I stood in Lachlan's kitchen, the smell of his morning coffee still lingering in the air. One hand was perched on my hip, while the other was pinching the bridge of my nose.
"You what!?" Lachlan winced back from my words, running a hand through his tousled hair.
"Look, I was sloshed." He stopped, shrugged. Guilt pinched the corners of his eyes. No excuse could tidy up this mess. I shook my head, but in his defense, he hadn’t known my married last name had been Hanes. The cops would be piecing together our stories, finding every crack, every mismatched detail. Anyone who had gotten to know their significant other, especially after being together for a while, would know about their history. Fuck. We were supposed to be this blissfully in love couple, but even I could tell we weren't convincing anyone.
On top of us supposedly getting married? Or engaged? That wasn’t happening. This charade was crumbling faster than I could have anticipated. And the worst part? We weren't even a week into the lie.
Lachlan moved to the living room and paced the length of it, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Dust motes danced in the slanting sunlight that speared through the large windows. I followed his movements with my eyes, tracking the anxious energy that radiated off him.
"It's okay," I said, breaking the silence that had settled over us. "We'll just do more stuff together so they believe our story."
He stopped pacing and faced me, his jaw set hard, the lines around his mouth deepening. "Like what?" He threw his hands up, exasperation bleeding into his voice. "I work at the fire department, and the other half of the time I'm working here on the farm." His gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders slumping. "I can't afford to take off. I've already missed two days this week because I had to let my ass heal, literally my ass, so I don't know what you want from me. I don't have anything else to give," he finished, his voice a low murmur.
A pang of sympathy jabbed at my chest. The vulnerability in his tone was raw. It didn’t seem easy for this hunk of a man toadmit defeat. I remembered seeing all the late bills strung out over his dining table. I knew what it was like to be financially strapped and barely making it by. A part of me wanted to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but I held back, knowing it wasn't simply comfort he needed. He needed a plan that would work.
"Hey," I started, taking a tentative step toward him. "We'll figure something out." My words felt hollow, even to me. The man was busy. I couldn’t think of any way we could be seen together more regularly, unless . . . I bit my lip, tasting the remnants of my nervousness. A plan started to form in my mind, but it was fucking crazy. I turned to face him, his broad shoulders still slumped, the weight of our predicament etched into the furrow of his brow.
“What if I . . . moved in?” The words tumbled out before I could second-guess them. "Temporarily, of course," I rushed to clarify, watching his reaction closely. "That would surely prove to them this is real. I work from home, so I'll stay out of your way, and I might even be able to help out around this place."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable as they met mine.
He exhaled, slow and measured, as if releasing the weight he carried. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, but the plan made sense. I’d moved to town to be closer to him, but we were just so madly in love that we didn’t want our work schedules to get in the way of us spending time together, so I was moving all the way in. Sounded believable to me.
"Alright . . ." His voice was low. "But only till the end of the holiday season." He straightened up, resolve hardening his stance. "It's the busiest time of the year. I'll take all the help I can get."
"Okay," I said, holding out my hand to seal the deal, but then I retracted it. "But you have to be okay with Tony coming too."
Lachlan blinked, his brow knitting together as though he were trying to piece together who Tony was. Then he realized.
“Tony?” His voice cracked slightly. "The dog that tried to eat my ass?"
“The one and only.” I smiled and the corner of his mouth twitched. He was fighting one too. I could tell.
He let out a sound, something between a groan and a growl. "Fine," he grumbled, and I could picture the gears in his head turning, trying to sort the logistics of having a furry nemesis as a houseguest. "But he needs to stay off the furniture."
“Riiight,” I drawled slowly, plastering that smile on my face, and Lachlan just rubbed his still slightly swollen forehead, as if we were already giving him a headache. I held out my hand again, and he gripped it firmly in agreement. He was warm, and his rough, calloused fingers felt good against my skin.
This was going to be a long few months.
Chapter 7
Logan
Iwandered into Lachlan's bedroom in nothing but a towel, still wet from my shower. We had just gotten back from my place. He had helped me pack up a few bags of clothes and other essentials, and now I guessed I was officially moved in until the end of the season. I hadn’t grabbed clothes before coming in here, so I’d have to walk back to the guestroom to get dressed.
I padded out to the living room. Lachlan was cooking something in the kitchen that smelled delicious, a beer in hand, half-empty already. Honestly, I could use a drink after how crazy the last few days had been. He caught eyes with me and his throat bobbed, his eyes raking over my hot, wet skin, and I had to avert my gaze. Sure, I was in a towel, but his eyes alone burned straight through it.
Day one and I was already having to cage the horny bitch in my chest. Because damn, the man was too hot for his own good. Everything about him screamed moody and gruff, and those muscles . . .Argh!
I grabbed my duffle sitting on the couch and shuffled back to the guest bedroom, cursing myself for not bringing any clothes with me to the shower. I closed the door, dried, and yanked out an oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts. Normally, I’d just wear some panties to bed, but I would have to stop that while I was here.
The whole time I changed, I heard faint sounds from the kitchen: the chopping of a knife, the snap of a cabinet, Lachlan’s footsteps.
The cabin was open enough that the kitchen bled into the living and dining room, which had a bar top dividing the space. You could see everything from the center of the space, except inside the bedrooms. The guest room was almost right off the front door by the small coat closet, and then there was a small hallway on the other side of the living room that led to the main bedroom and full bathroom. There was a small half bath in the hall with just a toilet and small sink. There was nowhere to hide in here, unless I stayed locked up in my room. Not that I was necessarily trying to hide, but it made trying to keep the tension down even harder.
Lachlan had his back to me now. He was stirring something in a saucepan, his arm flexing just above the elbow. He wore a long-sleeved, plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled, revealing his muscled forearms that absolutely had me thinking the dirtiest thoughts about him. Why the fuck were arms so attractive? I moved my eyes down, and his jeans were stiff and faded, but they made his ass look beautiful.
His hair was dark and messy. It was long enough to curl at the nape of his neck and fall over his brow. I watched him for a few more moments, then forced myself into the kitchen.
