Perhaps she was afraid I was going to hit on her. But my ego couldn’t take much more rejection, so I said, “I just retained a lawyer. You don’t have to worry about marrying me. I just want to catch up.”
She stiffened. “You have a way of turning things around that make me the bad guy.”
She was right. I didn’t mean to, and at the same time, I couldn’t help how I was feeling.
“Come have a drink with me and I’ll apologize.”
She pursed her lips, but slid off the stool and went over to an empty booth. I sat across from her even though I wanted to slide up right next to her and pull her hair down to see if it was as long as it had been ten years ago.
“You don’t really think the getting married idea would work, do you?” she asked.
“Actually, I think it could. My lawyer is going to try and work around the marriage thing, but even she said my being single could be a problem.”
“She?”
“Jeannette Schmidt.” I saw a flash of heat in Sinclair’s eyes at the name. She knew I’d once dated her.
She pursed her lips in distaste. “Too bad you can’t marry her.”
“Too bad,” I agreed, only because I got the feeling Sinclair was jealous.
“Do you suppose she’d be willing to give up her hopes, dreams, job, husband and kids to be with you? You ask a lot of the women in your life.”
She’d effectively pushed me back. I looked down at my drink to figure out what to say next. Then I looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry I was an asshole. Selfish asshole.” I clarified.
“Yes, you were. Are. You get away with it because of all that.” She made circles with her finger pointed at me.
“All what?” I wanted to reach out and take her hand. Maybe suck on that finger.
She smirked. “Don’t play coy, Wyatt. You know what you do to women.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t care what I do to women. What do I do to you, Sinclair?” That was probably the wrong response and I thought it would send her running back to the bar.
She shook her head, but I saw a slight upward twitch of her lips. “Asking me to marry you in a marriage of convenience is asking a lot.”
I wanted to tell her there was nothing convenient about this idea. “This marriage idea is another selfish asshole thing. But I don’t know that I can do this without your help, short of starting a riot of angry farmers with pitchforks running Stark out of town.”
Sinclair laughed, and it was so fucking lovely my heart ached. She finished her drink. “I’ll need more liquid courage to be convinced.”
Huh? My brain hiccupped. Was she changing her mind?
I held up my finger. “Hold that thought.” I stood and went to the bar, and reaching behind it, I grabbed the whiskey with a nod to Ryder.
“Don’t get my sister drunk,” Ryder called out.
“She’s in good hands,” I called over my shoulder.
I returned to the booth, this time scooting next to her and pouring us each another shot.
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve had too much already.”
“I’ll look out for you.” Every day and twice on Sundays.
She studied me. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”
I looked into her beautiful blue eyes. There was so much I wanted to tell her. Like how I’d never gone a day without missing her or regretting how I left her. Or how seeing her again tied me up inside with longing. It was crazy how much I wanted her, considering all the time that had passed. But being in front of her, talking to her, it was like it had been ten years ago. Intense.
Understanding that our biggest hurdle was how I’d left her, I decided my best move would be to assure her. “I’m not going anywhere, Sinclair.”
10
Sinclair
I was in trouble. A trouble I couldn’t, or to be honest, didn’t want to avoid, even though I knew I’d regret it. I drank the whiskey, feeling the burn down my throat and the soft, floaty feeling in my head.
I started to see the benefits to this crazy marriage idea. Or I talked myself into seeing them because deep down, that eighteen-year-old girl was still longing for the promises Wyatt had made. And now it was in front of me again. Or maybe not again. I wasn’t sure Wyatt ever really loved me, at least not like I loved him. Maybe his words that summer had been just that; words. Empty promises. After all, if he loved me, he wouldn’t have left. He’d have at the very least made contact with me.
But even if he’d meant every word he said that summer, ten years later, sitting in a bar discussing marriage wasn’t like when we talked about it under the oak tree. Today, it was a business deal to save his and other farms in Salvation, not an act of love.
But even beyond the merits of the plan, there was a bigger hurdle to consider: Alyssa.
“How do you see this fake marriage working logistically?” I asked despite the fact that I knew I couldn’t go along with this idea.
He shrugged. “You could move into the farm with me while we battle Stark.”
“With you and your mother?”
His cheeks flushed as if he was embarrassed to live with his mother. “She won’t be in the way. Or maybe she could move into the grandparent apartment. It’s where my grandparents lived when my father took over the farm.”
I had to hand it to Wyatt. While he’d left us all without a look back, now that he was back, he seemed to be taking his role as a Jones seriously. He was working to follow the tradition set by his forefathers over a hundred years ago. It occurred to me that this tradition belonged to Alyssa too. As his
