Chapter 2
“Have you been drinking?”
Liam just grins, lazy and unbothered, as he kicks up his boots and props them right on the edge of my desk. Which I guess is technically his desk, since I’m in his home office.
His boots are still caked in dried mud from working the bulls.
So are the frayed hems of his jeans, dust and grit clinging to the fabric like a second skin.
I want to be annoyed. I should be annoyed.
But my traitor eyes betray me, dragging upward, past those lean, powerful legs, up to the open collar of his blue-and-white checkered button up.
The fabric pulls slightly at his chest, just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.
The color makes his eyes look even bluer than usual. Dangerous. Hypnotic.
But it’s the way his hat’s tipped low over his brow, casting shadows across that maddeningly handsome face, and the cocky smirk curled at the corner of his mouth that sends my pulse skittering in a dozen directions.
“Sure haven’t, honey,” he drawls, all charm and trouble wrapped in denim and dust.
“I hate it when you call me that.”
Lies. Bold-faced, shameless lies. I love it. Every single time. The way it rolls off his tongue like I already belong to him. The way it slides under my skin and makes my chest ache in the best and worst way.
But it’s not good for me. Not for my sanity. Not for my stupid little heart that hasn’t figured out how to stop falling for him. You’d think, by now, my heart and brain would get on the same page. They haven’t.
“No, you don’t,” Liam says, that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth. “And admit it. You’re at least intrigued by the idea.”
“Intrigued? By the idea of fake dating you?” I scoff, crossing my arms. “Liam Stone, did you get kicked in the head out there?”
He throws his head back and laughs, all easy confidence and that damn good-natured twinkle in his eye. Like he’s not asking me to professionally and emotionally walk a tightrope over a raging fire.
“Honey, just hear me out,” he says, and this time his voice drops low and smooth. The kind that knows how to slide past every one of my defenses.
I don’t answer. Don’t roll my eyes. Don’t move.
He takes it as permission and keeps going. “You were there. The meeting went great. They like me. But they don’t want to sell to me because of my personal life.”
As frustrating and sexist as it is, he’s not wrong.
Teddy Birmingham is a family man to his core.
He and his wife run Birds and Bees Pastures like a wholesome empire, complete with fifteen kids, matching flannel shirts, and a honey stand.
And while he’s interested in partnering with Stonewater Rodeo Stock, he’s not interested in Liam Stone, Bachelor of the Decade.
I let out a long sigh. “Walk me through it again.”
Liam’s eyes light up like he’s just lassoed the moon. “We’d show up to a few events together. Keep it simple. One-on-one dinner, maybe a BBQ. Just enough for him to believe we’re serious. That you’ve softened me.”
“Why would he believe it? He’s seen us together. I literally schedule your vet appointments.”
“He’ll believe it,” Liam says, inching forward. “His wife used to work for him before they got married. She’ll talk him into it.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he puts his hands together, literally, palms pressed, elbows bent, begging.
“Please, Olive,” he says, dragging out the syllables like a country song lyric. “Be my fake girlfriend. Just for a little while.”
I groan and drop my forehead to my hand. “This is such a bad idea.”
But I can already feel myself cracking. Because when Liam looks at me like that I forget that it’s all pretend. And the real problem? I’ve never been pretending when it comes to him.
“Fine.”
Liam jumps to his feet like I just handed him the damn rodeo championship buckle. He lets out a loud whoop that echoes through the office, making me flinch.
“Honey, you just made my day!” he grins, broad and smug. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Seven?” My mouth falls open. “What are you talking about?”
“We have to sell this, Olive. Practice makes perfect.” He winks. “We’ll start tonight at Knot and Spur.”
I nearly choke. “You want to take me to the bar? The one place in town where everyone and their cousin’s cow will see us?”
He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Exactly. We want them talking.”
I shake my head fast. “No. If we’re doing this, we do it in Sheridan. Somewhere people don’t know us. We go quiet or we don’t go at all.”
