The Reason I Married Him
: Chapter 2

“That’s a beautiful blouse,” I say as the owner of the Five Six Seven Eight Inn smiles back at me.

“Why, thank you. You know, this was part of the wardrobe I wore thirty years ago during the Annie Get Your Gun production. I still fit in it.”

“And it still looks amazing. I remember my brother telling me all about this inn when he was around and how the owner was a beautiful singer and dancer. Please tell me you still put on some shows.”

Ethel clamps her hand over her chest in pride. “Occasionally, I might tap my toes and sing a few songs during town events.”

“Any coming up?” I ask. “Please say yes.”

She nods. “The End of Summer Jubilee is right around the corner. I might be performing Summer Loving from Grease.”

“Well, count me in.”

“Will you be staying long?” Ethel asks as she hands me a key to my suite. I booked the biggest room she has. “Your booking says for only a week.”

“Well, I have no problem extending my stay, especially if things start going my way.”

Okay, I know what you must be thinking . . . are you really in Almond Bay about to propose to a woman who you barely know in exchange for some land?

The answer would be yes.

And before you judge me, hear me out. The other night, I was lying awake on Laurel’s couch, thinking about what I should do. Initially, I thought her whole plan was insane. Not only am I not in a position to even think about marrying someone else—still questioning if I’m even fucking loveable from how Cadance treated me—but I also thought the idea was absurd.

That was until I received a text from Wallace that night.

A picture of him and his girlfriend—for the life of me, I can’t remember her name, something like Banana. Anyway, he and Banana were smiling brightly, holding up her hand, showing off a diamond ring. Nothing in my life has ever made my balls shrivel up as fast as that picture did.

He’s engaged.

Which means he’s soon to be married.

You can imagine, desperation hit at 10:05 that night. I considered the plan, committed, backed out, looked at the picture of Wallace and Banana one more time, and then made the executive decision that I would make my way out to Almond Bay and strike a deal.

But being the author that I am, I know it won’t be that easy. I can’t just waltz into a small town and offer a woman I barely know a proposal of marriage in exchange for land. This isn’t a Hallmark Christmas movie.

This is real life.

Any good plotter worth their salt would understand that an abrupt and cold demand would come off brash, insulting, and very alpha male-esque, which some people enjoy. But what little I know about Aubree is that she’s ornery, so it’s not something she’ll jump on board with. Not sure an alpha hero strongarming her into submission will work.

So . . . I thought it over. I wrote down notes, and I made a plan of attack.

Step one is to immerse myself in this town.

I need to make sure that everyone around me likes me so when I do make the proposition, she has no choice but to say yes. It will be hard for her to walk around town and not hear my name. People will ask, “Oh, have you spoken to Wyatt? He’s a great guy.”

And, “I was having some car troubles, and out of the blue, Wyatt helped me. He’s magnificent.”

And let’s not forget, “My brittle bones struggled with walking across the street by myself, but Wyatt, he carried me with his herculean strength. He’s dreamy.”

Okay, sure, those examples might be far-fetched—and sound a lot more like Laurel than me—but you get what I’m after.

Win them over, win her over.

See how that works? The likable guy is hard to say no to.

So last night, before I drove out here, I pulled out one of my empty notebooks and started plotting. I recalled everything Clarke ever told me about Almond Bay. One of the most significant things was the Peach Society—aka, the ladies who run the town. I recall Ethel being the ringleader, and I remember that because I was incredibly fascinated with the name of her inn—Five Six Seven Eight. I thought it was clever and funny and fit her perfectly.

She’s target number one.

Because she talks. She talks a lot. If she goes around town telling everyone that I’m the best guy she’s ever met, it will help me in the long run. Plant the seed and let it grow.

“Remind me, Wyatt, who is your brother?” Ethel asks.

“Clarke,” I answer. “Cassidy Rowley’s husband.”

An expression of sympathy passes over her face as she reaches across the check-in desk and takes my hand in hers. “Oh, I’m so sorry. When I heard about Clarke, I was devastated for Cassidy, and then when she passed . . . that poor little girl.” She touches her chest and shakes her head. “The kind of loss she has suffered. Are you here to help out?”

“I’m here to reconnect.”

If you’re wondering if I’m ashamed to say that, the answer would be yes. I know I’ve been out of the picture in MacKenzie’s life, but I’m hoping I can make genuine amends.

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear. Will you be taking a vacation, or are you able to work while you’re here?” She releases my hand, and I stuff it in my pocket.

