Chapter 1

ONE

WAYLON

Nobody sets out to marry a stranger by accident in Vegas. Sometimes, and I'm speaking hypothetically here, sometimes a person sets out to marry a friend . To do someone a solid . To help solve a difficult situation .

And then gets horribly rejected and ends up drinking himself into oblivion.

Which then causes him to marry a stranger.

I was several drinks into my rare quest for oblivion when I realized the businessman on the stool next to me was enjoying a laugh at my expense. The first time a lady at the bar sent me a drink, he'd huffed out a silent laugh. Now, as I accepted my third—possibly fourth?—drink from the bartender, whiskey this time, he was outright snorting.

So I side-eyed the guy. You know, as you do when a businessman gets all up in your business.

The man was clean-cut and sharp-looking. Probably a corporate type in town for a conference on balancing stocks and bonds in a well-curated portfolio. Short brown hair, likely styled by someone who'd never seen the inside of a ten-dollar quick-cuts place. Well-fitting button-down shirt with cuffs folded meticulously up muscular forearms. An Apple Watch that probably kept track of his fitness goals and net worth at the same time.

He oozed money and influence. He probably hadn't looked at the prices of the drinks before ordering whatever he wanted. And he wasn't even pretending polite disinterest in my situation. "May I help you?"

"I can't decide if you've got game or you're oblivious." His voice was as deep and smooth as the gold-boxed chocolates my sister loved. Cultured. Expensive. "Either way, it's entertaining."

I took a sip of my drink and felt it burn down my throat. "Don't know what you mean."

"The cowboy schtick is really working for you. You're incredibly popular with the ladies."

I took another sip of whiskey while trying to pretend ignorance. I wasn't proud of what I was doing, and the idea someone had noticed didn't sit right with me. "What ladies?"

He laughed and tilted his head in the direction of the older woman down the bar who'd sent me my latest drink. "Well, her, for one. Or the gaggle of college girls who sent you the pink and purple test tube shots. Or the waitress who ran her hand across your shoulders. Or the woman who asked if you preferred red over white. You don't seem interested. None of my business, but?—"

My face flooded with heat. "Oh… that. Well, I mean, no, I'm not interested in a… a casual encounter , but…" It was embarrassing to admit, but my tongue had been loosened enough to be less worried than usual. I leaned in and lowered my voice, noticing belatedly that he smelled nice. "I can't really afford this place. The free drinks are nice."

"Casual encounter?" His bark of laughter startled me. "Where the hell are you from?"

His amusement only made me blush harder.

"Wyoming," I said, feeling a little annoyed at his condescending tone.

I shifted the cowboy hat on my lap and rubbed the edge of the brim where some of the buffalo felt had worn smooth after years of me fiddling with it. The man probably thought I was in Vegas to blow off steam and I was doing it wrong. The truth—that I'd come to marry my good friend, like an idiot—was even worse, so I didn't bother correcting him.

I also didn't bother explaining that casual encounters weren't a thing when you were the mayor of a very small town where everyone already knew everyone. I'd heard about hookups in big cities, but I'd never been a party to one of them. Where I was from, you dated and got married. Period. Or else your mama, sisters, and aunt heard every last detail before the sun was up the next day.

"Ahh, a real cowboy, then." The man's grin faded. "Sorry. I can see I plucked a nerve. Didn't mean to. Sometimes I'm an asshole. And tonight… well, let's just say my own nerves got plucked like a motherfucker. Let me buy the next round as an apology." He grinned again. "No casual encounter necessary."

I was tempted to ask him what had happened, but then he might want to know why I was in here tying one on, and that was way too embarrassing to admit…

Until three quick drinks later, when my liquor-lips decided to tell the story my pride had been too crushed to let loose.

"So I proposed to her," I explained, trying not to slur. The alcohol had hit my empty stomach and spread like prairie fire, making the whole world seem a bit warm and blurry—though unfortunately not blurry enough to let me ignore the fact that I'd flown hundreds of miles only to make a fool of myself.

The man in the button-up squinted at me. As the bar had gotten warmer with the addition of more bodies, he'd opened his top two buttons. I tried not to stare at the little patch of chest hair poking through the gap, but for some reason, my eyes kept going there. "Some guy got your friend pregnant, so you offered to?—"

"No," I corrected belligerently. "That's just it. Eden's not even pregnant! She got her period when we landed in Vegas. But I told her it could still work—I mean, we were high school sweethearts, you know? And after high school, too, occasionally, here and there. And the whole town prob'ly figures we'll end up together, so it just makes sense. That's what I told her. It just makes sense ."

It was definitely making less sense now that I was trying to explain it to a stranger.

"Are you in love with her?" The question in his deep, calm voice made me stop and think.

