Page 17 of Morning Wood

“Hey now,” he says softly, covering my hand with his. “I want this. I want you. I love working on this house with you. It feels like we’re building our home, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I nod, swallowing back tears. I keep thinking all of this is going to end horribly, but Beck has been so supportive and sweet from the very beginning. Okay, maybe not the beginning beginning, but pretty close.

Beck squeezes my hand, then stands from his seat and kisses the top of my head. “I gotta go into the office for a bit and then I’ll be at a work site for a few hours. I’ll check in when I can and trust me when I say I will make every effort to be back as soon as possible.”

I nod and tilt my head up, silently asking for a kiss. Beck takes the invitation, cupping the back of my neck and kissing me until we’re both dizzy.

"Gotta go before I haul you off to bed again," he nearly growls. I giggle as he makes his way to the front door and steps onto the porch, which is about half-finished at the moment. We've made so much progress it's almost unbelievable.

A few hours later, I’ve cleaned up breakfast and am well into an upholstery project in an attempt to save the matching antique sofa and chair set. My phone rings and I pick it up right away, thinking it’s Beck.

“Hey!” I say excitedly.

“Hello, Ms. Leavenworth?”

It's not Beck. It's the executor of my great-great aunt's will. I'm still not used to being called Leavenworth, but legally, it’s my name now.

“Uh, Mr. Maxton. Hello,” I say, not expecting to hear from him so soon. Or at all, really. We did all the paperwork and I thought that would be the end of that. I guess not.

"Listen, Beatrix. I have some… upsetting news. You might want to sit down."

My heart leaps into my throat while my stomach drops down to my toes. I don’t want to sit on the partially-finished couch, so I end up sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Okay…”

His next words threaten everything I’ve done and everything I’ve been building for my future. Why is life so cruel? What the hell am I going to tell Beck?

8

BECK

“Dammit, why isn’t she picking up?” I grumble to myself. I’ve called Bea three times since I left this morning, and she hasn’t answered a single one. She also hasn’t responded to any of my texts.

I run a hand through my short hair, then rub my temples, trying to think of anything I said or did to upset her. I thought I left her in a good mood this morning after basically telling her my plan of fixing the house and moving in with her and putting a ring on her finger as fast as possible. She seemed excited, but maybe that was too much? I feel like I’ve known her my whole life, but I understand she’s young and hasn’t had a lot of love in her life.

“Yo, boss, you good?” one of my employees asks.

“Yeah, just… Yeah, I’m good,” I finally land on.

“Need me to take over?” Timmy asks, nodding toward the rotating saw and piece of wood I have yet to do anything with.

I’m about to say no, but realize if I’m distracted and worried about Bea, I might end up in a workplace accident that could hurt me and my employees. “It’s probably best for everyone’s safety if you do,” I answer cryptically.

Timmy raises an eyebrow, but he knows better than to ask any questions. I never leave the job early or miss a day. I guess there’s a first time for everything. For Bea? Anything is worth knowing where she is and that she’s safe.

I hop in my truck and head toward the Leavenworth estate. It takes me less than two minutes to get there, but it’s still not fast enough. Something is wrong. I feel it in my gut. Ten years in the military taught me to follow that instinct.

When I pull up to the house, I leap out of my truck and race to the front door. “Bea?” I shout, knocking on the door. “Sweetheart, if you’re inside, please open up.”

Nothing.

I knock again, more insistent this time. “Did I upset you? Did I say something or not say something or say too much? We can talk about it. We can work through anything.”

Still nothing. I press my ear against the door, hoping to hear some kind of movement. I’m greeted with silence.

Beatrix doesn't have a car, so she must be within walking distance. That doesn't exactly narrow down the places she could be, seeing as most people can walk right through Winifred in the blink of an eye and not even realize it.

I go around the house looking for any signs of a break-in or foul play. After fixing the front door, I made replacing the windows a priority. Several were broken, but now all of them are new, aside from the stained glass in the turret. Everything is in place, and nothing looks disturbed. Or, at least nothing looks more disturbed than a construction site normally looks. So, not very helpful.

Shit. Think, idiot, think of where she might be.

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