“I’m actually an author. Maybe you’ve heard of me. My pen name is W.J. Preston.”

Ethel’s eyes widen. “W.J. Preston? You can’t be serious.”

I nod. “Yup, that would be me.”

“Oh my goodness,” she says as she moves around the check-in desk and closes the space between us. “I love your books. I have them right over here.” She brings me to a seating area in the inn with a fireplace and bookshelves lining the wall. She points at the section, and sure enough, there are my books.

“That’s so cool,” I say.

“Well, we need to have a book signing while you’re here. Don’t worry, I’ll set it up with Judy over at Pieces and Pages. Depending on how fast we can get your books in, it can be part of the End of Summer Jubilee.” She presses her hands together. “We can have a booth for you. Oh please, I hope you stay longer. This would be so special for the town.”

“Well, if everything goes well with the Rowleys, I plan on staying much longer.”

She smiles brightly, pressing her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to help you in any way.”

And that is how it’s done.

I thought it might take a bit more, but I have no shame in throwing my author name around to gain what I need.

“Thank you, Ethel, I really appreciate it. And hey, can’t wait to see you singing on stage. It will be a highlight for sure.”

She clears her throat and stands an inch taller. “Well, now that I know we’ll have another celebrity in the crowd, I best up my practicing schedule.”

“Doubt you would need to practice at all. I bet you sing just as beautifully without a warmed-up voice.”

“You are such a sweetheart.” She taps my shoulder, and we move back to reception, where I gather my things. “One day, while you’re here, I would like you to sign some of my books, but I won’t bother you now. I’m sure you want to get settled.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit tired from traveling, but I promise I won’t leave without signing your collection.”

“Thank you.” She winks. “Good luck with the Rowleys. I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks, Ethel.”

Key in hand, I walk over to the stairs, hoisting my large suitcase up the steps while my overstuffed backpack hangs on my shoulders.

Yup, really feeling out of shape.

Job number one while being here—execute my plan.

Job number two—get back into shape because, Christ, I shouldn’t be out of breath carrying my suitcase up the stairs. Luckily for me, the inn has a gym. Ethel told me all about it. She says no one is ever in there, but she made sure to have one so she didn’t get any negative online reviews. She then gave me a smooth once-over and said she was sure I would be using it.

It might look like I have muscles, but they’re pretty much for show right now.

Once I get to the top of the stairs, I wheel my luggage down the wooden floors padded by a red-and-gold runner to the end of the hall where I’ll be staying in the corner suite.

When I open the door, I’m pleasantly surprised by the large space and beautiful view of the coast. Okay, Ethel, you’re not fucking around.

The room is large enough for a four-poster king-sized bed, a sitting area near the window, a desk and chair, and an accompanying bathroom decked out in tile and brass fixtures. The bedroom walls are a soft taupe, while the bedding and curtains are a vibrant red with gold and greens sewn throughout the fabric. On either nightstand are bedside lamps and, to my surprise, outlets to charge your phone. That’s one of my biggest pet peeves when staying in hotels—there’s nowhere to charge your phone.

The floors are original hardwood—at least that’s what it looks like—but a large taupe area rug spans nearly the whole surface, giving you that cozy feel. And of course, the scattered pictures of Almond Bay on the walls give guests a sense of community. I didn’t know what to expect when I booked a stay here at Five Six Seven Eight. Small-town inns can sometimes be questionable, but this is really nice.

I roll my bag over to the dresser and set my backpack on the desk. I can unpack later. Right now, I have one thing to do, and that’s make myself known to the Rowleys. Yes, I have an agenda and don’t want them replaceing out through the grapevine that I’m here. But I’m actually keen to see my former sister-in-law and brother’s home. Their beautiful little girl. It’s been a few years since we lost him, and there are still grief-stricken days when I go to call him, even if just to shoot the shit. And then I feel his loss all over again. To think that the Rowleys lost not only Clarke but also Cassidy breaks my heart.

I want to show up unannounced, though, to win them over and give them my condolences. Cassidy was an amazing woman.

Fingers crossed, they welcome me with open arms.

But with my luck, they won’t be too happy to see me. Plans have more than one strategy, of course.

I open my suitcase and pull out the gifts I brought with me.

If anything, I’ll kill them with kindness.

“MAKE A RIGHT ON FARMHOUSE LANE,” the GPS says.

“Thank you, Lady Navigation,” I say as I turn down Farmhouse Lane and spot the white farmhouse in the distance. I’ve been here no more than a handful of times when Clarke was alive. And from what I can see, nothing has changed.

