Chapter 3

THREE

WAYLON

The bell over the outer door to the mayor's office jangled cheerily as it was yanked open Monday morning.

"Waylon Fletcher," my cousin's deep voice commanded. "Get your ass out here."

Back in my private office, I groaned lightly but pitifully into the wooden surface of my desk. "Can't. Sorry. Closed today. Go away."

A long, low whistle confirmed that Foster hadn't listened. "You look rode hard and put away wet, Mayor."

I opened my eyes and summoned the will to glare at the man whose tall form was slouched casually against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other. "Thank you so much, Sheriff. What would we do without your astute forensic skills?"

He lifted one eyebrow and resettled his hat on his head. "Wow. Add cranky to that list. I'm guessing shit didn't go down quite the way you planned in Vegas?"

I blew out a breath. For some reason, the faint thread of sympathy in his voice made my stomach quake in a way that nothing else in the past thirty-six hours had—not the vast quantities of alcohol Saturday night, not my bumpy flight home yesterday afternoon, not even the moment of absolute crushing panic yesterday morning when I'd woken up in a man's bed.

And not just any man… Silas.

My husband.

"I'm fine," I told Foster, ignoring the way my heart had begun beating somewhere in the neighborhood of my throat the second I pictured Silas's face in my mind. "Just a little hungover, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

Foster's expression didn't change. "Uh-huh. That why I've gotten calls from no less than five Majestic citizens attempting to report a missing person in the form of one Waylon Heath Fletcher?"

I stared at him. "Someone reported me missing?"

He began ticking names off on his fingers. "Mrs. McGillicuddy on account-a you promised to consult on the trimming of some ornamental tree in her yard. Jackson Painter because he expected you to stop by and pick up something or other from his shop yesterday. Your sister Sheridan because apparently you'd agreed to have lunch when you returned, and she's dying to ask you how things went with Eden. And my own damned mother, who absolutely insisted on finding out why you were seen by someone in her alumni Facebook group at the airport up in Billings getting on a flight to Vegas."

I closed my eyes and fought a wave of nausea.

"I'm the mayor," I reminded him, getting to my feet and pushing past him to the front office. "I'm slammed with work right now, especially since I gave Bernice the day off." I hooked a thumb at my administrative assistant's desk with its tidy stack of files labeled Waylon: To Do. "This week, the town's voting on replacing the stop sign at Sunset and Timmerock with a stop light ?—"

"High stakes," Foster noted.

"—and the Majestic Ladies' Society is planning their fundraising fair?—"

He nodded. "Crucially important work."

"—and you know the AdventureSmash exhibition event is coming up in less than two months, and I have about ten thousand things to do for it. It has to be perfect, Foster. If we nail the exhibition, they'll declare us the host town for the GrandSmash next year. I will get that contract."

"I know you will," Foster agreed. He folded his arms over his chest. "So you going to tell me what happened in Vegas?"

"Nothing happened," I said, jutting out my chin. "I came back yesterday and jumped right back into work. Things at the ranch are crazy. In two weeks, we have to round up two hundred horses in the far pastures and deliver them to the dude ranches?—"

"I know what a roundup is, Way," Foster said patiently. "I've only lived in Majestic my whole life and helped you run the damned horses a million times."

"Right, well." I looked around, forgetting completely why I'd come out here to the front office.

Foster tilted his head, and his steady eyes refused to let me off the hook. "Eden said no, didn't she?"

I opened my mouth. I closed it again. I licked my lips. "Kind of."

"Kind of? How can you be kind of married?"

I had no idea, but somehow, I'd managed it.

"You followed her to Vegas, told her your ridiculous idea, and she shot you down," he guessed.

"It was not a ridiculous idea," I defended. "It was solid. Rock solid. Eden and I dated off and on for ages, back in the day, and we stayed friends even after she left town. Who do you think was her first follower on her racing Instagram? Where do you think I got the idea about bringing AdventureSmash to town?" I shrugged. "So, yeah, when she said she had a one-night stand and got knocked up, it seemed like fate. She said she didn't want to raise the baby alone, but I figured if we got married, she wouldn't be alone. I'd help her with the baby, Foster, you know I would. I practically raised ZuZu, right? And then Eden could focus on her racing stuff and?—"

"And in her spare time, she could become Mrs. Majestic, First Lady of the town, head of the gossip mill, and director of the Ladies' Society." He laughed a little. "Can't think why she said no."

He didn't have to make it sound so pathetic. "She…" I hesitated before slumping down in Bernice's desk chair. "She got her period. But she said it didn't matter because she wouldn't have married me anyway."

"Ah, hell." Foster winced. "No wonder you didn't answer your phone. I'm sorry, Way. I hope you at least took yourself out to a bar or something while you were in Vegas."

He eyed me before allowing a little grin on his face. "If only you were the type to let your hair down and have a little fun. You probably could have gotten yourself a nice hookup or something."

I coughed, but it came out sounding a bit strangled. "Oh. Ha! Wouldn't that have been funny? Me, hooking up? In Vegas? Ha!"

