Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MILLIE
I t’s a rainy spring day.
Not just a little sprinkle, either. Huge raindrops fall incessantly, Holden’s wipers moving quickly to keep up as we drive on the freeway, heading to Idaho. The clouds are dark and low, casting everything in shadow. I look over at the man beside me, his hands firm on the wheel and gaze trained on the wet roads, fully alert.
I haven’t been alone with Holden in a truck in the better part of a decade.
And if you’d have told me back then that I’d one day be on my way to marry him, I would have squealed with joy. I wouldn’t have cared about the elopement. I’ve never had dreams of a huge wedding. I just wanted him.
Now, my heart is thudding for completely different reasons.
I have no business doing this. I know it. My family is going to freak the fuck out at me. My dad may never speak to me again. Marrying Holden Lexington ? Oh, hell no. My father has held on tightly to that feud, and there’s going to be hell to pay when I get home.
It already makes me sad.
The girls will want to know details, and they’ll be happy for me. They’re my ride-or-dies. My best friends.
But my brothers?
Oh, they’ll for sure try to kill Holden where he stands, so we might want to show up armed.
I smooth my hands down the skirt of my white dress. It’s not fancy at all. I bought it to wear to a BBQ last summer, so it has thin straps, a ruffled skirt that hits me right at the knee, and it’s comfortable. I paired it with a denim jacket and some brown cowboy boots.
It doesn’t look like I’m going for a bridal look, but even though this is a sham wedding, it is our wedding. It just felt right to wear white, especially since I have no intention of ever getting married again.
Holden’s in a nice pair of dark jeans with black boots and a blue button-down shirt that’s rolled up his forearms, and I saw him tuck his nice Stetson in the back seat.
I have to admit, it’s nice that he dressed up a little. At least he’s not in a ratty T-shirt and boots with cow shit on them.
Not that I think Holden would do that to me. He wouldn’t.
I can’t help but look his way again as we begin our ascent up one of the two mountain passes. The tattoos on his right arm are sexy. I admit it. I’ve seen glimpses over the years, because they come down his forearm and used to end at the wrist.
Until last year.
Last year, I noticed that he got ink on his hand, all the way down his fingers to the middle knuckles, and I have to assume that hurt like hell . And I’d never say it to him—in fact, I’d rather cut out my own tongue, but they’re hot.
So damn hot.
I can’t make out what all of them are. There’s an elk head and other flowers, and I’m sure they all mean something to him.
But my mind keeps going back to the one currently covered high up on his arm, almost to his shoulder. The only one in color.
The wild rose.
I almost punched him when I saw it, and then I wanted to kiss the bastard.
Don’t even think about it. Don’t let his swoony ways get into your head because he was also cruel and hurtful, and that’s the same man you’re sitting next to.
“Sex doesn’t mean forever, sweetheart.”
“Jesus, grow the fuck up, Millie. I never promised you anything.”
“What, did you think I’d marry you? Not likely.”
“I’m not even convinced that you were a virgin. You didn’t bleed.”
Of course, I didn’t bleed. I’ve been riding a horse since before I could walk.
So, yeah, he’s a bastard.
Never forget that.
“You’re thinking way too hard over there.” His deep voice breaks into the silence.
“Just taking in the beautiful rainy scenery.”
“Hmm.” He flicks his gaze my way and then back to the road.
“Do you know where we’re going? Do we just show up at the courthouse and boom , it’s done?”
“Something like that,” he confirms, his blue eyes jumping up to the rearview mirror. “Come on, you asshole, just wait and pass me after we get through this pass.”
I look back and see that there’s a sports car on our ass, but the pass is too windy to go very fast. He speeds up, hugs the back bumper, and then drops back, swerving to the side as if he’s judging if he should go around us. Even though there are two lanes, there’s a solid white line here because it’s too tight for two vehicles.
Sports Car Idiot is going to cause an accident.
Holden doesn’t speed up or slow down, but his jaw ticks as he looks in the mirror again.
“Motherfucker,” he mutters as the car goes for it, swerving around us on the inside just as we come around a blind corner, but there’s a huge semi-truck, flashers on, going about twenty miles per hour, and Holden has to slam on the breaks so we don’t rear end it. “Fuck!”
I’m rocked forward, but the seat belt does its job, and I’m not hurt when Holden turns my way.
“I’m okay.” My heart is hammering, and I know my eyes are wide, but I’m not hurt.
To my surprise, Holden snatches up my hand and pulls it to his lips, holding on tightly as he maneuvers us around the truck. We were already at the top of the pass, and if the driver had just had patience for three more minutes, he wouldn’t have almost caused an accident.
“Holden.” He tightens his grip on my hand. “I’m okay.”
He’s glowering, but he kisses me once more and then reluctantly lets me go.
“I’d like to follow that idiot and punch him senseless.”
This man is way more intense than he was when I knew him. A little broodier. He’s obviously seen a lot more life, and I don’t think it’s all been kind to him.
Not that I care.
Because I don’t.
He’s an ass.
But my hand tingles where his lips were. Stupid tingles.