The quaint two-bedroom, two-story house is located right on the edge of the farm with a guest house off to the side and the towering barns and silos directly behind. I remember when Clarke and Cassidy purchased the farm. I thought it was insane. Neither of them had any farm experience, but they had a dream—a vision—and I had to appreciate that. Because when I first started writing, I had zero experience with what I was doing, but I did have a dream of what I wanted to achieve. So I worked with that and have created something—a solid readership, strong writing ability, and thick plots that keep you guessing until the very last page.

Same as my brother and Cassidy.

I’m just sad they couldn’t see the fruits of their labor.

I slow down as I drive over the dirt road, not wanting to kick up too much dust as I approach the house. There are a few cars out front, one of them being a Rivian—nice—so I pull in next to that and put the car in park.

Well, here goes nothing.

I grab my gifts from the passenger side, hop out of my car, and head up the front steps of the porch. I’m about to knock when I hear, “Can I help you?”

I look over to my right, and sure enough, Aubree Rowley stands next to the guest house, arms crossed with an irritated look on her face. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting a visitor.

“Hey, Aubree,” I say. It takes her a second, but I witness the moment she recognizes me—her jaw goes slack, her eyes widen slightly, and her arms drop to her side.

“Wyatt?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s been a bit, huh?”

Just then, the screen door opens, and Ryland stands in the doorframe. Tall, broad, and nearly half a decade older, Ryland looks completely different with the fine laugh lines near his eyes and a more mature, carved face. When he notices me, he says, “Wyatt, holy shit.”

And then, like the nice guy he’s always been, he greets me with a firm handshake. “How are you doing, man?”

“Who is at the door?” I hear MacKenzie ask as she charges out to the porch. Her big eyes look up at me, and her button nose wrinkles as she asks, “Who are you?”

Yeah, I knew that would happen. When you’re MIA from your niece’s life, they tend not to know who you are. I plan on fixing that.

I squat down to her level and say, “I’m your uncle, Wyatt.” I hold out the present I brought her, a stuffed horse that I know will match the one she already has since she received one when she was born. “This is for you.”

She takes the present but then says, “I don’t have an Uncle Wyatt.”

Ryland bends down as well and says, “Mac, Uncle Wyatt is your dad’s brother.”

Her eyes lift to mine in confusion. “But I’ve never seen you before.”

“You have,” I say, “but only when you were a baby. I’ve been pretty busy lately, but I wanted to come say hi.”

“Oh.” She glances down at the present and then smiles back up at me. “Thanks, Uncle Wyatt.” Then she charges back into the house, the screen door shutting behind her.

Okay, great connection. One for the memory books.

Ryland and I stand, and I hand him the box of baked goods. “Just some cookies and stuff from my town. Wanted to bring you something as a peace offering in case there was resentment for me showing up unannounced and a few months too late.”

“Why would there be resentment?” Ryland’s brow pulls together. “It’s good to see you. Come in.” He holds the door open for me, and I’m pleasantly surprised.

I walk into the house, and wow. Absolutely nothing has changed since the last time I was here. Nothing. Same pictures on the wall, same dilapidated couch off to the right, and same curtains that I remember helping Cassidy hang when they first moved into the farmhouse.

It feels like that happened only yesterday. Clarke asked me if I would supply some of the muscle they needed to move their stuff, and of course I said yes on one condition . . . they provided me with all the pizza I desired from By the Slice, easily the best pizza place I’ve ever been to. They filled me up with crispy crust and gooey cheese while I worked hard for them. It was a fun weekend. I got to know the Rowleys better, Ryland and I bonded, and I witnessed pregnant Cassidy run around the house, trying to get it ready for when MacKenzie arrived.

“Who was out front?” Hattie asks from the kitchen. She turns around just in time for me to notice just how much older she’s gotten. Significantly younger than her siblings, she didn’t do much during the move except bake cookies in the kitchen. She said she had to help Cassidy break in the kitchen so that it was ready for all of the baking they would do in the future. No one blinked an eye because she was so young . . . and because Cassidy had such a soft spot for Hattie.

“Hey, Hattie.” I wave and then stick my hand in my pocket.

She squints for a second and then surprisingly says, “Wyatt?”

“Yup.” I chuckle. “I know, a surprise.”

She comes over to me, and just like Cassidy would, she pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh my goodness, it’s been so long. How are you?”

