"Are you?" Remy's voice turns serious. "Because Aunt May drove by Tommy Preston's place last week, saw your truck at Peterson's Feed Store. Said you were with some woman. Pretty brunette who looked at you like you hung the moon."
Heat crawls up my neck. Of course the family grapevine would pick up on Emmy. "It's not what you think."
"What I think is that for the first time in five years, you might actually be letting someone in. And that scares the hell out of you."
The coffee maker gurgles to life, and I lean against the counter, watching steam rise from the pot. Remy isn't wrong. Emmy does scare me. Not because of who she is, but because of how she makes me feel. Like maybe the walls I've built around myself aren't as necessary as I thought.
"Her name's Emmy," I admit. "She's the new vet in town."
"And?"
"And nothing. She's helping with some renovations on the barn."
Remy snorts. "Right. Because you've always been real collaborative about ranch projects. What's she really mean to you, Wyatt?"
I pour coffee into a thermos, stalling for time. How do I explain Emmy to someone who's never met her? How do I put into words the way she looks at me like I'm worth saving, or how her laugh makes something tight in my chest loosen?
"She's..." I start, then stop. "It's complicated."
"The best things usually are." His voice gentles. "Look, I'm not trying to push. But Sarah's been gone five years. She wouldn't want you living like a ghost."
The familiar ache settles in my chest at the mention of Sarah's name. My fiancée died in a car accident the week before our wedding, and I've spent five years telling myself I don't deserve a second chance at happiness. That loving someone again means betraying her memory.
"I know what she'd want," I say quietly.
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, sounds like you might be ready to find out."
After we hang up, I sit in the kitchen with my coffee, staring out at the barn. Remy's words echo in my head, mixing with memories I usually keep locked away. Sarah with her wild red hair and infectious smile, the way she used to steal my coffee and claim hers was too bitter. The plans we made for this ranch, the family we wanted to build.
She would have loved Emmy, I realize. Would have appreciated her stubborn streak and gentle hands, the way she stands up to me when I'm being an ass.
The thought should feel like betrayal, but instead it feels like permission.
I grab my coat and head for the barn, boots crunching through fresh snow. Inside, the space hums with activity. Matty's crew is putting finishing touches on the office area while Emmy directs the placement of examination equipment with the focused intensity I've come to love watching.
She's wearing dark jeans that hug her curves and a red sweater that brings out the gold in her hair. The keys I gave her hang from a lanyard around her neck, catching the light as she moves. When she spots me, her face lights up with a smile that makes my chest tight.
"Perfect timing," she says, crossing to where I stand. "I need someone tall to help hang this cabinet."
I follow her to the corner where a metal supply cabinet waits to be mounted. She's already marked the wall studs, drill and level laid out with typical Emmy efficiency.
"Hold this steady," she says, positioning the cabinet against the wall.
I step behind her, arms reaching around to grip the cabinet, effectively trapping her between my body and the wall. The position puts her soft curves against my chest, and I catch the scent of her shampoo, citrus and something uniquely her.
"Like this?" I ask, voice rougher than intended.
She nods, but I feel the slight tremor that runs through her at the contact. "Perfect."
She works with practiced competence, marking screw holes and checking measurements, but I'm acutely aware of every time she leans back against me, every brush of her hair against my chin. When she reaches up to mark the top corner, her sweater rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin that makes my mouth go dry.
"There," she says, stepping back to survey her work. "Now we just need to..."
She turns in my arms, suddenly realizing how close we are. Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly, and for a moment we just stare at each other. The sounds of construction fade to background noise as the air between us crackles with familiar tension.
"Emmy," I start, but she cuts me off by going up on her toes and pressing her lips to mine.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but when I respond by pulling her closer, it deepens into something hungry and desperate. She tastes like coffee and peppermint, and I want to lose myself in the warmth of her mouth.
