Page 20 of Sweet Temptation (Honeysuckle, Texas #3)

Chapter Excerpt

Even her mother’s strong coffee wasn’t quite enough to cut through the pre-dawn chill or the bone-deep weariness Rachel Sweet felt as she stood by the kitchen window.

Outside, the eastern sky was just beginning to blush pink, promising another long West Texas day.

A day that would start, like all the others lately, with ranch chores before the sun was fully up, followed by a full day of her real job, the one that paid her a salary, and likely more ranch chores after that.

She stifled a yawn and refilled her favorite oversized mug, the one that declared ‘World’s Okayest Social Worker’.

Some days, ‘okayest’ felt like a stretch.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps announced Jillian before she even appeared. Her twin eased into the kitchen, looking just as tired, her usual bright energy dimmed around the edges. She bypassed the coffee pot and went straight for the kettle.

“Tea morning?” Rachel took a long slow sip of the scalding coffee.

“Need something soothing.” Jillian yawned, leaning against the counter while she waited for the water to heat. “My brain is already running through candle scent combinations and inventory spreadsheets. It’s hard to switch off.”

“Tell me about it.” Rachel looked out the window again, past the familiar shapes of the barns and paddocks just starting to emerge from the dark. “Sometimes I dream about client files and broken fences.”

“Don’t forget the looming threat of foreclosure,” Jillian added dryly, pouring hot water over a tea bag in her own mug.

Rachel winced. “Way to bring down the mood before sunrise.”

“Sorry.” Jillian sighed, joining Rachel by the window. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their respective drinks, the shared burden hanging unspoken between them.

Swallowing the last drop, Rachel rinsed the mug and set it in the dishwasher. “I’m heading for the barn.”

Doing the same, her sister turned on her heel. “Right behind you.”

Already at work mucking stalls, Garret turned to face them, his expression set with the quiet determination he seemed to wear constantly these days. “Morning.”

Leaning the shovel against the wall, he straightened, stretching his back.

Rachel glanced around this side of the large barn. “Where’s everyone?”

“Carson and Clint are off rounding up some cattle that broke through the east fence.”

“Again?” This was the second time in as many days. Rachel knew that these things happened from time to time, sometimes more often than they’d like, but two days in a row.

“What about Preston?” Jillian asked.

“Right here.” Their other brother came out of the tack room. Lately he’d taken to working on the small desk in the corner of the packed room when he didn’t want to take any chance of their mom stumbling onto what they were doing to save the ranch.

“I don’t like that look on your face.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” Their brother’s effort at humor fell flat.

Jillian groaned softly. “I’d like to think with three weddings in the family that we’d be in a better place, but that expression doesn’t scream good news.”

“No, there is some good news. Thanks to Garret’s contribution,” Preston’s gaze darted to his brother and back, “we were able to replace the main well pump for the north pastures. No doubt it probably hadn’t been maintained in years.”

“Nice of it to wait till Garret and Jackie were married to finally give out.” Rachel half-heartedly chuckled. “So what’s the bad news?”

“While we’ve been able to keep up, meeting the next bank payment is going to be rough.”

“I’ll bite.” Jillian remained focused on her brother. “How rough is rough?”

Preston blew out a long breath. “I can’t make the math work.”

Her brother didn’t have to say what he was thinking out loud: unless one of the remaining single Sweets tied the knot. The unspoken pressure landed squarely back on her and Jillian. With Kade deployed overseas, unreachable for this kind of crazy scheme, it was down to them.

“Blast.” Jillian kicked at the ground. “I’ve got nothing.”

Rachel managed a weak smile. “Me neither. I haven’t been able to find anyone even worth suggesting a temporary deal to, never mind being rejected because of the no sex clause.”

Garret leaned back against the stall wall. “We need a solution, and it doesn’t look like Prince Charming, even a temporary one, is riding in on a white horse anytime soon.”

“I’m open to any brilliant ideas you might have.” Jillian’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

“Hey,” Garret raised both his hands, palm open, “just stating the facts.”

The weight settled heavier on her shoulders.

Her brothers had stepped up, finding love in the most unexpected ways through this bizarre family pact.

It had worked for them, against all odds.

Now it was her turn, or Jillian’s, or Kade’s.

She looked out at the sprawling land just beginning to wake under the Texas sky—the land that held generations of Sweet history, the land her father had loved, the land her mother was fighting so hard to keep.

She couldn’t let them lose it. She just couldn’t.

The Pacific Ocean stretched out below, a vast expanse of improbable blue meeting an equally flawless sky.

At the papparazzi’s favorite restaurant for everyone who was anyone, perched high on the cliffside, the view from their table was designed to impress.

A daily masterpiece served alongside pricey entrees and meticulously curated wine lists.

James Henderson sipped his mineral water, the condensation beading on the delicate crystal.

