Hitched(15)

“Or we could settle this out of court so my bride can have the honeymoon of her dreams,” he counters. “If that doesn’t prove she’s my top priority, I don’t know what will.”

“All it proves is that you have money to spend and like to travel with female companionship.”

“You can keep the rest of the animals. Hell, take the house and farm too. Sign the alpaca over to me, and we all walk away happy.”

“Chewpaca wouldn’t be happy.”

“I’m trying to offer you the easy out, Hope. Take my offer, or I’ll have to prove to the courts that you’re faking your marriage. And I will prove it before I leave for my honeymoon.” He sniffs. “Probably sooner. Since we both know it’s a sham.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Maybe Kyle and Cara are in love. I thought I was in love once, and it struck me out of the blue.

If he’s right—if the courts will determine who gets Chewpaca based on whose marriage is most valid, then I’m in trouble.

But if I can stall him while I find my own attorney who can argue that I have Chewpaca’s best interests at heart—and an established history of quality care—then maybe we have a chance.

I just have to fake my marriage for a little while longer.

A month, tops.

I can do anything for a month.

I could sleep on a bed of nails for that long.

Live in a straw hut filled with fire ants.

Keep my nails nicely painted with no chips in the polish and remember to lift my pinkie every time I take a sip of my morning coffee.

Okay, maybe not that last one, but surely, I can make being married to Blake look like the real thing for a month.

As if summoned by my thoughts, I hear Blake’s pickup rumble onto the gravel parking lot by the house. Instantly, the dogs launch into their excited welcome bark, because they love Blake.

Naturally.

I decide to take it as a sign that my new husband is riding in to my rescue.

Or that he’s come to completely destroy my attempts to prove our marriage is legal, but a little optimism never hurt anyone.

“I don’t have any clue how you think you can judge a marriage to be a sham or not.” I meet Kyle’s gaze and hold it without wavering. “Marriages are all unique.”

Or so say Cassie and Olivia, and I trust them.

“It’ll be simple,” Kyle says, clearly unimpressed with my argument. “We’ll ask Ruthie May to be the final judge of any and all evidence procured. She’s a shameless gossip, but she always has her facts straight.”

That shouldn’t be a terrifying idea, but he’s not wrong. “Fine. But she likes me more than you.”

“Everyone likes you more,” Kyle says with a disinterested shrug. “This isn’t a popularity contest. It’s the sanctity of small-town gossip at stake. Ruthie May will tell the truth, even if it hurts.”

Again, he’s not wrong.

“But she’ll be gossiping about your marriage too,” I point out.

“I’m unconcerned. Cara and I are deeply in love. But since gossip isn’t always admissible in court—though Ruthie May’s should be—I also have a backup plan.”

Blake appears in the entrance to the barn, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“So what’s so special about seven o’clock, St. Claire? And who’s the creep parked across the street?” he asks in a decidedly unromantic voice, before his gaze lands on Kyle and his lips curve into a tight smile. “Hey, there. Didn’t realize you had company, sugar lips.”

Sugar lips? We really need to work on his pet name choices, but first to undo any damage that grouchy tone might have inflicted.

“I missed you, baby!” Letting my shovel fall to the ground, I dash across the dirt-streaked concrete to jump into his arms. He catches me as easily as if he’s done it a hundred times before, making my pulse pick up and my voice breathier as I add, “Kyle wants to settle this estate thing before he leaves for his honeymoon in a month, but he thinks he’s going to do it by proving we’re not really in love. Isn’t that the funniest?”

“Totally.” Blake’s smile widens, but I’m close enough to see the fear flicker in his deep green eyes.

But this isn’t the time for fear. It’s time to be bold, confident, and commit fully to faking it until we make it. Chewpaca’s future well-being depends on it.

I press my lips to Blake’s, funneling all the passion I feel for my animals into the kiss, only to have Chewpaca, and just about everything else, banished from my mind by the chemistry that ignites between us every time we touch.

Way too many seconds later, I finally rip my mouth from his, breathless and buzzing all over, to hear Kyle slow-clapping as he circles around us, heading for the exit.

“Nice performance, but it’s going to take more than a conveniently timed make-out session to win.” He grins. “See you soon, and remember, I’ve got my eye on you.” Shifting his attention to Blake, he adds, “Oh, and the creep across the street is a private detective I’ve hired to monitor your every move until you screw up. Good luck keeping up the fa?ade twenty-four seven, losers. I give you two days, three tops. Chewpaca will be mine before next Sunday.”

“Not going to happen,” I call after him.