Chapter 24 – Stevie
Most days I didn’t know what we were doing. After Wylie hauled me out of the rodeo, I agreed to move into Cameron ranch with him until the co-op opened and my time in Lonestar Junction was up.
We were sleeping together almost every night anyways, it was a matter of convenience, at least this way I wouldn't have to keep taking one of his trucks back and forth between Ashwood and Cameron to retrieve changes of clothing before having Wylie shred them while undressing me.
At least, that's what I told myself.
It was easier that way than staying at Ashwood and having Wylie drag me home each night to his bed after work, which he'd done relentlessly for a week post the rodeo. I had to give him credit for his persistence.
However, the real reason I finally relented to living at Cameron ranch was because after two months of silence, Charles texted me stating that he saw my wedding announcement. Much to my dismay, he'd dismissed it, stating that our previous agreement remained unchanged despite me marrying.
For Jovie's sake, I felt safer staying with Wylie and Clay at Cameron, avoiding any potential unsettling encounters if Charles were to appear unexpectedly in Lonestar Junction.
With just three months remaining until October and the grand opening, my daily routine revolved around the co-op. Each day, I immersed myself in community outreach, distributing marketing materials and setting up registration sheets to enroll people in our delivery services.
Meanwhile, I managed inventory and received shipments of produce, strategically building up our stockpile for regular deliveries. While potatoes and other non-perishables arrived weekly, I still hadn't assembled a hired team so most of the sorting and storing of the goods fell to me.
When I'd get home from the warehouse each evening, Wylie and I would have dinner together before he carried me to bed to make love.
We made love, though neither of us uttered the words, because that's what it felt like deep in my soul. I knew without a doubt that I wouldn't be the first to say it in our relationship. I didn’t want to become another on-again, off-again woman in his life. So, I kept things amicable, gave him space, and stopped picking fights or accepting dates with my male neighbors. I even started wearing the ring I had bought for him since I couldn’t bring myself to wear his mom’s ring; it felt too special and sentimental.
“How’s my bandit bride doing?” Wylie asked as he entered from outside, stripping his boots and shirt in the doorway. I loved Wylie like this, in his element and relaxed after a long day of manual labor.
He joined me on the couch, smelling like fresh hay and sweat wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hanging loosely on his hips and a baseball cap. He turned it around, wearing it backwards, with sweaty hair sticking to his neck where it had grown out, his green eyes sparkling.
I suddenly resented how easily we had slipped into this routine of pretending to be 'husband and wife', one that made me wonder if it was real because a part of me was beginning to believe it could be and that part also hated to be hurt.
“Busy,” I said tearing myself from my daydreaming and turning off my tablet, “but I think we’re going to be able to open Nourish in August instead of October.”
“Next month?”
I nodded and smiled though I knew that also meant I’d be returning to Houston sooner than planned and I was no longer sure if that was what I actually wanted.
He hummed as he thought while tapping his foot on the floor.
“You want some dinner? I made lasagna.” I suggested to change the subject.
“Sure.” He moved to stand, but I pushed him back in place on the couch.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“I think I like this wife thing more each day,” he said with a grin as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table.
After assembling the casserole and a beer for him, I joined him on the couch while watching him eagerly eat.
“Fuck, that was good. Where'd you learn to cook like that?" he asked.
"My mom taught Jovie and I when we were little."
"What about dessert?”
“I didn’t make anything.”
Wylie grinned and grabbed my hips before tossing me over his shoulder and stalking towards the bathroom.
“I need’a wash the ranch off my body but I’d like to do it while washing yours.”
An hour later we were clean, limber and back in his bed after Wylie and I hooked up in the shower. He rubbed my shoulders gently in circular motions, working out the stress that had formed beneath the skin over the past few weeks.
I sensed it was time to speak up, to tell Wylie that I was anxious about where our relationship was heading. But I struggled with how to even begin the conversation.
“Do you think we’re making a mistake by sleeping with each other while I’m here?” I whispered.
His hands froze on my shoulders and moved lower, gently turning me to face him.
“Are you regretting your decision to move in?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed, “What’s on your mind?”
“I just don’t know if we’re complicating things. This was a legal agreement and supposed to be a marriage with a singular purpose so that you could get the ranch, not a friends-with-benefits type of situation.”
He nodded, “Are you worried one of us is going to develop feelings and want something more out of this?”
“Isn’t that what typically happens with friends-with-benefits arrangements?”
He shook his head, “when are you going to realize, that this isn’t a friends-with-benefits situation? We’re married .”
“On paper.”
His jaw ticked as he held back his words.
“We fight a lot, Wylie," I pointed out.
“We haven’t been fighting recently.”
“That’s because we’ve been fucking too much to have time to fight.” I laughed then lowered my voice, “I don’t want this to be like what you and Lana had. I know I don’t know what exactly that was, but the breaking up to make up seems toxic.”
"Bandit, what Lana and I had—it's nothing like what we have. We fought because, deep down, I don't think either of us really wanted each other and we didn't want to put in the effort to find someone else. Most of the time, we were challenging each other to end things, both unhappy with our current situations. There was no future with us. But with you, it's different. When I argue with you, it's because I want a future together. I want to prove to you that what we have is worth fighting for every single day of our lives. And, honestly, I enjoy it when you get all flushed and angry. We're not enemies, and we're not just friends. You're my wife ."
I sighed and turned away, my back now facing him once more. I heard his words, but something was missing. Could a relationship that began with a fake marriage ever truly grow into something more meaningful? It seemed like we had started off on the wrong foot from the very beginning.
How could I separate my feelings for him when I was already bound to him in marriage?
And was it even possible for us to genuinely fall in love, apart from obligation?