Page 84 of Lost in the Reins

"You're a grown man betting on goose theft. You don't need any help being corrupted," Wes points out.

"Says the man who taught Bernard to honk on cue for the behind-the-scenes footage," I remind him, nudging his shoulder. "Don't think I didn't see you sneaking him treats every time he performed on command."

"That was strictly business," Wes defends himself. "Marketing, even. The producers said those clips tested extremely well with test audiences."

"Uh-huh." I'm not fooled. I've seen the way he sneaks Bernard extra grain when he thinks no one's looking. The man has a soft spot for dramatic animals, no matter how much he protests.

Emma finally pushes her homework aside, stretching her arms above her head. Her T-shirt—one of the officialWhispering Pines Ranchones sold in town—rides up, revealing the friendship bracelet Sarah Beth made her last week. "Can we have ice cream? Since we're rich now and all?"

"Homework first," Wes and I say in unison, earning an exaggerated groan from Emma.

She rolls her eyes. "You guys are so gross when you do that couple mind-reading thing."

"Just wait until the wedding," I tease, absently twisting the engagement ring on my finger. Even after months, it still catches me off guard—this solid, shimmering proof of a love story I never saw coming. The ring had been his grandmother's, reset with small sapphires that he said reminded him of the Montana sky. "We're planning to be extra gross then."

"As long as Bernard doesn't steal the rings," Wes mutters.

"That's actually a legitimate concern," Colt says thoughtfully. "Remember Cousin Ruby's wedding? He took the cake topper."

"And Martha's earrings at the Spring Festival," Jake adds.

"And Pastor Mike's reading glasses," Emma supplies helpfully.

Wes's expression grows increasingly alarmed with each example.

Emma's face lights up suddenly, that Montgomery spark of mischief flashing in her eyes. "Wait—what if we trained him to carry them down the aisle? Like, in a little top hat?"

"Absolutely not." Wes sets his coffee down with finality, the mug making a decisive thunk against the wooden table.

I press my lips together, pretending to consider it. "It is very on-brand for us."

"I'm not letting a kleptomaniac goose anywhere near our wedding rings."

"Too late!" Emma announces gleefully, exchanging a high-five with Jake. "I already promised Martha we'd consider it. She says it would be very authentic."

"Martha is not the wedding planner," Wes protests, despite knowing that's a lie. Martha started planning this wedding approximately five minutes after I arrived in Pine Ridge, long before either of us admitted our feelings.

"Martha has already ordered the top hat," Jake informs us. "It's got a little bow tie and everything."

"And Kevin's getting jealous," Colt adds. "He's been practicing his own procession walk behind the barn."

"Our wedding is turning into a petting zoo pageant," Wes groans, but I feel his hand slide beneath the table, finding mine in a warm, familiar grip. Some things have changed—the bank account, the movie cameras, the ever-growing collection of stolen tourist belongings Bernard has hidden around the ranch. But the important things? Those have stayed exactly the same.

Outside, Bernard finally makes his move, snatching Dana's fedora with ruthless precision while Kevin creates a perfectly timed distraction. The tourists gasp in delighted horror, probably already adding to the viral collection of videos that have made our goose more famous than the actual movie stars.

"Someday," Jake says reverently, "I'm going to be his agent. That goose understands showmanship better than any creature I've ever met."

"I think that might be considered poultry trafficking," Colt points out.

"Talent management," Jake corrects. "And I'm only taking 15 percent. That's a friend's rate."

I smirk. "Told you. Hat thief strikes again."

Emma smirks right back. "And that's why we deserve ice cream."

Wes shakes his head, but there's no real fight behind it. "What do you think? Ice cream before dinner?"

I pretend to consider, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Well, we are millionaires now. Might as well be rebels."

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