The morning after Megan's surprise visit was...quieter.
At least on the ranch.
Blake had woken to find Rex already sitting at the front door, tail sweeping the floor, head cocked like he was waiting for Blake to finally get a clue and chase whatever weird feelings had crawled into his heart. The big mutt had been uncharacteristically restless since their encounter with Emma, pacing the porch, peering down the road like he expected her to materialize from a cloud of cinnamon-scented destiny.
Blake wasn't sure if he should be impressed or annoyed.
He stands with his morning coffee mug, watching Rex.
"You got it bad, don't you?" he mutters.
Rex gives a short bark in response, as if to say, Takes one to know one.
Blake has work to do. Fences to mend with his crew. Equipment to check.
And yet, an image of a petite, curvy brunette with blue eyes keeps dragging him back, like a fly to molasses. Emma Carter, physiotherapist, scarf saboteur, cinnamon roll enabler and occasional dog whisperer, had somehow managed to wedge herself into his subconsciousness and worse, his daily routine.
He shakes his head. "Nope. Not doing this. I am not getting...entangled again."
Rex barks again. Louder.
"Don't look at me like that."
Rex tilts his head.
"You're unbelievable."
Meanwhile, in town...
Emma and Tory had successfully survived their awkward post-rumour walk through Prairie Ridge.
Mostly.
There had been a few knowing smiles, a couple of old ladies who had offered her unsolicited advice and apple muffins, patting her arm like she'd done something noble.
Someone even winked at her from behind the checkout counter at the grocery store.
Emma hadn't even made it to aisle three without someone whispering "scarf scandal" behind cupped hands.
Tory found it all hysterical. Emma? Not so much.
"I swear," Emma whispers as they cross the town square, "if one more person offers me congratulations for causing a traffic incident, I'm going to scream."
Tory sips her coffee, eyes gleaming. "You do realize you're living the plot of every small-town romance novel ever written, right? City girl trips into town, literally stops traffic, steals the heart of the rugged cowboy with the emotionally complex past."
"I didn't trip! My scarf was at fault. He hasn't given me his heart," Emma mutters. "He has only given me grief for my wayward scarf."
"And you gave him a croissant roll. That's practically a proposal in these parts."
They duck into the café where Emma works part-time, greeted by the smell of roasted beans and fresh pastries. Her boss, Rosie, is already at the counter, eyes twinkling.
"Well, well," Rosie teases, "if it isn't the girly that launched a thousand rumours."
Emma groans. "Please no."
Rosie winks. "Don't worry, honey. I like him. Rugged. Stoic. That's my type. If you're not interested, I'll take his number."
Tory leans on the counter. "You might have to fight the dog for him. He's clearly taken."
"Rex?" Rosie asks. "Oh, he's a heartbreaker, that one. I saw the way he looks at you, Emma. Like he found his long-lost squeaky toy."
Emma laughs despite herself. "He was sweet. Kinda the opposite of his owner."
"That's how they get you," Rosie says. "Man's best friend, woman's best in."
Back at the ranch, Blake tries everything to shove thoughts of Emma out of his head…throwing himself into fence repairs, checking equipment, anything to keep busy. But Rex has other ideas.
The dog plants himself firmly inside Blake's new truck, refusing to move an inch.
"Come on, Rex. Get out of there," Blake says for what feels like the tenth time. "We're not going anywhere today, except work on the ranch."
Rex just cocks his head, flopping onto the passenger seat and lets out a long, exaggerated sigh like he was bored out of his mind.
"Really?" Blake groans.
Rex paws at the glove compartment, then gives it a purposeful nudge.
With a soft click, it pops open and out flutters Emma's scarf, the one Blake might've accidentally-on-purpose kept. It drifts to the floor like a surrender flag in blue pastel silk.
Blake groans, rubbing his face. "You absolute traitor."
Rex gives a small whine, eyes wide and pleading, as if saying, Come on, just this once.
Blake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright. But just to return the scarf. No detours, no drama."
By the time Blake rolls into town, Rex is perched proudly in the passenger seat, tongue lolling, looking every bit the dignified matchmaker on a mission.
Emma spots the brand new truck from the café window, her heart doing a weird flippy thing in her chest.
Tory sees it too. "Incoming cowboy alert."
Emma stands frozen. "What do I do?"
"Fluff your hair, put on lip balm and pretend you weren't hoping he'd show up."
"I wasn't!"
"You were."
Blake steps inside just as she is fussing with her sleeve. Rex trots in ahead of him, making a beeline straight for Emma like he had a standing appointment.
"Well, hey again," she says, crouching to greet him.
Rex flops against her with an audible groan of satisfaction.
"I brought this back," Blake says, holding up the scarf like it is evidence.
Emma stands, brushing dog hair off her leggings. "Thanks. I was starting to miss it. Even the local news was starting to report its mysterious disappearance"
"Yeah," Blake says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. My sister may have added fuel to the fire."
"Is she the one who called me a cinnamon temptress?"
Blake blinks in confusion. "What?"
"Someone did. It's going around."
He looks vaguely horrified. "Small towns are a menace."
Emma smiles. "They have their charm. Mostly in the form of sweet tea and gossip."
"Want to go for a walk?" Blake blurts.
Emma's eyes widens. "Now?"
Rex barks.
Rosie, "Take a break...it's quiet today."
"Don't mind me...I am just here for the juicy gossip." Tory quips.
"See they all agree," Blake says, straight-faced.
Emma grabs her coat. "Well, who am I to refuse?"
They walk the trail behind the town square, past the creek and a cluster of wildflowers just beginning to bloom. Rex runs ahead, circling back now and then like a furry chaperone.
"So," Emma says, "what made you stop by? Really."
Blake glances at her. "Honestly? I was trying not to."
She laughs. "Well, that's romantic."
"I mean, I was going to come over later. But Rex had other plans."
"He's got good timing."
They walk in companionable silence, until Blake speaks again.
"I'm not...good at this."
"At walking?"
"At talking. About feelings."
Emma slows. "You don't have to. We can just...be."
He looks at her then, really looks. "I've had my fair share of stuff in the past. Bad breakup. Long recovery. I wasn't planning on..."
"A scarf-related romance?"
He huffs out a laugh. "Exactly."
Emma touches his arm gently. "Neither was I. But maybe we don't need a plan."
Rex barks in the distance, as if seconding the motion.
"Okay," Blake says, agreeing. "No plan. Just...one day at a time?"
Emma nods. "And walks. Lots of walks."
"Rex will hold us to it."
As they wander further down the trail, the sun breaks through the clouds overhead, Rex runs ahead…tail wagging, ears perked, his mission clearly not over yet.
Because sometimes, it takes a stubborn dog, a scandalous scarf and a few nosy townspeople to help two people find something worth keeping.
And Prairie Ridge is full of all three.