CHAPTER ONE
DARIO
The shovel plunges into frozen earth with a satisfying crunch. My breath clouds in the crisp mountain air as I dig, the rhythm almost meditative if not for the fury simmering in my veins. I'm marking boundaries again. New stakes for land that's been in my family for three generations, land these corporate vultures think they can swoop in and claim.
Not happening. Not on my fucking watch.
A truck engine rumbles in the distance, breaking the silence of my mountain. I pause, shovel planted in the dirt and scan the tree line. Only three people would brave the narrow, twisted excuse for a road leading to my cabin. Roman Kane occasionally drops by to badger me about Club Crimson events when he’s in town. Silas McCrae, unfortunately, has become a necessary evil in my life since Grandpa Wallace died. And the mail carrier, who has the good sense to leave packages at the gate.
The black Jeep Cherokee that emerges from the pines belongs to option two. Great. More legal bullshit.
I jam the boundary stake into place with more force than necessary and straighten to my full height, not bothering to wipethe dirt from my hands or the scowl from my face. Silas parks and climbs out looking exactly like what he is—an estate lawyer who charges five hundred dollars an hour. Polished boots that have never seen real work, perfectly pressed slacks, and a wool coat that probably costs more than my truck.
"Dario," he calls, approaching with a leather portfolio tucked under one arm.
I don't move to meet him. "If you're here to tell me the county's making another play for my land, save your breath. I've already marked the boundaries again." I gesture to the stakes I've been driving into the perimeter for the last three hours.
Silas stops a respectful distance away. Smart man. "Actually, I have news about your grandfather's will."
"You told me everything was settled." I narrow my eyes. "The land transfers to me. Simple."
"I wish it were that simple." He sighs, and I immediately know I'm going to hate whatever comes next. "There's a provision I missed initially. It was buried in the estate planning documents your grandfather filed separately."
"Spit it out, McCrae."
"The deed transfer requires you to be married."
For a moment, I just stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn't come, I bark out a laugh. "That's bullshit."
"I'm afraid not." He pulls a document from his portfolio and extends it toward me. "Your grandfather was quite specific. The Wallace homestead can only transfer to a married descendant. Otherwise, it reverts to county auction at year's end."
I snatch the paper from him, scanning the legal jargon until I spot it. The provision is there in black and white, in language even I can understand.
Must be lawfully marriedto claim inheritance rights.
"This issome kind of sick joke." I crumple the paper. "The old man knew damn well I wasn't planning to marry."
"He also knew how much you love this land." Silas takes the document back, smoothing it out. "Clearly he wanted to ensure its future."
"By forcing me into marriage?" I run a hand through my hair, leaving dirt streaks I couldn't care less about. "That conniving old bastard."
"You have options," Silas says in that calm lawyer tone that makes me want to punch something. "The county auction?—"
"Not happening." My voice comes out as a growl. "This land stays in the family."
"Then you need a wife." He states it like he's suggesting I need a new chainsaw. Simple. Practical. "And soon. The deadline is Christmas Day."
"Christmas?" I stare at him. "That's six weeks away."
"Five weeks, three days." Silas's precision would be admirable if it weren't so fucking annoying. "You need to be married with the certificate filed with the county before midnight December 25th."
The weight of his words settles over me. I turn away, looking out over the snow-dusted valley that stretches below my property. The land my grandfather preserved. The land my father expanded. The only thing that's ever truly felt like mine.
"Find a loophole." I don't phrase it as a request.
"I've spent three days looking. There isn't one." Silas clears his throat. "The provision is ironclad. Your grandfather was thorough."
Of course he was. Old man Wallace never did anything halfway. It was one of the things I respected about him, even when we butted heads. Now it's coming back to bite me in the ass.
