by Wood, Vivian
“A deal with the Devil is no deal at all!” Braxton declared. “We’ll figure something out, honey.”
“No, Daddy. We won’t,” Remy said softly. She sighed. “This is like… manna from heaven. Me and Shelby and Larkin can go over and help at the ranch, while you and Micah run things here…”
“You think I’m letting all my daughters run around with the Roman boys?” her father scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
“We’re not little girls,” Remy said, giving her father a look. “Besides, it’s either this or you have to tell Mama that the farm is failing. Not just Mama, the whole family. Here’s your Hail Mary, Daddy.”
Braxton shot his daughter a glare, then shook his head.
“You always were stubborn as a mule,” he muttered.
“Which is why you’re going to shake Sawyer’s hand, right?” Remy asked, giving her father a hopeful smile.
Braxton turned a baleful look onto Sawyer, but then he stuck out his hand. Sawyer shook it, a little shocked that Remy had just helped seal the deal. Without her, there would be no way Braxton would’ve agreed.
“We can get into the specifics later this week,” Sawyer said, looking between them.
Braxton waved a dismissive hand, the same gesture Remy had used on the porch earlier. It made Sawyer smile, seeing the echo of the father in his daughter.
“I’m going inside,” Remy’s father groused. “Don’t be long out here.”
With one final warning glance at Sawyer, Braxton went back around from whence he came.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Remy said with a soft smirk. “Make sure you don’t get drawn and quartered on your way.”
“That’s kind of you,” Sawyer said, glancing around the yard as they walked slowly toward the driveway.
Remy didn’t say anything as they went, clearly turning something over in her mind. When they reached Sawyer’s Range Rover, he stopped and gave her a look.
“What?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Remy said, avoiding his gaze.
“You want to say something,” Sawyer told her. “You never were any good at hiding your emotions; it’s all written right there on your face.”
Remy’s cheeks colored. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”
Sawyer’s brows rose. “No?”
Remy fidgeted, crossing her arms.
“I don’t want you to think that this means anything,” Remy said apologetically. “You know I’m just doing this to save my farm, right?”
Sawyer watched her squirm, almost feeling a little bad about it.
“I know that, Remy.”
She didn’t look relieved at his words, though.
“I mean it, Sawyer. I might have to come over to work with you on the ranch, or meet to work out the details of this deal, but that’s it. You’re about as close as I want you to get.”
Sawyer blew out a breath. He’d expected a flare of temper from her, maybe, but this logical and cold-hearted statement… this was a tough thing to ignore.
“Also,” Remy said, pushing on. “I don’t want you driving out here unless you call ahead. If we need to meet, you can call and I’ll come over to the ranch, or we can meet in town.”
“Uh huh…” Sawyer said, distracted. Behind Remy, the front door to the house swung open. Mrs. River stepped out for just a second, holding a dark-haired child in her arms.
She stared out at Sawyer and Remy, then stepped back inside. She was there and gone again in less than half a minute, which struck Sawyer as odd.
“Whose kid is that?” Sawyer asked.
Remy tossed a look over her shoulder, then shrugged. “Cousin. You know we have a big family.”
Sawyer’d never seen a dark-haired child in the whole River family, but he shrugged it off. “All right. I’ll call you later this week, we can make a date to go to the diner in town.”
“Not a date,” Remy said, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, really,” Sawyer said, unable to resist teasing her. “You wouldn’t go on a date with me?”
Remy shot him a glare. “No. I think I’ve made that clear.”
“So you’re not interested in me at all,” Sawyer said, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her soft shiver was all the answer he needed, no matter what she said.
“Not interested,” she said, her voice a little breathy.
“Mmmhm. So if I touched you, say like this…” he said, dropping his hand to her waist. He gave her a gentle squeeze, something he used to do when they were teenagers, guaranteed to make her blush. “That wouldn’t get you all hot and bothered?”
“N-no,” Remy said, biting her lush lower lip.
“No? What if I kissed you? You wouldn’t feel anything at all?” he asked.
He pulled her a little closer, a little closer, until they were almost touching. Remy stared up at him with those big blue eyes, a helplessness in her expression.
“No,” she whispered, even as her eyes closed.
Sawyer kissed her, hard and demanding. He spun her around and pressed her back against his SUV, dominating her space and enjoying the feel of her soft curves against his hard body.
Remy made a soft sound that drove Sawyer onward, using a hand to lift her up and pin her against the car. Her arms went around his neck, fingers digging into his hair, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist.
He broke the kiss to brush his lips against the line of her jaw, nip at her neck. He shaped and squeezed her breast, grinding against her as he pinched her nipple. Remy went wild beneath him, her nails scoring his shoulders over his shirt, her hips rocking against him, her teeth nipping his ear.
After a moment, he slid a hand down between them, cupping her heat. He was shocked at the fact that Remy not only let him, she cried out at his touch, her eyes drifting shut.
“Remy, Remy,” he husked in her ear. “So hungry. I think you’ve been waiting for me.”
Remy stilled, then pushed at him. “You are such an asshole. Get off me.”
