Page 52 of Dirty Cowboy

She purses her lips, pretending to consider. “Fine. But I’msupervising.”

I circle the kitchen counter, pulling eggs and a colorful spread of vegetables from the fridge. "Think you can handle egg-breaking?"

Emma straightens, determination flashing in her eyes. "Are youchallengingme?"

I point to the cabinets. "Bowl’s in the cupboard, just to the right of the sink."

She grabs the bowl and gets to work, cracking the eggs with a little more force than necessary. A tiny bit of shell slips in, but I wisely keep my mouth shut as she removes it. Instead, I focus on dicing onions and peppers, the rhythmic chop grounding me.

A comfortable silence settles between us, punctuated only by the occasional murmur of instruction. She whisks the eggs like she’s training for the Olympic culinary team while I season the veggies. The scent of sizzling onions and peppers fills the kitchen, warm and homey.

Minutes later, we sit on the back porch, plates piled high with omelets, overlooking the river as the afternoon light turns golden.

Emma swings her fork through the air. “How did the foaling go this morning?”

I reach under the table, pulling out a bottle of Merlot I stashed earlier. “The mare delivered a beautiful chestnut colt. They’re both resting comfortably in the stable now, and I thought we could celebrate.”

Emma pauses, fork midway to her mouth. “Grandpa said the foal was born yesterday. You were in New York yesterday.”

The wind picks up. I clear my throat.

“He was. Blake called for help because the foal seemed like there might be something wrong.”

The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hate lying to her, but telling her I met with Huntz is not an option. The less Emma knows, the safer she is.

I uncork the bottle, pouring us both a generous glass.

“We can visit my foal later if you’d like,” I offer, watching her carefully. “We transferred him this morning.”

Emma takes a sip, her gaze flicking to mine. “He’s yours? I’d love that. I could use a pick-me-up.”

I exhale, tension easing. “Why? What’s going on? How was your morning with Grandpa?”

She leans back, stretching out her legs. “He took me to the sheriff’s office, which, by the way, isa mess, and then I went to Valley’s Delight and Lords Park with Misty.”

“Sounds like you saw everything this town has to offer.”

She scoffs. “Not even close. Lords Valley is full of secrets, and I’m not leaving until I uncover them all.”

I chuckle. She’s not wrong.

“Maybe you should move here,” I joke, half-serious.

Color drains from her face, her fork hovering over her plate like she’s forgotten what to do with it.

“What’s wrong, Ems?”

She exhales slowly, setting her fork down. “I spoke with my mom today. Dad’s not doing well. It sounds like my days here are numbered.”

The words slam into me, unexpected and unwelcome.

Shejustgot here. But now she’s already thinking about leaving? I grip my wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid as if it holds answers.

“But you just got here,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

She nods. “I should go back after the announcement.”

“After this weekend?” I press, the timeline suddenly feeling too damn short. “For a second, I forgot you weren’t staying forever.”

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