Page 8 of Whiskey Proposal

Another snort leaves Emerson and her gaze sweeps the pastures like she’s counting the dwindling number of cattle through the trees around the place.

“The house and five acres will be yours, Emerson,” Zack says.

“It’s yours,” she tells Brooks. “I don’t want any of it.”

Brooks’s nod is faint, but a crease bisects his brow. “What are the stipulations?”

“Yes, about those. I’m afraid that Brooks, Hillary, and you must reside in or around Huckleberry Springs. Basically in the zip code.”

Brooks just smacks his lips against his teeth. He must’ve already been thinking about moving if Emerson offered him the house.

If only it were that easy.

Brooks’s eyes turn flinty, and he shakes his head, turning away. It’s one thing to move on his own accord, but his estranged dad manipulating the decision probably isn’t welcome.

“Wait.” Emerson holds up a hand. “Does that mean Hutch expected me to live here too?”

I grind my molars together. Acid reaches my throat and dread fills my gut.

“Yes, and . . .” The paper in Zack’s hands shakes. He draws in a fortifying breath. Brooks turns back around, and Emerson takes another step closer to the lawyer. They sense the impending doom. Zack clears his throat and wets his bottom lip. “You’d have to be married.”

Emerson barks out a laugh so loud it startles Ethel. Hillary has to put her catch down or get wacked in the face by Ethel’s wings. “That’s not happening. I’m not married, and I’m not just grabbing some guy off the street so I can have this shithole.”

Regret crosses Zack’s face, and not for the first time, I wish I could’ve talked sense into Hutch.

“You can’t just marry anyone,” Zack says weakly. “He had someone specific in mind.”

Emerson screws her face up. “Who?”

Zack flicks his gaze up to me. The poor guy has been through enough. I’ll take this one. “Me.”

Emerson

Shock vibrates through me like a thunderclap, but the sky is clear. The sound of the bugs and the frogs I used to catch is drowned out in static, and I’m left facing the last man to have let me down.

Everything the lawyer said streams through my head. House. Five acres. Live here. Married.

To Lane.

Anger rises so hot and swift I can’t believe I’m not a human torch, burning this place down. All my dad had to do was pass away quietly and quit haunting my life. Instead, he tosses a rock through the window of my quiet life.

Lane Foster? I couldn’t go on a date with him, yet now I have to marry him? And the whole time in his office, he knew who I was? When he left me an Are we still on? text, he didn’t mention, Hey, by the way, someday, we might have to get married. Well then. He deserved to be stood up.

“Fuck. That.” I storm down the porch stairs and nearly twist my damn ankle when my pointed heel hits a rock. If I got taken out by my pride, that would be fitting.

Brooks’s angry voice rises behind me. Hillary’s frozen in place, probably scared. That gets some logic to slap my brain.

I spin and go toward her instead. “Bunny, it’s okay.”

Her big eyes shine. “Daddy’s mad. You swore.”

She’s been raised by my brother, yet somehow she doesn’t have fuck as a normal part of her vocabulary. “I know. We got some upsetting news, but we’ll work through it.” I crouch in front of her, keeping my legs together to not flash the birds. Does my ass look good from behind? Would Lane notice?

Eat it, asshole.

I grip her arms. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Do we get to move?”