Foster studied me for half a second, and whatever he read on my face made him suck in a breath. "Holy shit. Holy shit, you did . You hooked up with someone. You sly fucker." He kicked lightly at my jeans-covered shin with one booted foot. "Waylon Fletcher on the prowl in Vegas," he proclaimed far too loudly. I twisted the chair to glance out the glass office door into the large, open foyer of the historic City Hall building, which fortunately was empty at this hour… though lord knew in Majestic, even the walls had ears.

"Keep it down," I hissed, turning back. "You know that if Mrs. Newcombe senses a disturbance in her gossip web, she'll attack. Besides I… I didn't hook up with anyone." I hesitated, then honesty compelled me to add, "Not really . At least… I don't think so?"

Foster's eyes narrowed. "You don't think so?"

"Memories are a bit hazy after I left the bar," I admitted. Even though the memories before I left the bar were clear enough to leave me half-breathless.

His surprise was expected. "You got drunk? You ?"

Guilt flooded my gut. My father had been a drinker, and Foster knew I'd be damned if I'd let down my family the way he did.

And here I was. Doing it anyway.

"Don't worry. The experience was plenty enough to teach me never to do it again."

Understatement.

"Okay." His brow furrowed in concern. Foster had the ability to ooze law enforcement whether he wanted to or not. "What do you recall?"

I glanced down at the threadbare industrial carpet and considered.

Yesterday morning, when I'd woken up in Silas's bed, I'd promised myself that I'd keep the whole affair to myself. No one in Majestic needed to know about the drunken foolishness that had led me to marry a perfect stranger—a handsome, witty, kind, perfect stranger—Saturday night.

But Foster wasn't just anyone. He was my best friend. My cousin. My ride or die. And I really needed to tell someone , especially after the clusterfuck I'd found while doing some preliminary divorce research last night. So instead, I considered the question seriously. What did I recall…?

A pair of really pretty eyes with crinkles in the corners. A warm voice saying, "I do." The feel of a smooth gold ring on my finger and a stubbled kiss against my lips…

I ran my thumb over the spot on my hand where I'd pried off the metal band on the way to the airport yesterday and took a deep breath. "I, ah… remember his name was Silas."

Foster went entirely still, his whole body locked as though the world had stopped turning. I wasn't even sure he was breathing. " Silas ? You may or may not have hooked up with a guy ? Since when do you?—"

"Since never," I assured him, knowing his feelings would be hurt if I'd never told my gay best friend that I'd wanted a man. "You know I would have told you. But I'm not gay." I rubbed at the back of my neck. "Probably not entirely straight, either, I guess, all things considered. It just… happened."

"What ‘just happened'? You can tell me, Waylon," he added quickly. "I won't judge, and I promise I cannot be shocked. I've tried just about everything there is to try at least once."

I shut my eyes. "You haven't tried this ," I muttered, flashes of memory supplying snippets of wedding vows.

"Bet I have. Are we talking kissing and groping…?"

I pursed my lips.

"…or a handie…?"

I wrinkled my nose.

His eyes widened. "…blowjobs?"

I squinted. His eyebrows shot up, displacing his hat. "Not anal."

I glanced up at the ceiling and shook my head.

Foster sighed. "Okay, I'm done playing this game. What did you do that you think I haven't done, Waylon?"

"I, uh… got married?" I whispered.

"You…" He shook his head and laughed. "Jesus, for a second, it sounded like you said…"

I met his eyes. "It was an accident. I mean, it had to be. All I know is I woke up beside him yesterday with a ring on my finger and a copy of a marriage certificate sitting on the nightstand."

Foster's face darkened. "Tell me everything you know about this guy, and give me this supposed marriage certificate."

I closed my eyes and pictured Silas's smile. His teasing, triumphant expression when a woman tried buying him a drink for once. The flash of jealousy and possession on his face when another man tried to take me out of his arms on the dance floor. The softness that came over his expression when I confessed about proposing to Eden.

I cleared my throat. "I don't have the certificate. I kind of… freaked out and bolted. When I calmed down a little, I googled him, obviously. He's a business consultant. Went to Yale, for god's sake. His address is in Delaware, but he mostly works in Manhattan, according to the companies on his LinkedIn. And he mentioned going to a restaurant in SoHo. That's in New York, right?"

Foster was all business. "Holy shit, Way." He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "You need to fix this. What happens when people in Majestic hear?—"

"I know! But even if I had his contact info, I can't file for divorce. Not now. Not here ?—"

"Why not?"

"Because Mrs. Newcombe is Judge Whiteplume's clerk! It would be all over town. Everyone would want to know what the hell I was thinking. And then when they learned I hadn't been thinking, they'd worry. Some of these people are barely on board with the AdventureSmash idea. They think I'm too young and haven't thought this through properly. I can't go and prove them right by admitting that I got married to a random stranger. No." I shook my head. "We have to get divorced in Delaware. Quietly."

Foster nodded. "Okay. Right. Good call. So… why aren't you on your way there? You know I can call in a records search and get the guy's information by the time you land."