It’s not my fault that my body betrays me at every turn. Holden is a sexy man. Those are just the facts. He turns heads. He has a body that could have been sculpted from marble, a chiseled jawline, and blue eyes so intense they’ll steal the breath from your lungs at twenty paces.
The sexiness is hard to miss.
But my body needs to calm itself down because we’re not going there. No touching. No sexy time. Absolutely none of the above. Because if I give in to those things, there’s no way that I’ll be able to move on and shake Holden off when all of this is over.
“Again with the thinking too hard,” he says next to me, sounding remarkably calm. “Are you ready to have me pull over so you can get out and run away?”
“Oh, I was at that point the minute I got in the truck.” I nod slowly. “And have considered that idea at every mile marker since.”
He glances at me, raising an eyebrow. Jesus, why does he have to be so sexy?
“But these boots aren’t really made for hitchhiking, and it’s cold outside, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“Cute.”
“Are your sisters pissed off?” I ask him. “Did they try to talk you out of this?”
“Why would they be pissed?”
“Because it’s me , Holden. Because my last name happens to be Wild.”
“Only for another hour or so,” he reminds me, and my heart stops.
Oh, shit.
“I didn’t tell them that it’s you. They know I’m eloping today, but I didn’t say with whom.”
“And they didn’t ask?”
He spares me another quick glance. “Of course, they asked. I just didn’t tell them. Why? Did your family get as pissed as I think they did? Are we coming home to a firing squad?”
I’m still mildly irked that he didn’t tell his sisters about me, but then I sigh.
“I didn’t tell them.”
“Looks like we’re even, then, aren’t we?”
We’re quiet while we enter into the outskirts of Coeur d’Alene, driving around the edge of the lake and into downtown. I’ve always thought this was a cute town. It’s so green, and the lake is beautiful.
Maybe someday, I’ll come stay at their big resort and have a relaxing weekend or something.
I snort out loud and then rub my finger under my nose.
“What was that thought?” Holden asks me.
“I was just thinking that this is a cute town, and I’ve always wanted to stay at the resort on the lake, and maybe I would sometime, but then I remembered that I don’t take vacations because I run a business.”
“Even business owners take vacations.”
“Really? When was the last time you took one?”
He narrows his eyes. “When Bridger got married, a bunch of us went to Vegas.”
My stomach drops at that. I remember Bridger telling me about that trip, and how some of the guys got stupid and ended up hooking up with a group of girls they met in the casino. He never said explicitly who hooked up, but just the thought of it being Holden makes me want to put my elbow through the window. I hate that I get jealous when it comes to him. He didn’t want me. He cast me aside, so why should I care if he fucks his way through all of Vegas?
I don’t know, but I do .
And that’s stupid.
“I think it’s right up here,” he says, pointing to a building. Sure enough, it says Courthouse out front.
Holden pulls into a parking lot and eases the truck to a stop, cuts the engine, and unclips his seat belt, then turns to me.
“Millie, if you don’t want to do this, I won’t make you. I will turn around and go home right now. No hard feelings.”
I scoff. “No hard feelings?”
“I’m not kidding. I understand what I’m asking you to do, and it’s not like I’m just borrowing a cup of sugar or something here. So you tell me if this is not what you want.”
This is not what I want.
But I made a promise. And for all the stupid, fucked-up reasons floating around in my head, I think I can make it through this with my sanity intact.
“Let’s do this.” I unclip my belt, grab my purse, and push out of the truck, walking quickly through the rain to the door. Holden holds it open for me, and we walk inside and find the counter marked Marriage Licenses.
I feel like I might pass out, but Holden presses his hand to the small of my back, keeping me upright, and just that small touch gives me a little extra confidence.
We both thought ahead to bring our birth certificates and all the documentation we would need to fill out the paperwork, and before I know it, we’re walking back out again with a license.
“Now we walk over there,” he says, pointing to a smaller building across the street that says The Hitching Post. It’s built to look like something out of the old west, and it actually makes me laugh.
“Okay, partner, let’s go.”
With our paperwork in one hand, Holden takes my hand with the other and leads me across the street. When we approach the door, the butterflies in my belly become murder hornets, and they’re fighting to get out.
I might throw up.
“Hello, I’m Holden Lexington, and I have an appointment.”
The older lady with silver hair curled tightly against her scalp, smiles up at Holden, and then her blue eyes widen in surprise. “Well, hellooooo. If she backs out on you, honey, I’ll fill in.”
I smirk, and Holden chuckles.
“Thanks, ma’am.” He looks down at me. “You stayin’?”
“Planned on it.”
“Well, darn,” she says with a sigh. “I have you two set up in the western chapel. Is it just the two of you today?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
Before I know it, we’re standing in a little room with the woman from the front desk as the officiant and a guy who looks like he might work maintenance as our witness.
The old-school traditional vows are recited, where I promise to love and honor until death do us part, and that makes me feel kind of guilty because I know that I’m not going to uphold that promise, but this old lady doesn’t know that.
Holden’s eyes are intent as he holds my hands and looks into my eyes as he recites his vows. His voice is low and sincere, and it almost brings tears to my eyes because it sounds like he means what he’s saying.
