Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend Book 2) Read online

  Then again, Hutchins women were always a sucker for a charming smile. It was our downfall, generations deep. Royal’s was so full of charm it was lethal. Tenn had a nice smile too, but he was straightforward. Serious. Royal had the kind of grin that had a girl out of her panties before she could think twice.

  “What the hell is going on?” Tenn demanded, his brow furrowed with concern. “Daisy, are you okay? Hope said you’d bring some samples by, but it’s barely dawn.”

  I gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m up early to start the baking. I knew the kitchens would be open and I wanted to have the basket delivered before you both got to the office—”

  All of a sudden, I remembered the basket of cookies and brownies I’d baked early that morning and had painstakingly wrapped in the ribboned packaging I’d decided on for The Inn, now scattered all over the side lawn along with my phone.

  Before I called Grams to seriously underplay the reason for my delay, I had to find my phone.

  I stood and looked around, catching sight of my basket by the corner of the building, upside down on the grass, the light catching the cellophane-wrapped treats that had spilled everywhere. Dammit.

  I tried not to think about my tired fingers tying all those ribbons into bows only hours before. I was supposed to make a good impression. To wow them with my delicious treats presented so temptingly in their pretty basket with ribbons that matched The Inn's logo.

  Instead, everything was scattered all over the grass. The brownies had probably held up, but the cookies would be a crumpled mess.

  “One second,” I said to Royal and Tenn. “I dropped everything when he ran into me. I have to find my phone.”

  I went to my knees in the wet grass, turning the basket upright and filling it with as many packages of cookies and brownies as I could find. Royal and Tenn spoke quietly amongst themselves. When I glanced up, I found Royal's eyes fixed on me despite his squirming captive.

  I looked away, focusing on my task, surrounded by the disaster of my latest bright idea, the pain in my swelling cheek a tight throb. I wished I could disappear. I wished I’d never come here. If I were playing that game, I wished I’d done a lot of things differently.

  I finally found my phone. I chickened out and sent Grams a quick text instead of calling.

  Still at The Inn. Can you open without me?

  She answered almost immediately.

  On it, baby girl. See you when we see you.

  Grams thought I was working too hard. If only she knew. Grams still lived in the house where I'd grown up. A few blocks from Main Street, it was walking distance to the bakery. I, on the other hand, lived in a small apartment above the bakery which made it easy to hide the long hours I'd been putting in.

  Then again, I might be fooling myself. It was never easy to put one over on Eleanor Hutchins. She might be my grandmother, but she was still sharp as a tack. The second she saw my cheek, there’d be hell to pay. But that was a problem for later.

  First, I worked on reassembling the cookies and brownies in the basket. With so many broken cookies it would never look as nice as it had when I’d packed it, but it would do. I'd take the broken cookies back to the bakery and put them to use in something else.

  Rising slowly, my muscles aching in protest and my cheek throbbing, I walked back to where Royal and Tenn waited with our captive.

  Royal’s eyes were still locked on me, his charming grin nowhere in sight. Tenn only had eyes for the basket on my arm.

  “That looks fantastic. You were going to leave that in our offices so the first thing we saw was that basket of treats?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Now I was wondering if it was just foolish.

  “Pass over one of those broken cookies. I can't wait until I get into the office.”

  Mutely, I did as ordered, some of my embarrassment fading as Tenn's eyes rolled in pleasure at the first taste of one of my chocolate chip cookies.

  “Why don't you go up to the offices with Royal and you two can talk about your proposal while you wait for West to take your statement? You need to get some ice on that cheek.”

  “You ready to take this asshole?” Royal asked, his grip tightening on sweatshirt guy's wrists, wrenching them up and driving the man's face into the grass.

  “Let's go,” Tenn agreed, and seamlessly, they switched places. Sweatshirt guy tried to roll as Royal stood, but he wasn't fast enough.

  Once Tenn had him secure, Royal turned to me and held out a hand. “Let's get some ice on that cheek. Breakfast? Coffee?”

