“You’re planning to marry her, Son?”
I nod.
Mom points a stiff finger near his face. “This is because of you. If it wasn’t for that dumbass rule, he wouldn’t be trying to marry someone he doesn’t love or know—”
“I know her,” I interrupt.
Her eyes flash to me. “A few weeks doesn’t count.”
I shake my head. “Wrong. I met her five years ago in Colorado.”
“What?”
“And we—”
I stop at my mom’s upraised palm. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I was going to say we connected.”
She huffs. “Wes, you can’t marry someone you barely know and don’t love just because you want the ranch.”
“He’s going to have to marry someone sometime, Juliette.” Dad’s voice is quiet, but strong.
Mom sputters. “I want him to love his wife, Beau. He deserves to be in love.”
“Even if he loves the woman he marries, it doesn’t guarantee a ride into the sunset. Life is tough, and that includes love.”
Mom looks down at the floor, her eyes closed. I’ve never known them to have marital issues, so I don’t think my dad’s speaking from experience, but I’m uncomfortable nonetheless.
“I know what I’m doing, guys. I promise.”
Mom’s head lifts. “What does she get out of it?”
I bristle at her hard tone. “She has a name.”
“What does Dakota get out of it?”
There’s no way I’m sharing Dakota’s private financial information, so I shake my head and say, “She wants to help me. And it’s not like we don’t like each other. I told you—”
“Yes, yes. You connected.” She makes air quotes when she says ‘connected’.
I go silent. So does my mom. Her arms are crossed and she stares me down. “I’m not happy with this, Wes.”
I shrug. “I love you, Mom, but I’m not asking for permission. This is my choice, and I’m making it.”
Dad must think we’re done here, because he announces that he’s going to sleep.
“I need to get back to work,” I say to both of them, even though my dad has his eyes closed. “I don’t know what your plans are, Mom, but I won’t be home for dinner. I’m seeing Dakota.”
“What’s the point?” Mom asks. “Go to the courthouse now.”
“Everyone else thinks we’re dating.”
“Who cares? Call off the charade.”
It’s hard to explain, but I don’t want my siblings to know. I don’t want them to look down on what I’m doing with Dakota, or, worse, be constantly waiting for her to leave like Anna. I want them to believe in us. I want them to see me as the big brother who finally came to his senses and got married.
“No, Mom, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything.”
She sighs. “Fine.” She pretends to lock her lips and toss out the key.
“Thanks.” I nod at her. “Do you want a ride back home?”
Mom glances at Dad. “I’m going to stay here tonight, but I’d love fresh clothes and a shower.”
She grabs her purse, tucks her book inside, and kisses my dad’s forehead. He’s either already sleeping or a damn good faker.
On the way out, my mom stops to chat with a nurse. While I wait I pull out my phone and send a text to Dakota telling her my parents know everything.
She’s not thrilled, which is understandable. In fact, her exact response is: I wish you were kidding.
Are you having second thoughts? I ask, but she doesn’t respond for a few hours.
Wyatt and I are working in the round pen with a horse when her answer comes through.
No. I’ll see you tonight?
I type out my confirmation, and Wyatt says, “Quit texting your girlfriend. We have shit to do.”
I slip my phone into my back pocket. “Fuck off.”
“I’m happy for you, Wes. For real.”
I stop in my tracks and look at him. He sounds genuine.
“Thanks, man.”
He nods and gets back to what he was doing.
19
Dakota
Despite Wes’s parents knowing the truth, he wants to keep it from his siblings, and Wes and I agreed to continue on with our two-week whirlwind courtship. So far, it looks like this:
Day One: Wes picks me up at the hotel. We eat dinner at a place just outside of town. I have a burger. Wes has a steak (shocker!). Conversation is weak and I can’t figure out why. Wes acts like he didn’t just kiss me the night before. I get that it was for the sake of our scheme, but you’d think it would put us smack in the middle of friendly familiarity. Apparently not. He drops me off at the hotel. A minute later he texts me and apologizes for his weird behavior, blaming it on not sleeping well. I tell him to put down his phone and focus on driving.
Day Two: We see a movie. No chance for conversation.
Day Three: Conversation shows real improvement, which might not be saying much because the bar was set pretty low. There was nowhere to go but up. We go to a bar for a drink and Wes tells me funny stories about growing up with two brothers, and says that Jessie was a shock to everybody, especially his parents who miscarried four babies after Wyatt. I feel uncomfortable knowing this personal information about Juliette and Beau, and also my heart hurts for them. When Wes drops me at my hotel, he high-fives me. I feel annoyed. Once upon a time, he was inside me and so the bro-ish behavior feels beneath me.
Day Four: Happening right now.
Wes knocks on my hotel room door and I answer. He’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt, and the first thing I think is that it’s incredibly unfair how good he looks when he’s not even trying.
I step back and he walks in, bringing with him the smell of body wash. A paperback book is tucked under his arm. He settles at the small table in the corner. Behind me, the heavy hotel door closes loudly.
I climb on top of the made bed and sit cross-legged. I’m wearing sweats too, and my hair is piled on top of my head.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Wes says, his gaze focused on the wall beside the bed.
I follow his stare to where I’ve tacked up a map of Sierra Grande and a copy I made of Brandt’s blueprints for The Orchard. I’ve drawn on the blueprint in bright colors, mostly landscaping ideas and games, and a book drop in the shape of a large birdcage. “I took the liberty of appropriating the wall space for my use. I’m sure the hotel won’t mind as long as I put their picture back on the wall when I’m done.” I glance down at the generic picture that used to hang on the wall but now leans against it.
“You did your research,” he says, nodding to a sheet of paper taped to the bottom of the Sierra Grande map.
My chest swells at the pride in his voice, eating up his praise like a kitten lapping milk. I climb off the bed and go to the paper, running my hands over the block letters written in black Sharpie. “I was brainstorming ideas for what to name the project. In my research about Arizona I kept seeing the five C’s of Arizona.” I bounce a fingertip off each C: cotton, copper, cattle, citrus, and climate. “But I couldn’t get the pecan trees out of my head, so I went with The Orchard.”