Chapter Six
Heath
I woke before dawn on Thanksgiving morning with an ache in my chest that had nothing to do with sleeping wrong. The pillow wall between Honey and me had stayed firmly in place all night—the first time since she'd arrived that we'd maintained that boundary so strictly.
She slept with her back to me, curled away like she was protecting herself. From me, probably. The argument from yesterday still hung in the air, heavy as woodsmoke on a windless evening.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and headed to the bathroom. The face that stared back at me in the mirror looked tired. This week was supposed to be simple: pretend relationship, secure investment, go back to normal. Nothing about it had been simple.
Especially not the feelings I couldn't seem to shake.
I showered quickly and changed into running clothes—a thermal long-sleeve shirt, lightweight athletic pants, and running shoes.
The annual Gobble Wobble 5K was this morning—a Bitter Root tradition I couldn't skip, especially with the Vickerys in town.
Every year, the whole community gathered for this turkey-themed race before retreating to their respective Thanksgiving feasts.
When I returned to the bedroom, Honey was sitting up, hair tousled, eyes guarded.
"Morning," I offered, testing the waters.
"Morning." Her voice gave away nothing, flat as a prairie horizon. "The turkey trot thing is today, right?"
"Gobble Wobble," I corrected. "Starts at ten."
She nodded, gathering clothes as she headed to the bathroom. "I assume we're still going? Playing the happy couple?"
"That's the deal," I said, immediately regretting how transactional it sounded.
She disappeared into the bathroom without another word. The door closed with a soft click that somehow cut deeper than if she'd slammed it.
In the kitchen, I made coffee and simple breakfast—toast, fruit, yogurt.
I'd just finished setting everything out when Knox and Bitsy emerged from the guest room, already dressed in matching red and white running outfits with "Team McGraw" printed across the back.
Bitsy wore a headband with bouncing turkey feathers.
"Morning, bro!" Knox clapped me on the shoulder. "Race day! Got our coordinated outfits and everything."
"I see that." I poured them each coffee, fighting the urge to dump Knox's in his lap.
"Where's Honey?" Bitsy asked, looking around. "We brought her something too!"
"Still getting ready."
Bitsy held up a gift bag. "I'll leave this for her. It's her race outfit—we had it rush-delivered yesterday!"
"We got you one too," Knox said with a smirk, "but figured you'd rather die than wear it."
I glanced at their matching ensembles and the turkey feather headband. "You figured right."
Before I could respond, the Vickerys knocked at the door, entering without waiting for an answer. They wore identical royal blue tracksuits with white piping, looking like escapees from a 1980s exercise video.
"Morning, all!" Earl boomed. "Ready for the run? Dottie and I do this every year back home in Amarillo."
Dottie adjusted her pearl earrings—somehow still present despite her athletic wear. "Where's your girl, Heath? Not much of a morning person?"
"She'll be out in a minute," I said, pouring them coffee and biting back what I really wanted to say.
When Honey finally emerged, she wore leggings and a long-sleeve running top. Her eyes widened at the sight of everyone in their coordinated race attire.
"Oh," she said, glancing down at her outfit. "I didn't realize this was so... formal."
"Don't worry, sweetie!" Bitsy thrust the gift bag at her. "We got you covered!"
Honey peered inside, her face transforming from confusion to horror to forced gratitude in three seconds flat. "Wow. That's... so thoughtful."
"Go try it on!" Bitsy urged.
With a look that silently begged for rescue, Honey retreated to change. When she returned, I nearly choked on my coffee.
She wore tight red leggings, a white long-sleeved top with "Team McGraw" emblazoned across the chest, and a foam turkey hat complete with drumsticks that bobbed when she moved. The outfit matched Knox and Bitsy's perfectly, right down to the little turkey face on the back of the pants.
"You look..." I started, not sure how to finish.
"Festive," she supplied through gritted teeth.
"The feathered monstrosity is slipping," I said, stepping closer to adjust it. It gave me an excuse to approach her, to bridge the gap between us, if only physically. My fingers brushed her hair as I settled the turkey-shaped nightmare more securely. "There."
"Thanks," she murmured, her eyes meeting mine briefly before looking away.