"Well… no. I do love her. She's a good person. Funny, smart. Hard worker. She's an outdoor racer, you know? Like the wilderness triads?"

His forehead crinkled. "No, I don't know. But she sounds great. What did she say when you told her your idea to get married?"

A woman with long brown hair and a very cropped top slid between us to get the bartender's attention. When he came over, she ordered a rum and Diet Coke and turned to me. "And what're you having, cutie pie?"

I blinked and tried to ignore the huff of laughter coming from the city boy on her other side. "Uh… whiskey rocks?"

After ordering the two drinks, she rubbed my shoulder and then did a kind of finger-walking thing down my arm to take my hand in hers. "Wanna dance after our drinks?"

"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am. I'm not much for dancing to this kind of music. Wouldn't know how, really."

She smiled at me, her face lighting up in a way that made her look even prettier than she'd first appeared. She was a beautiful woman, and for a moment, I considered a casual encounter with her. It was Vegas, after all. And no one back home needed to know. Maybe it would even help me forget the pitiful look on Eden's face when she'd tried to let me down gently.

"I could show you, cowboy," she purred. "As long as you let me wear that sexy hat of yours."

I clutched the hat in my lap tighter. Not everybody realized it, but wearing a person's hat had a certain kind of significance—a more than casual encounter significance at the very least. My dad had given me this hat, and I'd never let anyone else wear it. I'd be damned if I was going to let a total stranger wear it on a dance floor in Las Vegas, no matter how much I'd had to drink.

"No, thank you, ma'am," I repeated as politely as possible.

"Your manners are just the cutest thing! Come on. Dance with me. I've got some friends over there, so you can bring your…" She turned to the man sitting on the stool next to me. "Friend?"

The man let out a near silent breath before inhaling and saying, "Boyfriend."

I tilted my head, trying to decide if I'd heard him right.

The lady seemed to be doing the same. "I'm sorry, what? Did you say?—"

"The overly polite cowboy is my boyfriend. And if anyone's going to teach him how to dance to club music, it's me." He winked at her, suddenly all charm.

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh . I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

"Not your fault," I told her, feeling heat flood my cheeks. I didn't want to make the situation more complicated by contradicting the man, but I'd also never pretended to be something I wasn't before. Dishonesty made me want to puke.

She looked back and forth between us as the bartender set the drinks down. "You know… I can see it now. You two are kinda hot together. But, like, it's weird, too. He's all… cowboy, and you're all… Wall Street. How'd you two meet?"

"At a bar," the man said with a straight face. "I could tell he was upset about something, so I sat down and tried to cheer him up. Next thing you know, here we are in Vegas." He shot her a wink. "Who knows, maybe we'll get hitched while we're here. What do you think, baby?" He leaned around her and grinned at me.

A fluttery buzz hit my stomach, and I felt a strange urge to giggle. "I did come here ready to get married."

When he barked out a laugh, I felt like I'd scored all the points in a game I hadn't known I was playing.

By the time the woman left us, we were both laughing uncontrollably and ordering another round.

"Thanks for that," I told him sincerely. "I hate letting anyone down."

He shrugged easily. "I'm a problem solver. It's what I do." With another one of those smiles that warmed me like whiskey, he added, "And seeing your face go red was just an added benefit."

My cheeks went even hotter, and I toyed with the brim of my hat some more. "Feels like we've been talking an awful lot about me. What about you? You said earlier that you'd had a bad day." I looked him up and down. "Finance conference get a little rough?"

He snorted. "No." With a sigh, he poked the ice in his glass with a cocktail straw. "I came to Vegas to stop a wedding. Failed."

"Oh shit, man. Who? Your girl… boy friend?" I winced, not sure what language to use. "My best friend is gay, so that's cool…" I clamped my mouth closed. Shut up, asshole.

" Ex -boyfriend," he said with a laugh. "And yeah. Thanks for the blessing."

"Sorry," I muttered. "But wait. You were trying to stop your ex from marrying someone else? That sucks." Honestly, it seemed in my whiskey-soaked brain it sucked more for the guy whose ex was trying to ruin his wedding, but I didn't say that.

"Not for the reason you think," he said with amusement clear in his voice. " I didn't want to be the one at the altar. I'm not the marrying type. I was trying to save the man's bride from marrying an asshole."

"I don't understand."

"Justin's gay, but he was marrying this woman for her money. I tried to warn her." He shrugged and sipped his drink. "Turns out she's just as much of a snake as he is, so I guess they deserve each other. They got married. Whatever. It's none of my business. People are users. At some point, I'll learn this lesson, but today was not that day."

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry, man. That really does suck." My hand stayed on his shoulder, noticing how muscular it was beneath the thin cotton of his button-down. I quickly removed it and fussed with the brim of my hat again. "So, uh… misery loves company? I guess?"

