Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
His eyes lock onto mine as he wraps my hand in his. “How about we have dinner tonight and discuss all the details?”
Dinner with my future husband? Why not? “Fine, but it needs to be early.”
“How about eight?”
I laugh as I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Eight? That’s not early.”
He chuckles softly as he crosses his muscular, tattooed arms over his chest. “Okay, what time are you thinking?”
“How about five?”
I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. Running a ranch and running a brewery are two totally different things. I’m up early and he’s up late. Which I think will end up being perfect for us, but when we need to be together, finding a time that works for us both will probably be difficult.
“I’ll make it work. Do you want to go to Moore’s for dinner?”
Moore’s is a local restaurant here in town owned by the Moore brothers. One of Callum’s brothers, Brock, is dating Willow, the only sister of the Moores’ brothers.
“As nice as it would be to get out, maybe we should just lay low until we’ve got everything figured out,” I suggest, my voice wavering slightly. “I can make us dinner, if you don’t mind coming back here.” The words feel strange on my tongue, like I’m offering more than just a meal.
He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets with an easy, casual air. “Sure, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll be back at five, and we can iron out all the details.”
Iron out all the details about our marriage of convenience. The thought sends a shiver through me. This is, without a doubt, the strangest and most uncomfortable position I’ve ever been in. I’m about to marry a man I barely know, simply because he’s willing to step in as my husband to save my ranch. It feels transactional, almost cold, and yet here I am, trying to wrap my head around the reality of it. No romance. No love. Just a contract, and somehow, dinner is making me nervous.
“Okay, I need to get back to the brewery. I’ll see you at five.” He turns to walk away but stops and faces me. “What should I bring?”
I shrug as I stare at the man who will be my husband for the next two years. A man that I know very little about. A man who undoubtedly could have any woman he chooses.
“A pen,” I joke, grinning at him.
He chuckles, giving a quick nod. “I’ll see you later, Violet.”
The way my name falls off his lips sends a chill through me. A little bit of nerves or maybe it’s excitement. I’m not entirely sure.
I step out of the barn and look around my ranch. A small smile finds its way to my lips as I nod. I just might be able to do the impossible.
“Well, Dad, I hope you’re happy.”
I check the chicken roasting in the oven, its skin turning a golden brown, filling the house with the comforting scent of rosemary and garlic. The baby potatoes are just about ready, their edges crispy, and the green beans, bright and tender, are almost done too. Everything’s fresh from the farm—except the chicken, of course. I raise my girls for eggs, not dinner. But tonight’s meal feels special, like something that requires more effort than my usual go-to meals.
The chicken is finished, so I carefully pull it out of the oven and let it rest on the counter. A quick glance at the clock tells me I have about fifteen minutes until Callum is supposed to show up. My nerves are shot, twisting tighter with each passing second.
Ever since he left earlier, I’ve been battling with my thoughts, second-guessing this entire arrangement. Marrying a man I barely know just to save my ranch? It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I’m out of options. My father left me with no other choice, and now the weight of that decision is pressing down on me like never before.
After finishing up the day’s work on the ranch, I’d come inside to shower, wanting to wash away not just the dirt, but the tension that had been clinging to me all day. I spent more time than usual on my hair and makeup, trying to make myself presentable, even though I’m not sure why I care so much. I pulled an old dress from the back of my closet, one that rarely sees the light of day. Normally, I’m a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, but tonight, dinner with my soon-to-be husband feels like it calls for something a little more polished.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, I barely recognize myself. My red hair, usually in a ponytail or messy bun, is sleek and straight, with two small braids pinned at the back of my head. I rarely wear makeup—what’s the point when I’m out in the fields all day, sweating it off? But tonight, with just a touch of mascara and lip gloss, I feel like someone entirely different, like one of the heroines from the romance novels my best friend, Millie, keeps pushing on me.