Page 57 of Dirty Cowboy

I lift up to my elbows.

“I’m meeting him in the morning about the farm and we’re setting up for the fest the day after.”

“And what about Huntz?”

"You shouldn’t poke that bear, Ems."

The mention of Huntz casts a shadow over the warm light of the hayloft. Memories of his cold, calculating gaze flash in my mind like a stark reminder of why I can’t risk stirring the past.

"Wouldn't you feel better if he wasn’t a threat?"

I turn to my side, connecting my gaze with hers.

"Emma, heisn’ta threat.” I wish my words were true, but I don’t want her involved. I never should have agreed to her brothers’ excuse for sending her here. “You should leave it alone."

Her inquisitive gaze locks on mine, and seconds stretch. I count her breaths and lifting heartbeats, until finally her lips parted and she whispers, "I promise not to poke too hard, but it feels like you need closure. Is there anything I can do for you to get closure?"

I clear my throat. How far can I push this without falling over? My chest rumbles and her lips part with an invitation. By then, her leg lays gently on top of mine, her knee sliding dangerously close to my crotch.

Above us, the sun dips lower, casting the perfect backdrop of romance when my cell phone buzzes. I check the screen; it’s a text message from Blake.

Shit.

"I need to leave. Blake’s pigs are having babies."

"As in little pink piglets? And did you say pigs, as in multiple?"

"Yes, he needs help. I have to go."

"I'm coming with you."

"I promise the piglets won't be pink," I tell her.

"I really want to come with you. But your truck is getting fixed, isn’t it?"

Reluctantly, I guide her down the ladder and turn her toward the fourth stall.

"We're going to ride the horses."

"Shadow?"

"No," I chuckle. "You take Summer, and I'll take Dash. Summer leads well, and Dash will follow. You know how to saddle up?"

She nods, bouncing on her toes, eager and excited as if this were Christmas morning. Ten minutes later, we’re on our way, our horses slow-galloping toward the Fields’ farm.

The barn air is thick with hay, sweat, and the pungent scent of swine, the sharp tang of manure mingling with the earthy musk of straw. It’s nothing like the sanitized steel-and-concrete world I left behind in New York. This is raw, visceral,alive. The chorus of grunts and high-pitched squeals from piglets fills the warm air, a chaotic symphony of new life.

Eric warned me about the messiness of birthing, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of tiny, pink piglets wriggling against their mothers, their delicate bodies still damp from birth. It’s beautiful and messy and completely captivating.

Derek and Blake move through the chaos with a seamless rhythm, their hands deft and sure as they tend to the two sows. Derek’s voice carries over the barn noise, barking orders with the confidence of a man who’s done this a thousand times. Blake, quieter but no less skilled, works beside him, gently handling each piglet with practiced care. Eric fills in the side stall with fresh sawdust bedding.

Off to the side, Misty and Eric’s sister, Annabelle—fresh from San Francisco—meticulously tally birth weights, their pens scratching against clipboards. Meanwhile, I remain utterly useless, standing like an observer at the edge of some secret, primal ritual.

In five hours, I absorb more gossip than I have in a year back home. I learn that Misty is dating Blake and that she’s lived in Lord’s Valley her entire life. She’s an orphan, though no one seems to know the full story—she doesn’t talk much about her childhood, and when she does, it’s in vague, clipped sentences that trail off. I also learn that Annabelle has a not-so-subtle crush on Blake’s father, Derek. And, because I like to contribute to the chaos in my own way, I introduce the farmhands to a bit of city convenience: pizza delivery.

The idea is met with skepticism.

"I can’t believe you actually ordered pizza," Eric says, shaking his head with a grin. “Pretty sure that’s a first for Lords Valley.”

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