Page 11 of Whiskey Proposal

Brooks crosses his arms. “How can I trust you with my sister?”

Surprise flits over Lane’s face, followed by another emotion. Respect? “You can ask around. I’ll give you references.”

“It’s fine,” I say and head for the porch stairs. I’ve never had issues with guys who are too interested. “How long does it take to sell a house?”

Lane blinks, and for once, he’s not the source of all answers.

Brooks scratches the back of his neck. “Six weeks? Two months? Once there’s a buyer. I’ll get it sold and buy Dad’s place for whatever the fuck the trustee thinks it should be sold for.”

Two months? With Lane?

I stop at the base of the stairs. “Fair market price is whatever your house sells for.” Brooks’s small home doesn’t include a big lot, definitely not five acres, but I don’t care. I toss Lane a challenging look, and he nods.

Okay. So we agree. That’s one stipulation met.

After my heels hit the dirt and I’m steady, I pick my way to my car. I can do this. A house like Brooks’s will get snapped up. Lane’s place is so big, I might not have to see him.

A girl can dream.

“Where are you going?” Lane asks, looking too damn rugged and handsome on the rustic porch.

I shoot him a saccharine-sweet smile. “We have to get a marriage license and say our vows.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Lane

“I’m so sorry to hear about your dad.” Claudia, the courthouse clerk, wears a sympathetic smile that Emerson ignores as she fills out the forms next to me.

My brothers are going to hunt me down and gut me when they hear about this marriage. They’ll be pissed it happened in the first place, and likely hurt and upset that they weren’t here.

It’s not a real marriage. If I keep telling myself that, I’ll feel less like a jackass. Cornering a beautiful woman into nuptials she clearly doesn’t want isn’t my style.

“Thanks,” Emerson says woodenly.

“Appreciate it.” Brooks is almost as disinterested. He’s waiting behind us, a hand shoved in a pocket. Hillary’s on a chair, digging through the local tourism flyers. She’s got earbuds in and seems content.

“Is there going to be a funeral service?” Claudia asks.

Emerson freezes and glances at Brooks for guidance. Those two have a close relationship. Brooks doesn’t come off as overbearing or controlling despite his size and roughneck appearance, but Emerson defers to him and he looks out for her.

Hutch did irreparable damage to his relationship with his kids, and he wedged me between them. But I don’t regret it.

“No plans for one,” Brooks answers gruffly. “Hutch wasn’t big on that stuff.”

Claudia’s face falls. “Oh. Yes, you’re right, I suppose. Didn’t like the attention on him. He was a good man.”

Emerson’s face says, You’re kidding, right? But she smothers it before Claudia turns back to her. She pushes her forms across the counter. “Done.”

“Do you have the rings or anything else you’d like before getting to the service?”

“Nope.” Emerson’s smile is straight out of the early aughts rom-com my surrogate mama loves to watch. “I’m just so in love I can’t wait to say ‘I do’ to this guy.”

My snort slips out and everyone looks at me. Oops. “I have that effect on her.”

Claudia beams. “I was always hoping you’d settle down, Lane. This is such a surprise. Isn’t the distillery amazing?” she asks Emerson. “Can you believe the way they resurrected the old Hennessy mine?”

I prop an elbow on the counter and give Emerson an expectant look. “Were you impressed, baby?”