The screen door opens and shuts, a slam of wood slightly startling the group. We all turn to watch Aubree slink into the house. She’s clearly not as keen to see me, which doesn’t really surprise me. She recently lost her sister and has probably had so much on her shoulders. How I hope she won’t stay in battle mode once I talk to her.

Plotting gods, please help me.

Turning back to Hattie—I am a little fearful of Aubree’s anger—I answer, “I’m pretty good. How are you?”

“Good, great actually,” Hattie replies, all smiles, the complete antithesis of the woman behind me. A man comes up to Hattie’s side and puts his arm around her waist. When I focus on the man’s face, I’m floored.

Holy shit.

“Uh . . . dude, I know I’m just meeting you for the first time, but Jesus, you look a lot like Hayes Farrow.”

He chuckles and holds his hand out. “I get that a lot. George, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Stop that,” Hattie says, batting our hands apart. “He is Hayes Farrow.”

“No shit, really?” I ask, stunned.

Hayes shrugs. “That’s what it says on my birth certificate.”

I take a second and look at Ryland, then back at Hayes. Motioning my finger between them, I ask, “Wait, if my memory serves me right . . . weren’t you guys in a heated hate campaign between each other?”

“Ooo, I like the way you put that,” Hattie says. “A heated hate campaign.”

“Neighhhhhhh,” MacKenzie says as she pretends to gallop her new horse between us. “Chewy Chonda coming through.”

Chewy Chonda, now there’s a name for you.

“He’s chasing the spiders.” MacKenzie dances her fingers across the table, then Chewy Chonda stomps over them. “Die. Die.”

“Uh, hey, Mac. Let’s not say ‘die, die,’ okay?” Ryland says.

“That’s what Aunt Aubree says when she kills ants in the house.”

Ryland looks over at Aubree, who just shrugs her shoulders. “They need to die.”

“Aubree, come on,” Ryland scolds, but she’s unfazed.

MacKenzie bounces away and flings her body on the couch before rolling off it and onto the floor, where Chewy Chonda stomps all over her other horse. Man, I can only imagine how full Ryland’s hands are with her.

Bringing the conversation back to the adults, Hayes says, “We’ve recently solved our differences.”

“We did,” Ryland says, taking his eyes off MacKenzie. “Kind of forced to when Hattie fell for the enemy.”

“The peacemaker, huh?” I ask Hattie, who chuckles.

“You know, no one has called me that yet, but I will accept it.” She then turns to Hayes and presses her hand to his chest as she says, “This is Wyatt, Clarke’s brother.”

“Oh wow, hey,” Hayes says, offering me a handshake. “What brought you out here?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” Aubree says with a growl from the side. When I glance over at her, all I can think is . . . Yikes!

There she is, everyone, my blushing bride.

Let’s face it, I knew Aubree was going to be a challenge, but from the sneer and annoyance pulling on her shoulders, I’m guessing she’ll be a lot more of a challenge than I initially expected.

Staying calm and remembering the plan, I clasp my hands together and say, “I wanted to come visit. It was long overdue. I should have been here when Cassidy was passing, and I wasn’t. I want to apologize for my absence and see if there is anything that I can do to help.”

“A few months late,” Aubree says, that scowl having the ability to scare the hair off grown men. Me included.

“Hey.” Ryland glances over at her. “Don’t be rude.”

“Don’t be rude?” Aubree asks, looking shocked. “Uh, earth to Ryland, he hasn’t been around for a long time, and then all of a sudden he shows up?” I have this unnerving feeling that she can see right through me.

“I know how it looks,” I say. “But I do want to spend some time with MacKenzie and, I don’t know, maybe revisit the town that my brother loved so much. There were things about it that he loved, so I figured I could soak them in.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” Hattie asks. “Hayes and I have plenty of room. And I know Ryland would offer up the couch if you’re into lumpy slumbers.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I really don’t want to impose. I have a suite over at the inn.”

“The inn is beautiful, isn’t it? Did you know that Ethel has your books on her shelves?” Hattie asks.

“Yup,” I answer. “She showed them to me. She actually wants to set up a book signing while I’m here. I told her I was up for anything.”

“God, she must have been fumbling all over you,” Ryland says. I can’t help but inwardly chuckle at how Aubree’s siblings bypassed her crankiness and kept up with the good-natured conversation. “We never told her who you were out of fear that she might maul you. How was it . . . did she try to bury her body against yours?”

“Nah.” I smile. “She was really respectful. Fun conversation with her actually.”

“Good,” Hattie says. “So do you have an itinerary while you’re here?”

