Page 10 of Where the Heart Is

She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make this wedding appear authentic to those who didn’t know about her marriage of convenience—namely everyone but her and Phil—and now she felt foolish. Who had she been trying to convince the most, the clueless guests or herself?

That’s the thing about bullishly following a dream, you’d do anything to make it come true—and saving Hills Homestead had become an obsession.

When she’d first proposed the solution to her problems, Phil had laughed so hard he’d almost strained an ab. But when he’d let it sink in, he’d come to see the arrangement suited them both.A forty-nine-year-old single farmer in this close-knit community faced constant scrutiny about his sexuality and speculation about his inability to keep a woman. In exchange for financial assistance to make her dream flourish, Phil would get the townsfolk and his family off his back—plus a healthy chunk of her land to expand his own farm. Win-win.

So why did she feel like the biggest loser on the planet because she’d been ditched?

She hated to admit it but marrying Phil had been as much about comfort as pragmatism. Their friendship meant a lot to her, and she relished the evenings they’d hang out together, sharing a bottle of wine and a few laughs at the never-ending gossip of a small town. She never felt threatened by Phil. Despite his flirting, he never put the hard word on her or overstepped. They shared a love of schnitties, cold beer, and quiet time under a starry sky. They respected each other and enjoyed hanging out. Some marriages were built on less.

Having him back out at the last minute had wounded her emotionally, not just financially, and if Phil’s new relationship turned serious, she’d miss his droll sense of humour and corny jokes more than she cared to admit.

But she’d handled his rejection like she handled the rest of the drama in her life: stoically and pragmatically. Having low expectations meant she’d given up on romance around the time she’d moved on from sneaking her gran’s steamy literature from the box under her bed in her late teens.

Unlike Phil, she didn’t do dating apps. On the occasional trip out of town, she flirted a little, and if a hook-up opportunity presented itself, she took full advantage. But those ‘opportunities’ were few and far between, and the last time she’d had sex could be measured in years, not weeks or months. It never bothered her. Until now.

Because for some odd reason, seeing Sawyer after all these years, having him hold her in his arms and comfort her, had her yearning for something that could never happen.

Sawyer was history. Ancient history. She’d be better off remembering that.

Once she’d packed away the rest of the food, freezing three quarters of it because it would feed her for the next month, she finally did what she should’ve done the moment she entered the house: get out of her dress.

She’d been tempted to rip it off earlier, around the time she’d been demolishing the arbour, but then Sawyer had turned up and she’d forgotten she’d been wearing the thing. Now, as she stood in her plain white cotton undies and matching bra, staring at the crumpled silk streaked with red dust on the floor, she found it symbolic. Her dreams for turning a profit with her farm stay lay in a heap too unless she could come up with another solution fast.

Not that she hadn’t tried already. Marrying Phil had been a last resort and now that option had been removed … she couldn’t bear thinking about it.

She bundled up the calf-length silk dress with spaghetti straps and stuffed it in the clothes hamper. Not that she’d ever wear it again, but she’d wash it and donate it to the op shop in town. Maybe it would bring the next bride who wore it better luck.

Not that she believed in luck. She made her own, not waiting for a nebulous fate to bestow good stuff on her. Which meant she needed to get her arse into gear and figure out another solution for her financial problem.

‘Gumnut, the arbour is down. Anything else you want me to do?’

Sawyer’s voice drifting down the hallway had her stepping into jeans, tugging a blue singlet over her head, and slipping her arms into her favourite short-sleeved flannie. Not that she’d been averse to him seeing her in her underwear at one stage, but she’d grown up. Right?

‘Be right there,’ she yelled, tugging the pins out of her hair and letting it fall, running her fingers through it before snagging it into a ponytail. Her makeup looked even more incongruous now she’d ditched the bridal outfit, but she didn’t have time to take it off.

She needed to get rid of Sawyer.

Because the moment he’d asked if there’s anything else she wanted him to do, a plethora of possibilities popped into her head, starting with him undressing her, ending with him spending more than a few hours here.

Simply, she didn’t want to be alone tonight.

But she wouldn’t use him like that. Sawyer may not have reciprocated her crush years ago, but he’d been a friend, a good one, and sleeping with him because she was hurt and lonely wouldn’t be fair. Besides, even if she put the hard word on him, he might not want to spend the night.

With a sigh, she pressed her fingertips to her temples. What the hell was she thinking? She needed to thank Sawyer for his help and send him on his way.

She flung open her bedroom door and almost ran smack bang into his broad chest.

‘Whoa.’ His hands shot out to grasp her arms, steadying her. ‘Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered, hating how her skin tingled beneath his touch. ‘And stop calling me Gumnut.’

His mouth kicked into the laconic grin that used to set her heart racing. ‘You used to love it.’

‘When I was ten.’

‘You know it’s a term of endearment, right?’

‘Whatever.’

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