Chapter 41 Isaac
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
isaac
The following day, they discharge Elena around lunchtime. They hand me an inflatable cushion for her bruised tailbone and wheel her out to my truck that Wyatt and Ivy dropped off.
She only protested for ten minutes when I insisted on her staying at my place while she heals.
She’s wearing my old high school football hoodie and hasn’t said anything about running lines or the usual work she can’t keep herself from doing.
Which is how I know she’s not okay.
I’m cutting up fruit she probably won’t eat when I hear the door creak open.
Wyatt’s voice carries through the house. “Hope this isn’t a bad time.”
I glance at Elena.
“It’s fine.” But she pulls the blanket tighter around herself like she can hide in it.
Ivy’s the first one in. She’s carrying a container of soup I suspect my mom sent.
“Hey,” she says softly, setting it down on the counter before joining Elena on the couch. “How’s the pain?”
“Not too bad,” Elena replies. “Just a little sore.”
Wyatt steps in behind her, tugging his ball cap off and twisting it in his hands.
“We talked to the ranch’s lawyer,” he says, getting straight down to business. “About the contract.”
I glance at him. “What’d they say?”
We both signed one. We’re in breach. No doubt.
Ivy answers. “There’s a clause. Buried in the legalese. The fraternization policy doesn’t apply to family. Which is legally defined as anyone related by blood or marriage.”
Elena’s head lifts, slowly. “Meaning what exactly?”
Ivy looks between us, reluctance in her gaze.
“Meaning if you two were married, they couldn’t enforce the policy.
Couldn’t get out of the location contract with the ranch or have any cause to replace Elena.
It’s why Wyatt and I didn’t have to sign one—because even though I’m associated with production and he’s technically a ranch employee, we’re already married. ”
The silence that follows is thick enough to drown in.
“So, we’d have to get married to keep them from firing me and dissolving the filming location contract with the ranch?
” Elena asks. Her voice is neutral, but my ego doesn’t miss the tone change on have to get married.
Like she’d rather be raked over hot coals or strung up naked and stoned to death in the middle of town.
“No one expect you to do that,” Ivy says gently. “We just wanted you to know there’s a legal way to nullify the fraternization policy. So far, it’s the only avenue we’ve found.”
Elena exhales shakily, gaze fixed on the blanket in her lap.
“This isn’t some rom-com,” she says. “It’s our life.”
“I know,” Ivy says. “And we almost didn’t tell you. But after the fall, and the way production’s been breathing down everyone’s neck, we wanted you to know you have options. Sort of.”
I nod slowly. “We appreciate you trying to help.”
They leave quietly. The somber mood lingers after they’re gone.
Elena doesn’t speak for a long time.
I sit beside her with the yogurt and fruit, careful not to jostle her as I prop her feet in my lap.
She finally says, “How did this get so messed up?” Before I can answer, she sighs heavily.
“Only I could manage to screw up not just the role of a lifetime but the financial saving grace for your entire ranch and family.” Her eyes land on mine and she groans before resting her head over on the back of the couch.
“The night we met, I should’ve just introduced myself and told you I was going to ruin your life. ”
I stop her shame spiral there. “First of all, it takes two to do what we did and even if you had introduced yourself that way, I doubt it would’ve stopped me.
” Smirking, I hand her the bowl and hope she’ll at least eat a little something.
“Second,” I continue, “My life is far from ruined. I have a beautiful woman in my home, a beautiful woman who’s carrying my healthy, probably excessively good-looking child, and we have options like Ivy and Wyatt said. ”
“Excessively good looking?” She takes a bite of yogurt. A small one.
“Have you seen us?”
She shakes her head and stirs the fruit around in the yogurt. “It’s just…a lot. The baby. The show. My family. Now this.”
“I know.” I want to tell her not to worry. That we’ll figure it out.
But the words feel too small for the weight in her eyes.
So I wait for her to finish eating and set the bowl aside, then I take her hand in mine and pull her into my arms.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight,” I tell her. “But for the record, there’s nothing I won’t do to make sure you and our child have everything you need.”
She doesn’t answer.
Because she’s dosing off in my arms.
I’ve practiced what I plan to say about a hundred times in my head while Elena caught up on her rest.
I’ve given the speech to Jasper, Rowdy, Blue, and even Sophia.
