by Layne, Ivy
Alexander Braxton Sawyer had founded this town after fighting in the Revolutionary War. Some of these families had been here just as long. Griffen’s great-great-grandfather had built Heartstone Manor as a gift for his beloved wife. A gift that was now a piece of American history. If we said no, all of it would fall to dust.
“It’s only five years,” I said.
Griffen took a step closer, crowding me with his body. I’m tall, but he was taller—much taller. “You realize Harvey said it has to be a real marriage. You didn’t miss that part?”
He caught the shiver that ran through me at those words. His eyes flared, and I stepped back before I could stop myself. I jerked my head in a nod and looked down to see my hands fisted at my sides.
I’d cross that bridge when we came to it. If I tried to think what a real marriage with Griffen Sawyer implied, my head would explode.
“We don’t have all day,” Griffen commented, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you need time to think?”
I shook my head. There wasn’t anything to think about. We could pretend we had a choice, but both of us knew the truth.
“I guess the only question is will you marry me, Hope Daniels?”
I looked up into Griffen’s sea green eyes, so familiar and so distant, and said the words I never thought would cross my lips. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Griffen Sawyer.”
Griffen gave a brisk nod and left to call Harvey back in. We took our seats at the table again and carried on as if nothing momentous had happened. Calmly, I read and signed the prenup Harvey put in front of me as a part of me was completely freaking out.
Stop! What are you doing? Don’t sign that! Run, run far, far away!
I couldn’t listen to my fears. I had to do this. I didn’t have a choice.
“So,” Harvey said, reviewing my signature, “did you discuss your witness?”
“What about Miss Martha? Was she still working for dad?” Griffen asked, mentioning the Sawyer family housekeeper. Harvey was shaking his head in a negative as I bit back a laugh.
“Miss Martha quit four years ago,” I told him.
“If you could get her to come back, I’d agree to Miss Martha.” Harvey made a note in the file in front of him.
“Would you approve of Savannah?” I countered. From what I knew of how things had gone down with Prentice and Miss Martha, she wasn’t coming back. Her daughter Savannah had worked in the house when she was younger, and she might be willing to take the job.
Harvey thought it over. “I’ll agree to Savannah. If you can talk either of them into taking the job, send her to me and I’ll get it set up. Things are a mess over there.”
“What does that mean?” Griffen asked, but Harvey only shook his head and went on.
“I took the liberty of having Clary from the Register of Deeds office bring over the license. Judge Wilcox will be here in five minutes. We’ll do the paperwork and get this taken care of. The ring is on you,” he said to Griffen, who nodded.
I hadn’t even thought about a ring. Before I knew it, Clary came bustling in with her seal and the paperwork and two pens, and then the judge was there.
Griffen and I stood facing each other at the end of the conference table and repeated the words that would change our lives.
They went in one ear and out the other. Nothing registered until Griffen looked down at me, his eyes cool and remote as he said I do. I had a last impulse to turn on my heel and fly out the door.
My mouth opened and I felt the vow form.
The words fell between us like stones.
“I do,” I swore.
And then it was done.
I waited for someone to say Griffen could kiss the bride, but the words never came. We both stepped back, the judge and Clary and Harvey conferring over the license. I stood there, my ears ringing, wobbling a little.
Had that just happened?
Griffen raised his chin at Harvey. “Are we done here? For now?”
“For now. You have my number. I’d suggest taking care of the business we discussed first off, then stop by here tomorrow.”
Griffen nodded in agreement and turned to me. “Let’s get a piece of pie.”
Chapter Six
Hope
Griffen strode out the door of Harvey’s Victorian, his feet crunching in the gravel parking lot. As he reached the street, he raised his head and looked around as if surprised at where he was. “Maisie’s place still around?”
“Same as it always was.” Maisie’s Café served breakfast and lunch. She had the best pie in town. Always had.
Griffen’s body was drawn tight, his eyes scanning our surroundings. Nothing about this man said he wanted to climb in a car and sit. Maisie’s wasn’t more than a few blocks away. Glad I’d worn sensible shoes, I started to move. “Come on. We can just about get there before she starts closing up for the day.”
We walked in silence, side-by-side. I looked around, seeing the town through Griffen’s eyes. So much had changed in the last fifteen years. Everything and nothing.
Tourists were the lifeblood of Sawyers Bend, demanding a delicate balance between the allure of yesteryear and the need for modernity. Almost every business on Main Street offered free wifi—heck, even Maisie’s had it—and the gas station had plugins for electric vehicles, but the iron benches on the sidewalks were the same design as those installed a century before. Ditto for the streetlamps, the window awnings, and most everything else.
All of it shiny and new even as it hearkened back to an earlier day. The booths at Maisie’s had been replaced three years before, the surface of the wooden tables shiny and unmarred, but the menu wasn’t much different. After a few weeks, Griffen would absorb the changes in town and everything would be familiar again.
Except his entire life had changed.
We were married.
Married.
I snuck a glance at the screen of my phone. Uncle Edgar hadn’t called me since that morning when he’d secured my promise to attend the burial and the will reading.
Of course, he hadn’t called.