He raises his brows, mock impressed. “So bossy. I kinda like it.”
“Liam.”
“Alright, alright.” He holds up his hands like I’m holding him at gunpoint. “Sheridan it is. I’ll be in the barn if you need me.”
Then, with that damn grin still on his face, he adds, “Look at us working through our problems like an old married couple already.”
As he turns and heads for the door, I call after him, “Not the same thing!”
But he’s already gone. Whistling like this is just another day at work and not the beginning of my slow descent into insanity. And heartbreak.
Probably both.
I wrap up my duties for the day, though my mind's been elsewhere since Liam strutted out of the office with that cocky grin. The rest of my afternoon was just a blur of emails and calendar reminders I barely saw.
At five sharp, I head home to my apartment above Lura’s Porch, the little bakery café that smells like cinnamon and magic even on the slowest days.
One of these days, I swear I’ll finally pull the trigger and buy a piece of land and build something of my own.
Liam pays me well enough. My savings account is healthy, solid.
But I don’t.
Because some part of me—the part that still flinches at hope—believes that if I finally let myself settle, the universe will yank the rug out from under me. Just like it always has. My hand goes to the locket around my neck. And then I’ll be left broken and trying to pick up the pieces again.
I slip in through the back door, the familiar creak of the threshold greeting me like a whisper of welcome.
“Good evening, Olive,” Lura calls from the kitchen, where the scent of freshly baked bread wraps around me like a hug. “I saved you a loaf. Still warm.”
My heart swells just a little. “Thank you. Did you find the laundry soap I left?”
She waves a flour-dusted, wrinkled hand like I’ve offended her with kindness. “You didn’t have to buy that for me.”
“Sure I did,” I say, dropping my keys into the dish by the stairs. “You’re my favorite person.”
And I mean it.
Lura took me in when no one else would. Gave me a place to live, a second chance, and enough warmth to melt the cold I’d carried with me to Broken Heart Creek.
The town claims to be all about hospitality and to be fair, it is.
But not right away. Not to outsiders. Not to girls with a half of her soul missing.
But Lura didn’t ask questions. She just made room.
Which is exactly why I buy the stubborn woman laundry soap, even though I know she won’t spend the money on it herself.
Not when it “costs too damn much for a bottle of bubbles,” as she puts it.
I take the warm loaf she hands me and press a kiss to her flour-smudged cheek.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
She waves it off like affection’s just another dish she forgot in the oven. “No need to thank me. You know Ruby’ll eat five of these when the girls come over tonight.”
Game night. How could I forget? Lura and her friends have a standing card game every Friday in the café kitchen.
Tonight, it’s poker or maybe bridge. Ruby, who runs the local bed and breakfast and once beat a biker in arm wrestling, is Lura’s best friend and game night ringer.
And yeah, she probably will eat five loaves on her own, not that Lura minds.
“I’m going out tonight,” I say as I reach the bottom step. “To Sheridan.”
Lura pauses mid-wipe at the counter, eyebrows raised. “How nice. Do you have a date?”
My cheeks warm instantly. Dammit.
“Oh, you do!” she crows, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Look at that blush. Tell me everything. Who is he? What’s he driving? What’s he done wrong that I’ll need to glare at him for later?”
I laugh, ducking my head. “It’s not really a date date. It’s complicated.”
She makes a clucking sound under her tongue, clearly unimpressed. “That won’t do. Complicated never got a girl kissed at the end of the night.”
I roll my eyes as I climb the stairs, but her next words stop me.
“You’re too pretty to be single, Olive.”
I turn, heart catching. “Lura—”
She’s already back to tidying the kitchen, like she didn’t just say something that landed square in the center of me.
“Wear something that makes you feel lucky,” she adds. “And bring home a story.”
I smile. Not because I believe I’ll get one.
But because for a second, it almost feels possible.