Page 62 of Wild Then Wed
I stare at him, fully incredulous.
“How are you standing there all calm and collected?” I ask, voice climbing higher than I want it to. “Why aren’t you freaking out more?”
Because I am. I’m freaking out. A part of me—a very big part of me—did not think he’d agree to this. I was sure he’d tell me I was a psycho and chase me out of his house and call the police.
And I don’t usually panic. But if there were ever a time to panic, getting married to a stranger to save a ranch definitely qualifies.
Sawyer looks like he’s trying not to laugh again. Which, frankly, feels rude given the current situation.
“What’s funny?” I demand, throwing my hands up. “Please. Enlighten me. I could use a laugh or two right about now.”
He drags a hand over his jaw, trying to wipe the grin off his face, but it doesn’t work.
“I’m calm,” he says, “because you’re doing enough freaking out for both of us.”
I open my mouth to argue but realize I can’t because…fair.
“And,” he adds, voice steady, “because legally, we only have to be married for a year.”
I frown, trying to remember everything Boone grumbled about at dinner that one night when the water rights issue first came up.
“Under the county regs, shared water access agreements have to be tied to a household for a minimum of twelve months. After that, even if the situation changes…” he shrugs, “grandfathered in.”
Meaning even if we divorced after a year, the Wilding Ranch would still have water.
“We stay married for a year,” I say slowly, piecing it together. “Then we split. Pretend it never happened.”
He nods.
I let out a breath. A shaky, half-crazy one. “What the hell do we do now?”
Before he can answer, I sink down onto the floor next to Hank, my legs giving up on standing. The second I sit, Hanklifts his head and drops it squarely into my lap, letting out a low, happy groan. I start petting his head, running my fingers through his fur, grounding myself in the simple rhythm.
“Why Hank?” I blurt out. “Why did you name your dog Hank?”
Sawyer blinks, caught off guard. “Come again?”
I scratch behind Hank’s ear, not looking up. “I mean, I’m not just moving in with you. I’m moving in with your dog, too. I deserve to know what kind of psychopath names a dog Hank.”
He laughs, loud and real this time, his head tipping back slightly like he can’t even help it. And damn it, it’s unfair how good he looks doing it.
“Really?” he says, still smiling. “That’s what you want to talk about right now?”
“Yes,” I say seriously, because it’s easier than thinking about the life-altering decision we’re actively making. “This feels important.”
He shakes his head, still grinning, the dimple in his right cheek popping out. I want to drown in that dimple.
“Honestly?” he says. “I Googled dog names. Hank popped up first and it felt right.”
I look down at Hank, at his big, blocky head and too-earnest brown eyes.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It does.”
I can feel Sawyer’s eyes on me even as I keep petting Hank’s head. That heavy, patient stare of his that makes it feel like he’s seeing way more than I want him to.
I finally look up, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear because it gives my hands something to do.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice lower now. “You don’t even know me, Sawyer.”
