Page 11 of Sweet Deal (Honeysuckle, Texas #4)

The controlled chaos in the study was almost comical if the stakes weren’t so damn high.

Jim watched Rachel try to field Jillian’s rapid-fire suggestions while Preston and Carson looked ready to strategize a corporate takeover of the Honeysuckle rumor mill.

They were panicking, and honestly, he couldn’t blame them.

The gossip wasn’t just inconvenient; it forced their hand, demanding immediate action and a believable performance.

“Okay,” his voice cut through the noise with quiet authority. “Clearly, we can’t control the gossip right now. Freaking out won’t help.” He looked directly at Rachel, holding her gaze. “Rach, can we talk? Outside? Just for a minute?”

She nodded, seemingly grateful for the lifeline. Jim placed his hand gently at the small of her back, guiding her through the house onto the back porch. The crisp morning air was a welcome relief from the tension inside.

Once the door closed behind them, he guided her towards the old wooden swing, waiting until she sat before taking the spot beside her. The chains creaked softly as it swayed.

“This is crazy, Jim. The whole town thinks we’re already married.”

“I know.” He took her hand in his. The gesture felt both strange and completely natural. “But maybe this isn’t entirely bad.”

“I’m not sure it’s entirely good, either.

We haven’t talked through any of the details.

When do we tell our families, when do we marry, and where.

Then there’s the living arrangements. There are no apartments to be had right now, and even if there were, all my funds are going toward the ranch, not rent.

” Her arms flew up and then dropped heavily in her lap.

“Maybe we should go with the flow, say that we are indeed married, and then sneak off to Oklahoma for a few hours.”

He had to bite back a smile. She was so upset, and her nose was doing that crinkly thing again making him want ever so badly to smile at her.

“Breathe,” he whispered, reaching again for her hand and gently squeezed.

“We can’t lie about already being married.

The bank will see the actual date on the certificate, and that could complicate the trust payment. ”

“Right,” she sighed, but didn’t pull her hand away.

“I have money, but if there aren’t any apartments then it’s a moot point. And we certainly can’t stay with my parents on the sofa bed. I still need to pop back to California on occasion, but the rest of the time, we’re probably going to have to do like your brothers and stay here.”

“Here?” The way her eyes rolled upward, and a low growl rumbled in her throat, he got the feeling he was missing something. “I have a full bed. Carson’s old room has a queen.”

He nodded. Not till this moment did he realize how close he would have to actually be—all night—if they went through with this.

“Maybe I can talk Carson and Jess into going back to his room so we can have the master. King-size bed will make sharing way easier. I’m a tosser.”

“Tosser?”

“I tend to flip and toss when I sleep.”

Flip and toss. While she sleeps. Oh, those were some images he didn’t need to be dwelling on.

“As far as when to tell our parents, I don’t think we’ve been left a choice.

If we deny all the rumors, it will only set your plans back and there isn’t time for that.

So, we embrace the rumors.” He leaned closer instinctively, wanting to reassure her, wanting to bridge the slight distance that felt wrong between them now. “What if we share the sort of truth?”

Her nose crinkled again.

“We tell them I came home looking for something real.” He held her gaze, letting the honesty of that part sink in.

“And I found it when I ran into you. We reconnected, things clicked fast, maybe faster than we planned thanks to…” he gestured vaguely, “circumstances. We decided life’s too short to wait. ”

“So, you’re calling me Mrs. Henderson was just seeing how it rolled off your tongue?”

Now he did smile at her repeating what he’d said last night. “See? Sort of the truth.”

She nodded, the slightest hint of a smile teasing one corner of her mouth. “We can tell them we’re going to the courthouse for a license and getting married in three days.”

Three days. He tried not to tense. Moving up the timeline because the cat was out of the proverbial bag made sense, but three days? “Three days.”

She swallowed, hard, her throat working.

He reached up, his thumb brushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek, the silky texture sending an unexpected jolt through him.

“We’re going to have to get comfortable with this,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower.

“Touching. Showing affection. Looking natural. Selling it.” His hand cupped her jaw gently, needing her to believe him, needing her to be okay with this.

“Think you can do that? Handle the questions, the gossip, Mom probably planning a reception already?”

She searched his eyes for a long moment, then leaned almost imperceptibly into his touch. A tiny spark of something—trust? Hope?—flickered in her gaze. “Yes,” she whispered, the sound barely audible but carrying immense weight. “If you’re really in this, Jim. If you promise… friends, always?”

Relief, potent and unexpected, washed through him. “I’m in, Rach,” his voice husky and raw. “All in. And friends, always. Promise.” He wanted to kiss her then, seal the promise, blur the lines completely. But just as he leaned fractionally closer, the back door creaked open.

Alice Sweet stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of her daughter in Jim’s arms. “So it’s true,” she said softly.

Rachel tensed against him, but Jim kept his arm firmly around her waist.

“Mom,” Rachel drew from Jim’s support, “we need to talk.”

The energy crackling under the Saturday night stadium lights was infectious.

Rachel found herself squeezed onto the slightly-too-narrow bleacher bench between Alice and Jillian, with Sarah Sue, Jess, and Jackie filling out the row.

Down on the field, the alumni team—including Preston, Carson, Garret, and Jim—were warming up, their easy laughter and familiar banter carrying up to the stands.

