Say You'll Marry Me

Adrenaline shot through his veins. No way. “Seriously?”

“Holy shit, that’s awesome.” Wes clapped him on the shoulder and moved up to stand next to him by the counter.

“Yep.” She slid the ticket back to Logan with a pen. “If you’ll sign the back, I’ll get you the cash right way.”

“You can do that here?” Wes asked in surprise.

“Yes, we can. Up to five hundred dollars.”

Reality slammed into Logan. Of course he hadn’t won the jackpot. It was stupid to have believed for even one second that he’d be that lucky. The letdown sucked up whatever smidgeon of goodwill he had left in him for the day.

Carter’s hand squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of support, then vanished. Logan gave a short laugh for his idiocy as he scrawled his name before pushing the slip across the counter. “Got a little ahead of myself there. How much did I win?”

“Two-hundred-fifty.”

She counted the money, and he stuffed it into his wallet before heading out with a muttered “Thanks,” embarrassment burning the tips of his ears. He was getting into his truck when Wes exited moments later and caught his eye.

“Too bad, man. That would’ve been awesome.”

Logan gave a short nod of acknowledgement, and jerked his door shut to head back home for the sale. The fog had lifted, and the late September sunshine did a bang up job of highlighting every run-down aspect of the weathered barn and front porch.

Unfortunately, it didn’t keep the bargain hunters away, including the Persky’s, the Swansons, and a whole bunch of Redemption’s other residents.

He knew damn well most of them couldn’t afford the place, but it didn’t stop the nosey bastards from tramping through his house during the two hours it was open before the sale. Even Wes’ wife Tara was there, though he grudgingly admitted she had a genuine reason to attend with her real estate boss, Nadine Hansen, at her side.

He sat in his truck near the barn, windows open. His phone vibrated again just before the bidding was set to start on the equipment before moving on to the house. Same unknown number from earlier, so he ignored it a second time as the auctioneer began.

Once the equipment and his cattle were sold, the short, bald fast-talker tried to open the property at four-hundred thousand. The guy had to drop the price under two before he got a bite, and Logan cursed under his breath. He could afford to keep the place for that amount.

However, with the bidding now started, it rose pretty quick. Early bidders dropped out, until it was down to Edna’s husband, Nadine Hansen, and some guy in a suit he’d never seen before. Once the price rose over the original four hundred thousand, Nadine shook her head, effectively end

ing her bid.

As the other two went back and forth, Logan braced his elbow on the window opening of his truck and rested his tense jaw on his thumb, forefinger against his lips.

Not the Persky’s. Please not the Persky’s.

And yet, three more price increases later, the guy in the suit hesitated at four-seventy-five. The auctioneer gave him two opportunities to take the bid, but the man declined. The bald man shot his hand across the crowd and pointed at the new owners of the Walsh family farm.

“Sold! To number one-thirteen, for four-hundred-seventy thousand dollars.”

Edna and Millie hugged while their husbands shook hands and congratulated each other with a couple of back slaps. The two old women turned toward Logan’s truck as his phone vibrated yet again.

He sucked in a breath, his chest so tight the oxygen barely filtered into his lungs while he checked the screen. Same damn number. He thumbed the button to connect the call and lifted the phone.

“Who the hell is this, and why do you keep calling me?”

“Logan Walsh?”

“Yeah,” he barked in irritation.

There was a moment of hesitation, then the man said, “This is Kevin Baxter from Copper Hill Records in Nashville. Joy Dolinski is a good friend of mine, and she sent me a couple of your songs yesterday. I’d like to—”

“She what?” Fury exploded, fueled by the triumphant smirk Edna Persky directed his way from across the farmyard.

“She sent me two of your songs yesterday. Well, one and a half, but still, I’m very impressed.”

Disbelief spread through him. Joy had recorded his songs. Not the one he’d given permission for, but the ones he’d played for her. Only for her. While he frickin’ poured his heart out, she’d completely betrayed him, and then turned around and sent his music to some guy he’d never even met so they could pretend to buy them.