What a jerk.
We slip plain gold bands onto each other’s fingers. I was surprised when he whipped those out. I have no idea where he got them.
And I don’t hate seeing it on my hand as much as I should.
Finally, I hear the words, “You may kiss your bride.”
Holden’s face descends to mine, he wraps his arms around me, and for the first time in eight years, his lips cover mine, and my eyes close, and I’m lost to him.
He groans and sinks into me, brushes his tongue over my bottom lip, and I eagerly open for him, all common sense flying out the window.
Holy fucking shit, this man can kiss.
We hear someone clear their throat, and Holden reluctantly pulls back, watching me with hot blue eyes, and I instinctively lick my lips, still tasting him.
“You’re a beautiful couple,” Old Lady says with a smile. “I hope you have a wonderful life together.”
Don’t bet on it, lady.
Holden asked me if I wanted to stop for lunch before we headed home, but I said no. I’m not hungry.
I don’t know what I am.
We’ve been quiet on the way back. And I’m staring down at the yellow gold band on my finger as Holden pulls into my driveway and cuts the engine.
“Millie.”
I don’t reply. For once, I don’t have a witty or clever comeback. I didn’t expect to feel so… sad.
“Millie,” he repeats, and I turn my head to look at him. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
I blink. Shrug. Look back down at the ring.
“Liquor,” I say at last. “I think I need to get really drunk tonight. I have tequila, but if you want something else, you’ll have to go get it.”
“How much tequila do you have?”
“Two bottles.”
“Let’s go in.”
He grabs his bags from the back, and I lead him to the door, where I key in the code and show it to him, since he’s living here now.
Holy shit, Holden Lexington lives with me. And we’re married.
“We’ll have to share a bathroom,” I tell him as we walk through the house. “But that’s okay. You get the smaller bedroom, but it still has a king bed.”
He walks into the guest bedroom and sets his bags on the floor, then eyes the master over my shoulder.
“That’s my bedroom.”
His eyes dart back to mine, and now there’s some anger in them. Maybe some irritation.
“I heard your rules,” he reminds me. “And I put my stuff in the other room, so you can watch how you speak to me.”
I sputter, but he moves in, lifts his hand to cover my throat, and drags the pad of his thumb over my jawline and down to my pulse point as he presses his mouth to my ear.
“ Wife. ”
Holy motherfucking shit.
He kisses my cheek, drags his lips to my mouth, and gently kisses me before pulling back and dropping his hand, and I almost fall into him because I’m leaning in.
He smirks. This asshole smirks!
“Come on, let’s have drinks. We’ll need some food so we don’t kill ourselves from alcohol poisoning.”
“I have a lasagna that I put in the fridge last night,” I reply. “I’ll pop it in the oven to warm.”
Needing something to do with my hands so I don’t just jump him, completely ruining my rules in the first six hours of marriage, I start the oven and take the lasagna out of the fridge.
“Where’s the tequila?” he asks, and I point to the sideboard in the living room. “Got it.”
“I don’t have lime or margarita mix,” I inform him, and he smirks at me.
“We don’t need training wheels, babe.”
I should tell him not to call me that. I said no terms of endearment.
But I don’t have the fight in me tonight.
The light catches on my gold band, and I stare down at it. It feels foreign on my finger. Holy shit, we actually did this.
We’re married.
The murder hornets are back, and they’re pissy.
“So, what happens now?” I ask Holden as I slip the lasagna into the oven and grab some shot glasses out of the cupboard. “Do you take the marriage license to the attorney as proof?”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” he confirms and pulls the lid off the bottle and then pours two shots. He holds one up, and I clink mine to his. “Happy wedding day.”
I nod, and then we pound the shot, and it burns going down. “Another.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He pours us each another shot, and we pound that one, too. I don’t want to get too drunk too fast, so I shake my head when he offers me another.
“I’d better space them out,” I reply and wiggle out of my boots. “I’m going to put on something more comfortable.”
“I will, too.”
We move into our bedrooms and close the doors.
I think about locking mine and then shake my head at myself. There’s no need to do that. I know him. He won’t do anything I don’t want.
But after that kiss in the hallway, I want.
Jesus, do I ever want.
Scowling, I stomp over to the dresser and grab my wide-leg yoga pants and a hoodie, along with some soft socks, and change. I brush out my hair and twist it up into a ponytail, and then I walk back out to the kitchen, where Holden is pouring himself another shot.
My mouth goes dry.
What he’s wearing shouldn’t be anything to write home about. He’s just in loose basketball shorts. They’re black, and they’re obviously not new because they look soft and well worn, as if this is his usual loungewear every day after a hard day on the ranch.
But on top, he’s in a red T-shirt that hugs his muscles in the most delicious way. The tequila is already hitting my brain because, holy shit, I want to run my hands over that cotton and feel every sexy ridge of muscle.
And then I want to peel it off of him.
Bad, Millie!
“Another?” Holden holds up the bottle and raises an eyebrow.
“Absolutely, yes.”