  A little dizzy from the quick shift, I slid my hand in his and with the other gave him his phone. He had it at his ear a moment later. “Two Blue Ridge breakfasts in my office and a bag of ice.” A raised eyebrow at me. “Eggs scrambled? Fried? Regular coffee, or do you want a cappuccino or latte?”

  Dazed, I clutched my basket. “Scrambled and cappuccino, please.”

  Royal relayed my order.

  “I could have waited with Tenn,” I said. “You don't have to—”

  “You need ice on that cheek. Considering you got beat up while trying to save The Inn from a cockroach infestation that would have been a monumental pain in the ass, the least I owe you is breakfast.”

  I couldn't argue with that. I kept an immaculate kitchen, but every time the health inspector stopped by my stomach was still in knots. So many details, so many things that were easy to forget. No one wanted a bad sanitation score hanging in their window.

  I could have stayed with Tenn and sweatshirt guy to wait for West. I probably should have, but Royal’s fingers were warm around mine. Strong. I let him lead me through the terrace doors and the lobby to the elevator, noting that he held each door, careful to make room for my somewhat rumpled basket of treats.

  The executive offices were on the third floor, quiet and dark. It looked like Royal and Tenn’s assistant wasn’t in yet. Royal flipped on lights as we passed through the outer office, everything decorated with the same rustic elegance that dominated the rest of The Inn. The wide, tall windows in Royal’s office looked out over the gardens. I peeked down to see West hauling sweatshirt guy to his feet, already cuffed.

  “West is here,” I said, needlessly.

  Royal gave a quick glance outside before taking the basket from my arm and setting it on his desk. Using the light streaming in from the window, he tilted my chin and studied my swollen cheek. His thumb grazed my face so lightly it didn’t hurt but sent a faint pulse of energy shimmering across my skin.

  “He got you good, didn’t he?” Royal asked, his voice tight. Gently changing the angle of my face, he murmured, “How many times did he hit you?”

  “Twice.”

  Royal’s thumb skimmed over my lower lip, his blue eyes dark, liquid with some emotion I couldn’t define. Nerves skittering through me, I stepped away. “I’m okay.”

  “It could have been a lot worse. Why did you go after him? You could have just called West. You should have run inside. I don’t know how far he was willing to go, but you could have been hurt, Daisy.”

  “I don’t know why I went after him,” I admitted. “I couldn’t call West. I dropped my phone when he bumped into me. And he just—something about him was wrong. Then I saw him with the box at the air vent. I didn’t know what was in it, but I knew it wasn’t good. I just—I didn’t think.”

  Royal shoved his hands in his pockets, his lips quirking into a facsimile of his charming grin. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing I came along, huh?”

  “Very good thing.”

  Turning his gaze to the basket on his desk, Royal gestured to the seat opposite his own. “This your proposal?” He teased out the envelope I’d tucked beneath the brownies.

  My throat suddenly dry, I nodded.

  “Sit, take a load off while we wait for ice and breakfast. You
’re here, so we might as well do this now.”

  I tried not to fidget as he opened the envelope and scanned my suggestions and cost projections for bringing a little bit of Sweetheart Bakery to The Inn at Sawyers Bend.

  While he was reading, a sharp double knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, it swung open and a uniformed waiter rolled in a table, filling the room with the scent of coffee, sausage, and buttery biscuits. My stomach rumbled.

  Royal looked up. “You can set it up on the desk, and please, give the ice pack to Ms. Hutchins.” He winked at me and went back to reading.

  Chapter Three

  Daisy

  I wanted that cappuccino like I wanted my next breath, but my cheek felt like it was the size of a basketball and the whole side of my face throbbed. I went for the ice first, carefully wrapped in a linen napkin, and held it to my face, my eyes closing in relief at the cool burn.

  Wanting to have my cake and eat it too, I shifted the ice pack enough to make room for a sip of coffee. Bliss. I hadn’t had any coffee since four o’clock that morning. I was way overdue for more caffeine.

