Page 127 of Dirty Cowboy

My stomach twists. She doesn’t know, but Annabelle’s right about one thing. I still have a home in Lords Valley.

I squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Annabelle.”

She leans in and hugs me, warm and firm. “One more thing,” she whispers. “When you’re healed, there’s a spot waiting for you at the next bull-riding competition.”

I let out a soft laugh. “That’s a year away.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But it got you to smile, didn’t it?”

I shake my head, smiling despite the heaviness in my chest.

As she leaves, silence settles over the room again. I glance at the window, watching the city skyline stretch endlessly before me. I miss the fields and the wide-open sky. The smell of fresh hay and the sound of horses in the morning.

And Eric. I miss him so damn much.

I touch my stomach, feeling the healing wound beneath the hospital gown.

I may have survived and saved Misty and the ranch, but was it enough to save us?

The soft clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation fill the Rusty Lantern Pub. A familiar symphony of clattering plates, murmured laughter, and the strum of an acoustic guitar, vibrate through the room. The scent of grilled steak and warm candle wax lingers in the air, wrapping around me like a memory.

I shift from one foot to the other behind the curtain, hands clenched into fists at my sides. It’s been three weeks since Grandpa’s funeral, and three weeks since Emma left. She’s healed now. Huntz is nothing but a bad memory six feet under, but I still haven’t seen her. Not once.

Until now.

I take a quick peek through the gap in the curtain as she steps through the doorway, and my breath catches.

She’s here.

The sight of her slams into me with the force of a thousand memories, knocking the air straight from my lungs. Emma. Whole. Strong. Breathtaking. The last time I saw her, she was limp in my arms, her skin cold and blood-soaked, her heartbeat slipping through my fingers like water. The image still haunts me, creeping in when I least expect it. But now, standing there in the dim glow of the pub, she’s radiant and, most importantly, she’s alive.

My fingers brush the small velvet box tucked inside my pocket, feeling the weight of Grandma Estonia’s ring. Emma thinks she lost it in the river; she doesn’t know Annabelle found it at the hospital, tucked away in a plastic bag with her ruined clothes. I kept it safe, waiting for the moment I could return it to her, the right way.

A waitress guides her toward the front table where my family is already seated. Annabelle welcomes her with a warm hug before pulling out the seat closest to the stage. Emma hesitates before sitting, her fingers nervously tracing patterns along the rim of her glass.

She’s looking for me.

Annabelle told her I left town for a while, so she’s not expecting me tonight. Or maybe she is. Maybe she knows me well enough to sense when I’m near.

I rub my palms against my jeans, the nerves buzzing through me like a live wire. I’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times, but now that she’s here, everything I planned to say vanishes. The only thing that matters is the way her presence fills the room, and the way my heart pounds like it’s trying to break free from my ribs.

The dim light casts a warm glow over her face as she looks around, her eyes flicking toward the bar, then the front door, then back again, waiting and searching.

Annabelle keeps Emma engaged in conversation, her hands moving animatedly as she talks, but Emma’s eyes keep flicking toward the stage, and toward the empty space where I’m about to make a complete fool of myself. Nerves coil tightly in my gut. I haven't done anything this crazy in a long time, but for her? For Emma? I'd tie myself to Thor and ride blindfolded.

I take a deep breath, push the curtain aside, and move toward center stage, the wooden planks creaking beneath my boots. Every nerve in my body hums as I continue into the spotlight, straight into her line of sight.

And then she sees me.

Her gaze locks onto mine, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Confusion flickers across her face as I approach her table. When I reach the edge, I take off my hat, bend down and place it gently on the table in front of her. She blinks up at me, a slow swirl of recognition lighting up her eyes. Surprise shifts into curiosity, then something softer, something that has my pulse slamming against my ribs.

I step back and nod to the musicians, making the silent request.

One of the guitarists grins and strums a familiar melody, shifting the tempo. Shania’s lyrics blast through the speakers, the bass humming through the wooden floors.

And then, I move my hips.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, wide and reckless, fueled by adrenaline and the sheer insanity of what I’m about to do. Every step toward Emma is a gamble, a leap of faith I can only hope lands me exactly where I want to be—forever by her side.

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