Blake sits on the porch steps of his ranch house, elbows on his knees, a half-empty coffee mug dangling from his fingers. The late afternoon sun painted the landscape in warm golds and coppery reds, and the scent of hay, sweat, and distant summer rain lingers on the breeze.
Rex lay nearby, chewing contentedly on a half-mangled tennis ball, tail thumping against the porch with lazy contentment.
Blake's brow furrow.
His thoughts were like a twisted fence line…Emma, Carrie, the whispers that had started threading through Prairie Ridge like burrs through denim. His heart leans toward Emma like a sunflower toward the light, but the past…complicated, manipulative, and now wearing high heels and designer perfume…has walked straight back into his life.
Blake mutters, "I swear, Rex, if women came with warning labels, I'd laminate them with it."
Rex responds by rolling over and exposing his belly, clearly unconcerned by the emotional minefield.
Just then, a familiar rumble of an engine announces Duke's arrival. Dust puffing up as a pickup rolls to a stop near the barn. Duke hops out with the ease of a man born in boots, two of Blake's ranch hands coming out of the barn, Cody and Jace, arguing about fence tensioners like it was a matter of national security.
"Are you still overthinking about that blonde hurricane in town?" Duke calls out, swiping his hat off and wiping the sweat from his brow.
"I'm thinking about replacing my love life with a hay bale. More useful, less emotional," Blake grumbles.
Cody chimes in, dragging a coiled wire behind him, "Hay don't text you at 2 a.m. either."
Jace snorts. "And it doesn't show up at your ranch pretending to 'accidentally' drop off lemon pie."
Blake stiffens. "Wait. Carrie brought pie?"
"Left it in the tack room," Cody says, wrinkling his nose. "It smelled like betrayal and an expensive conditioner."
Rex barks sharply, then bolts toward the barn as if he'd understood every word.
Blake inspects the pie like it might contain arsenic…or worse, emotional manipulation.
He doesn't touch it.
Instead, he spends the evening oiling tack, brushing down the horses, and fielding jokes from the hands, who were now calling Carrie the Pie Spy.
Just before sundown, Megan arrives…solo, as her husband was back at their ranch dealing with a colicky mare. She spots the pie on the bench and raises a sceptical brow.
"Don't eat that. That's not dessert. That's bait."
Blake grunts. "I wasn't going to."
"Is she still sniffing around?"
"She's circling like a hawk with a grudge."
Megan gives him a sisterly punch to the shoulder. "Then you'd better start flying lower with the woman who actually matters."
Blake rubs his arm with a wince, smirking. "You always did hit like a line-backer."
"And you always dodge like a mule with a limp," she shoots back, then gives him a meaningful look. "Seriously, Blake. You've got something good starting with Emma. Don't let the past rewrite your present."
Before Blake could respond, Rex barks once and leaps off the porch with a sudden burst of energy.
Emma's truck rolls down the drive, its tires crunching over the gravel, and Blake's heart kicks in his chest the moment he sees her step out, her hair catching in the late afternoon sun, wind tugging playfully at the hem of her shirt.
She waves casually. "Hope I'm not interrupting any sibling therapy."
Megan grins. "Nope. I was just reminding your cowboy here that it's okay to like people who don't set things on fire with their eyes."
Emma laughs as she reaches them. "Sounds healthy."
Blake chuckles, stepping down from the porch to meet her halfway. "You're always welcome, Emma. Especially when you bring sanity and don't come swinging a designer purse."
"I left that in the trunk," she teases, then gives Rex a quick scratch behind the ears as he dances excitedly around her.
"I thought we might check that busted trough behind the barn," Blake says, nodding toward the pasture. His voice is casual, but the way his eyes linger on her says more than the words do.
Emma tilts her head with a knowing smile. "You mean the one that mysteriously breaks only when I visit?"
"Faulty ranch infrastructure," Blake says, deadpan.
"Uh-huh. Totally believable."
As they walk towards the barn, Megan calls out behind them, "I'll see you guys later, Rex will probably follow with a flashlight and a sermon!"
Emma glances over her shoulder. "Tell him to bring snacks."
Blake smirks. "Remind me again who the smart one is between us?"
Emma gives him a pointed look. "Definitely not the guy pretending plumbing problems are romantic."
They reach the trough behind the barn, which, despite Blake's best efforts to make it look recently tampered with, was clearly functional.
A few cows graze lazily in the distance, and the soft glow of the setting sun turns the field into something almost magical.
"Wow," Emma murmurs, taking in the view. "How do you ever get used to this?"
"I don't think you're supposed to," Blake says, his tone quieter now. "Some views are just different every day."
For a moment, they stand in silence.
Blake shifts slightly, his fingers grazing the trough rim. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
Emma turns toward him, her voice steady. "I wasn't sure I should."
That gets his attention. He straightens a little, eyebrows raised.
"I've never been good at messy situations," she admits. "And this? It's... it's got some sharp edges."
Blake looks down briefly, then back up at her. "I don't want to make this harder than it needs to be. But I also don't want to pretend that you being here doesn't change something for me."
Emma hesitates, searching his face. "Even with Carrie sniffing around?"
"She's the past," he says firmly. "You're not."
Rex trots over and flops down between them like a furry referee, his tongue lolling out and tail giving the occasional thump on the dirt.
Emma laughs despite the tense situation, kneeling to rub behind his ears. "You really are the best third wheel, you know that?"
Rex barks once in agreement, then…true to form…sneezes directly on Blake's boots.
"Romance killer," Blake mutters, nudging him gently with one boot.
Emma stands up, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Come on, cowboy. Let's walk. Before Rex finds a way to roll in something dead."
They wander slowly back toward the house, shoulders brushing, silence growing companionable instead of tense.
The porch light casts a warm halo against the deepening blue of the sky.
Blake glances sideways. "You know, Emma...I'm not great at this."
"Good," she replies, a teasing smile curving her lips. "Because perfect is boring. I'd rather take awkward, honest and a little bit muddy."
"Great," he says, grinning. "I've got all three covered."
As they reach the steps, Rex bounds ahead, chasing a moth and nearly knocking over an old flowerpot in the process.
Emma laughs. "He's your chaos mascot."
"And unofficial therapist."
They lingered at the bottom step, the soft chirr of crickets filling the space between their words. Blake reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Emma's ear, his touch gentle.
"Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for needing me," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
And just as the moment teeters on the edge of something more…something deeper…Rex lets out a loud, sloppy bark and nudges his wet nose between their knees.
Emma giggles, swatting playfully at him. "Guess we're on a timer."
Blake sighs. "Story of my life."
But even as they laugh and climb the steps side by side, something quiet and promising settles between them…a slow-blooming warmth, anchored not by fireworks or declarations, but by shared silence, trust, and a very messy dog.