Page 3 of Dirty Cowboy

He smirks. “You know the partnership clause, Emma.”

Is he actually suggesting I propose to Eric Waters?

“We both know how you feel about Eric. Go see him.”

“This isn’t a Hallmark movie, Dad. Besides, he’s forty-one.”

“Who wrote the rule book on age gaps?” Dad asks, his tone light.

“BookTok,” I reply with a chuckle.

“BookTok is all about age-gaps,” he rolls his eyes.

“You know about BookTok?” My brows lift.

“Too much spare time in this bed,” he replies with a wry smile. “Go to Lords Valley and see how it goes.”

“That’s a million miles away.” I tell him.

He laughs. “Greater distances have been conquered for love.”

I shake my head. “I can’t leave you.”

He cups my cheek, his palm warm but weak. “Well, you can’t stay here just to listen to me fart in bed.”

A bubble of emotion lodges itself in my throat until I can’t hold it in and burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation momentarily lightening the mood.

“What do I always say?” he asks.

I exhale. “Seize the opportunity.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

My heart pounds as I stare at him. Could I really leave when he’s sick? But when he smiles at me like that, like he already knows I will, something shifts inside me.

“I’ll think about it,” I whisper.

Maybe it’s time to seize the opportunity. I lower to the bed and hug him tightly, etching the moment into memory. I should have etched more of those.

I stop at the threshold, blow my dad a kiss, and step into the hallway. Fresh determination to make the most of whatever time we have left ignites in my chest. I snag my briefcase and car keys off the counter. “Love you!” I call to Mom as I rush out the door, the morning sun stretching long shadows across the pavement.

By the time I pull into the parking garage, my stomach is in knots. The gnawing worry about Dad chews through me, like a relentless, insistent thing that won’t back down. I inhale deeply, straighten my spine, and march toward the office building. I am a force to be reckoned with. I am a professional. I am?—

“Running late?” Greg, the company secretary, waits in the lobby with a steaming cup of coffee in his perfectly manicured hand, one eyebrow arched in challenge.

I roll my eyes and kiss him on both cheeks. “How can I be late when there’s nobody waiting for me?”

He shifts a stack of folders to his other arm, falling in step beside me. “Fair point.”

“I need some good juju today.” I sigh dramatically. “Is your cousin still doing card readings? I could use some top-tier witchcraft. Maybe a spell to cure my dad. Or a love potion to finally land me a man.”

Greg chuckles. “Sweetie, you’re going about love all wrong.”

The coffee nearly sloshes out of my cup as I side-eye him. “I’m serious, Greg.”

We reach my office door, and I swipe my access card against the keypad. The satisfying ping gives me the barest sense of control over my life. Greg steps in first, sets the folders down, and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Its warm glow lands on my very cluttered desk.

I kick off my heels and collapse into my chair.

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