. “Obviously, you weren’t on board. No sane person would be. What did you do?”
“After two months of walking around in a fog, Camille’s plan cleared my head. I waited until she left, went to my room, packed a bag, and left without telling anyone or leaving a note.”
“Yay, Sawyer.” Beck squeezed her hands. “Where did you go?”
“New York. I found a college with an excellent horticultural program and minored in business. I took my life back.” Sawyer stood, slowly moving around the room. “I didn’t expect three thousand miles to stop Camille. She had minions everywhere, keeping an eye on me.”
“Minions?” Beck smiled.
“Good word,” she said. “Accurate. A few months after I started classes, guess who enrolled in the same university?”
By now, Beck had a pretty good take on how Camille Hale’s twisted mind worked. He only needed one guess.
“Your ex-brother-in-law?”
When Sawyer nodded, Beck rolled his eyes.
“Mills made a hard play for me at first. Very aggressive, very annoying. He backed off after I convinced him he wasn’t as charming as he thought.” A twinkle entered her hazel eyes. “A swift kick to his backside helped get my point across.”
“Hit him on the wrong side.”
“I would have kicked Mills in the balls, but after eighteen plus years under his mother’s thumb, I figured they were so shriveled, what would be the point?”
Beck laughed, harder when Sawyer joined in. The release felt good, almost as satisfying as punching something—or a certain ex-brother-in-law.
“Why did you—” He cursed under his breath as the phone’s timer interrupted his question. “Need to take the casserole out of the oven. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Mind if I come along?” Sawyer asked, giving her hair one last fluff before neatly folding the towel. “I could use a glass of that wine now.”
As Beck took care of their dinner, Sawyer opened the back door for Ringo. He sniffed the air, nodded his thanks, and trotted out.
“Built him a doggy door right after I adopted him. He wasn’t a fan.” Beck grinned at the memory. “Only took one time for the raccoons to join us in the house for me to end the experiment.”
“You spoil him,” Sawyer chided with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “And I don’t blame you a bit.”
Beck poured two glasses of crisp white zinfandel, handing one to Sawyer.
“The food has to rest for some reason or other.”
“The sauce needs time to set,” she said, making him wonder if he was the only person on earth who didn’t understand the principle.
“I’ll take your word.” He nodded toward the padded bench tucked away in the breakfast nook. “Might as well wait in comfort.”
“Did you renovate the house?”
“Top to bottom,” Beck said with pride.
“Let me guess. You planned to sell, but after putting your heart and soul into every detail, couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else living in your baby.”
Beck nodded. Maybe she talked to his mother? Or she found her way into his head. He should have found both prospects disconcerting. Instead, he was curious as to how she knew, nothing more.
“Don’t worry.” Sawyer smiled. “I’m not psychic or nosy.”
“Then how…?”
“To a lesser degree, I felt the same when I finished the Johannsen project,” she explained. “My first real landscaping job, and I wasn’t allowed to enjoy the fruits of my labors. I had the pictures Talia took for my portfolio. But digital images aren’t the same.”
“Moving Mrs. Johannsen’s yard would be difficult, even if she agreed.”
Sawyer sipped her wine and chuckled.
“I’m aware. However, I understand the desire to keep something you’ve sweated and worried over.”
“The place isn’t practical for one person.”
“You can afford the upkeep?” Sawyer asked. “The taxes? The insurance?”
“Yes.” Beck nodded. He appreciated the way her mind turned to the bottom line without missing a beat.
“Do you ever feel lonely or overwhelmed by all the empty rooms?”
“Never felt anything but comfortable and at home.”
“Sounds like keeping the house was the right choice for you.” Sawyer clinked her glass against his. “Besides, if you ever change your mind, my guess is the place would sell in a heartbeat.”
“You’re right.”
“But you won’t change your mind.”
Beck shook his head. He was exactly where he wanted to be. The big house never felt lonely, though he had to admit, Sawyer’s presence gave the place an added something he couldn’t define. Glow was the wrong word, though she brought an added warmth that went beyond central heating or a well-lit fireplace.
“I should toss the salad,” he said, needing a moment to clear the crazy thoughts running through his head.
“May I help?”
“Sit and enjoy your wine. By the time I finish, the casserole should be ready to eat, and we’ll move into the dining room.”
Beck found a wooden bowl in the refrigerator next to Tilly’s special dressing. He scowled when he read the note stuck to the side of the jar, instructing him not to drown the delicate greens.
“Something wrong?” Sawyer asked.
“All’s good,” he assured her as he carefully poured the proper amount of dressing, grumbling under his breath the entire time.
Tilly could be a major pain in the ass. However, the man knew how to cook. Settled at the impeccably set table, Sawyer took one bite of salad and sighed with pleasure.