“Not really. Don’t have any books that need to be written. On a bit of a lull at the moment.” To avoid weakening my image, I decide it’s best not to discuss my recent loss. The broken groom. Not the greatest life moment. Perhaps I should write Cadance into one of my books. As the assailant. “Figured I would just help out where it’s needed, especially with the farm, and hang out around town.”

Aubree grows closer. “Why did you say especially with the farm? The farm is doing great. We don’t need your help.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn she grew Wolverine-length claws as she said that, ready to strike at any time.

I offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m not saying it’s not doing well, but you know, I’m here to help in whatever capacity needed.”

“The farm doesn’t need your help.”

“Hey, Aubree, why don’t you chill out,” Ryland says.

On a huff, she rolls her eyes and heads out the screen door, letting it slap against the doorframe to announce her exit.

Ryland lets out a heavy sigh. “Sorry about that. She got some news today that she wasn’t expecting, and I think she’s reacting from that.”

Doubt it, but I’ll run with the storyline.

“Not a problem,” I say.

Ryland holds up the cookies and says, “Shall we have some dessert and catch up?”

“Would love that,” I answer. “Can I wash up first?”

“THAT’S AMAZING,” Hattie says. “A freaking movie. Please tell me when your agent got the call that a producer was picking up your book for adaptation that you peed in your pants just a little.”

I laugh before sipping the soda Ryland brought me when we sat at the dining room table. “I wouldn’t say I peed, but there were definite tears in my eyes.”

“Aw, that’s so amazing. Do you know when they’ll start filming?”

“Well, right now, they’re in the casting phase, which can sometimes take forever. There’s a script, which was job number one, but when they send it to certain actors we want to cast, they have exclusive reading rights for three weeks. If they pass, we have to offer it to someone else for another three weeks, so it takes some time.”

“Oh, that’s annoying.”

“It’s how the business works,” I say. “But hopefully, we’ll have something soon.”

“Maybe Hayes can write an original score for you,” Ryland says with a goofy grin on his face.

“Ooo, that would be amazing,” Hattie says. “Then we could go to the Oscars.”

“Jumping the gun there, babe,” Hayes says.

“No, have you heard your stuff? It’s Oscar-worthy,” Hattie says.

“I’m always up for collaborating,” I say. Pretty sure having Hayes Farrow write and perform an original score for my movie will only help me, given his popularity and talent.

“Thanks,” Hayes says. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Hattie turns toward me, a huge smile on her face as she says, “That would be a yes from us. Thank you.” She has the same spirit as Cassidy. Almost feels like she’s sitting across from me right now.

“Are you working on anything new?” I ask Hayes.

“Some things here and there. Nothing too serious, though. I recently finished a year-long tour, so I’m taking a break before I start back up. Plus, I enjoy helping Hattie with The Almond Store.”

“Is that what you’ve been running?” I ask her.

She nods with a giant smile. Seriously, this girl’s energy is electric. I remember her being bubbly, but this is a whole new level. I wonder how much of it has to do with her being in the right place in her life? Probably all of it. Great job. Great family. Great partner in life. I remember when I was close to that, and now . . . this is rock bottom, getting ready to beg a woman who can’t be in the same room as me to be my wife.

“I took possession of it a few weeks ago, and it’s been amazing. Aubree’s working on the farm, and Ryland, well, he has the toughest job of all.” Hattie nods toward MacKenzie, who half hangs off the couch, sleeping with her horses, one in each arm.

“Oh Jesus,” Ryland says when he spots her. “I should get her up to bed.”

“And I should probably get going,” I say. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Not at all,” Ryland says. “You’re always welcome here, man.”

“Thanks,” I reply as I stand and offer him another handshake. As he picks up MacKenzie and carries her up the stairs, I turn toward Hattie and ask, “Is he doing okay?”

Hattie nods. “Much better than when Cassidy initially passed away. I think a lot was riding on him, and now that I moved back here and Hayes is here, there’s more help than just Aubree.”

“Aubree was helping too?” I ask.

Hattie nods. “She lives in the guest house so she can help Ryland whenever he needs it. At first, she took care of the farm and the store, which was a lot on her, but now that I have the store, she can focus on the farm. She loves it.”

“Seems like she was right. I was a few months shy of being able to help.”

Hattie waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t listen to her. She’s grumpy because her ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend are back in town . . . and married. To each other. Granted, they both treated her like shit, so she’s a little sensitive to that, but she’ll come around.”

