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Rome finally found his voice. “Whoa there. I know this was my plan, but you were right. It is crazy.”
She blinked. “So you don’t want to marry me?”
Why did she sound hurt? “Uhh . . . well, it’s not that I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“But, like you said, it won’t be a real marriage. It will be fake.” She pointed down at the paper. “That’s point number three. We’ll only stay married a few months before we say that we’re just not compatible and get a divorce. It will be believable because . . .” She hesitated and he finished for her.
“Because that’s exactly what happened with Emily and folks will just think the Remingtons struggle to hold onto their wives.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I was going to say at all. I was going to say it will be believable because no one will think we make a good couple.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you could get any woman you wanted. Why settle for me?”
He squinted at her. “You know I’m getting a little sick and tired of you putting yourself down, Luck—Cloe. You’d make a damn fine wife. You’re practical, smart, kind, and hardworking.”
She laughed. “You sound like my sister. And like I told her, those traits aren’t top of every man’s wife-hunting list.”
“Well, if they aren’t, they should be.”
“So you’ll marry me.”
“No.”
She scrunched her nose to push her glasses back up. “But it was your idea. And it’s a good one. You’ll get the land you covet and my family won’t have to move out of the house they love.” She paused. “And my daddy would be happy to help you out whenever you need an extra ranch hand.”
He knew what she was wanting. She wanted her father to still feel like he was useful to the ranch. He could understand that. He’d be lost if he didn’t have a ranch to work. “I’d have no problem with Hank still working the ranch. But I just don’t think—”
She cut him off. “I’m a good cook. While I’m living with you, I’ll cook for you and your brother and your daddy. My mama taught me how to make pot roast, chicken potpie, chicken and dumplings, braised short ribs, Texas chocolate sheet cake, and blackberry pie.”
His stomach rumbled. “Blackberry pie?” He had tasted Darla’s blackberry pie. It was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth. He shook himself out of his food trance. “It won’t work.”
“Why?”
Deep down, he knew why. He just couldn’t say.
But when he didn’t say anything, Cloe figured it out. “You’re afraid that the wallflower is going to get too attached to you.”
He sighed. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m not someone who can make any woman happy, Cloe.”
“After Brandon, believe me when I tell you that I’m not looking for a man to make me happy. This is strictly a business proposition. We’re going to be business partners. Once our business is concluded, there will be no need for us to ever speak again.”
The thought of never speaking to her again bothered him. It bothered him a lot.
The waitress arrived to take his order. He usually ordered a beer, but tonight he needed something a little stronger. He ordered a double shot of whiskey for himself and two margaritas for Cloe. When the waitress left, he shrugged.
“There’s nothing clearheaded about what we’re thinking about doing so I figure we might as well drink.”
She didn’t argue. In fact, when their drinks came, she took a big slug of her margarita. The sight of the light green frothy mustache on her top lip made him smile.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“I now understand why my sisters love them.” She licked the froth off, and watching her pink tongue slide over her lip caused a stab of heat to slice through him. He jerked his gaze away and took a swallow of his own drink. Once the burn of liquor had doused that heat, he looked back at her.
“So are we really doing this?”
She stared at him with eyes that held determination and fear. “It’s the only way we can both get what we want.”
