To See You Smile

by Brea Viragh

  To See You Smile

  A HEARTWOOD NOVELLA

  BREA VIRAGH

  Copyright © Brea Viragh, 2017

  All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than the work in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

  For all those who believe in the power of true love.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AFTERWORD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Country wisdom:

  Never take what isn’t given.

  An abundance of acorns on the ground signals a bad winter.

  Disturb a man when he’s working and face the consequences.

  Lorelei Zasso was about to learn one of those three things the hard way.

  She gripped the steering wheel until the nubs dug into her hands, her eyes glued to the road. The car shuddered when she took a curve too fast, so she eased back on the gas pedal. Nerves, at this point, would only spell disaster. Not that there were any reasons for nerves. None at all. None whatsoever.

  The Virginia mountain roads could be treacherous even on a good day, with sharp corners and steep drop-offs where an inch over the line meant certain death. She’d seen her fair share of people with neck braces, crutches, splints, the works. She didn’t want to be one of them.

  Overhead, the sky darkened; a summer storm threatened. She wished the weather would hold. There were only three hours until her mother’s birthday party. Rain and revelry did not mix well.

  Why had she waited until the last possible moment to get a gift?

  God, maybe her parents were right. She never had her head screwed on straight. She’d probably leave it somewhere if it weren’t attached to her spine.

  Sunday meant a day of rest to the majority of folks in Heartwood. It was a little after noon, and church was just letting out, so the good people of the town would either head home or find a spot at the diner for a quick lunch. To her, this Sunday was the harried result of accumulated procrastination. Mother’s birthday. Last-minute party. She’d forgotten to buy a gift. Fuck.

  Lorelei didn’t often curse—on account of the kiddo at home—but this was an exceptional situation. It definitely qualified as worthy of a curse. Or two. The car rattled threateningly as she pushed it for more speed—neck braces and crutches be damned. She’d have to save for a tune-up, if the rattling was any indication. Her already thin budget was stretched to the max. Yet here she was with a pocket full of cash dragged from a piggy bank, ready to trade most of it for a few pieces of tinkling wood. If the cash wasn’t enough, she’d write a check and beg for a week of leniency before it was cashed. How funny, what some people were willing to buy with hard-earned money.

  She punched the accelerator and kept going, only slowing when she saw the driveway, mired down in weeds long overdue for a good mowing. Half hidden behind dandelions and thistles was a sign swinging from a post: Whispering Wind Chimes.

  An artist he may be, but clever he was not.

  Lorelei pulled into the driveway and eyed the clouds. She climbed up the embankment, going over just what to say to the man in question—not her idea of a good time. If her sixth sense was on point, then this wouldn’t be an easy argument to win. But it was necessary.

  Her mother had gone on and on about the wind chimes. Even went so far as to call what Sawyer Parksdale did a “gift.” Lorelei wouldn’t quite describe them in the same way, but the chimes were kind of magical.

  That damn rain better hold.

  The car skidded to a halt. Gathering her purse, she hustled up the front stoop, narrowly avoiding a porch board that needed to be nailed down. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance and she hesitated outside the door, her hand poised to knock.

  “Go away! I’m working.”

  The man had a gift, true. A gift for alienating people. The yell came before her hand had even reached the wood.

  She paused, unsure how to proceed. “Um, Sawyer? It’s Lorelei. Zasso. Lorelei Zasso.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” came the hasty response. “It’s Sunday and I’m up to my elbows in projects. Leave.”

  She kept her voice calm. Soft. Sweet, but with a hint of iron. “I just need a minute of your time, if you please.”

  “No.”

  A sensible woman would have taken the cue and walked away. Maybe even jogged. Sprinted and not looked back, more like. Instead, she set her face in a demure smile and tried the doorknob. Nanny had often said something about flies and honey, although Lorelei would rather stay away from flies. Nanny also said that if one door slammed, another opened.

  Lorelei didn’t have time to wait for another one to open. She was on a deadline.

  The door was unlocked.

  “Sawyer Parksdale!” she singsonged, dodging boxes on her way through to the back room where the voice had sounded from. “I know you’re in here. You and your wonderful disposition. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard you loud and clear. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

  She turned, following the voice around a corner. “Funny how you even stay in business. You want to run off a paying customer?”

  “One word: Sunday.”

  Turning the corner, Lorelei found the man hunched over a worktable, light brown hair sticking out in all directions like he’d gotten his finger stuck in a light socket. His workspace was littered with wood and metal scraps and copper wire. A typical man mess.

  He sat frozen in his own little world.

  “When are you going to get a proper workshop?” She slid her eyes over the set of his shoulders. If she hadn’t known him, and remembered the last time they’d spoken, she might have thought him attractive.

