The vulnerability in her voice stops any argument I might have made. She's right. This thing between us is spinning out of control faster than either of us expected. Maybe distance is what we both need.
But as I drive back to the ranch with a bag of medication and the taste of her still on my lips, distance feels like the last thing I want.
The snow keeps falling, covering the world in pristine white, and the Christmas lights on Main Street blur past my windows like stars. Inside the truck, the heater rattles against the cold, but it can't chase away the chill that settles in my chest.
Three encounters now, and each one leaves me wanting more. Wanting her with an intensity that scares the hell out of me. I've spent years building walls, keeping people at arm's length, telling myself I'm better off alone.
But Emmy Sinclair is making me remember what it feels like to want something more than just survival. Something warm and real and dangerous as hell.
And I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep walking away.
Chapter 6
Emmy
Three days. It's been three days since the storage room, and I still can't get the taste of Wyatt Callahan out of my mouth.
By the time I lock up the clinic for lunch, Hope Peak's town square buzzes with holiday energy. Children build snowmen while their parents string lights between the lampposts, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifts from the vendor cart by Perfect Brews. Christmas carols play from speakers mounted on the gazebo, and volunteers hang wreaths on every storefront.
Normally, this would fill me with pure joy. Today, my stomach churns with anxiety.
Levi Voss called an hour ago, his voice clipped with official business: "Council voted. Dry Creek barn needs to be ready for the Christmas Eve sleigh rides, or we're pulling the grazing permits. Make sure Callahan understands."
I haven't told Wyatt yet. The man barely tolerates being asked about the weather, let alone being given ultimatums by the town council. But losing those permits would cost him thousands in feed bills, and I know the ranch is already struggling.
Plus, if I'm being honest, part of me wants an excuse to see him again. Even though I shouldn't. Even though every encounter leaves me more confused and aching than the last.
I grab two peppermint lattes from Carly, ignoring her knowing smirk as she hands them over.
"One's for the grumpy cowboy, isn't it?" she asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"It's a peace offering," I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks.
"Sure it is. And I'm Mrs. Claus."
The drive to Dry Creek takes longer than usual, the road slick with fresh snow and my nerves making me drive like a grandmother. The ranch spreads out below me as I crest the ridge, looking like a Christmas card with snow-covered fields and red barns dotting the landscape. Smoke curls from the main house chimney, and I can see Matty's crew working on the barn, their trucks scattered across the yard.
My heart pounds harder with each mile.
I find Wyatt in the barn loft, discussing beam placement with Avery. He's wearing dark jeans that hug his long legs and a green flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and when he looks up at my approach, those storm-gray eyes hit me like a physical blow.
Heat floods my body, memory rushing back unbidden. His hands sliding under my sweater. The desperate way he kissed me. How he groaned my name against my lips.
"Emmy." My name on his lips sounds different now, rougher, like he's remembering too.
"I brought coffee." I hold up the cups, proud that my voice stays steady despite the way my pulse races. "Thought you could use the caffeine."
He studies me for a long moment, and I wonder if he can see the flush creeping up my neck, if he notices how my handstremble slightly. Finally, he reaches for one of the cups, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange.
The brief contact sends sparks shooting up my arm, and from the way his jaw tightens, I know he feels it too.
"Thanks," he says, his voice carefully controlled.
Avery glances between us, eyebrows raised with curiosity, then makes a show of checking her watch. "I should grab lunch. Back in an hour?"
She disappears down the ladder, leaving us alone in the half-finished loft. The sudden silence feels charged, intimate, and I realize this is the first time we've been truly alone since the storage room.
Wyatt sips his latte, watching me over the rim. "You look nervous."
