Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Wyatt’s eyes drag down the flannel I’m wearing—his flannel—then back up. “No feelings,” he repeats, like he’s humoring me.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t believe me.”
Wyatt’s mouth tilts. “I don’t believe you.”
Heat flashes in my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
He steps close enough that I have to tilt my head back. His voice drops, low and unapologetic. “You came to my cabin off a bride ad. You’re wearing my shirt. You’ve been arguing with me since you walked in, and your pulse jumps every time I get close.”
My breath catches. “You don’t know what my pulse does.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicks to my throat. “I do.”
I hate him. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I want to bite him just to see if he flinches.
I force my voice steady. “We’re doing this for protection.”
Wyatt’s eyes hold mine, dark and unfiltered. “We’re doing this because I said you’re not going to be touched.”
My stomach flips again.
Saxon clears his throat. “Cooper. Tone.”
Wyatt doesn’t look away from me. “I’m controlled.”
Saxon’s eyes narrow like he’s not buying it. “Don’t make me regret letting you walk out of here.”
Wyatt finally turns his head slightly. “You won’t.”
Maddie steps closer to me, lowering her voice again. “You sure?”
I swallow. “No.”
Maddie nods like that’s the honest answer. “Good. Do it anyway.”
That’s the thing about Maddie—she doesn’t coddle. She just plants steel in your spine and expects you to stand.
Wyatt’s hand closes around my wrist. Not tight. Firm. Possessive in a way that makes my skin heat.
“You’re coming,” he says.
I glare at him. “I have legs.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “I’ve noticed.”
My breath stutters.
I yank my wrist free just to prove I can, then walk toward the bay doors with my head up, like I’m not about to marry my brother’s best friend in a courthouse because my ex won’t let me breathe.
Wyatt falls into step beside me like he owns the sidewalk.
We opens the passenger door of his truck and waits, watching me like he’s daring me to argue.
I climb in anyway, flannel riding up my thighs, and I refuse to think about the fact that I have nothing under it but underwear because my clothes are locked inside my shop.
Wyatt’s gaze flicks down once when I swing my legs in.
His jaw tightens.
He says nothing.
Which is worse.
The courthouse is small-town bland—linoleum floors, beige walls, a bored clerk behind thick glass. The kind of place where lives get changed between lunch breaks.
Wyatt walks in like he belongs everywhere.
I walk in like I’m pretending my heart isn’t trying to kick through my ribs.
We reach the counter.
The clerk looks up, eyes flicking from Wyatt to me, then to the flannel like she’s deciding if she should ask questions.
Wyatt slides his ID across the counter.
The clerk taps at her keyboard, then looks at me. “Name?”
I give it, voice steady enough.
She prints forms, pushes them toward us. “This is a legal marriage. Not a symbolic one.”
“I know,” I say, mouth dry.
Wyatt’s hand lands on my lower back, light but commanding. “She knows.”
The clerk’s eyes narrow slightly, like she’s seen a thousand impulsive couples and can smell panic.
She looks at me again, softer now. “Ma’am… are you sure?”
My throat tightens.
I open my mouth.
Wyatt answers before I can.
“Yes,” he says, calm as a vow. “She’s sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve signed my life away to Wyatt Cooper.
Or saved it.
Only time will tell.
We walk out of the courthouse shoulder to shoulder, my stomach twisting in knots with each step.
Yesterday my future was bright, filled with hope, but my ex stole all of that, and now today, I am his. Wyatt Cooper’s wife. God help us all.
Chapter 6
Wyatt
The storm doesn’t arrive politely.
It comes in like it owns the mountain—wind punching the trees, snow coming sideways, the kind of weather that makes sane people lock their doors and pray the power holds. I’ve seen blizzards swallow roads and turn cabins into coffins if you’re stupid enough to underestimate them.
Ellie is sitting on the couch, Jake’s head in her lap, with my flannel wrapped around her like she’s trying to pretend she isn’t cold. She’s stubborn like that—won’t complain, won’t ask, won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her need something.
Her hair is down now, falling over her shoulders in messy waves. She looks too soft in my living room. Too tempting. Too much like something I should not have.
I toss another log into the stove and shut the door with a hard click.
“Power’s going to flicker,” I say.
Ellie lifts her eyes from the mug in her hands. “That supposed to calm me down?”
“It’s supposed to prepare you,” I answer.
She snorts. “You’re allergic to comforting.”
I turn, lean my hip against the counter, and watch her. “I’m good at what matters.”
Her mouth tightens like she wants to argue, but the wind howls against the cabin and she flinches anyway.