"Perfect!" Bitsy clapped her hands. "Now we're all coordinated for the race!"
"Like one big happy family," Knox added, slinging an arm around Bitsy's shoulders. "Well, except for my stubborn brother, the party-pooper, who refused to wear his. The turkey hat would've really brought out your eyes, bro."
Honey's eyes darkened at the phrase, and I wanted to tell her that's not what we were—not what I wanted. That what I felt for her had nothing to do with my brother or some manufactured family image. But the words stuck in my throat like a pecan shell.
Instead, I just nodded toward the door. "We should head into town. Parking gets crazy."
We took two vehicles—Knox's BMW and my truck. Honey slid into the passenger seat beside me without comment. As we pulled onto the main road, the silence between us grew thick as winter molasses.
"That poultry-themed accessory on your head is something else," I finally said, hoping to break the tension.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "It's a crime against fashion and possibly several state laws."
"Might violate the Geneva Convention," I agreed.
Her smile widened slightly before fading. Progress, at least.
"Heath, about yesterday—"
"We should focus on getting through today," I interrupted, not ready to have that conversation. Not yet. "Buck's been sniffing around too much. I don't trust him."
She sighed and looked out the window. "Right. The deal comes first."
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, wanting to correct her but not knowing how.
Downtown Bitter Root had transformed overnight.
Hay bales painted like turkeys lined Main Street.
A large "GOBBLE WOBBLE" banner stretched across the starting line.
Half the town milled around in various turkey-themed costumes, breath fogging in the crisp November air.
May Tidwell was snapping photos for her blog, while Laverne had set up a booth offering "race recovery" beauty treatments.
I parked behind the Hungry Heifer, and we made our way toward the starting area. The smell of cinnamon and pumpkin wafted from the bakery, mixing with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Knox and Bitsy were already taking selfies by the banner, while the Vickerys chatted with other participants.
"McGraw!" A familiar voice called from behind us.
Buck Jessup approached from the registration table. He nodded to Honey before turning to me.
"Got a second? Business matter."
I glanced at Honey, who raised her eyebrows slightly.
"I'll go find the others," she said, clearly reading the situation. As she walked away, the turkey drumsticks on her head bobbed with each step like they were mocking me.
Once she was out of earshot, Buck's friendly demeanor vanished.
"Heard the Vickerys are impressed with your operation," he said, voice low. "That's quite a deal you're about to land."
"Word travels fast," I replied, keeping my face blank.
"Small town." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Funny thing about small towns. People overhear things they shouldn't. Like couples arguing."
My stomach dropped to my boots. "What's your point, Buck?"
He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco from his morning chew clinging to his breath. "My point is, I know your little secret, McGraw. That pretty lawyer isn't really your girlfriend, is she? It's all a show for the rich investors."
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
"Not sure what you think you heard—" I started.
"Save it," Buck cut me off. "I was outside your window last night. Heard enough. 'Transaction' was the word she used, wasn't it? A business arrangement." His grin spread like an oil slick. "Wonder what the Vickerys would think about being deceived. Family values and all that."
I kept my face expressionless despite the panic rising in my chest. "What do you want, Buck?"
"Simple. Back out of the deal." He adjusted his running gloves. "Tell them you're not ready for expansion. Recommend they talk to me instead."
"And if I don't?"
His smile widened. "Then I have a nice chat with Earl and Dottie. About how you're lying to them with this little charade you’ve got going."
Before I could respond, the race organizer's voice boomed through a megaphone, calling all participants to the starting line.
"Think about it," Buck said, already backing away. "You've got until the end of this race to decide."
I stood frozen, watching him disappear into the crowd.
The entire deal—everything I'd worked for—balanced on a knife's edge.
If the Vickerys found out about our arrangement, they'd pull their investment faster than a rattler strikes.
Conservative investors like them valued honesty above all, and we'd been lying from the start.
"Heath? You coming?" Honey called from the starting area.
I forced my legs to move, joining her and the others at the line. My mind was racing faster than any of the participants would today.
"You okay?" Honey asked quietly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Fine," I managed, though I was anything but.
The starting horn blared, and the crowd surged forward. I moved on autopilot, barely registering the cheering spectators or the festive decorations. Buck's threat pounded in my head with each footfall.