“You sure?” he asked, sliding his hand back up to tease her nipple again.
She shuddered, but still pushed at him. “Sawyer, get off.”
“I wish,” he said, but he lowered her to the ground and moved back the barest inch.
Remy looked up at him, her eyes glinting like twin sapphires.
“Sawyer, this has to stop,” she said, each word slow and purposeful.
“You don’t want that.” He stared right back down at her, the fine hairs on his arms and neck raising at the intensity of her gaze. “Come home with me.”
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Remy…”
“Later this week,” she said, sidestepping away from him. “The diner. And we won’t talk about… this.”
With a final glance, she turned and headed back up the hill toward her house, giving him the twin senses of disappointment and satisfaction as he watched her go, ass swaying in those tight jeans.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, climbing in his car.
He drove off, wishing like hell that he could do something more than just watch her walk away.
12
Days went by without a single word from Sawyer. It wasn’t like him; Sawyer was blunt and forceful, he took what he wanted and rarely respected boundaries.
Remy’s heart was brimming with worry by the fourth day, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the simplest tasks as she worked with her mother to clean the house.
Had Sawyer just given in to her request for space? Or was it something more than that?
Her heart shrunk in her chest when she wondered if he’d found out about Shiloh. She kept thinking about that moment, the look on his face when he asked whose kid Shiloh was.
Her heart nearly broke, lying right to his face like that. And yet, the lie came easily, the practice of protecting Shiloh grown into a habit.
She thought he’d believed her, but now with his silence…
What if on
e of his brothers had told him? Though none of the Roman sons had seen Shiloh, she was sure that Colt and Walker had heard the rumors by now.
What if Sawyer had decided to back out of the deal to save River Farm?
“Remy,” her mother said with a sigh.
Remy looked up from folding a stack of laundry in the living room. Her mother held a feather duster, and pointed it at Remy with a curious look.
“Yes?”
“You’ve folded that same t-shirt four times. If you’re not going to be helpful, maybe you should go relax,” her mother said, giving her a meaningful look.
“Oh,” Remy said, shaking her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Run along,” her mother said.
“I was thinking I might go into town,” Remy said.
Her mother paused, setting down her duster. “Really, now?”
Remy frowned. “What? I can go into town.”
“It’s just interesting, since you haven’t willingly gone anywhere on your own in about three years.”
“That’s not true!”
Her mother’s arched brows made Remy scowl.
“Okay, mostly not true,” Remy said. “Look, I just want to get out of the house, okay?”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” her mother said, taking up her duster and moving toward the kitchen.
“Keep an eye on Shiloh?” Remy asked. “He should stay down for at least an hour, since Micah wore him out playing this morning.”
Her mother just nodded, so Remy headed upstairs to change out of her sweatpants. Not wanting to look like she was dressing up, she opted for a silky white tank top and nice jeans, then hurried out of the house before any of her siblings could see her.
Jumping into Micah’s pickup, she started to drive into town, but then sort of veered off toward Roman Ranch instead. She straightened her spine.
Just going to talk business, she told herself. Nothing more than that.
As she pulled down the long driveway, passing under the familiar wooden arch adorned with horseshoes, she started to have doubts. She was going to look like a fool, showing up at Sawyer’s ranch after she’d worked so hard to push him away.
Then again, she was already in front of the house before she knew it. She’d look crazy if she drove away now.
Just keep it about business, she reminded herself. Keep your cool.
She climbed out of the pickup and headed up the steps, refusing to give herself time to hesitate. Or worse, primp in the side mirror, as she almost caught herself doing.
It doesn’t matter what you look like! she scolded herself. All the while, knowing that if it really didn’t matter, she would still be in sweatpants. And she sure as heck wouldn’t be wearing eyeshadow.
Rolling her eyes, she strode up to the front door and knocked. Looking around, she bit her lip and waited.
And waited.
She knocked again.
“Okay, okay!” came a shout.
Colt came around the side of the house, brushing himself off. When he caught sight of her, a look of confusion crossed his face.
“Oh, hey Remy.”
“Um, hi,” she said, coming down off the front porch to stand level with him. Well, as level as it got with one of the Roman sons. Like Sawyer, Colt was well over six feet and brawny, making Remy feel miniature by comparison.
“Uhhh... what’s up?” he asked, picking a stray bit of straw off his shirt.
“Well, I was supposed to catch up with Sawyer about this ranch deal…” she said, feeling lame. “My dad was worried about getting the contract inked.”
“Ah, yeah. I thought Walker called you,” Colt said, shaking his head. “Sawyer had to go out of town suddenly, in fact he’s just getting back today.”
“Did he finally realize he left a girlfriend behind or something?” Remy said, crossing her arms.
Colt winced. “Actually, uh… a buddy of his was wounded in combat. He flew to D.C. to be at his bedside.”
“Oh!” Remy said, a hand flying to her mouth as her face went red. “Oh my god, I’m such a jerk!”
“Nah,” Colt said. “My brother’s the jerk. You got him right, just… You know, he’s been a little different lately.”
Remy pulled a face. “I feel terrible.”
