Bad Boy's Bride

by Jessa James

  He swung down from his horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand and sweeping his hat off his head with the other. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt, then gave her a long look.

  “How far along are you?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she said, looking down. “Um, about seven months.”

  “Mmhm,” he said, staring at her as if he could look right through her. “Funny how that coincides with the last time my son was in town.”

  “Oh,” she said again, going red. “I, uh… I don’t know.”

  Lame, but it was the best she could do.

  “How much?” Arlo asked.

  “Sorry?” she said, glancing up at him.

  “Just give me a number. How much do you need to make this go away?” he asked.

  “Go… away?” she asked, giving him a confused look.

  “Yeah. You, the baby, whatever,” he said, flapping a hand. “All of it.”

  “I’m not really sure what you’re saying, sir. I think I should be getting home,” she said, clearing her throat and turning to leave.

  Arlo’s hand clamped her shoulder like a vise, making her freeze.

  “A number,” he said, spinning her around.

  “Um… there’s no… it’s…” she mumbled, then shook her head. “It’s… not Sawyer’s baby.”

  The lie surfaced out of nowhere, and it was out of her mouth before she could even think about it. Arlo released her with a smirk.

  “You’re a bad liar, Remy.”

  “Well, it’s true,” she said, growing stubborn.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Producing a pen, he started making out a check.

  “Sir…” she tried.

  “I think $20,000 ought to suffice,” he said.

  “I… what?” she asked, taken aback.

  “Consider it… a trust, for the child. Babies are expensive, and your family isn’t exactly flush with cash,” Arlo said, signing the check with a flourish.

  He ripped it from the checkbook and offered it to Remy. When she only stared at him, he dropped it into her basket.

  “Take the money. Forget we ever talked about this,” he said.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” she said.

  “Well, I want my son not to have knocked up some barefoot farmer’s daughter, but we don’t all get what we want,” he said, pulling the reins over the horse’s head.

  He gripped the pommel of the saddle, ready to mount again, then paused. When he looked back at her, Arlo Roman was deadly serious.

  “If you try to come after us for support, or you involve Sawyer in any way, I will hire the best damned lawyer in the state. I’ll come after you. Take the kid, take the farm. Hell, I’ll get you locked in an institution before I let you ruin my son’s future.”

  Remy felt herself crumple, her shoulders sagging. Arlo mounted, swinging his leg over to sit on the horse. He stared down at her for another moment.

  “Don’t contact Sawyer again, Remy. Keep that bastard of yours out of sight. And you’d better cash that check, or I’m going to come calling. Our next conversation won’t be so pleasant.”

  With that, he put his hat back on and rode away, leaving Remy gaping after him…

  7

  Back in the bar, Remy thought she might be sick. She worked through it, keeping her head down, drowning in her own thoughts.

  By midnight, the bar was nearly empty but for a couple of older regulars. The Romans were gone, thank the Lord.

  Tossing a towel onto the bar, she excused herself and went out back. Sitting on a stack of milk crates, she leaned her head back against the rusting tin wall and tried to breathe.

  She’d barely had a full minute to herself when she heard, “Remy.”

  Her eyes snapped open. Sawyer was walking toward her; she could see his flashy black SUV idling in the parking lot. He moved toward her like a prowling jungle cat, big and sleek and muscular. In well-worn jeans and a tight white t-shirt, he could have been walking off of a movie set instead of hanging out in middle-of-nowhere Catahoula.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, pushing up to stand.

  “Hey, I come in peace,” he said, raising both hands. He stopped a few feet away, respecting her space.

  “Well, I have nothing to say,” she said. “Well, except maybe thank you, for earlier.”

  “It was nothing,” he said.

  She pursed her lips and watched him. He crossed his arms and stared her down. When she didn’t speak, he looked frustrated.

  “Why are you mad at me?” he asked.

  Remy scowled. “Who says I’m mad?”

  “This isn’t really how we… connect,” he said, frowning.

  “We don’t connect, Sawyer. You don’t live here anymore.”

  “I do now,” he said, stopping her cold. “And I don’t want there to be bad blood. I’d rather there be something way better between us.”

  His words were heated, sending a little chill down her spine. She could imagine just what he might mean by something better… imagine it in vivid, heart-pounding detail.

  “Sawyer, you should leave.”

  “What if I don’t want to, darlin’?”

  Remy didn’t have a response for that, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. The dark look in his eyes did things to her, made her weak in the knees and… hot. So, so hot, she was almost sweating just from standing this close to him.

  Why does this man make me so vulnerable? she wondered.

  “Remy,” he said, drawing her name out like Rayyyyy-meee. She shivered; she’d always loved the sound of her name on Sawyer’s lips.

  “Sawyer, what do you want?” she asked softly.

  “I want things to be like they were,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? How were things, before?” she challenged.

  “Well… we were friends, at least,” he said, starting to look uncomfortable. How typical of a man his age, using the word friend to describe a relationship that was so, so much more.

  “I don’t want to be your friend, Sawyer. And I need to get back inside,” she said. She turned toward the back door.

  “Wait, Remy. Please,” he said.

