Bless Her Heart- S.J. Sawyer

Contents
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
One Year Ago
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Author Note
Author Info
Copyright
Bless Her Heart Copyright © 2017 by
S.J. Sawyer
Cover from Kari March Designs
Image courtesy of Adobe Stock
Proofreading by Jilly's Polished
Reads
This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, businesses, places and
incidents are products solely of the author's
imagination. They should not be construed
as real. Any resemblance to person, living or
dead, actual events, locales or organizations
is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. By payment of the
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nonexclusive, nontransferable right to
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the express written permission of the author
except for brief quotations with
acknowledgment.
Prologue
Summer's End
Jake
"You wanna dance, pretty girl?"
She can't seem to find the words to
answer, but her mass of blonde hair bobs,
excitement brightening every bit of her. I stand
up and help her from the chair. My lips find
her hand, and I place a soft kiss to the inside
of her wrist. She's all smiles before kicking
off her shoes; so I do the same. We walk,
barefoot, hand in hand, out to the shoreline,
just beyond the tables and chairs but not too
far from the music coursing through the night.
The tide is coming in to rest. Further and
further, it rushes toward us until the water
submerges our feet beneath the surface. The
cool mud squishes between our toes, but
neither she nor I mind.
I use our joined hands to twirl her
around before bringing her back into me,
holding her close despite the faster beat. It's
not meant for a slow dance, but I want her
body touching every inch of mine. Cassie
smiles, bigger than the vast sky above us.
Everything is right in the world, and all it
took was her.
Neither of us can find appropriate
words. There doesn't seem to be any need for
them. She raises her hands into the cool night
air, high above her head as if reaching for the
twinkling stars clustered in the dark sky. Her
face tilts, looking down at where our chests
touch, and her gorgeous pale hair falls
forward, blanketing the both of us. The roar of
the waves surges through our blood. We sway
to the beat, back and forth, simply enjoying
the night.
I'm completely lost.
To her.
She has me smiling like the biggest fool
in the world, but I don't care. It matters not at
all to me because I'm head over heels for this
girl, and I hope the whole fucking world can
tell. For the first time in my life, I feel
something. I don't know what it is. Love?
Friendship? Lust? Yes! It's all rolled up into
one perfect package.
My hands trace down her slight curves,
from shoulder to hip. I breathe deep and soak
everything in. My brain races, trying to
process, but it's spinning. There's no backing
away from this. We've come so far, and Cassie
means too much.
"Pretty girl?"
She smiles up at me, love pouring off
her, and for the first time in my life, I feel it.
"Yes?" she asks, breathless.
Even in the dim light, I can see her
chest moving in and out with every breath she
takes. Placing my hand over her heart, I trace
my thumb back and forth in a slow, calm
motion, asking, "Are you feeling alright?"
"Um, yeah," she whispers, wide-eyed.
"Fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Don't argue with me!" she shrieks,
unexpectedly breaking the spell. Cassie backs
away from me, and I let my fingers fall from
her skin. "I just need some air."
I look around us, wondering what the
hell she's talking about. It's all air!
"Okay. You wanna take a walk down
the beach?" She shakes her head, bringing her
fisted hands up to her chest. "Alright. Let's
find a chair, okay?"
Cassie opens her mouth, but nothing
comes out. Her eyes roll back into her head,
and her entire body goes slack. She crumples
to the ground, collapsing in the mud. The
waves don't stop, though. Before I can reach
her, the shallow surf rages over.
Chapter One
Early May
Cassie
He's so hot. Like hotter than the
Oklahoma sun in August sort of hot. Like steal
your breath and scorch your panties kind of
hot that will leave a good girl begging for
anything.
It should be illegal to walk around
without a shirt on, looking the way he does.
Lazy little rich boys shouldn't have
those sort of sculpted muscles everywhere.
It's a total lie. He's never known a day of hard
work in his life. Everything has been spoon
fed to him since he was an infant, but
apparently, no one told God.
His shaped arms are sinful. They look
strong and perfectly toned, like he could
bench press me a hundred times over and
never tire. His chest is as sturdy, all hard
planes and chiseled muscle. I lose count of his
abs as they disappear into the hard V, dipping
down into his jeans. His legs are covered by
the distressed denim, but I've seen him in
shorts enough to know he's no less defined
down there.
