Page 9 of Bull Rush

“For those ninety days, you’re my wife.”

“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes.

“No. I mean,my wife.” I give her a pointed look.

Her brow furrows for a moment and then releases in surprise before she shakes her head.

“You’re crazy. Certifiable, honestly. I’m engaged. Remember?” Her eyes slide over me like I’ve said the most offensive thing she’s ever heard.

“You’re married.”

She levels me with a look ofcontempt.

“I’m engaged. To a man I love. I’m happy—the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I don’t want you or any of the things that come with you, Ramsey. Not near me or this ranch. I have good things here, and I don’t want them fucked up.”

I roll my lower lip and dip my head to the side in contemplation, glancing up at her and then shaking my head like I’m unbothered, even though it feels like she just slid a knife through my ribs and into my lung.

“That’s too bad. You should have made sure you were in a position to get engaged first.”

I see the way her jaw tightens and the furrow in her brow deepens, but a moment later, it fades.

“Just sign the divorce papers, please. This can be civil. You can move on with your life, and I can move on with mine. If we do it now, I’ll still have plenty of time to get my paperwork filed for the inn. You can have your life back in time for the end of your parole. We both get what we want.” Her eyes go soft with the plea, but her shoulders stay rigid, and I know she’s just trying to manage me.

She’s bargaining and hoping she can dangle something in front of me that I want more. Unfortunately for her, I’ve had far too many months alone, staring at a cinder block wall and thinking about exactly what I would do differently if I had a second chance. And fate’s dealt me the opportunity for just that.

“Nah. I don’t think so. I think I want my family’s ranch back. My house. My inn. My horse… I think I want all of it back the more I look around.”

“That’s not how life works.” The brief glimpse of her softer side is disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “Everything here has moved on without you. I suggest you do the same.”

I knew she wouldn’t come around to the idea easily. I knewshe’d hate it at first, but I didn’t plan for exactly how much the unequivocal, unyielding rejection would sting.

“Maybe.” I run my hand along the edge of the stall. “But it’s how the court system works. I imagine they won’t feel sympathetic to my wife getting engaged and nearly committing bigotry, trying to refinance my property behind my back, letting her boyfriend take over my ranch, and then trying to take my ancestral family home all in one go. Yeah. Haze, I gotta say, darlin’, you’re not lookin’ too good in that scenario. But I’m sure you’ve got plenty of money to fight it with the lawyers, right?” I raise my eyes to meet hers. “I don’t imagine you were refinancing because you’re hurting for money or anything?”

“You’re an asshole.” I’m pretty sure she’d throttle me right now if she thought it would do any good at all.

“I just want you to be sure you’re making an informed decision before you give me your final answer.” I shrug one shoulder, glancing back at Wolfsbane who seems as eager to hear her acceptance as I am.

“Even if I was insane enough to agree to this, and I’m not, to be clear. But even if I was, do you think Curtis would just agree to it?”

“I assume he has a pragmatic side.” I take a step closer to her and reach out for a lock of her hair that’s fallen over her shoulder, sweeping it back. “Tell you what, darlin’. I’ll give you a million to ease his conscience and yours. Instead of refinancing—you can just use that. Think of it like an early wedding gift.”

Her jaw drops, and she leans forward to match me, needling her finger into my chest. One manicured nail, her attempt to cover up all the hard labor she does around here from her guests, is threatening to pierce through my shirt and into my skin. Her eyes blaze with fury, and if one of the horseswasn’t rattling around in his stall, I’m sure I could hear the grinding of her teeth.

“I don’t even know where to start with how fucked up that is,” she spits.

“You don’t even want to mention the idea to Curtis?” I do my best to stay rational. I can’t imagine he’ll agree, but it’s worth a shot.

She starts to draw up again, like she’s going to argue about how ridiculous the notion is that her fiancé would accept my conditions, but there’s the slightest flicker of something over her face. A hint of doubt, and that tells me everything I need to know about Curtis.

I wouldn’t let a man touch her for a hundred times that. If I could help it, no other man will ever touch her again. But it’s obvious—from the flutter of her lashes to the way she nibbles her lower lip—she thinks he might go for it. She shakes her head, takes a step back, crosses her arms, and stares off into the distance; a long sigh escapes her lips before she looks back at me with disappointment.

“Be reasonable and just sign the papers.” It’s one last plea, but she’s caving. I can feel it. Hope floods my chest.

“Sorry, darlin’. Can’t do it.”

“Don’t call me darlin’.” She flashes a look of warning at me.

“Sure thing, sugar.” I wink at her as her chin dips back and her lips part. I haven’t called her either in a long time. Not since we were kids who fell in love and got married because we thought it would always be that simple for us—that we were built differently than everyone who came before.

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