The woman who lived in work clothes and came home smelling like oil and grease. The woman with calluses and bruises and a life that didn’t match his.
And maybe that was one of the biggest reasons she couldn’t let herself give in. Not when wanting something had always been the sure way to losing it.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled the door shut behind her and headed down to get to work. It was promising to be a hotter day than the one before, and she had a feeling some of the older machinery would need more than just a little tuning up.
Every day presented a new challenge, whether she was actively working on the farming equipment or helping the girls out with their own trucks.
Never a dull moment.
“You got coffee and didn’t bring me any?” a male voice called.
There was a blur of movement, and the cup in her hand was swiped. River turned to glare at Emerson as he took a long drink, then flashed her a shameless grin before offering it back.
Her eyes narrowed. “No, I didn’t get coffee.”
He gave the cup a pointed look. “That drink says otherwise.”
“I’ll have you know,” she said, taking it back, “Mathew dropped it off.”
A subtle lift of Emerson’s brows was his only response, and she rolled her eyes right back.
“It’s not what you think,” she insisted.
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think. He’s had it bad since the day he took off work to help you and your sister.”
River shot him a look. “Don’t remind me.”
“Why? Because he’s actually following through on his persistence to date you?”
She set the cup on a nearby workbench a little harder than necessary. “Because I told him I’m not looking to date. I was clear.”
“And he was clear that he’s interested,” Emerson said, like that settled it.
River spun to face him, hands on her hips. “Interest is fine. But I’m not some challenge for him to overcome.”
Emerson sobered, just a little. “Is he making you uncomfortable?”
The question took the edge off her frustration. River exhaled. “No. Not like that. He’s… respectful.” She hesitated, hating how complicated the truth was. “It’s just—when someone keeps showing up, it starts to feel like pressure, even when they mean well. I’m not used to it.”
Emerson studied her for a beat. “So what do you want?”
“I want him to be patient with me,” she said quietly. “And I want to stop feeling like the bad guy for not being ready.”
Emerson’s voice softened. “You want to know what I think?”
And though she knew better than to deny him, she did anyway. “No, I don’t want to know.”
Emerson continued, “I think he’s good for you.”
River’s discomfort climbed a notch. She turned away and grabbed a rag, giving herself something to do with her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need someone who isn’t going to go running for the hills the moment life gets hard,” Emerson said. “Someone who’s going to be there for you. And if you’re not ready for that, fine. But ask yourself this, if a good man shows up and keeps showing up, is it because he’s trying to win a game?Orbecause he’s trying to prove to be someone you can count on…”
River swallowed. “I guess you have a point,” she admitted.
Emerson nodded once. “Then don’t write him off just because you’re scared of wanting it.”
That hit too close to the real truth. River stared at the workbench, her throat tight.
