I thought about Gran in those last months, how she'd smile whenever Claire came to visit, how she'd pull me aside and whisper about great-grandchildren, about filling the house with noise again. She'd been so sure. So hopeful. She'd died believing I had a future with someone who loved me.
Instead, I had three months and an empty hook where Claire's jacket used to hang.
"She couldn't wait to get back to Denver." My voice went raw, scraping against the thing I'd been trying not to say. "Three years, Cal. Three years of driving back and forth, of believing her when she said soon, when she said eventually. And the whole time she was just waiting for the right moment to leave."
Cal was quiet. He didn't offer platitudes or advice. Just sat there, present, letting me bleed.
"Three months to find someone willing to marry a man whose own fiancée gave up on him." I laughed again, and this time it sounded worse. "Gran wanted me to have what she had. Fifty-three years with my grandfather. A legacy. Kids running through those fields." I pushed the coffee away, suddenly unable to stomach it. "Instead, I got a deadline and a woman who looked at everything I was offering and said no thanks."
The kitchen fell silent except for the buzz of the lights and the distant clang of someone working on equipment in the bay. Cal didn't move. Didn't speak. Sometimes silence was the only kindness that fit.
I didn’t notice Riley until she was already pulling out the chair across from me, like she’d slipped into the moment while I was too busy being elsewhere.
She sat down without asking, her expression unreadable, still wearing her turnout pants from the drill we'd run earlier. Her dark brown hair was pulled back tight, a few strands escaping around her face, and there was a smudge of something dark on her jaw. Soot, maybe. Or grease.
I blinked at her, thrown off balance. We'd worked together for two years, but our relationship had always been professional. Cordial nods in the hallway. The occasional conversation about equipment or schedules. She was the only woman on the crew, and she carried herself like someone who'd had to fight for every inch of respect she'd earned. She was competent. Reliable. Always the first one through the door when it counted.
"I have a solution."
The words caught me off guard.
Her voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like she was discussing logistics for a call, not interrupting what was clearly a private conversation.
"A solution to what?" I was so lost in my own head that it didn’t even occur to me she might’ve heard my conversation.
"Your problem." She folded her hands on the table, fingers laced together. "Marry me."
I laughed. It was instinct, the kind of laugh that comes when someone says something so absurd your brain can't process it any other way. I looked at Cal, expecting him to be laughing too, but he was just watching Riley with an expression I couldn't read.
"That's funny." My words came with a laugh slipping out of me before I could stop it. "Really. Good one."
Riley's face didn't change. Not a flicker of humor. Not a twitch of a smile.
"I'm not joking."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water. I felt the ripples spreading outward, rearranging everything I thought I understood about this moment.
"You're serious?"
"I'm serious." She leaned forward slightly, and I caught a glimpse of something in her eyes. Desperation, maybe. Or determination. It was hard to tell the difference. "You need a wife to keep your ranch. I need stability to keep custody of my sister. One year. We live together at your place, make it public enough to meet the terms of your grandmother's will and convince the family court that I'm in a stable household. Then we walk away clean." She paused. "No one gets hurt."
My mind raced through objections, each one tumbling over the next. This was insane. It was legally questionable at best,fraud at worst. A scheme that could blow up in both our faces and leave us worse off than we started. I should say no. I should laugh it off and pretend this conversation never happened.
But she was looking at me with something I recognized. Something I’d seen in my own reflection that morning, staring at the empty hook in the mudroom. Desperation worn thin enough to pass for courage.
"Your sister," I said slowly. "Mia, right?"
Riley nodded. "She's twelve. I've been her guardian for two years, since our mother died." She paused before continuing. "An overdose."
She studied a scuff mark on the table. "Our stepfather is fighting me for custody. Not because he wants her. Because she comes with survivor benefits he thinks he's entitled to."
The pieces clicked together, one by one. The phone calls she took in the apparatus bay with her back turned. The shadows under her eyes that never quite faded. The way she pushed herself harder than anyone else on the crew, like she was trying to prove something that shouldn't need proving.
She was as cornered as I was. Maybe more.
"And you think getting married will help your case?"
"The caseworker made it clear that a two-parent household would strengthen my position." Riley's voice stayed even, but I caught the edge underneath. The anger she was working hard to contain. "The judge assigned to my case is traditional. She likes families that look a certain way. Todd's lawyers know that. They're using it."