Dirty blonde hair blows around as the
wind whips across the lake. His hand comes
up to carelessly push it aside, moving it out of
his eyes. As he does, he removes his Aviators,
holding them carelessly down by his side. I'm
too far away to see his eyes, but I don't have
to be up close to know the icy blue depths that
would stare back at me.
It's ridiculous.
"What are you doin'?"
I jump, startled at being caught oogling
him, and my cheeks instantly blush. Luckily,
it's covered up by my dark summer tan. "Not
much. Just watching the boaters come in."
"You still working?" Emerson asks.
She sits down beside me on the massive rock.
It's the only shaded spot this close to the
water. Everything else is open to the midday
sun, and it's scorching. The loading ramp is
right in front of us, as are the long wooden
piers, and it gives me a great view of the
boats without being in their way. "Cassie!"
Remembering her question, I reply,
"Not really. My shift was over at three."
"What are you still doing here, then?
You're out here enough for Johanna."
"I didn't have any other plans. Plus, I
like seeing all the catch. It's amazing how
many fish are in the water."
"I'm never swimming again," Emerson
says, shuddering.
I shake my head but don't argue with
her. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming to check on Preston. I didn't
have time to go out on the water, not that he
would have wanted me to, but I thought I'd
come by to see him now."
"I haven't seen him come in yet."
"No, he's still in line. I saw the boat as
I walked over." Offering me a drink of her
soda, which I decline, she continues, "Who's
winning?"
"Winning?"
"Like who has the highest count."
"One guess," I say, sarcastically. My
eyes automatically drift back to him. He's
turned to his boat, and I'm rewarded with a
view of his sexy sculpted back as he bends
over, digging for something in the backseat.
So. Not. Fair. "He and Grayson caught almost
double everyone else."
"But they haven't counted Beau and
Preston yet."
"Nope."
"Well, maybe there's a shot of him
getting knocked off that damned pedestal," she
says, sounding optimistic.
I doubt it, highly.
Somehow, Jake Roberson has won the
fishing tournament every year for the last three
years. It's becoming, like everything else
about him, obnoxious. I get why the out of
towners can't catch as much. I mean, it's
practically rigged for the locals. They know
all the best spots, and most of them can
predict the fishing trends. It's in the bag for
them. What I don't get is, why him? There are
so many capable fishermen out there,
experienced, young and old, but he and
Grayson have brought home the trophy over
and over again.
It doesn't help his overinflated ego.
"Let's go down to the docks to wait on
Preston," Emerson suggests. "Maybe we can
all go out on the boat after they get counted
up. Wouldn't it be fun?"
The idea of coming face to face with
Beau Reed, even for a second, leaves me a
little breathless. Spending an afternoon with
him, I shudder at the thought. It's been months
since he chose Shelby, and I've seen them
together countless times, even held precious
baby Charlie, but it still feels like a punch to
the stomach every time I'm close to them.
I'm over him. Really, I am. I don't know
what is wrong with me or where the knee-jerk
reaction comes from. He made his decision,
and honestly, I'm glad for them. In all the
years I've known him, he's never looked
happier. Same goes for her. They're an
adorable, joyful couple. It would be hard not
to be pleased for them, but there's something
inside me that hasn't moved on, not yet. It's
too bad I don't know what to do about it.
"Sure!" I tell Emerson, hoping it will
do me some good. Maybe it's like anything,
the more you do it, the better you get. I'll fake
it 'til I make it. "I'm in."
My answer seems to brighten
Emerson's mood. She's nine kinds of chipper
as we make our way down the rocky incline
toward the lake. My eyes stay glued to the
ground, watching every dip and hill we cross
in a desperate attempt to keep my footing
secure. The path we choose is straight down,
but it is also unstable. Several times, I have to
stop, letting the gravel slide, before I can
continue on toward the water.
We avoid the bulk of the action from
the tournament and stay to the side, out of the
way. Emerson follows me onto the wooden
docks. The planks are warm beneath my feet
when I slip off my flip-flops. Dropping down,
careful of the thick metal hand rail, I allow my
legs to dangle over the side. The water is
some ways below, but the sun glistens off the
surface. Pulling my sunglasses down from my
head, I secure them on my eyes to protect my
fair irises from the bright rays.
Emerson sits beside me, and together,
we wait, watching the people run around
everywhere. Preston and Beau are still a
couple boats out, waiting to come in. They
don't look too happy. It's hard to hear anything
over the noisy crowd, but their hand gestures
and glaring looks say enough.