"Because for one thing, I couldn't afford to fly there, let alone hire a lawyer once I arrive. And for another… I am legitimately busy with all those things I just told you about. I can't leave town until after roundup and after the AdventureSmash visit."

He knew I was right. My sisters couldn't handle roundup on their own, and we couldn't afford to hire anyone to take my place. We Fletchers were what they called "land rich and cash poor." While we may have owned a large swath of Wyoming pastureland edged in rich forestry tracts and bisected by a healthy length of the Majestic River, it had been in our family's hands too long to even consider selling any of it.

And after my dad had died eight years ago, I'd learned just how badly he'd managed it. I'd busted my ass trying to pay off the debt he'd accrued and get us back into a stable situation so Sheridan could focus on managing the Love Muffin with her husband, Bo, and ZuZu could focus on her pottery.

We'd finally started making some headway when the former mayor had up and bolted, taking most of Majestic's money with him.

The town had decided I was the only one knowledgeable and trustworthy enough to fill the position and help us recover from the losses, which meant my time was now split between running my family's ranch and running the town—a balancing act that was damned near killing me on my best day.

Foster grumbled. "I don't like this, Way. This husband of yours could take half the ranch. He could take half your truck."

I huffed out a laugh. "Let him have the truck. Jesus, I almost didn't make it back from Billings. I'd be better off riding Helios these days, if there were any place to stable him in town." I thought about the ranch. My family's legacy and my newly built tiny house tucked away on a portion of it. I'd built that place myself over the past eight years. The idea of having to sell it because of one stupid mistake in Vegas made me sick to my stomach. "It's in a trust. I only own a fourth of it. Most he could take us for would be an eighth of the value after the mortgage."

Not that I could afford to buy him out of even that much, but I knew my sisters and brother would agree to take out a second mortgage if need be. I just didn't want to have to put them in that situation again.

"You need to serve him papers first," he said with a firm nod. "Get ahead of this thing."

"He'll probably track me down eventually and get the ball rolling. He'll have his attorney handle it. He seemed like the kind of guy who already has a lawyer and some money," I admitted. "So maybe he wouldn't expect anything, or maybe… maybe half his assets would be the same as half mine, and we could just… ignore all that and sign the papers. He was a nice guy, Foster. And, uh…" My mind wandered as I thought of him. I remembered chemical symbol tattoos on his upper arms and shoulders. Long, toned legs bared below the edges of boxer briefs. The memories were disjointed and scattered, but my fingers felt the memories of touch. "Tall," I said with a swallow. "Tall as hell. Taller than you."

"Hmm." Foster frowned as he leaned back against a file cabinet and folded his arms again. His eyes flicked over my shoulder as if in thought.

"Lots of smile lines," I continued. "But he didn't smile overmuch. He was very intense. I remember that, too."

Foster straightened. "Short brown hair?"

"Er, yeah? I mean, I suppose that's an easy guess."

His eyebrows lifted. "Broad shoulders? Ass so tight you could bounce quarters off it?"

"I… I didn't say that." I felt my cheeks heat.

"May or may not be in possession of the hat your dad gave you at graduation?"

I remembered the moment I realized I'd left my hat in the hotel room. "What? How could you know that?"

Foster's lips turned into a grin. "Because I think your husband just tracked you down."

I spun around and stared across the small lobby, which was definitely no longer empty. Sure enough, a very familiar silhouette strode confidently through the glass doors, carrying my Stetson in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. As he got closer, I noticed his eyes were just as intense as I recalled, but his expression otherwise was eerily neutral.

He wore faded denim jeans and a wash-worn flannel that looked suspiciously like one I'd donated to Bigford's Thrift 'N Save several weeks ago.

My heart began to pound, and my head filled with helium. I reached out and clutched Foster's arm to keep from toppling over in shock.

"Oh god," I murmured under my breath.

"He sure is," Foster muttered back. "My straight bestie goes to Vegas and pulls a hotter man than I ever could. Doesn't seem fair, if you wanna know the truth."

"Shut up," I hissed. "Help me. I don't know what to say."

Foster looked Silas up and down with his assessing gaze at the same moment Silas's eyes fell to where I was gripping Foster's sleeve. If it was possible, Silas's gaze got even more intense.

Foster chuckled. "Not so sure talking's what he's got on his mind, Waylon. I'm outta here. Ping me later and let me know how it goes." He clapped me on the shoulder before pausing. Then, he leaned in to press a long kiss to my cheek.

My face flooded with heat. What the hell was he doing? We might've been cousins and best friends, but Foster Blake had never once kissed my cheek. As he pulled back, he shot me a knowing grin. "Don't look at me, look at him," he said softly before tipping the brim of his hat at Silas and leaving the building.

My eyes flashed to Silas in time to see his nostrils flare and his jaw clench. I didn't appreciate feeling like the rawhide chew tossed between two feral dogs, but there was something about that possessive look in Silas's eyes that shot a hook deep down inside me… and settled in for the long haul.