Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
After serving a year in prison for a crime he swears he didn’t commit, Ford Sawyer returns to the shadowed halls of Heartstone Manor only to find freedom offers no escape. His father’s true killer is still out there, and suspicion clings to Ford like smoke. Worse, the man who once defended him now wants him dead—and has sent a killer to finish the job.
Paige McKenna thought taking a nanny job with the wealthy Sawyers would bring her closer to the truth about her father’s mysterious disappearance. But instead of answers, she’s entangled in secrets far darker than she imagined. And at the heart of them stands Ford—magnetic, brooding, and possibly a murderer.
As dangerous truths rise to the surface and a ghostly presence stirs within the walls of Heartstone Manor, Ford and Paige must decide if they can trust each other. Because someone is watching, someone is hunting—and the past isn’t done with either of them.
Forbidden Heart is a standalone romance with a happy ending. It’s the ninth and final book in The Hearts of Sawyers Bend series, featuring the Sawyer family of Sawyers Bend
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Chapter One
PAIGE
ONE YEAR AGO
Istared into the cold dregs of my coffee and let out a sigh. I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for a million years. Slouching back in my chair, I tried a deep breath, hoping some oxygen in my brain would wake me up. I hadn’t slept well in months. At night, I’d lain in my childhood bedroom listening to the rattle of my mother’s breaths as she struggled for air, dying a little more every day. Now, the silence was oppressive, every creak of the house as loud as a gunshot.
I was alone. I’d thought it was all I wanted.
I hated this house. The walls were a sick mustard shade, stained by years of cigarette smoke. The linoleum in the kitchen was faded and worn through in spots. My mother had refused to update any of it. Decorations were a waste of money, she’d insisted, and waste was sinful.
I’d escaped this house as soon as I could figure out how, leaving at eighteen for college, paying my way by working as a nanny, a job I’d found out of pure luck. I’d arrived on campus knowing my scholarships would only go so far, and I needed to find a job fast. Then a professor had a friend who had lost their nanny last minute. They were desperate. I was desperate. I didn’t have a ton of experience with kids, but neither of us was in a position to quibble. I took the position, and within six months I’d moved out of the dorms and into their home, changing my major to early childhood education. Who knew I’d love taking care of someone else’s kids?
I didn’t want my own—not anytime soon—but for the first time in my life I’d seen what a family was supposed to be like. For so many years it had just been my mother and me, after my father had walked out on us. Nothing about growing up with Harriet McKenna brought to mind the concept of family. Constant criticism and a liberal smack of her palm on my cheek when she was displeased had left me feeling like the only point of family was to escape them.
But at eighteen, a freshman in college warmly enfolded into the Bellingham family, I saw what it could be. A husband and wife who loved each other, who made time even though they both had busy careers. Who doted on their children despite their packed schedules. The kids were easy to love. Abby, an infant, fussy at nap time and not a fan of the bottle, but otherwise the cutest thing I’d ever seen. And Joshua—a spirited two-year-old. We did well enough once he learned he couldn’t charm me, though deep inside I had to fight not to give in when he flashed those dimples.
I stayed with the Bellinghams through college and two years of grad school, intending to leave and find a teaching job from there. The kids were old enough to go to school, and I needed to make a decision. I had the degrees. I’d acquired some in-class experience. What did I want?
I’d been headed to the classroom when a friend of the Bellinghams made me an offer I couldn’t refuse: follow their family as they traveled, minding two young children. It was a chance to see Europe on someone else’s dime. I’d met the Smiths in the course of my years with the Bellinghams—they were kind and fun, their kids boisterous but good-hearted. I said yes, packed my bags, and off we went.
Another four years passed that way. I could have gone on like that forever. Halfway through my twenty-ninth year, I got the call. My mother—who I’d barely spoken to in almost a decade—was sick, dying, and alone. Reluctantly, I went home, though “home” hardly seemed the word to describe this place. I looked around again and sighed. What a waste. What a sad house she’d lived in—we’d lived in. Now that I’d seen the world and knew how things could be, the stark contrast was all the more apparent.