Chapter Three
Dixie
The thing about accepting five thousand dollars to fake-date a cowboy is that eventually, you have to actually do it.
Hunter pulled up in front of The Hungry Heifer at two fifty-eight on Friday afternoon driving a black Ford F-250 that looked freshly washed. I snatched my garment bags and climbed in, second-guessing every life choice that had led to this moment.
He'd dressed for the weekend—pressed jeans, white button-down, bolo tie, dark hair slightly too long but neatly combed back. Texas formal. His boots were polished. He looked good. Dangerously good.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Define ready."
That earned me a grin, the one with the dimple that should come with a warning label. "Thirty minutes to the hotel. We'llcheck in, get changed, then head down for the rehearsal dinner at seven."
We drove out of Bitter Root, past the feed store and the empty lot where the old grain elevator used to stand. The February afternoon was cold but clear, pale blue sky stretching over the Hill Country.
"So what's the game plan?" I asked. "Besides playing the perfect girlfriend?"
"That's pretty much it. My family's going to ask questions—keep the answers vague. We met, we clicked, we're taking things slow."
"Taking things slow while attending your brother's wedding together?"
"Hey, you're the one who negotiated the terms. Work with me here."
I bit back a smile. "Fine. What about Kendall? What's she like?"
Hunter's expression shifted slightly, mischievous. "You'll see. Let's just say she's very invested in this wedding."
"That's not ominous at all."
"Trust me, no amount of warning will prepare you."
"So," I said. "Does your family know you're bringing someone?"
"Texted my mom yesterday after we went shopping. Figured if I showed up with you unannounced, she'd have a heart attack." He grinned. "She immediately called me three times. I let it go to voicemail."
"Hunter."
"I texted back that we'd talk at the rehearsal dinner. Let her stew a little." His smile faded slightly. "She's been on me for months about bringing someone. Probably thinks I hired an escort."
"You kind of did."
"Fair point."
The landscape rolled past—golden grass, bare trees, ranch houses set back from the road. Hunter fiddled with the radio, settling on a country station. Hunter filled the silence with stories about growing up with Hudson. I listened, filing away details I might need to sell this relationship to his family. This was work. I needed to remember that.
"So when did things change?" I asked.
"College, maybe? Hudson came back with a business degree and a five-year plan. I came back with a hangover and a vague idea that I should probably get a job." He shrugged. "Hudson always knew who he was supposed to be. I'm still figuring it out."
The vulnerability in his voice made my chest ache, but before I could respond, Hunter pulled into The Hill Country Grand.
The hotel sprawled across manicured grounds—elegant white columns, wraparound balconies, and hedges trimmed into Valentine hearts. Actual hearts made from boxwood. The fountain in the circular drive had marble cupids shooting water from their arrows.
"Oh my God."
"Yeah." Hunter stopped at valet. "Welcome to Kendall's idea of subtle."