  Royal set down my proposal and lifted the lids off our breakfasts. “I like how you coordinated your branding with The Inn’s. Looks good.”

  It did look good. The Inn’s colors were dark red with accents of navy and hints of gold. Years ago, when Grams had designed the first logo for Sweetheart Bakery, she’d chosen a deep, rich pink, not far from the deep red The Inn used.

  For my sample packets, I'd gone with navy ribbons paired with those of the same deep pink we used at the bakery and had added navy and gold accents to the Sweetheart Bakery logo on the sticker. It was still very much branded to Sweetheart Bakery but would fit right in at The Inn’s gift shop.

  “Thanks. I laid out some projections, and of course, we’ll work with whatever you’d prefer, but I thought the third proposal would be the best fit.”

  “Supplying Sweetheart goods in our welcome baskets for suites and cottages as well as stocking a selection in the gift shop,” he confirmed.

  I nodded. “That's not a big commitment on your end and you gives you a chance to see how it goes. I'd also supply coupons for your regular welcome packets as well as the baskets to give your guests a discount at the bakery.”

  “We'd include those anyway. We try to promote local businesses as much as we can. I like proposal number three, but I’d prefer to do it on consignment rather than buying outright.”

  Nerves tickled my stomach. I love running my own business, but these kinds of negotiations were not my favorite thing. I'd known they might ask to put the arrangement on consignment.

  That didn't work for me. First of all, the accounting would be way too time-consuming, and second, I couldn't afford to front the materials in the hopes I'd get paid for them eventually. Not right now. I needed to get paid when I dropped off my stock, not when they eventually sold.

  “These are perishable goods, and on the low end of the price range. I don't think consignment makes sense. If you're worried they won't sell I'd rather start with smaller, more frequent orders and be paid when you receive delivery, not later.”

  “Is this a deal-breaker?” Royal sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his flat stomach.

  “I think it has to be, yes.” I wished I sounded more confident and authoritative. Wished I'd said Yes, absolutely, and wasn’t terrified he was going to turn me down.

  A regular order from The Inn wasn't going to change my life. It certainly wasn't going to solve my cash flow problem. Not on its own. But every little bit counted, and placement in The Inn’s gift shop was added exposure to the many tourists who flowed through The Inn at Sawyers Bend.

  The Inn was a local landmark, and a lot of people who couldn't afford to stay there still visited the restaurant, gift shop, and bar. They might not buy one of my treats at The Inn, but they'd see the package and recognize my sign when they walked through town.

  My free hand curled into a fist in my lap, betraying my nerves. I forced my fingers to uncurl and reached for the cappuccino, pretending this was all no big deal. Like I regularly had breakfast with Royal Sawyer in his office at dawn. Sure, and I'd have tea with the Queen of England later in the day.

  Nothing about this was normal.

  Without saying anything, Royal unwrapped one of the brownies in the basket I'd set on his desk. Salted caramel. My favorite. He broke off the corner and popped it in his mouth, closing his eyes as chocolate and caramel melted across his tongue, the sharp bite of sea salt making the sugar sweeter. When he opened his eyes, he took a sip of coffee, swallowed, and shook his head.

  “I can't say no to those brownies. And we owe you one. Let's do it, starting with orders twice a week. I'll expect you to coordinate with the gift shop to make sure you're keeping us stocked and adjust that timing as needed.”

  “I don't want you to say yes because you think you owe me,” I said as every instinct for self-preservation urged me to shut the hell up. It didn't matter why he said yes, it only mattered that he did. If my foolish recklessness had helped me get their business, then everything had worked out for the best.

  I couldn't help myself. My pride was stronger than that sense of self-preservation.

  Royal flashed a grin that had me pressing my knees together, and this time that grin reached all the way to his deep blue eyes.

  “I would have said yes anyway, but I would have pushed harder on the consignment thing. What you did this morning was incredibly foolhardy. It was also very brave. Sweetheart Bakery is a lot smaller than The Inn, but we both know what would have happened if that guy had managed to dump all those cockroaches into the building. You saved us a lot of trouble. I understand you don't want us to owe you, but the fact is that we do. And your proposal is a good one. It's a win-win. So, smile and say, Thank you, Mr. Sawyer, and finish your breakfast.”