His eyes met mine and stayed for a moment. I couldn't look away. There was something about him, even in my half-drunken haze, that made me want to stay with him, keep talking to him, keep hearing his soothing voice and inhaling that intriguing scent.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the string of texts that had been coming in for the past few hours. Everything from a neighbor's complaint about a fence that needed patching, to my sister wanting an update on the Eden situation, to the sheriff's nosy-ass inquiries into my personal business. I made a disgruntled noise in my throat and turned the damned thing off.

"I feel you on that," the guy next to me said. "Turned mine off an hour ago, and that's pretty unprecedented for me."

"Same," I admitted glumly. "Gonna have a lot of explaining to do when I get home."

He studied me for a beat. "You want to dance, cowboy?" His lips widened in a lazy grin.

My stomach turned over and popped with fizzy excitement. I opened my mouth to reiterate I was straight. To remind him I didn't know how to dance to this kind of music. To let him down as gently as all the women who'd come before him. But instead of a No, thanks , I blurted, "I'm Way. Waylon. Fletcher."

His grin widened and made his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Nice to meet you, Waylon Fletcher. I'm Silas Concannon."

When he stood and held out his hand, I'd had just enough liquor to take it.

It took me a while to find any kind of rhythm on the dance floor, but in my hazy, drink-drunk mind, I felt like maybe I was made to dance like this. Silas felt so damned good in my arms. Strong and solid. I didn't worry about accidentally touching him in the wrong place or making him uncomfortable. He knew I wasn't into men, so it wasn't like I was going to try to cop a feel. We'd already agreed there'd be no casual encounter between us.

It was nice. Like if I'd ever been allowed to hold one of my brothers or friends this way. Comforting, and… okay, maybe in this particular case a little… exciting? For some reason. I wasn't sure why. Maybe because of the beautiful women all around us. Maybe because of the way Silas's intense gaze seemed locked on me. Or maybe simply because of the sheer amount of alcohol I'd had.

I leaned my face into his neck to inhale. He smelled damned good. Like, summer flowers and fresh hay good. If you'd asked me how I thought citified corporate type would smell, it wouldn't have been like home .

Silas let out a languid laugh. "Thanks. You smell good, too. It's making me fucking crazy."

I closed my eyes. Had I actually said that out loud? Fuck, I needed to go. I needed to call it a night.

Instead, I found myself blurting, "Why'd you say you're not the marrying type?"

"Not looking for a picket fence like you are, cowboy," he teased, moving a hand up my chest and pressing a finger inside the edge of my collar. My stomach tightened.

"That's not… I don't…"

His eyes squinted with his laugh. "You've got Mr. Perfect Life written all over you. Gonna find some prairie princess and settle down. Have two-point-five fillies and rope you a nice future in a white farmhouse. How'bout that?"

My stomach swooped when I realized vaguely that marrying Eden tonight would have meant I'd never have gotten a chance to dance with… to… to club music.

"My house is gray," I said stupidly, leaning in closer to his ear so he could hear me better. "And I don't… uh… I mean, Eden's never been there. Nobody has, really."

His breath was warm on my neck, but it still managed to make me shiver. "Why hasn't Eden been there? I thought the two of you were… good friends."

My alcohol-soaked brain was struggling to string words together. "Everyone wants a piece of me. The house is my sanctuary. The only place… I don't have to…"

Silas's fingers moved up into my hair. I'd tucked my hat into the back of my jeans earlier, and his other hand held it pressed securely to my lower back so it didn't fall out while we danced. "Don't have to what, cowboy?" he murmured against my ear.

I closed my eyes and relaxed against him. "Don't have to be anything for anyone else."

"It's hard being the strong one all the time, isn't it?" This time, it didn't even sound like he was talking about me, but maybe about himself.

I moved closer and nodded as I tucked my nose into his neck. This dance was going to have to end soon. But before it did, I kind of wanted to know what he tasted like. The flashing neon lights made my brain feel like it was flashing, too. Everything muted and faded together in a synchronous beat that seemed like a mix of heartbeats, loud music, and crowd noise. Alcohol warmed and numbed me, and for a few moments, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

It didn't make sense, but Silas's body against mine remained the one thing I knew. The one place I understood. The only clear thing in a night quickly dissolving into a drunken haze.

I poked out my tongue and ran it across the tendon on the side of his neck. Prickly stubble felt strange against my lips and tongue. His breath hitched. His hands tightened around my back and one moved down to cup my ass. I arched into him, seeking more. More information, more experience, more of his sweet understanding and gentle teasing. For some reason, I just wanted more .

"We should get another drink," he suggested low in my ear.

"Mmhm. More ."

It was the last thing I remembered until I woke up next to him the next morning, clad only in my underwear.

My underwear and the sparkling brightness of a brand-new wedding band on my finger.