Chapter Two
Heath
I woke at the first hint of dawn, my body clock set to rancher time no matter how little sleep I'd gotten.
Last night's chaos—the turkey theft, the downpour that had soaked us both, and the strange deal I'd struck with Honey—still felt like some bizarre dream.
But the sound of movement from the guest room down the hall confirmed it was all too real.
After our late-night agreement, I'd shown her to my spare room around three a.m., tossed her some McGraw Ranch sweats, and retreated to my bedroom to stare at the ceiling for what remained of the night.
Now, as Sunday morning light filtered through the curtains, the full weight of what I'd done hit me.
I'd backed my brother's ex-girlfriend into a corner with an offer she couldn't refuse.
Not just any ex. Honey March. The woman who'd made me take notice the moment I saw her at Knox's real estate license celebration two years ago. She'd worn a simple green dress that lit up her eyes, and when she laughed, the sound cut through the stuffy air like a breeze through tall grass.
The second time I saw her, at some gallery opening Knox had dragged me to, she'd been talking about environmental conservation with such passion that I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Her hands moved as she spoke, hazel eyes flashing with conviction that made everyone else in the room seem half-asleep.
That's when I knew she was too good for my brother. And I'd been right—Knox had cheated on her with Bitsy, the Instagram influencer he was now engaged to.
None of which explained why I'd gotten myself into this mess.
A crash from the kitchen yanked me from my thoughts. I threw on jeans and a t-shirt and headed down the hall, the old pine floorboards cool under my bare feet.
The scene in my kitchen had me pausing at the doorway.
Honey stood at my ancient coffee maker, drowning in the burnt orange sweatshirt and matching sweatpants I'd loaned her.
She'd rolled the sleeves up several times, exposing slender wrists as she fumbled with the coffee basket.
Her chestnut hair was piled in a messy knot, and without makeup, freckles scattered across her nose.
Morning sun through the window caught reddish tints in her hair I hadn't noticed in last night's darkness.
She looked both completely out of place and strangely right, like a painting hanging in the wrong room but somehow making the space better.
"What are you doing to my coffee maker?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She jumped, coffee scoop flying from her hand. "Jesus! Warn a person when you're about to materialize out of nowhere!"
"Sorry," I said, not feeling particularly sorry. "Most folks hear my boots."
Her gaze dropped to my sock-covered feet, then back up with narrowed eyes. "Well, most folks aren't trying to operate prehistoric kitchen equipment after nearly becoming a felon for turkey rustling."
I bit back a smile. "How's that coffee coming?"
"It's not," she admitted, gesturing to the machine like it had personally insulted her. "I've tried three times. It keeps making sad gurgling noises and producing what I can only describe as warm dishwater."
I crossed the kitchen and inspected her handiwork. She'd somehow managed to put the grounds in the water reservoir and water in the filter basket.
"That's impressive," I murmured, dumping out her concoction. "I've never seen anyone get it quite this wrong before."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Turkey Whisperer. I didn't realize coffee makers required an advanced degree." She hopped up to sit on the counter, watching me start fresh. "My machine at home has one button. This thing has more parts than my car engine."
Her knee brushed my arm as I measured grounds. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I nearly dropped the scoop. Her skin carried my soap's clean scent, but it mingled with something distinctly hers that made my pulse kick up a notch.
Outside, a rooster crowed from the distant chicken coop, and the rumble of Jake's truck pulling up to the barn drifted through the open window. Normal morning on the ranch—except for the city lawyer perched on my counter wearing my clothes.
I focused on the task at hand. "There are giant muffins in that basket by the toaster. Picked them up fresh from the Dough it was everything I'd poured myself into since taking over the ranch from my folks, who were now enjoying a well-deserved retirement on South Padre Island.
Honey's expression shifted as she studied me over her cup. "This really matters to you, doesn't it?"
I looked away, uncomfortable with her sudden interest. "Someone has to care."
She added a third spoonful of sugar to her coffee. "So what's our story? How did the cowboy and the lawyer cross paths and fall madly in love?"
"We reconnected at a charity event in Austin three months ago," I said, having played this out during my sleepless night. "Legal aid fundraiser. Knox dragged me along."
"Plausible," she nodded, looking impressed. "Then what? You dazzled me with turkey facts?"
My lips twitched. "Something like that. We kept it quiet because of Knox."
"And I supposedly come to the ranch on weekends?"
"When your schedule permits. You've been helping me prepare for Thanksgiving season."
She nearly choked on her coffee. "Helping you prepare birds for slaughter? That's a terrible cover story for a vegetarian."
"For breeding," I corrected. "The birds we sell go to dinner tables, yes, but the breeding stock lives out their natural lives here."
"So I'm a city girl who's fallen for country living? That's quite a stretch, McGraw."
"No bigger a stretch than me falling for someone who tried to kidnap my five-thousand-dollar tom." The words came out sharper than intended, and I regretted them when her face fell.
"Right," she said quietly. "This is blackmail, not a romance novel."
I set down my mug. "I didn't mean—"
"It's fine." She slid off the counter, tugging the oversized sweats higher on her hips. "We've established our cover story. What else?"
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling like I'd stepped in something I couldn't easily scrape off my boot. "You need clothes. And probably other... woman things before meeting the Vickerys."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? What's wrong with how I look?"
Nothing was wrong with how she looked. That was part of the problem. Even in baggy sweats with bedhead, she was the most striking woman who'd ever stood in my kitchen.
"You're supposed to be my girlfriend who spends time on a ranch," I said carefully.
"Your mud-caked clothes from last night need washing, and those fancy city jeans wouldn't look right for a down-home cowgirl anyway.
You need clothes you can work a farm in and more presentable ones for keeping company. "
"Fine," she relented. "Where do you suggest I go? The feed store for overalls?"
"Laverne's," I said. "She runs the beauty shop in town—Fringe Benefits. Has a teenage daughter. I figure if anyone could help, she’d be the gal."
Honey's expression was pure skepticism. "I don’t know."
"Fringe Benefits is an institution in Bitter Root," I said, draining my coffee. "And Laverne knows everyone's business, so she'll spread word about my new girlfriend before we could ourselves."
"Perfect. A makeover in a place called Bitter Root and small-town gossip—exactly how I’d hoped to spend Thanksgiving."
I glanced at the microwave clock. "We should head into town soon. Vickerys are arriving around eight tonight."
"And what will we do until then?" She grabbed a second muffin.
"Make sure you can play the part without calling Earl Vickery a 'patriarchal dinosaur' when he inevitably says something that offends you."
Her cheeks flushed pink. "That was one time, and Judge Hartman had it coming after his blatant violation of equal protection principles."
"Maybe so," I conceded, "but Earl Vickery's check will have a lot of zeroes, so try to keep your righteous anger under wraps."
She straightened, chin lifting. "Is that how you see me? Some kind of extremist?"