  He winked at me. ‘Thank you, Mr. Sawyer.’ I couldn't help the quirk of my mouth. I was impervious to flirting by handsome men. The wink, that smile—none of it would work on me. I absolutely did not smile back. This was business. That was all.

  Dutifully, I said, “Thank you, Royal,” deliberately using his first name to prove he didn’t intimidate me.

  Never mind that he did. A lot. Far more than I wanted to admit. Something about Royal Sawyer left me off-center. Restless.

  To cover my discomfort, I took another sip of coffee, then set the ice back on the tray and picked up my fork. My last meal had been a long time ago, and The Inn’s kitchen was one of the best in town.

  Cinnamon-scented stuffed French toast, fluffy biscuits, scrambled eggs, and crispy links of local sausage. No way was I letting this go to waste. Royal took my cue and dug into his own breakfast. West didn't knock on the door until we were almost finished.

  Sawyers Bend was a little busier than your average small town, given all the tourists that moved in and out on a regular basis, but Weston Garfield didn't typically see a lot of crime. That had changed since Royal's father died two months before.

  Prentice Sawyer had been shot and killed in the family mansion. The second oldest son, Ford, was in jail for his murder. And Royal's black sheep of an older brother, Griffen, had inherited everything. Since then, the town of Sawyers Bend had skidded off the rails.

  According to Hope—Griffen's new wife and one of my best friends—someone had tried to kill Griffen twice, finally breaking into Heartstone Manor with a gun, intent on taking out as many Sawyers as he could.

  Added to the rumors that there’d been some trouble at The Inn, I was betting West Garfield had been a busy man.

  He greeted Royal like an old friend and took the seat beside mine. Before he got started, he eyed the basket of cookies and brownies. “I know you're not gonna hoard all those for yourselves.”

  With a shake of his head, Royal passed over a packet with a crumpled cookie
and one holding a brownie. West opened the cookie and fished out a piece. “It's a good thing you stay out of trouble, Daisy. I've never been susceptible to bribes, but these cookies might do it.”

  He sat back in the chair, his eyes fastened to my cheek. I couldn't see what it looked like, but it throbbed, and my skin felt stretched tight. Swollen. It was a good thing I had Grams and J.T. to work the front counter at Sweetheart. I didn’t need customers seeing me like this.

  “We have your early-morning visitor locked up. Unsurprisingly, he's not talking. He do that to you, Daisy?”

  “It was dark, and I was trying to find the staff entrance—” I ran West through the events of that morning. When it was happening, it seemed like it took forever. In retelling it to West, I realized only a few minutes had passed from the moment I bumped into sweatshirt guy to Royal pulling him off of me and pinning him to the ground.

  West took careful notes, his face impassive, eyes serious. “Is that everything?”

  “That's it,” I confirmed and drained the last sip of my cappuccino.

  West tapped his pen on his notebook before standing. “What you did was very brave, Daisy. I know Royal and Tenn appreciate you stopping him before he could cause them more trouble, but the next time you run into a stranger in the dark who’s intent on committing a crime, you don't confront them. You run the hell away. Understand?”

  I hung my head. It wasn't that I didn't understand. I did. I agreed with West. He was absolutely right.

  And given the chance, I would have done the same thing all over again.

  I was only somewhat stupid, so I didn't tell West that. Instead, I raised my head and said as contritely as I could manage, “I understand.”

  West nodded. “If you think of anything else, let me know. I'll talk to you later, Royal.” He left, closing the door behind him.

  Royal looked at me. “You just lied to the police chief, didn't you?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. If I'd had my phone, I would have called for help.” I thought about the man in the sweatshirt holding that box up to the air intake vent, and I shook my head. “No, I wouldn't. I mean, I would have called, but I also would have tried to stop him. I'm not saying it was the smart thing to do—”