  That one word, please, had her turning back to him. His expression was puzzled and hurt, his eyes shining with some unnamed emotion.

  “Is this because I didn’t write?” he asked. “I thought you understood.”

  “Understood?” she asked.

  “That when I was deployed with the SEALs, I didn’t get much chance to write. I know I only sent you a few letters…” he said.

  Remy’s heart dropped. She’d never received any letters, not that it would have mattered.

  “Sawyer, it’s not that,” she said, wishing she could turn around and just run away from the whole conversation.

  “So, what is it?” he asked, a little bit of pleading in his tone now.

  “It’s… not… there’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s nothing between us, there’s just… nothing to talk about.”

  “I don’t understand. I mean, I didn’t expect you to wait for me, but you’re here, and if you’re not married—”

  She had to end this, and quick.

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” she interrupted. “In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. Just… leave me alone, Sawyer. Find a new friend.”

  His expression darkened at her tone. “Remy…”

  “Goodnight, Sawyer,” she said, forcing herself to walk away and close the door behind herself.

  When she got back to the front of the bar, it was empty, a few scattered bills on the counter from the regulars who’d left. Relieved, Remy locked up and broke down the bar setup.

  She held herself together through the whole thing, swallowing down all the pain threatening to rise inside.

  Be strong, she told herself. Be strong for Shiloh.

  She finished everything else and grabbed the mop, working it over the floor in hard circles, trying to exo
rcise the darkness growing in her chest. As she bent low to get underneath one of the tables, giving the whole place the best cleaning it’d probably ever had, she twisted the mop oddly.

  “Ow!” she cried, yanking her hand back. A big splinter had split off and jabbed into her palm, blood already welling around it.

  She dropped the mop, prying the splinter free and sucking at the tiny cut. Tears welled up in her eyes, though it didn’t hurt that badly.

  This is nothing, compared with how I’ll feel if Sawyer finds out about Shiloh.

  That thought proved to be too much, after all she’d been through in the last few hours. She could feel it all bubbling up inside, the pain and sorrow that she so badly needed to release.

  At least here, at The Speckled Hen, no one would see her break down.

  Remy sat down at the booth, hung her head, and finally let herself cry.

  8

  “Still moping about Remy?”

  Sawyer looked up from his spot at the kitchen table to find Colt sauntering into the kitchen. His brother was fresh from the shower, but he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “You look like hell,” Sawyer said. “Didn’t you go to bed at the same time as me and Walker?”

  Colt smirked and shrugged as Walker came in, catching the tail end of Sawyer’s words.

  “A hundred bucks says Colt was at some lucky divorcee’s house until the wee hours,” Walker said, opening a cabinet in search of a coffee cup. “Where are the cups? Three months here, and I still can’t find a single thing in this kitchen.”

  “To the left of the sink,” Colt said. “And we weren’t talking about me. We were discussing whether Sawyer is just grappling with his hangover, or whether he’s mooning over Remy River.”

  Sawyer snorted and shook his head. “No way, Colt. I don’t want any bad blood between me and Remy, especially considering the fact that we need a handshake agreement with her father to keep sharing land and water rights.”

  “So you didn’t drive back to see her after we came home last night?” Walker asked, handing Colt a mug and pouring coffee in his own.

  “Well… just to set things right,” Sawyer said. “I don’t have to defend myself to you two. Mr. Catahoula’s Prime Manwhore over here, and… Walker, I don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you got laid.”

  Walker’s answering scowl made Sawyer chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

  “That’s a low blow,” Walker said.

  Sawyer shrugged. “It’s been four years, Walker. Nobody in the world has more sympathy than me, I promise. But you’ve stopped living your life.”

  “And you’re hung up on your high school sweetheart,” Walker shot back, setting his coffee cup down so hard it sloshed coffee onto the kitchen counter.

  “I’m not hung up on Remy,” he insisted. “There are other fish in the sea.”

  “And yet, I get the sense that you’re not exactly leaving anyone behind in D.C. No one expected you to find a new girl when you were deployed, but for the year since you’ve been back… nothing?” Colt asked, sipping his coffee.

  “No one I feel any need to get back to,” Sawyer said.

  Walker was still scowling into his coffee, Colt moving to pour himself a bowl of cereal. They were all quiet for a few seconds, lost in their own thoughts.

  “Y’all better eat something,” Colt said. “We got work to do today.”

  “Oh, really?” Sawyer asked, arching a brow.

  “Mmmhm. Barn roof needs patching. There’s a whole section of fence down by the river that’s about to rot away. That, and a bunch of other little stuff that has to be done whether we keep the ranch or sell it.”

  Sawyer looked to Walker, who nodded.

  “We need to figure out whether we’re staying or going,” Walker said. “Because if we’re staying, we need to bring on some better hired hands. I keep catching The Colonel’s men sleeping in the barn or sipping from flasks all day.”

  Walker poured two more bowls of cereal, passing one off to Sawyer as he took his spot at the table. Colt joined them and they all ate.

  “We gotta get a cook,” Colt sighed. “Cereal isn’t enough to start the day off with, and I can’t fry an egg to save my life.”

