Page 29 of Late Harvest

“So are you thinking—?” Lila began, ignoring the others.

“That Bash offers Arabella Remington a major donation to the shelter in exchange for one year of marriage,” Honor finished.

“How much?” Bash asked excitedly, hope filling his chest. “One million?”

Honor blew a raspberry, waving a dismissive hand. “Ten.”

“Ten!” Lila shrieked.

Bash paid no attention to her shocked outburst, keeping his mind off his hypocrisy and his gaze firmly on his sister. “That could work.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, brother,” Honor snarked good-naturedly.

“No, not surprised. Impressed.” He drum-tapped his hands on his thighs, excited energy coursing through his system.

“Wait just a Hottie McHot Pants minute.” Ross’s imperious voice carried over the din of the barn’s occupants, effectively silencing their waves of chatter and shocked exclamations at the proposition at hand. All eyes landed on Ross, who had climbed on a chair with her chin held queenly high. “I just want to be clear that I’m the Fairy Rossmother, matchmaker extraordinaire. I shall not be usurped!”

His sister’s giggle, along with the dramatic ridiculousness of Ross, had a grin spreading wide on Bash’s face. He watched as Honor effortlessly slid into character, her voice shifting to one of subservience. “I’m merely an acolyte learning at your knee.” Honor dipped her head in reverence.

“Excellent, padawan. Nice recovery.” Ross nodded approvingly. “No longer the usurper, you shall be my apprentice, and I’ll teach you all I know.”

“I want to be an apprentice, too!” Lila blurted, clapping her hands.

“Welcome, apprentice,” Ross pronounced like a sage on the mountaintop.

“Unbelievable,” Xander whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head, an indulgent smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“What could possibly go wrong?” Brinder grumbled.

“Nothing.” Bash spoke with conviction of the heart. “Nothing is going to go wrong.” Bash rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go get me my wife.”

Chapter Thirteen

You are exactly where you are meant to be. Keep going.

—From Remy’s Affirmations for a Badass

Remy

Driving home from her volunteer shift, Remy was preoccupied with the financial crisis at St. D’s and wondering how to appropriately ask her boss and his wife for a fuckton of money, when her phone rang. Brinder again.

She freaked, momentarily panicking that she’d already sent him a text begging for millions and then blanked on it.

Pull your shit together, Remington.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped the button on her steering wheel. “Another issue at Evangelist? Do you need me? Ortho trauma case?” she answered, not bothering with formalities.

“No, nothing like that. I, uh, have a scenario I want to run past you and I’m wondering if you can stop by the house.”

“A scenario?” What kind of scenario? On a Saturday night? Holy shit? Had she sent the text? She quickly glanced at her phone, grateful she was at a stoplight. Phew. No text. So then what was this about?

“It’s better explained in person,” Brinder hedged, sensing the confusion in her hesitation.

“This is highly unusual, Brinder.” Remy’s mind whirled with possibilities, coming up with nada.

“Tell me about it,” she thought she heard him mutter.

“And this can’t wait until Monday?” Her confusion turned to frustration. Remy was exhausted—mentally and physically—and despite the fortuitous opportunity at hand to ask both Brinder and Honor in person to help St. D’s, now was not appropriate. Remy needed time to formulate a proper philanthropic request, with Anya’s guidance.