Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
WILLA
I was going to burn this entire office to the ground. Not with, like, a vat of gasoline or anything quite so dramatic. But I could definitely get a good smolder going by lighting up one overdue bill at a time.
Slumped in my dad’s old chair, I cradled my head in my hands. Partially from the lingering hangover and partially from the overwhelming dread of…well, everything.
Piles of papers and stacks of mail surrounded me, all of them saying the same thing in slightly different fonts.
You’re failing.
Between the past-due notices, the rejection emails, and a co-op application I’d spent two nights filling out just to learn the farm “didn’t meet the long-term viability benchmarks”—translation: you’re too broke to bet on—I’d been nearing the straw that broke the camel’s back territory.
But after what I’d discovered yesterday? I was fully entrenched in that territory. Hell, I was the damn leader.
My ancient laptop whirred as loud as a jet engine, the grant site that had been my last hope displayed on the screen.
The cursor blinked on the line that had sealed my fate last night and sent me into a downward spiral—open to family-based applicants, defined as couples or households; individual applicants will not be considered.
So that was just fucking great.
Meanwhile, the stack of overdue bills had grown so large, I’d had to split it into two because it kept toppling over. Just another mess to match the rest of my life.
Outside, everything looked deceptively perfect. The farm glowed in the fading June sun. The fruit bushes were lush, the chicken coop was calm, and the golden light hit the evergreens just right—like the farm was posing for a picture on a brochure I couldn’t afford to print.
But inside—buried deep in my heart and my head and my body—everything was barely held together with duct tape and pure spite.
I caught a glimpse of the mock-up I’d sketched a couple months ago for the farm’s rebrand. Stone & Bramble was supposed to be a fresh start. Something I could make my own…something to build on.
But I couldn’t even keep what was already in place from drowning in debt.
Anger surged through me like a match to dry tinder. I grabbed the nearest pen, scribbling over my dreams until the nib tore through the page.
Fuck, why was this so goddamn hard? And why was I near the point of tears over it? I didn’t cry. Sure as hell not over a hurdle in the road.
Except losing the farm that had been in my family for five generations was a lot more than just a hurdle. It was failure. Pure and simple.
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes until everything went black, and then stars burst beneath my eyelids. If only the rest of the world were so easy to filter out.
My phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with my brother’s contact picture. In it, he was sleeping, dark hair a disaster, his mouth hanging open with drool dripping out. Had to keep the objectively handsome, annoyingly accomplished man humble somehow.
I answered the video call on reflex, realizing after I’d hit accept that was probably a stupid thing to do, considering I’d just been on the verge of tears.
Beau grinned through the dim screen. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair windblown and wild, and even with the dark circles under his eyes, he still looked like he could model for a Doctors Without Borders calendar.
“You look like shit,” he said without greeting.
“Gee, thanks. Remind me why I answer your calls?”
“Because you love me and you miss your twin.”
“Right now, I’m not so sure.”
“You know my insults always come from a place of love.” His grin widened. “How’s the farm?”
“Fine,” I said without hesitation.
Truth be told, my back could be having an active spasm and shooting pain down my legs, all while I was trying to put out a barn fire, and I’d still say everything was fine.
The silence that followed was short but pointed, along with the look he gave me.
“I know that tone. It’s the same one you used when you’d just thrown out your back. Again. And continued harvesting the honey like it was no big deal.”
“It was no big deal. I got it done, didn’t I?”
“Willa.”
“Don’t. I’m fine, really. How’s life on the Ivory Coast?”
He narrowed his eyes on me like he was deciding whether he wanted to push, but something in my expression must’ve clued him into the fact that I wasn’t talking. Not yet.
“Busy. Chaotic.” He smiled then, soft and satisfied. “But rewarding. I trained three local doctors in neonatal resuscitation this week.”
“Wow. It wasn’t enough to be a doctor? Now you’re a teacher too?”
“Purely out of necessity. That way, they can train others when I’m gone.” He scrubbed a hand down his exhausted face and let out a sigh. “Speaking of… I fucking love my job, but I can’t wait to be home.”
Home.
The word dropped a boulder on my chest, and I swallowed against the rising lump in my throat. A home I’d had to rent out for the summer just to bring in some much-needed cash flow.
“We’ll be here, waiting.” I hoped.
“I know you will.” His teeth flashed bright on the dark screen as he shot me a tired smile. “I’m beat, so I’m gonna call it a night. But I’ll talk to you next week.”
“Sounds good.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too,” I murmured as the screen went black, the silence returned, and I was alone. Again.
My chest suddenly felt too tight, this space too fucking small and the reality of what I was facing breathing down my neck. Heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob, I shoved back from the desk and paced the small office.
“Fuck,” I bit out, wanting to yell and kick and punch my way to a different future. One where I wasn’t watching the legacy my dad left circling the drain. One where I wasn’t failing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
One of the stacks of overdue bills toppled, and I glared at them, only barely stopping myself from shoving them straight into the shred bin.
I grabbed the calculator again, punched in the numbers I knew by heart. The numbers I’d been trying to finagle into something I could make work. But the totals didn’t lie.
Neither did the pit in my stomach.
Exhaling a deep sigh and closing my eyes, I braced my hands on the desk and hung my head. It was time I faced the truth of the situation—I was between a rock and a hard place with no way to fix this on my own. No matter how desperately I wanted to.
Which meant I had exactly one option.
“Are you seriously doing this?” I whispered to the empty room, and I answered myself as I reached for my phone with a trembling hand.
I clicked on my messages and scrolled to the name of the one person I knew would make everything infinitely worse before it had even a flicker of hope of getting better.
This was insane. Absolutely unhinged.
It was also my last resort. He was my last resort.
Willa:
Did you mean it?
Lincoln:
That I’d breed you? 1000% Just tell me the time and place and I’m there.
Willa:
I meant about marrying me, jackass.
Lincoln:
You know I did.
Willa:
Why would you agree to do something like that?
Lincoln:
Because you need help. And I promised Beau I’d look out for you while he was gone.
Willa:
Pretty sure he didn’t mean you should marry me.
Lincoln:
Guess we’ll never know.
Willa:
I’m going to regret saying this…
Lincoln:
But?
Willa:
I’m in.
Lincoln:
Knew you couldn’t resist me.
Willa:
See? I already regret it.
And you better hope I can resist strangling you, or you’ll be dead before our one-week anniversary.
Lincoln:
Ohhh…more kinks to explore. I definitely wouldn’t say no to some light choking. What about you, hellcat?
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, tossing my phone on the desk and closing my eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I was going to marry Lincoln Steele. Youngest Steele brother, obnoxious flirt, and the one man in this town I’d happily throttle before breakfast.
What could possibly go wrong?