Everything here felt polished to a high shine, including, he was beginning to realize, the life he’d built.

Across the table, Blair adjusted the cuff of her silk blouse, the diamond on her left hand catching the California sunlight in a spray of dazzling, and very expensive, fire.

She tilted her head, considering the linen swatch the wedding planner had left them.

“The Egyptian cotton is lovely, of course, but I think the Belgian linen has a more… substantial feel. Speaks to legacy, tradition. Don’t you agree, darling? ”

Jimmy nodded, his gaze drifting past her shoulder to the endless ocean.

Legacy. Tradition. Here, those words seemed to translate to thread counts and import taxes.

Back home, they meant two hundred years of ranchers working the same stubborn piece of Texas land, leaky barn roofs, the taunting aroma of fresh baked goods, and the easy, unpretentious laughter shared over iced tea on the porch.

He hadn’t thought much about Honeysuckle in years, not really, too busy chasing the California dream.

And he’d caught it. After years of late nights and long weeks, his firm thrived.

Emblems of success for all to see, the sleek condo overlooking the ocean, tailored clothing suitable for a king, and the beautiful fiancée planning their six-figure wedding.

He had everything he thought he ever wanted. So why did it all feel so… hollow?

“…and Henri insists that for the reception centerpieces, only white Phalaenopsis orchids flown in that morning will do. Anything less would be… well, unthinkable,” Blair continued, flipping through a glossy magazine featuring impossibly thin models draped in couture.

“He assures me they have a dedicated supplier.”

“Sounds expensive,” Jimmy murmured, forcing his attention back.

Blair waved a dismissive hand, her bracelets chiming softly.

“Quality always is, darling. We can’t skimp now.

Think of the photos! Think of who will be there!

” She leaned forward, her eyes bright with satisfaction.

“Speaking of, I think seating Mother next to Judge Harrington would be a wise move, politically.”

He tried to picture his own mother navigating this landscape of social maneuvering and imported orchids. She’d probably ask where the cornbread was and if the band knew “Cotton Eyed Joe.” The image brought a faint, wistful smile to his lips.

“Did you hear me, James?” Blair’s tone held a faint edge of impatience.

He searched for a plausible answer. “Sorry, just thinking about… logistics. Flying in orchids seems rife with potential complications.”

She laughed, a light, brittle sound. “Darling, that’s why we pay the best people to handle the complications.” She reached across the table, her perfectly manicured nails tapping his hand. “It will be the wedding of the century. Every bride in the country will want a wedding like ours.”

He had his doubts. Most people just wanted to live happily ever after with the love of their lives, regardless of whether or not the groom wore platinum cuff links.

This wedding had become little more than a show.

A carefully constructed statement of success and affluence, devoid of simple, genuine, even if often messy, connections mere mortals craved.

Memories of his youth flooded his thoughts.

Summer nights spent cranking the ice cream machine on the front porch, laughing with friends in open fields, and swatting mosquitoes under a sky thick with stars, not city haze.

The very things he’d once found boring and mundane suddenly seemed to be more full of life than the miles of ocean before them.

He looked at Blair, really looked at her.

Beautiful, intelligent, ambitious—everything he thought he admired.

But her focus was always outward—on appearances, status, the next acquisition.

His own focus had shifted inward, questioning the very success he’d achieved.

The disconnect between them felt like a chasm.

“Blair,” he began softly, interrupting her rambling chatter on whether champagne or prosecco was more appropriate for the cocktail hour.

She looked up, a slight frown creasing her smooth forehead. “Yes?”

He took a breath. “I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Her frown deepened. “Decide on the champagne? Honestly, James, sometimes you—”

“No,” he cut her off. “I mean this.” He gestured widely, encompassing the restaurant, the plans, the life they were building. “The wedding. Us.”

Lips painted the perfect shade of notice me red formed a silent O of surprise seconds before cool eyes narrowed. “I… see. Is there someone else?” It wasn’t asked with hurt, but with a kind of clinical curiosity, as if assessing a failed business deal.

“No. It’s not about someone else. It’s about me.

This life… the one we’re planning… it’s beautiful, it’s enviable, but it’s not what I want.

” He sighed, his words sounding harsh to his own ears.

“It’s better to realize that now than years down the road.

” He drew the napkin from his lap and set it on the table beside him. “I’m truly sorry, Blair.”

“Sorry?” Fury seemed to battle rage in her eyes, but somehow he doubted it had anything to do with a lost love and everything to do with appearances.

“What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

And there it was. Confirmation that his new reality was anything but real.

Pushing to his feet and dropping cash on the table to cover the ridiculously priced water and her untouched mimosa, he looked out at the perfect blue ocean that matched his perfectly coiffed fiancée sitting at the perfectly set table.

How had he ever let his life come to this?