The barn smells of dust, damp wood, and old hay. I hate it. This place was supposed to be the backbone of the ranch, and now the beams groan every time the wind shifts. Peak Construction's trucks scatter across my property like invaders, their crew tramping through like they own the place. Matty calls up measurements while Avery scribbles notes on her clipboard, and I stand rigid with my arms crossed, jaw clenched tight.
Red and green Christmas lights drape the fence posts leading to the barn, a cheerful addition Matty's wife insisted on last week. They blink steadily in the gray morning light, a festive touch that feels out of place with the chaos of construction.
I didn't build this place to be a parade ground.
The doors creak open, and she steps in.
Emery Sinclair.
The cold has painted her cheeks pink, and snowflakes dust her dark hair where it escapes from under her knit hat. She wears fitted jeans that hug her curves and a forest-green coat that makes her eyes look like amber in the filtered light. She looks like Christmas morning wrapped in winter wool, all warmth and promise in a place that's been cold for far too long.
My pulse kicks up just watching her move.
"You wanted my opinion?" she asks, brushing straw from her jeans. Her tone stays polite, but those hazel eyes tell me she knows I'm already itching for a fight.
"On the foal," I grunt, not trusting my voice to stay steady.
She kneels beside the colt, and I find myself studying the graceful line of her neck as she bends forward. Her hands move over the splint with practiced care, gentle touches that make something twist in my chest. She murmurs softly to the animal, words so quiet they sound like secrets, and I wonder what it would feel like to have her speak to me that way.
"You did well keeping her still," she says after a moment, then her voice hardens with professional authority. "But this barn is one accident away from collapsing on her. She needs a safer stall, Wyatt. You know that."
My arms fold tighter across my chest. "I don't need a lecture on ranch safety."
Her head snaps up fast, those hazel eyes sparking with fire. "I'm not lecturing you. I'm saving your livestock. Maybe try saying thank you instead of growling at me like I'm the problem here."
The challenge in her stare cuts sharper than any insult. Something breaks loose inside me, something I've kept locked down for months. Or maybe it's been breaking since she walked into my world yesterday with her gentle hands and stubborn chin.
I close the distance between us in two long strides. She doesn't back down, doesn't even flinch. Her chin tilts up, defiant, and I catch the scent of her shampoo, light and citrusy, completely out of place in this dusty barn but somehow perfect.
"You want to know what my problem is?" My voice comes out rougher than I intend, barely above a whisper.
Her lips part slightly, breath coming faster. "What?"
Instead of answering, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her.
It's not gentle. My mouth claims hers with months of pent-up frustration and loneliness, rough and hungry and desperate. She gasps against my lips, then her hands fist in the front of my jacket, dragging me closer instead of pushing me away.
Her mouth opens under mine, and the taste of her shoots straight through me like lightning. Sweet and warm with a hint of coffee, everything I didn't know I was starving for. She kisses me back with just as much fire, matching my intensity with her own need.
I press her back against the rough wooden post, my hands sliding down to grip her waist. She arches into me, her soft curves fitting against my hard angles like she was made for this, made for me. Her fingers slide up into my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan into her mouth.
The construction noise fades to nothing. There's only her, the heat of her body against mine, the way she melts into my touch like she's been waiting for this as much as I have.
My hands roam lower, tracing the curve of her hips through those fitted jeans. She whimpers softly, the sound vibrating against my lips, and I want to swallow every noise she makes. I want to learn every way to make her come undone.
Her coat falls open, and I slide my hands underneath her sweater, palms flat against the warm silk of her skin. She shivers at the contact, back arching, pressing her breasts against my chest. The thin lace of her bra does nothing to hide how much she wants this.
"Wyatt," she breathes against my mouth, half warning, half plea.
The way she says my name, breathless and needy, nearly undoes me completely. I trail kisses down her neck, tasting rain and sweetness, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear that makes her gasp. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of my shirt.
I lift her easily, pressing her back against the post as her legs wrap around my waist. She fits against me perfectly, heat radiating through the denim between us. I can feel how much she wants this, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to take her right here against this beam.
Her hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt, desperate and clumsy with need. I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other slides under her sweater, palming the soft weight of her breast through lace. She moans, head falling back, and I nearly lose what's left of my control.
"Boss! You up there?"
Matty's voice cuts through the haze of want like a bucket of ice water. Emmy freezes in my arms, eyes wide, cheeks flushed dark red. We stare at each other for a heartbeat, both breathing hard, the sound of footsteps echoing closer below us.