He already knew I was exactly where he wanted me.
Why?
Foolish question.
I knew exactly why Uncle Edgar wanted me married to Griffen. Edgar and Prentice had their business all tangled up together. My official job was as Edgar’s assistant, but I knew almost as much about Prentice’s business. With Prentice dead, Uncle Edgar would want his interests protected.
If some idiot took the helm of Sawyer Enterprises it could mean big losses for Uncle Edgar. Uncle Edgar didn’t like to lose. From his point of view, it made absolute sense that he would position me right next to the Sawyer heir.
What I didn’t understand was why Prentice had agreed. None of this made sense. I should be angry that my future had been hijacked for someone else’s purposes.
What future?
I worked for Uncle Edgar. That was it.
I got up, did what Uncle Edgar needed, and went home. Sometimes I stopped by the library on my way back to my little apartment. I liked to go for walks when I had time or get a coffee at my friend Daisy’s bakery. That was the extent of my social life. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone on a date.
How could they hijack my life when I didn’t have a life in the first place?
Sometimes I thought I’d used up all of my rebellious spirit moving out of Edgar’s house and into that apartment. Now, I’d have to leave it behind for Heartstone Manor. I should have been excited. Heartstone was practically a castle, and I would be its mistress. Temporarily.
I followed Griffen through the front door of Maisie’s, acutely aware of the way conversation stopped when we entered. Probably drawn by the silence, Maisie came bustling out of the back, stopping abruptly at the sight of Griffen. A wide smile spread across her face as her arms
flew wide and she hurtled her small, rounded body into Griffen’s arms. He closed his own around her in a tight squeeze.
Maisie liked to gossip, and she baked a mean pie, but most of all she had a warm, loving heart. She leaned back and reached up to cup his face in her palms.
“Griffen Sawyer! Didn’t you grow up to be a handsome man? Where have you been?”
She gave him a light smack on the cheek as only a woman who’d known him since birth could do. Griffen reached up to take her hands in his, giving her the charming smile I remembered so well. “Maisie Evans. You don’t look a day older than when I left.”
She blushed at the compliment, her eyes twinkling. “You always were a charmer.” Her eyes skipped to me, narrowing in concern as she took in my dark suit and the mud on my low heels. “Let me get you a table.”
She looped her arm through Griffen’s and led him to an empty booth in the back corner of the café. “I forgot today was the funeral.” Her sharp eyes studied me and Griffen. She nodded decisively. “You two need pie. Peach, cherry, apple, or blueberry?”
“Peach,” Griffen answered immediately.
“Just coffee for me, Maisie.”
Maisie shook her head at my order but didn’t comment, gesturing for us to sit. We did and she bustled off. Griffen smiled down at the tabletop. “She really does look exactly the same.”
“Maisie doesn’t seem to age.”
We sat in the booth, the silence a chasm between us. I didn’t know what to say.
I’m sorry you had to marry me.
I was sorry. Still wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I’m sorry your father died?
We’d already covered that. I wouldn’t lie to Griffen. I doubted anyone was sorry Prentice had died.
A cup of coffee slid in front of me accompanied by a slice of blueberry pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. My favorite dessert since I was a little girl.
I’d never forget the first time Uncle Edgar brought me here, my hair in two uneven braids, my dress the wrong size but clean and new. He’d sat opposite me in a booth almost identical to this one, his face heavy with a dour expression that should have frightened an eight-year-old. Edgar didn’t frighten me. He’d saved me.
He was abrupt. He wasn’t affectionate. He made it clear I was an annoyance and a burden. But he’d saved me. He’d fed me. Given me clean clothes. He’d braided my hair, albeit badly.
He brought me to Maisie, who wrapped me in hugs and fed me blueberry pie.
I’d cried into that first slice of pie. Cried at the sheer delight of blueberries bursting over my tongue, the sweetness of the house-made ice cream. Mostly I cried because between Maisie’s sugar-scented hug and Uncle Edgar’s obdurate expression, I knew that I was safe. For the first time in my short life, I didn’t have to be afraid.
Edgar didn’t love me, but he understood loyalty and family in a way my own parents never had.
Maisie met my eye as she slid a plate in front of Griffen loaded with a healthy slice of peach pie and its own scoop of vanilla ice cream. She inclined her head towards my own blueberry pie.
“Eat that. No arguments. You’re too skinny.”
It was a frequent complaint from Maisie. Uncle Edgar believed women should look like sticks. I’m an adult and don’t live in his house anymore, but the lessons of childhood are hard to forget.
I spent most of the day working in Edgar’s office, subjected to his comments on everything from my note-taking skills to the way I wore my hair. It was easier just to go along. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dug into a slice of blueberry pie.
I picked up my fork and sank the tines into the flaky crust. If there was ever a day to forget about calories, it was today. I took a bite of the pie and couldn’t help remembering the eight-year-old girl I’d been.
Twenty-three years later I was still just as well-behaved—and I was still just as safe.
For the first time, I had the uncomfortable thought that maybe safety wasn’t enough. Maybe safety wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“We need to make a list.” Griffen cut into my thoughts, his voice too low for the neighboring tables to eavesdrop.