Beside me, Honey jogged at an easy pace while Knox and Bitsy had sprinted ahead, making a show of their athletic prowess. The Vickerys maintained a steady, power-walking rhythm several yards behind us.
"So are you going to tell me what Buck said, or do I have to guess?" Honey asked after we'd cleared the first quarter mile.
"Not now," I muttered, scanning the crowd for Jessup’s face.
She frowned but didn't press further. We continued in silence for another half mile before disaster struck.
Honey's foot caught on an uneven section of pavement, sending her sprawling forward.
I reached for her instinctively, but too late.
She hit the ground with a startled cry, the turkey hat rolling into the gutter.
"Honey!" I knelt beside her, heart lurching. "Are you okay?"
She grimaced, inspecting her scraped palms. "Just my pride that's mortally wounded."
Despite everything—the tension between us, Buck's threat, my own churning emotions—I found myself drawn to her resilience.
"Can you stand?" I asked, offering my hand.
She took it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. The brief contact sent warmth through my arm that had nothing to do with exertion. She tested her weight on her right ankle, wincing slightly.
"Might have twisted it," she admitted.
Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight. The curve of her hip under my palm felt right, like it belonged there. "Lean on me."
"I can handle it," she protested, but leaned against me anyway.
We continued at a much slower pace, the other runners streaming past us, some offering concerned glances or encouragement. Buck shot us a smirk as he jogged by, the threat in his eyes clear as pond water.
"We're going to finish dead last," Honey observed as the bulk of participants disappeared around a bend.
"Doesn't matter," I said, suddenly meaning it. "We'll finish together."
Something in my tone made her look up at me, searching my face.
For a moment, with her body pressed against mine and her eyes locked on mine, nothing else seemed important.
I'd been a fool to let jealousy over Knox drive a wedge between us.
Whatever this thing between us was—real or pretend—it mattered more than I wanted to admit.
We crossed the finish line to scattered applause from those still lingering at the end—mostly volunteers cleaning up cups from the water station.
Participants had already started heading home to check on turkeys in the oven, the smell of roasting birds drifting from nearby houses.
Knox and Bitsy had long since finished, posting their results to social media.
The Vickerys waved from where they sat on a bench, sipping water.
"Yep, we came in last," I confirmed as we passed under the banner, "but we made it."
Honey stepped away from my support, testing her ankle. "Seems better now. Just needed to walk it off."
We collected our participation medals—cheap plastic turkeys on ribbons—and made our way to a quiet corner away from the crowd. Honey's expression had turned serious, the brief moment of connection fading as reality reasserted itself.
"What did Buck say to you?" she asked directly. "And don't tell me 'nothing.' You've been distracted the entire race."
I rubbed a hand over my face, the weight of the threat settling back on my shoulders like a yoke. "He overheard us arguing last night. About our arrangement."
Her eyes widened. "The fake relationship?"
I nodded grimly. "He was outside the window. Heard enough to know the truth."
"And now he's blackmailing you," she concluded, her lawyer's mind connecting the dots. "What does he want?"
"For me to back out of the Vickery deal. Recommend they invest with him instead."
Honey's face hardened, her jaw setting in a way I was beginning to recognize as her courtroom fighter emerging. "That son of a bitch."
"If the Vickerys find out we've been lying, they'll walk for sure," I said quietly. "Everything I've worked for goes up in smoke."
She squared her shoulders with newfound determination. "He's not going to win this, Heath. I won't let him."
"What are you planning to do?"
"I'm an attorney, remember?" A smile spread across her face that reminded me of a wolf spotting an injured rabbit. "And Buck Jessup just made the mistake of threatening someone who argues for a living."
I should have been reassured by her confidence, but a chill ran through me. "Honey, be careful. Buck's dangerous."
"So am I," she replied, the gleam in her eye both terrifying and, if I'm honest, intoxicating. "Trust me, Heath. I've got this."
My chest tightened with a mix of fear and admiration. For the first time since meeting her, I saw the woman who'd faced down judges and juries without flinching. The woman who'd called a judge a "patriarchal dinosaur" to his face.
Despite everything that hung in the balance—I found myself believing her. And wanting her more than ever.