The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,51

offer wore off, the more I could see just how mutually beneficial it could be.

He gets the ranch.

I get a clean slate. I can start from zero.

“You don’t have to do that, Dakota.”

“I know I don’t have to. But I see the practicality of it. We both get what we want.”

The side of his steepled hands press against his lips. “True,” he says slowly. “So, that’s it then? We’re going to get married?”

I feel a small stab in my heart. As a child, I didn’t spend a lot of time dreaming of my happily ever after. That was more Abby. So why is it that I’m feeling more than just a twinge of regret in my chest? I push it away and tip up my chin. “I suppose so, but we should discuss the parameters.”

“Parameters?”

“Yeah. The rules. How long are we supposed to be married? What happens if one of us develops feelings for the other? How do we take care of our more…” I pause to search for the right words. “Primal needs?”

“I hadn’t thought of any of that before I brought it up.”

“Seriously?”

He scowls. “The criteria of a marriage of convenience hasn’t been sitting around in my brain, just waiting to be pulled up for use.”

“No? Weird.”

He gives me a dirty look, but even his dirty look is more brooding and sexier than what is really necessary, and I’m entirely positive he doesn’t even know it. “We need to hammer out details, Wes. Otherwise, this won’t work.”

“I don’t know, Dakota.” The stress rolls off him. “I guess I didn’t really think it through. I thought marriage would solve my problem, and you had a problem I could help with, too—”

“I’m still not happy you violated my privacy.”

“And I’m still sorry I did it.” He holds up his hands in a request for forgiveness.

I blow out a breath. “Whatever. It’s over. Let’s move on to how the hell this is all supposed to work out.”

Wes rubs his eyes. “As for how long we’re supposed to be married, I guess I just assumed marriage is a forever kind of thing.”

I twirl the small pendant on my necklace as his words sink in. He would sign up for forever with me? “Marriage might be a ‘forever kind of thing’ for those who go the normal route. You know, falling in love, getting engaged, then taking a trip down the aisle. But what about us? You want to be married to someone you don’t love for the rest of your life?”

He gives me a side-eye. “Dakota, the relationship progression you’re describing isn’t in the cards for me.”

“What about being married to someone you don’t love? That doesn’t bother you?”

“Yes. No. Shit, maybe.” He sighs. “Look, Dakota, I don’t know. I can’t tell you what the future holds, but I know that I wouldn’t have asked you to do this with me if I thought you were a bad partner. We had something once, and if there’s anybody I’d marry, even if it’s in this crazy way, it’d be you.”

There was a time when I’d laugh at a conversation like this, but that was before I learned harsh truths. People take vows and mean them, and then cheat. People take vows and mean them, and then marriage itself is the cheater. My dad signed up for a lifetime with my mom. He got thirty-two years and even though he puts on a brave face, I see sadness in his eyes every single day. From what I can tell, you can go into marriage with all the good intentions in the world and still wind up screwed one way or the other.

I might be disenchanted with marriage, but I can’t give it away altogether. “One year, Wes. I’ll give you one year.”

A terse nod is his response. He looks like he can’t take any more of this. He offers his hand across the small table separating our chairs. His dark brown eyes locked on mine, he asks, “Do we have a deal?”

“A handshake?” I ask, looking disbelievingly at his outstretched palm. “Shouldn’t we have something a little more official, like a contract?”

“In my world, there isn’t anything more binding than a handshake. A man’s word is his honor.”

I look into his determined eyes and, for a second, I consider bounding away like a frightened deer. But then I think of the insufficient funds notices clogging up my email. My warm palm presses against his. The buzzing starts up, and I push it away. We’re