A few hours later, I’m talking with Scott when my phone rings. I hold up a finger, telling him to hang on a moment, and answer. It’s an unknown number, but I’m hoping it’s Wes. He could be calling from the hospital or someone else’s phone.
“Hello?” I answer with restless anticipation.
“May I please speak with Dakota Wright?”
The air whooshes out of me. Avoiding Scott’s gaze, I reply, “You are.”
“This is a representative from a collection agency. I’m calling on behalf of City Urgent Care. Multiple attempts to collect a debt have failed, and—”
“Sorry,” I blurt. “I think you have the wrong number.” I end the call and shrug at Scott.
Scott has a knowing look on his face. “Someone named Tim must’ve had my number before me because I get calls for him constantly.”
I chuckle. “And of course it happens when I’m waiting for an important call. Anyway, what were you asking me?” I halfway listen to Scott, and the other half of my thoughts are busy with the collector’s call. Near the end of my relationship with Barrett, a quadruple sinus infection sent me to urgent care. Barrett had said he was going to pay the bill, but that pesky little situation where I found out he was married put the kibosh on that. And urgent care without insurance? Turns out it’s expensive. I got paid last Friday, so I can pay the bill, but it will leave me with so little in my account after the charity payments go through. And that’s where using my credit cards to live on comes into the depressing equation.
The rest of the afternoon passes without a word from Wes. On the bright side, the future home of The Orchard now looks like it can house more than dried desert grass and scrubby brush.
The crew knocks off for the day, and I decide not to risk my barely passable credit score by ignoring the urgent care bill any longer. I sit in my car and pay the bill on my phone, watching the crew drive out as the payment processes. It feels freeing to cross it off my mental list of bills to pay, but when I think of how long that list is, nothing but depression fills me. Hacking away at my debt is going to be like using a pointed nail file to chip away at a boulder. I know what I have to do, but doing it feels next to impossible.
Tossing my phone in my purse, I start up my car and head off the jobsite. I pause at the turn-off. I can go left to town, or right toward the Hayden Ranch.
My car swings right, as if it made the choice for me. It won’t hurt to stop by and just see if Wes’s truck is out front. If it’s not, it’s safe to assume he’s still at the hospital. I won’t knock on the door and bother anybody. If he’s not there, I’ll call him.
I pause near the dirt turn-off for the Hayden Ranch, my car idling parallel to the metal arch with the HCC insignia. Tenting my hand over my eyes, I look for a truck parked out front. I see three, but it’s hard to know if one of them is Wes’s because they’re all the same. Probably HCC issued. I’m going to have to drive up.
I take the half-mile drive at a slow pace, my eyes peeled for Wes. Nobody is out, and it’s eerie, as if what happened to Beau has thrown a wrench into moving parts.
I’m about to turn around when I see him. Shadowed by a stone pillar, Wes leans against the porch railing, his eyes on my car. In his hand is a tumbler. Based on the amber color of the liquid, I’m guessing it’s whiskey. Our eyes meet and he does a cowboy nod. The expression on his face is fathomless. He chucks his chin to the side, an invitation.
I throw my car in park and climb out. I stop a few feet shy of him. “How’s your dad?”
His jaw tenses and he sips from his glass. “I just got home a few minutes ago and I was about to call you. He had a bypass this morning. You wouldn’t know it, though. He came out of surgery and told me to get my ass back to the ranch.” His thumb strokes the side of his glass. “He said somebody needs to be here running this place.”
The lost look on Wes’s face makes me want to wrap my arms around him. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”
He grunts. “I think we have different versions of okay. He’s not going to be able to run the ranch after this. The surgeon said he needs to stop.” A hand rakes through his already messy hair. Something tells me it’s been a well-traveled path over the past eighteen hours. “And then his cardiologist, who I didn’t even know he had, showed up and said he’d advised him to stop running it two years ago. Apparently he had a stent put in back then and the only person who knew was my mom.” Wes finishes his whiskey and retreats to a set of chairs.
I follow, sitting in the chair next to him. “What happens now?”
Wes’s head moves slowly back and forth, eyes downcast. “I don’t know.”
The invisible armor Wes usually wears is absent. On his face I see the brokenness that exists inside him and it rips my heart to shreds. I want to run my hands over his skin, spreading them over him like a magic elixir, bringing healing to his deepest wounds.
“Wes,” I say his name softly.
“Dakota.” My name on his lips is rough, callused like his hands.
“I’ve been doing some thinking.” A deep breath fills my lungs, and I let it out noisily. All night I turned Wes’s suggestion over and over in my head until I nearly made myself sick. Round and round I went, and I kept coming back to the same conclusion. Here goes… “If your offer still stands, I’d like to take you up on it.”
His head snaps up. He’s quiet. Each second that passes feels like a minute. “You mean, marriage?”
“Yes.” This single word weighs much more than I thought it would now that I’m here and saying it out loud to Wes. As it is, I still can’t believe I’ve changed my mind. As soon as he left the hotel bar that night I began to turn the idea over in my brain. The more the surprise of his 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.”