I’ve rehearsed it in the truck. In the shower. While brushing my teeth and again while feeding the dogs. But now that she’s standing in front of me, arms crossed, hair in a messy bun, and my oversized hoodie drowning her—I go blank.
“Okay,” I start, lifting both hands like I’m about to negotiate a hostage situation. “Hear me out.”
She lifts a brow. “That’s never followed by anything sane.”
“Fair enough,” I admit, then rub the back of my neck, deciding the best way is just to get to the point. The worse she can say is no, then we go back to square one. “So, my dad had this buddy. Wayne. Wore bolo ties and never shut up about black angus genetics.”
She stares blankly. Then her dark brows dip inward. “Okay.”
“He was married for ten years before he and his wife realized their marriage wasn’t legally valid.”
Her head tilts. “What?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Turns out, they forgot to go back and get the marriage license notarized after the ceremony. Just never did it.”
“Eloping 101: don't forget the paperwork,” she mutters.
“Exactly. Here’s the thing—in the state of Montana, they had a valid temporary marriage license on file for one hundred and eighty days.
But they never completed an official exchange of vows or had two witnesses, and a certified justice of the peace and notary notarize it.
Failing to do that legally made the marriage invalid after the temporary certificate expired.
But they didn’t dig that deep until there was a reason.
Like a life insurance policy or something. ”
Her eyes narrow. “Isaac. What are you getting at?”
Fuck, I love how my name sounds in her mouth, even when her tone makes it clear she thinks I’m an idiot.
I take a deep breath. “The temporary license is good for six months. We get one. We have a ceremony, and your dad gets to walk you down the aisle. And maybe they give you less of a hard time and hate me a little less. The production company loses their grounds for firing you and pulling the location contract. Filming will be over or close to over by the time our certificate expires.”
She stares. Several emotions play out across her beautiful face.
Confusion. Contemplation. Hopefulness.
I grab that last one and push forward, heart hammering.
“I get that this is crazy and marrying me probably isn’t on your to do list. But we could do this.
If we don’t notarize it, don’t get it validated within six months, legally, it’s never binding.
No divorce necessary. But optics-wise? The production company backs off.
And maybe it softens your mom up a little, gives your dad something to be a part of before… ”
Before his kidneys give out.
I can’t bring myself to say it out loud for fear it will cause her pain.
Her throat works on a swallow.
“Nothing will ever soften my mom,” she says on a sigh. “But the other stuff…you’re not wrong.”
I exhale. She’s taking this better than I expected.
At least she’s not laughing hysterically and telling me to get the hell out of here, which is what I expected. She hasn’t even thrown anything at me yet.
Naturally, I push my luck.
“It buys us some time. For you, for the ranch, for the show. And if it makes your family even a little easier on you, it’s worth it to me.
” She’s still frowning so I continue in case she’s worried I’m going to trap her here with this.
“No commitment beyond what we already have. Just a smokescreen. And if you want to bail the day after filming wraps, I’ll drive you to the airport myself. ”
I’ll fucking hate it. But I’d never stand in the way of her dreams.
Her eyes widen, but her chin stays high. “You’re asking me to fake marry you. Seriously?”
Only because asking you to really marry me might terrify you right now.
“Yes,” I say slowly, regarding her like a wild mustang that might bolt if I get too close. “I think I’d make an excellent fake husband.”
That gets a smile. Barely. But it’s there.
“You’re serious about this? You’d go through with this? Because I have to tell you, we really would have to have some type of ceremony in New Mexico in order for my family to believe this.”
“I’m a Logan,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m always serious about horses and family. And like it or not, spitfire, this baby makes us family.”
She exhales heavily but the tiny tilt of her lips is still there. Giving me hope. “This is crazy, Isaac. Even for you. You get that right? And that we could mess this up and make things a million times worse?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But I’m good with crazy. And taking risks. I think you secretly like this about me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, until finally she says, “I can’t promise you anything. And I don’t want you to be hurt or disappointed when I leave.”
When. She said when instead of if. I work hard not to let her see the impact that has on me.
“I’m not asking for any promises,” I reply evenly. “I’m offering the only solution I can come up with.”
She grins, barely, but it’s there. “A last resort fake marriage. Very romantic.”
“It might not be romantic but it’s more of a plan than we had before.”
She stares intently for a solid minute. When she speaks, her words are music to my ears.
Well, most of them.
“Okay, cowboy. I’ll last resort fake marry you. For now.”