“I taste a touch of tarragon. Amazing.”
Beck thought about steering their conversation toward a neutral subject so Sawyer could enjoy her dinner. She had other ideas.
“I tried to live a normal life in New York.”
“Other than Mills, were you harassed?” he asked, following her lead.
“In a way.” Sawyer sighed. “The first time a man asked me out, one who didn’t come with Camille’s stamp of approval, I said yes. Not because I wanted to. Because…”
“Going on a date seemed like a normal thing to do?”
“Now you’re reading my mind,” she said with a smile. “Normal was the goal. Unfortunately, I couldn’t settle into my new life.”
“What happened?” Beck asked.
“The nice, normal young man who asked me out didn’t show up. Later, I discovered he received an email canceling our date. The wording was nasty, to put it mildly.”
Beck felt a fresh wave of sympathy for Sawyer, while his dislike for Camille Hale took a turn toward hatred.
“A paid minion made the email seem to be from you?”
With a nod, Sawyer pushed aside her empty salad plate. She dished up a healthy helping of the casserole and dug in.
“If I talked to a man, he was targeted with insulting emails or texts. Sometimes both. Word quickly traveled around campus. Before long, I was labeled a social pariah. Men wouldn’t come within ten feet of me.”
If he knew Sawyer, and he did, she wouldn’t sit around and let someone else dictate her life.
“What did you do?”
“I went to a bar, met a guy, and asked him out.”
Beck ignored the protective instincts pushing to get out. Picking up a stranger was never a good idea. The world was filled with predators. However, Sawyer survived, and the last thing she needed as she unburdened herself was his unsolicited advice.
“We had a nice time,” Sawyer continued. “Nothing earthshaking, but I would have said yes to another date if he called. Not soon after, his Facebook page was inundated with comments from supposed ex-girlfriends. He was called everything from a creep to a cheater. He received a message telling him if he ever went out with me again, the accusations would escalate to cries of abuse.”
“The joys of social media. People tend to believe what they read.”
“Now you know why I don’t date,” Sawyer said. “If I were the target, I’d tell Camille to go to hell. But I won’t let her ruin another person’s reputation.”
“Seems David’s plan to find you a husband backfired,” Beck sneered.
Sawyer’s eyes grew sad.
“David didn’t have time to process what his father’s death meant. He made a rash decision without thinking about the ramifications. If he’d lived, I’m sure he would have torn up the codicil.”
“Are you sure he would have changed his mind?” Beck wasn’t.
“If I didn’t, I’d…” She slowly exhaled. “I’ll never know. But I need to believe. Can you understand?”
Beck had never loved anyone the way Sawyer loved David. He was never coming back to fix his mistakes. She had the right to shove his hurtful actions toward the back of her mind and hold the bright, shi
ny memories close.
“Why did you move here?” Beck asked the question he meant to ask before the timer on his phone stopped him. “We’re only a short drive from Los Angeles. About four hours. Less time by plane.”
“Wouldn’t matter if I moved to Timbuktu. Ex-mother-in-law dearest would have eyes on the ground before I found a place to sleep.” Sawyer stabbed at her plate as if imagining the piece of chicken was Camille. “I was tired of running. I’m angry with myself for letting her greed turn me into a fugitive.”
“Why Eatonville?”
“I came for Talia’s wedding and liked what I saw,” she said. “Starting a new business was daunting. However, having my best friend around for support helped. Plus, I want to be close to watch my goddaughter grow up.”
“Talia’s having a girl?” Beck asked. “Good.”
“Because…?”
“The world needs strong women. I can’t imagine Talia not raising a badass.”
“Unbelievable,” Sawyer frowned.
“What?”
“If someone described you, my response would be Beck Kramer is too good to be true. Except I can testify that you aren’t.” Deliberately, she met his gaze. “You, my friend, are the real deal.”
Beck prayed the dim lighting hid the heat he felt rise to his cheeks. Sawyer’s effusive praise was bad enough. He didn’t think he could live down a full-on blush.
“I have my faults. Plenty.”
“All the good ones do,” she continued without mercy. “If Ringo could talk, the praise would keep on coming.”
“Jesus, Sawyer.” Beck cleared this throat. “Change the subject. Please.”
“Flaw number one. You can’t take a compliment.” Laughing, Sawyer grabbed his hand before he ran for cover. “Tell me one thing before I stop.”
“What?” Beck grumbled, bracing himself.
Lips twitching, she leaned closer and whispered, “What’s for dessert?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
♫~♫~♫
BECK AND SAWYER fell into an easy routine. Each morning, they would meet halfway between his house and her apartment then finish their daily jog together.
She hesitated to join him at first, worried he would land on Camille’s radar.
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