Glancing away, I look across the boats
and jet skis toward the furthest shore of the
lake. The water shines under the bright
summer sun. It makes everything look more
crisp, perfectly clear. The sky is gorgeous,
filled with fluffy white clouds. They stand out
sharply against the vivid blue. The dark lake
water and shoreline only enhance the intensity
of the sky. It's all so brilliant.
"I love it here," I tell her, smiling.
"I know."
And she does.
Emerson and I weren't always friends.
In fact, I was a bit of a loner in high school
and, therefore, a social outcast. I was the
furthest thing from Emerson Lane. She was the
bright and beautiful social butterfly, flitting
from circle to circle, never meeting a stranger.
Nothing has ever stopped her from fluttering
around, and she enjoys the attention it brings.
We couldn't be more opposite.
But after being tossed aside by Beau,
Emerson became my best friend.
She had lost Red to Mason and,
according to her, had never been too close
with Mary Lou or Shelby. It left us together by
necessity, but I never felt that way. We became
friends quickly, and I've never looked back.
There's no one I trust more.
"Look out!" someone shouts from
behind me.
I can hear footsteps pounding against
the wooden planks, legs in a dead run. My
head whips around quickly, and as it does, I
slam against the hard edged metal of the rail.
Pain shatters across everything. My eyesight
temporarily goes to black. Try as I might to
right myself, I can't. I make to move, but as I
do, I fall. Somehow losing my perch on the
wooden dock, I crash down, knowing I'm
going under.
My body tumbles into the warmed
water, but as I sink deeper into the murky
depths, the water grows chill from the strong
undercurrents.
I struggle, my arms thrashing about, but
it's no use. Every muscle in my body is heavy,
too heavy to move. Something inside of me
screams at me to fight, to pull myself above
the waves. I can't. It's too much. My lungs
ache from the strain of holding in precious
oxygen while my muscles burn, and I'm
desperate to breathe. Opening my mouth, I
know I must inhale, but I also know the water
will consume me.
Muscular arms wrap around my middle,
tugging me tightly against an even more solid
frame. I'm pulled up. After a few strong, sure
movements, we break through the surface of
the water. The light breeze drifts over the top
of the lake, blowing across my face. My mouth
instantly opens to the welcome air. I gulp it
down like there won't be second chance.
"I've got you," a calm, sure voice
whispers in my ear.
I stutter, trying to speak, but there's no
use. I'm being pulled and tugged toward the
shoreline, my back held firmly against my
rescuer's side. Even though I'm a good
swimmer, I don't fight the rescue, knowing it
will only make things more difficult. My head
is aching something fierce. My pulse throbs at
my hairline. It feels sore and swollen, and I'm
scared to touch the spot where I hit the rail.
Please don't let me need stitches, I
pray. My mother will be so mad if I end up in
the hospital needing stitches. Her
overprotective butt won't let me out of her
sight for a month.
"Here we are," the deeply masculine
voice croons to me, and once I'm laid down on
a sandy part of the shore, I instantly seek the
source of the sexy voice. When my eyes
connect with his, I groan, aloud. "Are you
okay?"
I push away from his hard frame. He's
so dang close; it's difficult to breathe. My
eyes drink in the sight of him, and if my head
didn't throb badly already, I'd slap some sense
into myself. He's not a good guy. I know that. I
know what he's capable of, but despite
everything, I'm drawn to him. My eyes drink in
every inch of his exposed chest, and I have to
fight back a sigh when my eyes drop lower.
Now that we are so close, I can see
exactly how his jeans hang low around his
hips, formed to him perfectly after our
impromptu dip in the lake. A strip of his boxer
shorts peeks out the top as if they just had to
make an appearance. The white material,
covered in bright green clovers of all darn
things, stands in a sharp contrast against his
deeply tanned skin.
Try as I might, I can't pull my eyes
away.
I know I should; I'm staring.
It's becoming embarrassing, but I can't
look away from the trimmed patch of dark hair
right above his boxers.
"You gonna be okay, pretty girl?" he
asks, tipping my chin up with his index finger.
It's a harmless touch, completely platonic, but
I burn with it. He tilts his head to the side,
observing me with a small grin tugging at his
perfect lips. His other hand comes to grip my
upper arm and stabilize me. "You hit your
head awful hard."
What is wrong with me?
