Page 227 of Wild Then Wed
She groans dramatically as she stomps off, muttering, “It’s Christmas! Can’t I get a break?”
Crew sighs and looks heavenward. “She’s going to age me tremendously.”
I laugh. “She’s just spunky.”
“Spunky,” he repeats, dragging the word out. “That’s one way to spin it, I guess.”
I smile, watching as Nora licks frosting off a cinnamon roll like it’s her life’s purpose. “You’re doing great, Crew.”
He shoots me a tired, grateful look. “And you’re very kind.”
Then his expression softens a little. “Also—sorry for just showing up unannounced. We didn’t mean to ambush you guys.”
Before I can answer, Sawyer chimes in. “Yeah,” he says, dry but not actually irritated. “They tend to do that.”
Crew runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up a little at the crown like he’s been doing it all morning. “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.”
Sawyer claps a hand on his shoulder, firm and appreciative. “I’m glad you came.”
I glance between them. For all their differences, they’re cut from the same cloth. Crew’s a few years younger, but just as solidly built—broad shoulders, forearms that probably don’t fit into most jacket sleeves, the kind of strength you don’t get at a gym. His skin’s still sun-kissed even in the middle of winter, and his eyes are a sharp, slate gray that give away almostnothing. Strong nose, strong jaw. He’s…objectively very good-looking. The sort of good-looking that would probably land him in trouble if he had more free time.
His gaze flicks between the two of us, settling on the way Sawyer’s arm settles naturally around my waist again. His mouth curves.
“You two look awfully cozy for a fake marriage.”
Sawyer doesn’t miss a beat. “About that.” He glances down at me, then back at Crew. “We decided it’s not so fake anymore.”
Behind us, Estelle lets out a high-pitched squeal, hands clapping together. “Iknewit!” she says, rushing forward. She wraps me in another hug, tighter than the first.
“I justknewSawyer liked you,” she says, pulling back just enough to wag a finger at him.
Sawyer rolls his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
“I’m your mother,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him, daring him to challenge her. “I know everything.”
She turns back to me, both of her hands gripping mine. “This is just the best news! We need more girls in this family. I’ve been outnumbered for far too long.”
I laugh, warmth rising in my chest. “You’ve raised good men. And a sweet girl. I’m just lucky to be here.”
Her eyes go soft, her grip tightening just slightly. “So are we, sweetheart. So are we.”
I glance around the room—at the people filling it, voices overlapping, boots kicked off by the door, the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee warming the air.
And I feel it. That slow, quiet sense of belonging.
I don’t know everything about this family yet. I don’t know how they fully operate. But I can feel that they care. That I’m not just a name on paper or an obligation tied up in water rights and old grudges. I’m someone they’ve chosen to fold in.
Even Vaughn, who hasn’t said more than five words to me since I’ve worked here, but nodded when I offered him coffee and stood up to let me take the last chair at the table. He reminds me of my dad in a way I didn’t expect—quiet, steady, sharp when he speaks but content to let others take up space. It makes me wonder how the two of them never saw that in each other. How they managed to butt heads for decades when, underneath all the bark, they’re made of the same kind of grit.
Their rivalry ran deep—everyone in Summit Springs knew that. It started when they were teenagers, fueled by stubbornness and pride, then calcified over the years into something that felt permanent. Un-fixable.
And because of that, I’d always stayed away from the Harts. All of them. Not out of dislike, but because it felt easier to keep the line drawn than cross it.
I wonder now what I missed.
If I would’ve known Sawyer sooner. If we would’ve seen each other differently. If this whole thing could’ve started long before it did.
But maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m here now. In the middle of a loud, full house with too many voices and not enough chairs. A niece curled up on the couch with frosting on her chin. A mother-in-law who gives warm hugs. And a husband who stays wherever I am—refilling my mug, leaning in every so often to press a kiss to the side of my head like he just can’t help it.
