PROLOGUE
OLIVIA
VEGAS
The bright lights of the Vegas strip makes the world around me hazy. Every time I blink, colour streaks across my vision, the darkness shifting from endless black to a painter’s palette.
My stomach twists, though I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol, the lack of dinner, or the man holding my hand.
We stumble together looking for food. Is it a bad idea walking off with a stranger? Definitely. But it’s hard to ignore how the towering, strong cowboy makes me feel safe. And it’s not like he’s a total stranger—I’m pretty sure we’ve met before.
But where…?
Blinking hard, I look at my phone. The screen swims, but when the picture of my baby boy comes into focus, it makes my heart stop.
Why am I walking around with a strange man when my baby is waiting for me at the house with my aunt?
It’s a shock to the system and has me stopping dead in my tracks. “I can’t do this,” I slur, clutching the phone to my chest.
The equally drunk cowboy turns to me, confusion darkening his eyes. “Why? Pancakes that way.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I have—I need to go back.”
It’s the right thing to do. I’m in no position to be gettingpancakeswith some random man. That’s what I keep telling myself.
Too bad that’s the last thing I remember.
My head pounds,aching fiercely with each thrumming beat of my heart. It has my entire face wanting to fall off with how strong each beat is. My mouth tastes like puke and ash, dry and filled with cotton.
I peel my eyes open and look around. For some reason, I’m surprised to find myself in my bedroom at the house we’re renting for my cousin Lennon’s bachelorette trip. The only thing missing is the travel crib meant to be set up by the bed.
In its place is a piece of paper.
Groaning, I half-fall-half-crawl from the bed to snag the paper. It’s probably from my sister, Cassidy, warning me she took Chris for the night to let me sleep off this horrendous hangover. God, I wish I remembered what happened after the casino. All that sits in the back of my mind is a cowboy hat and winning a couple hundred at the slots.
And something about pancakes…
My entire body falls off the bed as I take in the paper. It’s some cheesy, ornate, almost fake-looking certificate from the Chapel of Love. Frowning, I stare at my signature, then the one of the man I supposedly married last night.
OLIVIA HARRISON & FORD GREYSON
I scrub a hand down my face. No. It’s not possible.
But it says we were married last night in bold.
Both of us signed. So did an officiate.
Holy shit. I cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from crying.
I accidentally married a man in Vegas. And not just any man.
A fucking cowboy.
ONE
FORD
The bar outside of Saddlehorn is busy tonight. There’s a bachelorette party at the bucking bull; I’m pretty sure they’re staying at the multi-bedroom cabins on the ranch, though I’m not sure. Especially because we see a lot of parties and groups come through Wild Vista Ranch. They might be vaguely familiar faces, but they all end up blending together, eventually.
