Page 59 of Wild Then Wed
Okay, so this isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.
Turns out asking someone to marry youisn’tas easy as they make it look in the movies.
I hold up my hands, palms out. “I know how crazy it sounds. Just—just let me explain.”
Sawyer’s still staring at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m having a seizure. He hasn’t moved an inch since the words left my mouth—arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw locked, eyes fixed on me like if he blinks, I’ll disappear.
Or maybe he’s hoping I will.
“Can you breathe, please?” I say, because the silence is starting to make my skin itch. “You’re freaking me out.”
He blinks once, slow. “I’mfreakingyouout? You just proposed to me.”
Fair point.
I drag in a breath, forcing my hands to stay steady in my lap. “Okay, look. This isn’t…it’s not like that. I’m not asking you toactuallymarry me.” I pause. “Well. I am. But not for, like…normal reasons.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
I grip the thermos tighter, willing the words to come out in a way that makes even a fraction of sense.
“If we get married,” I say carefully, “it would legally tie our properties together. We’d be considered one household under the county bylaws—one entity—and that means we’d have guaranteed, protected access to the aquifer. They couldn’t revoke our water rights without opening up a whole different legal mess.”
I watch him absorb that. No reaction yet. Still stone.
“And it wouldn’t just help my family,” I add, pushing through the lump rising in my throat. “It would help yours, too. If the county sees you expanding, building a family here—it strengthens the Harts’ hold on your land. Shows growth. Stability. The thing that makes inspectors and committees and greedy developers back off.”
Still nothing. Not a blink. Not a twitch. I’m about two seconds away from throwing up on his perfectly polished floors.
“It doesn’t have to change anything,” I say, quieter now. “We keep living our lives. You run your clinic. I run my training program. No expectations, no actual relationship—just a piece of paper that buys both of us a little more time.”
The silence stretches out between us, tight and frayed at the edges. The only sound is the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall behind him.
I tuck my hands between my knees so he doesn’t see them shake.
“I wouldn’t ask,” I say, and my voice catches for half a second, “if there were any other way.”
He finally moves—rubbing a hand over the scruff along his jaw, dragging his palm slowly over the curve of it—and somehow that just makes him hotter.
If that’s even possible. Which, apparently, it is, because the universe hates me.
He drags the same hand over his face, covering his eyes for a second like he can’t even look at me, and lets out a long breath.
Oh God. This was a terrible idea.
Horrible. Catastrophic.
I’ve said a lot of insane things out loud in my life, but this one might just take the damn cake. I shoot up from the stool so fast the legs screech against the floor.
“Never mind,” I blurt, already moving toward the door. “This was stupid. I’m gonna go now.”
It’s only when I’m halfway across the kitchen that I remember he’s the one who drove me here.
But whatever. The round pen isn’t that far. I can walk it. Freeze to death a little. No big deal.
I’m just about to pass the island when I feel it—his fingers wrapping around my wrist, firm but not rough, stopping me in place like he barely even had to try.
It happens so fast that Hank lifts his head from where he’s curled up by the couch, his ears perked up.
