She was seven months pregnant with Shiloh by that point, and hadn’t even been in town for weeks because she was half out of her mind with equal parts shame and heartache.

Arlo found her walking a little patch right between the River and Roman property line, picking blackberries. She was sweating hard, and kept eating more berries than what actually made it into her wicker basket.

“So it’s true,” Arlo said, making her jump.

She straightened up from the bramble, turning to find Sawyer’s father behind her, mounted on horseback. He and Sawyer could have been twins, if not for the age difference and the fact that Arlo always looked as sour as if he was chewing on lemons.

“Colonel Roman,” she said, nodding to him. Trying to pretend he hadn’t scared the daylights out of her, wishing she could slink behind a bush and hide.

Sawyer’s father had always made her feel nervous, made her feel self-conscious of how poor her family was compared to the Romans. Now, heavily pregnant, she felt like she’d proved him right, having a baby out of wedlock like this.

He swung down from his horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand and sweeping his hat off his head with the other. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt, then gave her a long look.

“How far along are you?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, looking down. “Um, about seven months.”

“Mmhm,” he said, staring at her as if he could look right through her. “Funny how that coincides with the last time my son was in town.”

“Oh,” she said again, going red. “I, uh… I don’t know.”

Lame, but it was the best she could do.

“How much?” Arlo asked.

“Sorry?” she said, glancing up at him.

“Just give me a number. How much do you need to make this go away?” he asked.

“Go… away?” she asked, giving him a confused look.

“Yeah. You, the baby, whatever,” he said, flapping a hand. “All of it.”

“I’m not really sure what you’re saying, sir. I think I should be getting home,” she said, clearing her throat and turning to leave.

Arlo’s hand clamped her shoulder like a vise, making her freeze.

“A number,” he said, spinning her around.

“Um… there’s no… it’s…” she mumbled, then shook her head. “It’s… not Sawyer’s baby.”

The lie surfaced out of nowhere, and it was out of her mouth before she could even think about it. Arlo released her with a smirk.

“You’re a bad liar, Remy.”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, growing stubborn.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Producing a pen, he started making out a check.

“Sir…” she tried.

“I think $20,000 ought to suffice,” he said.

“I… what?” she asked, taken aback.

“Consider it… a trust, for the child. Babies are expensive, and your family isn’t exactly flush with cash,” Arlo said, signing the check with a flourish.

He ripped it from the checkbook and offered it to Remy. When she only stared at him, he dropped it into her basket.

“Take the money. Forget we ever talked about this,” he said.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she said.

“Well, I want my son not to have knocked up some barefoot farmer’s daughter, but we don’t all get what we want,” he said, pulling the reins over the horse’s head.

He gripped the pommel of the saddle, ready to mount again, then paused. When he looked back at her, Arlo Roman was deadly serious.

“If you try to come after us for support, or you involve Sawyer in any way, I will hire the best damned lawyer in the state. I’ll come after you. Take the kid, take the farm. Hell, I’ll get you locked in an institution before I let you ruin my son’s future.”

Remy felt herself crumple, her shoulders sagging. Arlo mounted, swinging his leg over to sit on the horse. He stared down at her for another moment.

“Don’t contact Sawyer again, Remy. Keep that bastard of yours out of sight. And you’d better cash that check, or I’m going to come calling. Our next conversation won’t be so pleasant.”

With that, he put his hat back on and rode away, leaving Remy gaping after him…