Page 87 of Wild Then Wed
She turns on him, sharp. “Yeah, it was, Boone. Unless you’ve come up with something better in the last twenty-four hours. Care to share with the class?”
He doesn’t answer. Just shifts in his chair, eyes narrowed. She doesn’t flinch.
Her jaw’s set, eyes hard, and she looks like someone who’s been fighting for a long time and is too damn tired to play nice anymore.
It’s not the version of her I’ve been seeing lately—quiet, a little softer around the edges when it’s just the two of us. This Wren is fire. Grit. The protector she probably had to become the second her dad died.
Molly’s the first to break the silence. “Wren, honey, you don’t have to do this,” she says gently, then turns to me, resting a hand on mine. “And neither do you.”
Her hand is warm and it’s one of those gestures that makes you forget, even just for a second, how fucked everything feels.
Wren exhales sharply, her shoulders tense. “Okay. Then what the hell are we supposed to do instead?”
Her voice is firm. Exhausted. She’s not being rude—she’s just out of patience. And I get it.
Molly opens her mouth to respond, but Wren barrels on. “We’ve got until January, Mom. That’s less than two months.” She glances around the table. “I’ve called every environmental attorney in the state. I’ve read the ordinances. I’ve talked to the county. There’s no loophole, no exception. We either share that aquifer as one household with the Harts or we lose access to it entirely. And if we lose that water, we lose this ranch.”
That silences the room.
Even Boone—who’s been doing a solid job of glaring a hole through my head since I sat down—just looks down at the table, his jaw still tight.
Ridge mutters, “This is so fucking stupid. That this is what it’s come to…selling our sister off like a cow just to get some damn water around this place.”
I glance over at Wren. Her fingers are clasped together in her lap, knuckles white. She’s holding it together, but barely.
Then her sister’s voice cuts through. “And you?” she asks, looking at me. “You’re just…volunteering to marry her? Why? What are you getting out of this?”
“Sage!” Wren hisses, her eyes narrow.
“It’s a valid question, Wren! This is crazy,” Sage snaps back.
Everyone’s looking at me now.
I lean back slightly, fold my arms, meet her stare head-on. “I’m getting the same thing you all are. A shot at keeping what my family’s built.”
“But you already have access to the aquifer,” Sage says, not convinced in the slightest. “You didn’t need to do this.”
“I didn’t need to,” I say. “But neither did she. And she came to me anyway.”
Wren looks over, startled.
I hold her gaze. “I’ve seen how hard she’s been fighting to hold this place together. And if this helps both our families survive, then yeah—I’m in. It really is as simple as that.”
Boone doesn’t say anything. But the way his jaw clenches makes it clear he’s still not thrilled. Fine by me. I’m not here to be his best friend.
Wren goes on. “And we only have to be married for a year.”
Molly blinks, like maybe if she keeps doing that, the conversation will turn into something else. Something softer. Easier. She folds her hands together tightly, the lines in her forehead cutting deep.
“Once we pass the first calendar year, we can legally divorce and still maintain our shared household rights to the aquifer. That’s how the statute is written. The county doesn’t monitor beyond that.”
She says it like it’s just a line in a contract. Like she’s not asking everyone in this room to completely suspend reality for twelve full months.
Molly presses her fingertips into her temples, moving them in slow circles as if she’s willing the tension away. “I know you’re trying to do what’s right for the ranch, sweetheart,” she says, glancing between us. “But I just…I don’t know. Marrying someone for water? It’s—well, it’s a bit ridiculous.”
Wren lets out a quiet, frustrated breath. “Yeah, well, the whole situation is fucking ridiculous.”
It’s quiet after that. A heavy quiet. Molly stares down at the table like maybe she’ll find a better answer in the grain of the wood.