  Eh, no. She’d learned her lesson already. Lorelei was done with men, completely finished. Kaput. After her last disastrous attempt at a long-term anything, resulting in a daughter and little else of consequence, she knew better than to dip her toe in a pool with a fierce undertow.

  “I know it’s Sunday, but I need a favor—”

  “Lorelei, no. I won’t say it again.”

  The smile she kept in place, determined to get what she wanted. The attitude she kept tamped down in case she needed it later. “My mother’s birthday party is in two hours. Needless to say, I forgot a gift. I can be so scatterbrained sometimes,” she replied airily.

  Sawyer didn’t stir from his project. Deft fingers flew over pieces of reed-like wood and wove them together with wire. “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” he commented in a neutral tone.

  “It means I know she’ll love one of your wind chimes because she’s been talking about it for months. I was stupid for waiting until the last minute. Let me throw some money at you, grab a wind chime, then I’ll be out of your hair.” Lorelei pushed her own hair back, curled strands frizzing in
the summertime humidity.

  His chuckle sounded like a rusty engine turning over. “You think it’s that easy?”

  “Well, yes, I do. This is retail.”

  “This is farm-to-table arts and crafts.” Sawyer finally glanced up from his work, blinking in the muted light of the afternoon sun. “Made from locally timbered wood, and steel from the mill one county over. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

  He’d let his facial hair grow, covering the lower half of his face. Lorelei remembered him from last summer, at the market she’d gone to where he’d set up a booth. Things had changed little since then. He was still sturdily built. Still dark and rugged in all the right ways. Still a pain in the ass, although she kept that thought to herself.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she admitted.

  “It means there is a strong demand for quality because Tom, Dick, and Harry are all busy with welfare and Walmart. No one can do what I do.” His eyes caught hers for a brief moment before his head snapped back to his work.

  Well! He didn’t have to look so proud about it. Or sound so smug. She sweetened her smile. “Which is why I’m not at the local hardware store grabbing any old wind chime.” Lorelei hiked up her big girl boots and stood her ground. If a five-and-a-half-year-old couldn’t pull one over on her, then neither would Sawyer. She loosened the strap on her attitude and let a hint of annoyance shine through. “Come on, work with me, here.”

  “The last time I worked with you, you tried to swindle me out of about a hundred bucks.”

  She threw her hands on her hips. “You were overpriced! What did you want me to do?”

  “You haven’t spoken to me since. An entire year spent hating my guts because you didn’t bring enough money to the market.”

  It hadn’t been that long. Had it? Her haggling skills, and her memory, were slipping. “Well, I’m speaking to you now. And I always say hello when we pass each other on the street. Which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Not the same. You want me to give one of my babies to you instead of the numerous people I have waiting on backorders.” He quirked a brow and it disappeared into his hairline.

  She blinked, drawing on her reserves and the wealth of Southern steel she had hidden beneath the belle. “Pretty please?”

  “You don’t hear the word no often, do you?” Sawyer asked. He spun back around on his stool and gave her the cold shoulder. A curt end to their meeting.

  “I prefer not to hear it at all.”

  “Then I’ll say it again. No.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “No. No. No.”

  “Sawyer, you aren’t giving me an option. You want me to leave, but I can’t without a wind chime. I refuse to show up empty-handed for my mother’s sixty-fifth birthday. There must be something I can do besides write you a check…” She gestured toward the hallway. “Do you need those boxes unpacked? My ex has the kiddo next weekend and I can help you do some cleanup around the house.”

  “Not the type of help I need,” Sawyer murmured. “Not what I would have in mind, either.”

  “Ah, so there is a price.”

  She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “There might be something you can do for me and I’ll let you have a wind chime.”

  “Oh?”

  “A certain proposition I can make…”

  It didn’t take much effort for her to look affronted. “I absolutely will not sleep with you.”

  Wide brown eyes blinked in surprise when he glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t want you to sleep with me.”

  But he wanted something. Lorelei could tell. For the life of her, she had no clue what it was, if sex was off the table. “What, like I’m not good enough to sleep with?”

  “Sure, of course you’re… God! This is why I don’t let women into my workshop.” Sawyer slammed the pliers down and spun to face her once more. “I can never win.”

  “Then tell me what you want.”

  He shoved his legs wide, leaning his forearms down on his knees. “My brother is coming into town soon and I have a business proposal I’d like to discuss with him.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Lorelei asked skeptically.

  “I may have presented him with a certain…picture of my life the last time we spoke. You see, my brother is a total piece of shit. He’s always had it in for me. It’s been a pissing contest between us for as long as I can remember.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Is this going to be a long sob story?”

  “Taking credit when it should have belonged to me. Making my life a living hell from the time he turned thirteen. And there’s more, but…” He waved a hand dismissively. “The unfortunate part is that he has the money I need. Long story short, he’s Wall Street, and I’m Skid Row.”

