“I Need A Husband By Tomorrow,” She Said — I Replied, “Then You’ll Have To Come And Live At My Place

The Contract and the Sabotage

The next morning felt unreal, like I was moving through someone else’s life. Clare and I drove into town together just after sunrise.

The sky was pale pink over the fields. The road was quiet except for the hum of her SUV.

Neither of us talked much. It was not because it was awkward, but because we both understood how strange this was.

Two strangers were heading to a courthouse to get married. There was no love story, no family gathered, and no celebration waiting afterward.

The county courthouse in Scotsluff was small and plain. It was a brick building with flags out front and a few cars in the parking lot.

Claire’s lawyer met us there. One of my neighbors, Tom, agreed to be a witness after I told him I needed a favor and promised to explain later.

The ceremony itself was fast. There were no rings and no vows beyond what the law required.

We signed our names and shook the judge’s hand. Just like that, Clare Witmore became my wife.

I looked at her as we walked out. She looked relieved but there was still tension in her shoulders like she was bracing for the next wave.

This was not how anyone imagined starting a marriage, especially not someone like her. But it was done.

By evening the paperwork was already filed. Claire’s legal team worked fast.

Statements were being drafted for the Whitmore Group board. They needed to confirm that the will had been satisfied.

On the drive back to the farm she stared out the window at the open land. Her fingers were tapping lightly against her knee.

“I appreciate this Ethan” she said quietly. “More than you know”.

“I just want things clear” I replied. “If this is going to work we need rules”.

She nodded. “Agreed”.

That night she went back to Lincoln to pack and handle business. The house felt just as quiet as it always had.

I slept poorly, replaying everything in my head. I wondered if I had just made the smartest or dumbest decision of my life.

She came back the next morning with two suitcases and a serious look on her face. “Ryan’s already moving,” she said as I helped her carry her bags inside.

“He hired investigators If this marriage looks fake he will challenge it in court”. “I need to stay here full-time.”

I showed her the guest room, my parents’ old bedroom. I had kept it mostly untouched.

There were fresh sheets and clean floors, but the memories still lived there. It felt strange opening that door for someone else.

The first few days were awkward. Our lives could not have been more different.

I was up before dawn every morning pulling on my boots and heading to the barn. Clare started her days later.

She brewed coffee in my old percolator and jumped into video calls with lawyers and board members. Her voice carried through the house confident and sharp.

I came in around noon, dusty and tired. I grabbed a quick sandwich before heading back out.

We barely talked beyond the basics. “Coffee is ready” “The internet is slow” “The fence needs fixing”.

It felt like two separate worlds under one roof. Then on the third day something shifted.

I was out fixing a section of fence when Clare appeared beside me. She was wearing jeans and a simple shirt and holding a thermos.

She looked out of place but determined. “Mind if I help?” she asked.

I handed her gloves, not sure she would last 5 minutes. She asked questions, listened, and learned.

She pricked her finger once and cursed quietly. Then she laughed at herself and kept going.

That night she tried cooking. She burned the eggs a little, but we laughed about it.

It was the first real conversation we had. She told me about her grandfather and his vision for protecting small farms.

I told her about my parents and the droughts they survived. Something softened between us.

The pressure came fast after that. Ryan filed a petition questioning our marriage.

Articles started appearing online painting me as a greedy farmer chasing a payout. Investigators showed up in town.

Clare handled it head-on, defending us publicly. She tied her reputation to mine.

It surprised me how fiercely she stood her ground. Then came the sabotage.

One morning I found my irrigation pipes sliced clean through. Water flooded the field, ruining half the young crop.

Clare’s face hardened when I told her. “It’s him,” she said “He’s escalating.”

The real breaking point came a week later during a storm. I smelled smoke and ran to the storage shed.

Flames were already climbing the walls. I fought it with everything I had until the fire department arrived.

We lost most of the equipment and seeds. I collapsed in the mud exhausted and burned.

Clare rushed to me with panic written all over her face. Inside the house she cleaned my hands gently, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“This is my fault,” she whispered. I shook my head.

“No we will fix this together.” That night something changed between us.

The deal no longer felt like just a deal. As the wind rattled the windows and she sat beside me, I realized something.

I was no longer just protecting a business arrangement. I was protecting her.