Page 18 of Chasing Bandit

I stepped back from the mirror before spinning around, allowing the tiny frills at the bottom of the short dress to fly out in all directions and then clicked the heels of my cowgirl boots that Jovie had let me borrow together like I was Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz about to meet my demise on the yellow brick road.

“How do I look?” I gestured dramatically.

My mom and sister hugged each other teary eyed as they gazed at me like I was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen. Of course, one was pregnant with my twin nephews and probably the most hormonal person in all of Texas at the moment, and the other was my mom who’d just reconnected with her childhood sweetheart and was likely high on long lost love, second chances and sex with Rig Cameron - gross.

Despite that, their adoration reinforced my confidence in what I was doing.

At least the photos from my first wedding will be nice. I wonder how hard it would be to photoshop Wylie out of the frame…

Jovie dabbed at her eyes before they lit up again. “You need a cowgirl hat to finish this perfection off.”

I inwardly groaned at the thought. In no real marriage would I be caught getting married in a hat, but this was technically all an act, and nothing really mattered. I was an actress and my stage happened to be the Cameron ranch backyard and my role was the dutiful wife to a handsome and proud 34-year-old cowboy. I was already wearing the costume of my fake love and devotion, might as well finish it off with a hat solidifying my assimilation into ranch life.

“I have the perfect one in mind.” I responded, remembering one that I'd seen in the back of Wylie's closet when I visited last but hadn't taken out of fear of being caught. It was too pristine, almost too perfect and was exactly the touch I needed for my wedding day.

Jovie grinned as if she could read my mind. I told her exactly which hat I wanted from Wylie’s room, and she snuck off to retrieve it while I waited with my mom. She chattered excitedly about her and Rig’s adventures in Canada and their upcoming plans to visit Italy before returning for Nash and Jovie’s wedding. I tried to focus on her happiness, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges as she spoke of Rig and how her skin glowed since falling in love again but all I could think about was what was about to happen.

A few minutes later, Jovie returned with the widest grin and the prettiest, all cream-colored cowgirl hat that I’d ever seen. It had a thin, dark, navy-blue ribbon around the bucket and a matching navy-blue and green feather tucked in to the side.

“Wow. Now that's a beautiful hat,” my mom said as her eyes shifted to what was clutched in Jovie’s hands.

Jovie stepped over, tousled my long, golden hair, and gently placed the hat on my head. It fit perfectly, just as I knew it would from trying it five months ago. I had been tempted to take it then, captivated by its striking beauty and untouched nature. The way the fabric felt like buttery velvet under my fingertips and the softness of the feather. There was no way Wylie—or anyone else—had worn it recently, if at all.

One of the first rules of taking things you're not supposed to is never taking the prized pig. You go for something good, not great. No one misses the good thing, but take the great thing, and someone will surely notice it's gone. However, my wedding to Wylie felt like the perfect opportunity to break that rule and take one great thing. Plus, the feather and ribbon were my something blue.

“Perfect.” Jovie clapped her hands together and jumped up and down excitedly as we heard a knock on the door followed by Nash's voice telling us it was time to start the ceremony.

“Why do I feel like I’m on death row and walking to the electric chair?”

Jovie giggled, "I love you, Stevie, and I'm so proud of you. I still don't understand why you're doing this for Wylie, but if it's truly out of the kindness of your heart to help him, you're incredible. Though, I've always known that." She kissed my cheek, and I forced a smile, watching her, and my mom depart down the hallway outside.

I wasn't doing this for Wylie, because he wasn't my family. I was doing this for my family. And just like Wylie would, I'd do anything for family.

That was how I knew that despite this wedding being destined for a divorce in twelve months, this was going to work because at the end of the day, no matter how much we couldn’t stand each other, we’d always focus on what this was: A marriage of convenience to get something we both wanted for our families.

Chapter 14 – Wylie

“Can we get this over with?” I whispered as I tapped my foot impatiently while sweating in the tuxedo that my dad had insisted I wear. I hadn't worn a tuxedo for a day in my life and the last time I'd worn a suit had been my mother's funeral over ten years ago.

“You do realize for ownership of the ranch to fully transfer over to you, you have to stay married for twelve consecutive months, son? This is only the start,” my dad responded from where he was standing next to me.

“Yea, but the sooner this becomes legal, the sooner I file that paperwork with the law offices to prove I got married and those twelve months can begin.”

He chuckled softly; his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as he stood next to me. I may have given my dad shit for most of my life, but deep down, we both knew the truth. When we were miles away from anyone else, facing the elements, wild animals, and countless dangers while managing Cameron Ranch, we had each other's backs. And no matter what life sent our way, we’d continue to stand by each other to the end of time which is why I'd opted for him to be my best man instead of Nash.

Nash and Clay may be good at what they do, but no one had been my dad’s shadow like me. Even as a toddler I’d followed him out into the fields while my mom yelled behind us about me being too young for ranch life. I didn’t care about heeding her warning and neither did my dad. I lived it, breathed it, and bled it. I would do the same just as soon as this fake marriage was over and the deed to the property read my name, 'Wylie Rig Cameron.'

An old Shania Twain song started playing from the speaker Jovie had set up for the ceremony, and I reflexively rolled my eyes. This had Jovie written all over it; there was no way Stevie was this sentimental about our fake wedding. Since she agreed to marry me over a week ago after I brought her to orgasm two more times and then left her to sleep at Ashwood alone, we hadn't seen each other.

I had figured giving her space was the best move, so I started having my meals back at my own house in order to avoid any close encounters. I didn’t want to risk saying or doing something stupid that might cause her to back out of our impending nuptials. She'd agreed to this reluctantly, and the last thing I wanted was to spoil my only chance of getting the ranch with a woman who was willing to marry me on paper and wanted very little in return.

As Shania’s voice crooned about ‘still being the one,’ Jovie and her mom emerged from the house and took seats in one of the six folding chairs set up on the lawn behind my house. The only people present to witness this fake, completely legal occasion was the photographer Stevie had hired, preacher, our parents, siblings, and Savannah. Even that felt like too many people.

The back door to the ranch creaked open. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled myself for the presence of the woman who had managed to drive me absolutely insane, and yet I was willingly tethering myself to her for the next year.

When I reopened my eyes, they found her walking down the small, makeshift aisle scattered with soft rose petals. She was wearing cowgirl boots, her long, tan legs on display beneath a tiny white dress that hugged her curves and had fringe on the bottom, giving her a dixie cowgirl style. Her face was stunning with just a hint of makeup, her lips painted the shade of wildflowers, and her wild blonde locks tamed with small, twisted braids, blew gently in the warm Texas breeze.

But it wasn’t her dress, her beauty, or even the unexpected boots that left me in awe. On her head, she wore a cowgirl hat—and not just any hat, but my mother's favorite.

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