Why the heck can't I speak?
Chapter Two
Jake
"We have this shit in the bag," Grayson
says, offering his hand for a fist bump.
I stare at him, wondering. "Maybe."
"What do you mean, maybe? Ain't no
one here gonna come close to-"
"Preston and Beau haven't been tallied.
Don't be too sure."
"They ain't got a thing on us."
He's so cocky, and normally, I would
be too. This year was different, though. We
caught a fraction of our usual haul. It wasn't as
successful, which is fine. In years past, we
have won by a landslide. Except for Beau. He
and Preston are always our closest
competition, and I have no doubt he'll be
looking to whoop my ass in any way he can,
even if it's just a fishing tournament.
"They'll be counted in a few," Grayson
says. I follow his gaze back. Beau's boat is
only three behind. "You wanna go ahead and
load everything up?"
"Nah, I figure we'll go back out for fun.
Maybe take some of the girls."
"Did you see Parsons?" He lets out a
long whistle. "Dayum! She was looking all
kinds of fine."
I shake my head but don't say a word.
He has it bad for her, but the hell if he'll ever
admit it. I guess it's easier to fuck her out of
his system.
"Shit!" Grayson swears. He takes off in
a run for the end of the dock, racing toward
the boat. We tied up far away from the out of
towners. Apparently, Grayson did a shit job of
tethering us because the boat is floating away,
untied. "Look out!"
He yells, racing down the wooden
planks. Pretty blonde hair whips around, and
then, everything descends into chaos. It's slow
motion. I watch helplessly as she falls into the
water, grabbing at her head. I glance toward
her friend, but when I see Emerson Lane, I
know I'm on my own. The girl is pretty
enough. There isn't a lot between her ears, but
I'm guessing that's not what keeps Preston
coming back for more.
Shit! Blondie still hasn't surfaced, and
without thinking too much about it, I dive over
the metal rail, landing in the deep lake. I can't
see her; she's sunk quickly. Panic grips my
chest when I think about how hard she might
have hit her head. What if she has a
concussion?
Shit!
I dive down, deeper. Pale hair catches
my attention against the dark water. Reaching
out, my hand finds her waist. I pull her closer
to me and kick, hard. She's limp in my arms,
and it scares the piss out of me. We surface in
a few swift strokes.
"I've got you," I tell her, trying to calm
the frantic beating of her heart. She doesn't
struggle, but her breathing is fast as she gulps
air. "Shh."
Holding her tight against me, I swim us
toward the shore. The water is calm this close
to the bank, and it's easy enough to get her
onto the sand. She's moving, now, and I pray
that's a good sign. "Here we are. Are you
okay?"
I tip her over onto her back, prepared
for anything. Except those damned eyes. They
hit me like a ton of bricks.
Cassie fucking Hall.
Shit!
She moves away from me, and a small
hand comes up to her chest. I can tell she's
uncomfortable with how close we are, but I
can't make myself move. Those haunting blue
eyes grip me and refuse to let go. So fucking
blue. They look like the lake during the fall,
crisp and perfect, every shade of blue
imaginable. I can't look away, not for the
world.
"You gonna be okay, pretty girl?" I ask,
worried because she still hasn't said a word. I
reach out to touch her. I can't not touch her.
The second my finger meets her soft skin, I
groan. She's so damned perfect. "You hit your
head awful hard."
Her eyes are so wide, staring like she
doesn't know what to make of me.
And hell, a nice girl like her probably
doesn't.
"Are you okay?" She swallows, hard,
and I can't take my eyes away from her long,
thin throat. It's so damned sexy. Truth be told,
the goody two-shoes bit she has going for her
is the biggest turn-on, not that she knows it.
"Cassie?"
"I'm fine," she chokes out.
Cassie pushes against my chest, and I
rock back on my heels, squatting in front of
her. She sits up, straight, all prim and proper.
Her hair is drenched, as are her clothes, and it
makes her self-conscious. She instantly pulls
her long, golden strands to the side and begins
squeezing some of the excess water. It only
causes her thin pale-blue tank top to become
wetter as the drops trickle down her skin into
her shirt. My eyes hone in on the tiny droplets
when they skid down her slight cleavage.
Shit!
"How's your head?" I ask, moving my
fingers to the massive gash on her temple.
As if she just remembered the injury,
Cassie's fingers make a quick move to join
mine, and she winces when they touch...