Page 4 of Bringing Home A Cowboy
For a long moment, I just stare at him. The words hang in the cold barn air like the mist of our breath.
If you needed someone to help keep the ranch, I’d be willing to stand in.
James’s voice was serious when he said it, the same tone he’d probably use to talk about mending a fence or checking on cattle. Like marrying me was a practical matter and no big deal. I can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or run for the nearest exit.
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper again, because maybe if I say it twice, the world will right itself.
He doesn’t flinch and indicates this isn’t something he’d joke about. The mare snorts, tossing her head, and I swear she’s judging me. “You barely know me,” I say.
“I know enough,” he answers, voice quiet but firm. “I know what kind of man your grandfather was. I know what this land means. And I know you don’t deserve to lose it because of a line in a will.”
I exhale, pacing a few steps toward the open barn doors. Snowflakes drift in, melting against my boots. “You make it sound so simple.”
He shrugs. “It is. Paperwork. Ceremony. We keep it between us. After the land is transferred to you, we can have it dissolved. We’ll handle it proper.”
My pulse hammers. I’ve handled high-stakes meetings, New York boardrooms, public relation crises that would make grown men cry. But this? This feels like standing barefoot in snow. “You really think we can just … fake a marriage?”
James tilts his head, mouth twitching. “People do stranger things for less.”
I snort, despite myself. “That’s comforting.”
Before I can say more, my phone buzzes. Mom. Oh no, not now. I silence it without answering. The last thing I need right now is another reminder that my family already thinks I’m a walking disaster.
“Miss Martin …”
“Olivia,” I interrupt.
He nods once. “Olivia. You don’t have to decide right this second. Think on it. Talk to Harlan if you want to make sure it’s legal.”
As if summoned, Mr. Harlan appears at the barn door, pulling his scarf tighter. “Everything all right here?”
I blink at him, caught. “Define all right.”
James straightens politely. “Just explaining a possible solution, sir.”
The attorney looks between us, brows raised. “Ah. The … marriage clause.”
I cross my arms. “You knew this would come up, didn’t you?”
He clears his throat. “It is an option, and a legal one. If you were to marry, even temporarily, it satisfies the will’s requirements. After everything is transferred, you could pursue annulment … if desired.”
I rub my temples. “You’re both insane.”
“Practical,” Harlan corrects with a faint smile. “There’s a difference.”
James stays quiet, hands tucked in his coat pockets, like he’s perfectly content to let me work through every conflicting thought. The longer I stand there, the louder my heartbeat gets.
I picture the ranch folded into government paperwork, my grandfather’s land sold off in pieces to strangers who’ll never care about it. The thought makes me sick.
“Okay,” I whisper.
James blinks. “Okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “We’ll do it. For the ranch.”
His lips curve—not a grin, not even a smile, just a subtle lift that warms something inside me. “For the ranch,” he echoes.
Harlan exhales, clearly relieved. “Very well. I’ll draw up the paperwork and schedule a time at the courthouse. Sheriff Collins can officiate if you like.”
