The sun over Prairie Ridge rose with theatrical flair, casting golden light across the sleepy town like it was setting the stage for another day of small-town drama…complete with whispered rumours, suspicious casseroles, and strategic pastry deliveries.
Emma wipes her hands on her scrubs as she unlocks her office's physiotherapy front door. The scent inside greeted her like a well-worn routine: antiseptic, lemony floor cleaner, and the faint trace of last night's lavender diffuser still lingering in the air. She barely steps inside before Tory barrelled in behind her, clutching a to-go cup like a lifeline and practically vibrating with gossip-fuelled adrenaline.
"Okay," Tory announces excitedly, breathless and grinning like she had a spoiler for the season finale of everyone's lives. "We've got movement. Carrie has officially reserved a table for two at the diner tomorrow night. Window seat. Candles. And…wait for it…she was spotted at Maureen's buying red roses. A full dozen."
Emma pauses, halfway to the front desk, and turns slowly like a woman preparing to stare into the sun. "Maybe she's trying to romance herself. I hear narcissists are embracing self-love these days."
Tory raises a brow in thought and then takes a triumphant sip of her coffee. "Or she's marking her territory like a perfume-wearing border collie in designer boots. Honestly, if she starts growling when you walk past Blake, I'll need hazard pay."
Emma drops her bag on the desk and snorts. "I swear, if she pees on a fence post, I'm transferring to another clinic in Wyoming."
"She doesn't have to physically pee on you," Tory replies, now fully reclining in the swivel chair with her feet on the filing cabinet. "She's got half the town doing the work for her. You should've heard Rita and Darlene at the bakery this morning…talking like Blake's already picking out a ring. The woman drops one lemon pie and suddenly she's back on the guest list for every church fundraiser."
Emma rolls her eyes and sinks into a chair. "Great. Can't wait to be cast as the unstable rebound with a nice personality and commitment issues."
Tory's grin softens into something more serious. "Don't do that. Don't write yourself out of your own story. You like Blake, right?"
Emma hesitates for a second. Not because she doesn't know the answer, but because saying it out loud makes it feel like stepping off a ledge. "Yeah," she says finally. "I do."
"Then don't let a walking blowout outmanoeuvre you." Tory leans forward, suddenly all strategy and sincerity. "Carrie's got moves, sure. But you? You've got heart. And he sees that."
Emma rests her chin in her hand. "Sometimes I think I'm not cut out for this kind of mess. Small towns. Long histories. Exes with perfectly arched eyebrows and backup plans."
"You don't have to be cut out for it," Tory says, disagreeing with her. "You just have to want it enough to stay in the ring."
Emma gives a dry laugh. "Since when did dating start sounding like a boxing match?"
"Since Carrie brought metaphorical brass knuckles and showed up with roses like she's starring in a Hallmark revenge flick."
They both laugh, but Emma's mind lingers elsewhere…on Blake's hand brushing hers, on the warm, quiet understanding between them, on the way Rex had chosen to nap between them like some fluffy seal of approval. And how it had all felt...safe. Unexpectedly safe.
At the McAllister ranch, the air still smells of wet earth and morning hay. The sun hadn't quite burned the mist off the fields, and dew clung to the fence rails like silver dust.
Blake stands on the porch with a coffee mug in one hand, the other resting on the railing as he watches the land slowly stir to life. Horses shuffle in the paddock, a hawk cries out from somewhere near the ridge, and his mind…against his better judgment…drifts back to the night before.
He hadn't meant to fall so fast, so easily. But something about Emma snuck under his defenses like rain through an old barn roof…quiet, steady, and impossible to ignore.
"She laughs with her whole body," he mutters, more to himself than to Rex, who lies at his feet like a furry boulder.
Rex huffs a sigh that somehow manages to sound judgmental.
Blake chuckles, then sits on a step, elbows resting on his knees. "Don't look at me like that. You see her. She gets me."
Rex let out a long, theatrical groan and flops onto his side with the exaggerated drama of a creature thoroughly unimpressed.
Blake doesn't flinch. His gaze stays fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, I know," he mutters. "Carrie's trying to claw her way back in. But it's not happening. Not again."
He doesn't voice the rest, but the truth twists low in his gut…quiet and certain. Carrie had always known how to dress up the past, wrap it in nostalgia, and serve it like something worth chasing. But she never wanted him…not really. She wanted the image. The clean-cut, camera-ready cowboy she could parade at charity auctions and Christmas galas. The kind of man who smiles when told, nodded on cue, and stayed silent when the spotlight was on her.
But Blake had never been that man. And when he stopped pretending, she gave him an ultimatum.
He chose peace over performance.
She didn't take it well.
Why she was suddenly back now, all charm and candlelight, was the real question. And every instinct in his body told him this wasn't about love…it was about strategy.
Emma, on the other hand, didn't want a prop. She didn't want a show. She wanted something real.
She wanted the whole mess.
And damn it, he wanted to give it to her.
Rex barks once, sharp and deliberate, then stands and stretches. He trots down the steps and straight toward the truck, stopping at the passenger door and giving Blake a look that could only be described as insistent.
Blake raises an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"
Rex sits. One paw up. Like a pointer dog about to submit a business proposal.
"Now you're my relationship counsellor?"
The tail thumps once. Definitive.
Blake drains the rest of his coffee and stands, the mug still warm in his hand. "Alright, Coach. Let's go fix that back fence and maybe…maybe…swing by the clinic."
Rex barks once more, then hops into the truck like his already cleared Blake's schedule.
As Blake starts the engine, he glances toward town, his jaw set but his eyes softer than they had been in weeks.
There was something waiting out there for him…something honest and alive and a little unpredictable.
And this time, he doesn't intend to miss it.