Interesting. Good information to have. Don’t make friends with those people.

“Oh shit, that’s awful. Who is it?” I ask.

“Amanda and Matt. I think they just bought the yellow house on Nutshell Drive. Anyway, she’ll be better. I promise. I’m sure if you stop by here tomorrow, she can show you around the farm. You own half of it, after all.”

“That would be awesome,” I say, surprised Hattie knew about my ownership. Then again, the Rowleys are a tight-knit group. They probably know everything about each other. “Any suggestion on what to wear?”

“Anything that you don’t mind getting dirty. It’s dusty out there, so leave your nice clothes at home.”

“Noted. Thanks, Hattie, and thank you for being so welcoming. I was pretty damn nervous driving over here. Wasn’t sure how I’d be received.”

“Listen,” Hattie says, walking up to me now. “You’re family. We’re all bonded by MacKenzie, and the more people she has in her life who love her, the better. I’m just glad you came to visit.”

“Thank you.”

She hugs me, and Hayes follows up with a handshake.

I thank them one more time and step out of the screen door, not letting it slam in case that wakes MacKenzie. As I work my way down the porch steps, I glance at the guest house and spot Aubree sitting outside, rocking on one of the rocking chairs out front.

Why does my scrotum shiver the moment I see her?

Maybe because she’s already put this fear in me with her crossed arms and snappy tone.

“Going home?” she asks.

Since she initiated the conversation, I decide to walk up to her and engage.

As I approach, I take in her soft features illuminated by the glow of the light coming from the guest house. Her hair is pulled back into two French braids while her face is completely devoid of makeup. Since her hair looks wet, I’ll guess she took a shower while we enjoyed the cookies. She’s also wearing a hoodie and a pair of cotton shorts. A simple outfit that says she’s done for the day and searching out comfort.

What I wouldn’t give to get out of these jeans right about now.

“Home as in the inn? Or home as in back to the Silicon Valley?”

“I would prefer it was back to the Silicon Valley, but I’m guessing I won’t be that lucky.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not,” I say as I grin at her.

She looks away, clearly annoyed with me. “Great. So how long are you going to be here?”

“Not sure. I’m booked for a week at the inn, but Ethel really wants me to stay for the End of Summer Jubilee.”

“That long?” she asks, her expression in total disbelief.

I shrug. “We’ll see. I want to accomplish some things while I’m here, so it just depends on how long that takes.”

Her eyes narrow. “And what exactly are those things?”

“Nothing you need to worry about at the moment.”

“Um . . . I’m worried,” she says.

“Why?” I ask.

“I think we both know why I’m worried.”

“I don’t,” I say, even though I could make a solid guess.

She rocks back and forth, her eyes remaining on me. “Just tell me why you’re really here, Wyatt.”

“I’m here because I’m trying to reconnect.”

“You’re such a liar.” She stands and closes the space between us. “Why won’t you admit you’re here because you own half of the farm and want to try to take it away from me?”

Whoa, okay. I can see that this is a hot-button issue for her. Tread lightly, man.

“Aubree,” I say carefully. “I’m not here to take your farm away. Why would I do that?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Wyatt. Why would you?” She places her hands on her hips and stares up at me, fire in her eyes, steam ready to blow.

“I wouldn’t. I don’t know how to run a farm.”

“Says the guy who likes to research for his books. Wait, is that what this is? You’re writing some thriller novel about a deadly farm, so you came here to get some real-life experience? News flash, Wyatt. We farm potatoes here. Nothing extravagant, nothing that will give you the plot twist you’re probably looking for.”

“I’m not here for book research, although a killer, mutated potato does intrigue me.”

She purses her lips, clearly not amused. “Just stay away from the farm, okay? We don’t need you here.”

I wince. “Oh, I know you don’t need me, but I hate to say it, half this farm is mine, so you can’t really keep me from coming here.”

“I knew it,” she says, pointing her finger at me. “You’re here to try to mess with it. What are you going to do? See where you can make improvements and then sell your half to some developer who’ll put apartments right in the middle of the potatoes?”

“Do I seem like that kind of person?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t know, Wyatt, you haven’t been around.”

Got to hand it to her—good comeback.

She seems to be a bit stabby, though, so before this gets more out of hand, I decide it’s best I back away. “Well, I’m here now, so . . . I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” she says, moving toward the door of her guest house. “I’ll be too busy.” And then she leaves me alone in the dark night with crickets chirping in the background.

Well . . . that went well.

I can practically hear the wedding bells.