  Her lips drew together into a thin line. “I repeat, what does any of this have to do with me?”

  His smile was unnerving as it crept slowly across his face. “I need you to be my wife.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sawyer watched Lorelei take a step backwards, her gaze darting around the room as though she were suddenly wondering what she’d been thinking by coming here alone. Like a rabbit about to be caught in a garden snare, she was checking for an exit. If her presence wasn’t so infuriating, the reaction might have made him laugh.

  He had to stifle a chuckle nonetheless.

  “You have to be kidding me,” she muttered. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard worse.” He glanced down, nonchalantly scrubbing at the flecks of dirt and wood shavings beneath his nails.

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not really a joking kind of guy. Not my style. If you’d rather not help me…” He dangled the metaphorical carrot in front of her face, shifting so Lorelei could take in the piece he’d been working on.

  Sweating over, more like. It took hours of crafting to get each wind chime to what he needed it to be: a polished piece of artwork that caught the air and made it sing. The current one was polished mahogany with copper wiring, each slender barrel of wood cut and tuned beautifully. To perfection. It was one of his favorites, he’d decided along the way, and it would be a shame to let it go. He even had a spot picked out on his porch.

  However, the epiphany had come to him in a moment of blinding clarity. Never mind that it happened only three seconds ago.

  Sawyer needed a wife, and he needed one fast. The months had gotten away from him. Last time he’d checked the calendar, it had been April and there was still plenty of time before Maverick came to Heartwood—the tiny Virginia mountain town with a single stoplight. The next time he turned around to look at the calendar, it was August and a mere two weeks lay between him and the visit he’d been dreading.

  Nothing like seeing family. Especially when there was a tiny white lie to fix. Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with female friends. He hadn’t had one close enough to call on since sixth grade, when he discovered that girls had cooties and he was more into music than pheromones.

  Lorelei wasn’t biting, which was a shame. She was probably his best chance. And she’d dropped right into his lap.

  “What I want is for you to take this seriously. Look.” She reached into her purse and broke out a checkbook. “I want you to take this check for two hundred dollars—and wait a week to cash it, otherwise my account will be overdrawn—and I’ll be on my way. If you need more, I’ve got a little bit of cash in my pocket. I can come back with more. You know I’m good for it.”

  There was a plea there beneath the curtness of her words. If he’d had half a heart, Sawyer may have been moved. Again, he wasn’t that kind of guy. Not anymore. “Put it away.” He shifted his weight, the stool squeaking. “I have enough money without your pocket change.”

  She huffed. “You need to work on your salesmanship.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got more orders than I can h
andle, so it seems to be working out well for me so far. I changed my mind and I don’t want your money. I have other needs.”

  “Then what do you want?” she asked, on the verge of a panic attack. “Please don’t say—”

  “A wife,” he stated, taking his time dusting off a space on his workbench, keeping her on her toes and the wind chime in plain sight. “There’s a convention coming up in Cedarville four months from now, and I plan to expand and market. I need the funds to do both. There are certain people in my life who are under the impression I’m married. It wouldn’t do to disappoint them, otherwise I’ll be dead in the water before I even begin.”

  She tapped her foot, anxiously awaiting the rest of the story. “And how, might I ask, did these certain people in your life get that idea?”

  “None of your business. Are you in or not?”

  “I’m going to need more details if you expect an answer. I mean, you are kind of springing this on a girl,” she protested.

  “As I said, my brother will be here in two weeks to decide whether he wants to invest money in me. In my craft. In my potential expansion. I started from the ground up and I still don’t have the funds, despite my reasonable prices.”

  “Weren’t you just talking about not selling out? Not being like every Tom, Dick, and Harry on welfare?” Her voice took on an affected tone as she mimicked him.

  Sawyer shook his head. “Different. I want to expand past Heartwood to the entirety of Virginia. To do that, I need help. Exposure, marketing, staff, the works. I can’t do it on my own, so unfortunately it means my sibling has a leg up on me. If you know what I mean.”

  “I understand you need to kiss a little butt and you’re reluctant to do so, but what does it have to do with me?” Lorelei bowled over Sawyer when he opened his mouth and continued to interrogate him. “Why do you need a wife? What did you say that you can’t possibly take back? I see no reason to involve the innocent, here.”

  “That, sweetheart,” he pointed a finger, “is a story for another day. Suffice it to say there was a great deal of alcohol and my-horse-is-bigger-than-the-Empire-State-Building talk. Which is part of the reason why I’ll never drink bourbon again. So I’ll ask you a second time. Will you do it? Otherwise this beauty here goes to the next buyer on the list. A great guy in town who has been begging and begging me for the last six months.”