  “Yeah, not really what the military trains us to do,” Sawyer agreed. “But again, we only need a cook if we’re staying, right?”

  Colt shrugged. “You two are the only ones trying to decide. Me, I know I belong here. The idea of giving up the land that’s been in our family for so many generations, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Even if you could make more money elsewhere?” Walker asked.

  “Money isn’t everything,” Colt said.

  Sawyer could only agree with that. They finished their cereal in silence, then washed up and poured themselves thermoses of coffee.

  After breakfast, Sawyer and Walker headed out to the front porch. To Sawyer’s surprise, Colt emerged from the house wearing a new Stetson cowboy hat. He held two identical hats, handing them to Sawyer and Walker.

  “Really?” Sawyer asked as he accepted it and put it on.

  “Feels good, huh?” Colt asked with a grin. “Besides, you’re gonna need it. We have to ride out to fix the fence, the road is almost impassable out there. Needs new gravel laid down before we risk driving on it again.”

  Sawyer only nodded, thinking of the driveway at the River farm. Apparently it was easy enough to let those kinds of things fall into disrepair.

  “When’s the last time you rode?” Walker asked Sawyer.

  Sawyer thought about it, then shrugged. “The last time I was home. I rode out to the swimming hole with Remy.”

  True to form, Walker and Colt went quiet when Sawyer mentioned Remy. He shrugged it off, figuring if they’d made it this far without telling him their Remy-related secret, it was theirs to keep.

  The brothers headed to the stables, and Sawyer took a minute to examine the structure itself, eyeing the state of the roof and walls. There were six horses stabled there, and two workers in the barn.

  Short and coffee-skinned, the two cowboys were busy shoring up one of the barn walls. Already, there was a marked improvement between that wall and the other three, which were leaning as bad as the Tower of Pisa.

  “Hola,” Colt said to the two workers, who nodded at him and continued their work.

  “You speak Spanish now?” Sawyer asked.

  “Hey, you’re not the only linguistically adept brother, okay?” Colt joked. “And yeah, I’ve just started to pick it up since I’ve been back in Catahoula. The majority of the men The Colonel hired speak very little English, so it’s practical.”

  “I see,” Sawyer said, walking over to check out the horses. Looked like four geldings and two mares, mostly mixed stock. Probably chosen for their calm temperaments and patience, like any good ranch horse.

  The Roman Ranch was a working stock ranch, supplying horses and various types of cattle to the surrounding areas. The horses were mostly imported and sold right away, though the ranch had another larger stable from the dude ranch days.

  The cows, they raised here on the property, maintaining a nice big herd of breeding stock.

  “You should probably take one of these three,” Colt said, pointing to two of the mares and a dappled gelding. “No offense, but if you haven’t been on a horse in three years, the others won’t be as easy to manage.”

  Sawyer shot Colt a glare, which made Colt laugh.

  “I said no offense!” Colt said. “Just take my advice, save yourself some trouble.”

  Walker was already in the stall with the biggest gelding, a beautiful dark gray beast. Sawyer picked the gelding that Colt had pointed out, 13 hands high with a brown and cream dappled coat.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “Pericles,” Walker said.

  “The Colonel’s getting a little weird with the names these days,” Sawyer said, eyeing the horse. The horse just blinked at him, u
nconcerned.

  Thankfully, once he picked up a brush and spent a second greeting the horse, Sawyer fell right back into the rhythm of ranch life. He brushed his horse down and then saddled him, the muscle memory of it springing back to life.

  He led Pericles out, following Walker and Colt. Colt was putting tools into his saddlebag, things they’d need for working on the fence.

  It took two attempts to swing his leg over, making it clear that he wasn’t as nimble as his high school days. Still, he mounted with little trouble, taking the reins.

  “Ready?” Colt asked.

  “Always,” Sawyer said.

  Colt smirked and led the way. The area they were headed for was clear on the opposite side of the ranch, meaning that they’d have to ride on a scenic roundabout route.

  Sawyer eyed Colt as they started down the broad gravel road that circled the entire property. If he didn’t know better, Sawyer would think that Colt chose this particular task just to take them on a tour of the ranch, remind them how pretty the place could be.

  The sun beat down on them relentlessly, despite the early hour. As Sawyer looked out over the beautiful green pastures, skirting some of the marshier areas, he was glad for the Stetson on his head.

  Pretty soon they started riding past small clusters of cattle, the herds split up by gender and type. The ride was long and quiet, except the moments when they stopped to open and close a gate here and there as they passed through different sections of the ranch.

  They rode by the deserted cabins and mess hall that Sawyer’s mother had used to run her tourist business. When the dude ranch was bustling, the Romans had constructed and expanded to meet the demand.

  Sawyer checked his phone, knowing he’d lose signal soon.

  “Checking on your D.C. hos?” Colt asked.

  Sawyer slid him a smirk. “Maybe. You feeling jealous, brother?”

  “Naw, I just wish I was getting video chats like the one I overheard late last night,” Colt said.

  Sawyer snickered. Busted. “Oh, you heard that, huh?”