“Well… do me a favor. If you see Sawyer the next couple of days, just… be nice to him. He’s all tough guy on the outside, but… he seems kinda ripped up about his friend.”
“Absolutely, of course,” Remy said, shaking her head. “Um… I’ll just let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him you came by,” Colt said. “Whenever he gets back, I mean.”
“Great. Okay.” Remy couldn’t get out of there fast enough, embarrassed by how badly she’d put her foot in it this time.
Sawyer was on her mind all the way home. Every time she looked at Shiloh, she felt a little pang of guilt.
Who was she to deprive a veteran of his child? And yet, if she told him, that meant she’d have to trust him not to ruin her life, try to take her son away.
After she’d hid it from him for so long, what were the chances that Sawyer would just let her be?
Zero, she thought. And that’s why these lips stay zipped.
She headed to work with a heavy heart, barely looking up for the first half of her shift. When she did finally get a moment, she looked straight up to see Sawyer striding into the bar. Heading straight for her, taking a front row seat.
“Whiskey,” he said, drumming his fingertips on the bar.
“Hello to you, too,” Remy said, but tried to keep her tone light.
Sawyer glanced up at her, brooding. Remy shook her head and grabbed a bottle of the mid-shelf bourbon and a glass. She brought it over before him and poured out a shot, then started to move away.
Sawyer’s fingers clamped down over hers, pulling the bottle back to the bar with a loud clank. “You can leave it here.”
“Listen, Sawyer…” Remy said.
Sawyer knocked back the first shot and poured himself another, not paying her a bit of mind. Remy made a face, but did as he asked.
“Count your shots, or I’m charging you for the whole bottle,” she warned.
When Sawyer didn’t comment, didn’t look up from the bar, didn’t do anything but pour himself a second shot, she left him to it.
The rest of the night, Remy felt unbearably self-conscious. Sawyer wouldn’t talk to her, pretended not to even know she was there. Still, every time she bent down to get something out of the cooler, every time she turned around to put money in the cash register, she could feel his gaze burning into her back.
He was still in that same spot after all the other customers cleared out, a good quarter of the bottle gone. At some point he pushed away the bottle and laid his head on his arms, not sleeping but staring off into space, God knew what whirling through his drunk brain.
No good barmaid allowed heads to rest on the bar, but Remy couldn’t bring herself to move him until she was done cleaning for the night.
“Sawyer,” she said, putting a hand on his back.
He sat up. “I know. Time to go.”
“Yeah, you’re not driving tonight,” she said.
Sawyer screwed up his face and looked at her. “You’re not supposed to see me like this.”
“What, drunk?”
“I’m a fucking… fucking… wreck,” he muttered.
“Okay. Well, you can be a wreck in the car. Let’s go.” She nearly toppled over when she tried to help Sawyer to her feet. “You’re so freaking heavy! What has the Navy been feeding you??”
Sawyer went quiet, and Remy immediately wished she could take it back.
“Sorry,” she said as she steered him out to her car. “Bad joke.”
On the drive home, he was mostly quiet.
“You’re not going to puke, are you?” Remy asked, attempting levity.
“SEALs don’t puke,” Sawyer muttered. Then, bitterly: “Some fucking SEAL
I am.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked out the window. Remy thought the matter forgotten, but a minute later he turned and looked at her.
“I should be dead.”
Remy had to work not to stomp on the brake. “Sorry?”
“My whole unit’s dead. Well, except me and Darren Craig. Craig just got shipped home this weekend on a psych hold, and everyone else is fucking dead. And here I sit, drunk rich boy. I’m fine. I’m goooolllllllden.”
Remy sucked in a breath. “Sawyer, you are lucky to be alive. Don’t joke about that.”
He huffed.
“Yeah, some… fucking… stroke of luck, random chance. Atoms swirling in the universe, celestial and sun signs.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she said as she pulled down his driveway.
“I’m saying, what fucking divine providence decided to kill seven other men, and leave me here fucking alone. And I can’t complain, I’m alive and unhurt and…” Sawyer trailed off, waving a hand. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”
“Well, here we are,” she said, stopping in front of the main house.
“Pull down to the bunkhouse,” he said, pointing. “Around to the side.”
Turning her lights off, she did as he requested, the truck bouncing on the bumpy gravel road. No sooner than the truck was in park, Sawyer was out the door, stumbling toward one of the doors on the bunkhouse.
She watched him struggle with his keys for several moments before turning the truck off and climbing from the cab. Walking over to him, she took the keys from his hands.
“Here, let me help,” she said.
Sawyer braced himself against the wall, watching her.
“You’re so god damned beautiful, Remy,” he said.
Raaaay-meee. She loved the way her name sounded on his tongue, there was no denying that. Still, she didn’t want to do anything to encourage Drunk Sawyer.
“Okay, Romeo,” she said, swinging the door open. “Come on.”
Sawyer grabbed her hand and pulled her along into a big, beautiful space. The bunkhouse had obviously been converted recently, all white and pristine, like something out of an IKEA catalog.
“Nice,” she said.
Sawyer plunked down on the bed, working to unlace his black leather boots. Again, Remy watched him for a second.