Seeing Jim out there in a Hawks baseball jersey and cap, looking completely at ease bantering with her brothers, seemed so surreal and yet so familiar.

Since their intense porch conversation, their hasty agreement, and her mother’s easy acceptance of their explanation for all the confusion, an unexpected calm had settled over her.

Now, surrounded by the cheerful chaos of the game, she tamped down a rising sense of panic, steeled her spine, and focused on the field. Showtime .

The game started, a match between Honeysuckle past and present.

Rachel found herself cheering, genuinely caught up in the simple fun of it all.

Every time Jim came up to bat or made a play at third base, her focus narrowed, her applause a little louder, her breath catching just slightly.

She registered the happy sighs from Alice, the enthusiastic waves from Aunts Vicki and Liz a few rows down.

The whole town was watching them, weaving the narrative the gossip mill had started. She just had to play her part.

After a couple of innings, Rachel made her way to the fence, deliberately carrying water bottles. When Jim jogged over, she handed him one with a smile meant for their audience.

“Thirsty?” she asked, letting her fingers brush his as she passed the bottle through a break in the fence.

“Very,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low pitch that made her pulse quicken.

He took a long drink, then deliberately reached through the chain links to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

The gesture was tender, intimate—perfectly calculated for the onlookers.

Later, when he slid into third, she pretended concern, brushing dirt from his uniform through the fence.

Throughout the next two innings, they continued their performance. Back in the stands, Rachel cheered extra loudly when Jim made a play. He blew her a kiss after a base hit. Each touch, each look, was a deliberate piece of their charade.

Top of the sixth inning, alumni were leading by a couple of runs. Jim was at the plate, focused, determined. He’d already gotten a solid single earlier. The high school pitcher, a lanky kid with more ambition than control, wound up. The pitch came in fast, way inside. Too inside.

Jim twisted, jerking away, but not far enough. The baseball slammed into his ribs, just below his arm. Clutching his side, his face contorted in agony; he didn’t just stumble, he collapsed, hitting the dirt hard.

Everything stopped. The crowd noise died instantly to a horrified hush.

Rachel’s heart leaped into her throat, icy fear washing over her in a crippling wave.

She shot to her feet. Practically leap frogging over her mother’s knees, she bolted down the steps and through the dugout gate onto the field.

Jim, her only focus, still down on the dirt, now surrounded by her brothers.

“Let me through!” She pushed past Garret, dropping to her knees beside Jim just as Preston helped him sit up. Dust clouded around them. Jim’s face was tight, pale under the stadium lights, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he clutched his side.

“Jim,” she grabbed his free hand, “talk to me. Where does it hurt most? Can you breathe okay?” Her social worker instincts kicked in, overriding the panic, demanding assessment.

He squeezed her hand weakly, managing a grimace that was probably meant to be reassuring. “Ribs… took the hit. Knocked… wind out…” Each word seemed an effort.

“Okay, okay.” She kept her voice calm, even though her heart was hammering against her own ribs. She ran her eyes quickly over him, looking for any other obvious injury. “Don’t try to talk too much. Just breathe slow.”

Doc Conroy jogged over, kneeling on Jim’s other side. “Let’s take a look, Jim.”

Rachel reluctantly released Jim’s hand to give the doctor space but stayed kneeling close, her eyes locked on Jim’s face, searching for any flicker of worsening pain.

Preston and Carson hovered nearby, their usual teasing banter replaced with tense silence.

Garret stood just behind Rachel, a grounding presence.

A literal picture of her reality, her brothers always had her back.

Doc gently probed the area.

Jim hissed in pain, closing his eyes briefly. “That hurts like hell,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Probably cracked a rib or two. Safe to say you’re not finishing the game.” The doc’s effort at humor helped take the edge off the fear that had gripped her and wouldn’t let go.

“Can you stand?” Preston asked Jim gently.

Jim nodded.

Instinctively, Rachel moved to help, getting her shoulder under his good arm as Preston took the other side. Garret provided support from behind. Slowly, carefully, they helped Jim to his feet. He swayed slightly, his weight heavy against her, his breathing still tight.

“Easy does it,” she murmured, automatically adjusting her steps to match his slow, pained shuffle towards the dugout. The still quiet crowd began applauding as he carefully made his way off the field.

They reached the dugout, easing Jim carefully onto the bench. Doc eyed him carefully. “We need to get you to the hospital. Make sure you didn’t bruise anything internally.”

She could read Jim’s face, even in pain. As he opened his mouth, she knew he was going to say no, that he was fine. Instead, she squeezed his hand. “I can bring the Suburban onto the field.”

Doc nodded. “That’ll work. But take it slow. Every notch in the road is going to feel like a crater.”

Nodding, she gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

A shaky smile briefly touched his lips. “That was worth taking the hit for.”

If he hadn’t already been in pain, she would have smacked him. Instead, she merely shook her head then turned and rushed to her car, her sister catching up with her.

“That was a great performance.” Jillian fell in step beside her. “If anybody didn’t believe you two were an item before, they certainly will now.”

Performance? Is that what her sister thought? She’d been scared to death, not just that Jim was hurt, but that she might lose him. And wasn’t that one hell of a revelation.