A list. I could do lists. I was a champion for lists. Setting my fork down, I dug into my bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. Flipping to a blank page, I wrote To Do at the top in my neat handwriting.
Below, I wrote #1 and looked up at Griffen in expectation.
“We have a shit-ton of things to take care of, but first on the list is arranging for our witness.” He rolled his eyes at the word. I had to agree.
We were adults. We didn’t need a babysitter. Prentice Sawyer was an ass, but he wasn’t a fool. This forced marriage deal would be easy to fake, and for some bizarre reason, Prentice wanted it to be real. Or as real as he could make it, considering I was the last woman Griffen wanted to marry. I was trying not to think about the ramifications of that.
Griffen went on, “We can start with Miss Martha and Savannah. Hopefully, we can talk one of them into it.”
I wrote Miss Martha/Savannah after #1 on my list.
“Next?”
Griffen muffled his sigh with a fork full of peaches and ice cream. He chewed thoughtfully before answering. “We need to see Harvey tomorrow. There have to be papers to sign. I want to make sure payroll gets cut.”
I wrote that down next. #2. Harvey
“I have to find out what’s going on with Ford.”
#3. Ford
“You don’t think he did it,” I said as I finished writing Ford’s name.
“No way,” came Griffen’s immediate response. “Do you?”
I shook my head. I was with Griffen. No way.
Ford was tough as nails when he wanted to be, but he wasn’t a killer. He was also extremely intelligent. If Ford had decided to kill Prentice, he was way too smart to get caught.
The idea that he would march into Prentice’s office and shoot him in the head then stash the gun in his bedroom closet? No flipping way.
The topic of Ford settled to Griffen’s satisfaction for the moment, he went on with his list. “We have to go to Atlanta, at least overnight. I didn’t bring anything with me, wasn’t planning on staying.”
I nodded, adding #5. Atlanta to the list.
Griffen took another bite of pie as he read the list upside down. Swallowing, he said, “What happened to number four?”
“Number four is Heartstone Manor,” I said, surprised I needed to state something so obvious.
Griffen visibly flinched.
He hadn’t seen his home since the day he’d been cast out. Guilt stabbed at me again. I wasn’t the one who’d thrown him out. That honor went to Prentice. But it was my fault he’d had to leave.
My foolish teenage yearnings had led me to tell a secret, a secret that had ended up stealing everything from Griffen. His love, his family, his legacy. I’d never regretted anything in my life so much as those few ill-spoken words.
When Griffen’s pie was done, I pushed my half-empty plate away and got moving. Our to-do list was only five items, but they were big ones and the clock was ticking. We only had a few days before we needed to be living in Heartstone, our witness in place. That week would fly by before we realized the time was gone.
“You should finish that,” Griffen said, looking at my mostly uneaten blueberry pie.
“I’m good,” I lied. “Let’s go see Miss Martha.”
We walked back to Harvey’s office and our cars. I got in beside Griffen, navigating as he drove the few short miles to the small cottage Miss Martha had purchased after she’d quit working for Prentice.
Despite her history with Prentice, Miss Martha’s eyes lit when they landed on Griffen at her front door. A tall, sturdy woman, bigger than me but not quite as big as Griffen, she pulled him into her arms, patting a
callused hand on his back and rocking him from side to side as if he were a child.
With a sniff, she straightened and stepped back. “Come on in before you let in the flies.” He obeyed, a grin quirking his lips. Martha’s strong hand landed on my shoulder as I passed. “What kind of trouble you in, girl?”
“You won’t believe it when I tell you,” I said.
We followed Miss Martha back to her kitchen, sitting at the table while she started to make coffee. Griffen tried to stop her. “We just came from Maisie’s, Miss Martha. Don’t go to any trouble. I need to ask you if you’ll come back to work at Heartstone.”
Martha let out a harrumph and continued setting up the coffee. “Boy, you can’t jump right into business. I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. Sit your tail down at the table and have a cup of coffee with me.”
Griffen sat. Unlike Maisie, Miss Martha had changed over the years. Her red hair had streaks of gray at the temples. Lines grooved her fine skin around her mouth and on her forehead.
“You coming home,” she asked after pressing the button to start the coffee maker, “or are you just here for the service?”
“Looks like I’m coming home. We have a situation,” Griffen said carefully. “I need someone I trust in the house. Why did you leave?”
Miss Martha ignored his question, arranging a tray with coffee mugs, a plate of cookies, and anything else she thought we’d need. You could take the housekeeper out of the house, but she was still Miss Martha. Finally ready, she added the carafe of coffee to the tray and set it in the center of the table.
Griffen controlled his impatience. Barely. When she was settled in her chair, she said, “I’ll say you have a situation, Griffen Sawyer. One brother in jail for murder, the rest of your family falling apart. What are you going to do to fix it?”
Griffen froze, completely unprepared for her demand. Fix it? After what they’d done to him, his family should be falling to their knees in gratitude. He’d turned his entire life upside down to save the town. Save their fortune. Instead, they’d stormed out of Harvey’s office like Griffen was the villain. He wasn’t the one who needed to fix things.