Page 82 of Wild Then Wed
Why did it have to behim?
Why did it have to be a walking marble statue probably carved by Michaelangelo himself with the emotional availability of a rock and a jawline that could cut through steel?
I turn away fast, pretending to be very interested in the mud on my boots.
He’s here.
Which means…it’s time.
Time to tell my family we’re getting married.
Fake married. Totally fake.
For the water. For the ranch. For survival.
God help me.
Winona comes striding back from the stable, her jet black hair pulled into one of those messy braids that somehow still looks cute on her despite being covered in horse sweat. She’s wiping her hands on her breeches when she slows beside me, her gaze catching on something just over my shoulder.
She leans in slightly. “Who isthat?”
I don’t have to ask who she means. Her voice has that breathless edge to it, the one girls get when they see someone so objectively attractive it short-circuits their common sense.
I glance back, just briefly. Sawyer’s standing by his SUV, scanning the property like he’s looking for me. Or maybe just buying himself a second before walking into the fire.
“Don’t know,” I say, turning back to her and shrugging like my heartbeat isn’t thudding in my ears. “Sales rep or something.”
Winona narrows her eyes. “Wren.”
I keep my face straight, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. Just a little twitch.
“Wren!” he calls, lifting a hand.
Shit.
I turn again, lift a hand in return, then shoot Winona a look. She’s already smirking.
“A sales rep, huh?”
“Get to work,” I grumble, trying not to smile.
Winona just grins wider and starts walking backwards toward the tack room. “Copy that, boss.”
I watch her go, shaking my head. She’s younger than me by a handful of years, but she’s got this confidence about her I didn’t have at twenty-five. Quick with a joke. Not afraid to fire back when a horse—or a person—is giving her shit. And even though she technically works for me, she’s become a friend. One of the few who’s stuck around. And yeah, sometimes she plays a little fast and loose with boundaries, but she also shows up on time, takes care of the horses like they’re hers, and sends me dumb memes when she can tell I’ve had a rough day.
I like that about her.
I rub my palms on my thighs and look back toward Sawyer. He’s making his way toward me now, easy and steady, the way he always moves. Like nothing ever really gets to him.
Must be nice.
I square my shoulders. It’s time to face the music. Time to tell my family I’m marrying a man who looks like the leading man in every cowboy movie that’s ever existed.
Totally normal. Definitely fine.
Sawyer finally reaches me, his boots scuffing against the packed dirt. Which is saying something, because he still somehow manages to walk like a man who isn’t about to voluntarily throw himself into the Wilding family lion’s den.
“You hiding out over here?” he asks with a small smile.
