Page 69 of Dirty Cowboy

“We’ll go after Harvest Fest,” I say, the decision cementing itself before I can second-guess it.

Grandpa nods approvingly. “Good. That girl deserves to have you by her side.”

I wish it were that simple.

“Need a ride home?” he asks.

“No, I need to check in with Blake. When are you leaving for Aruba?”

“After Harvest Fest. But before that, we’re going fishing, like old times.”

I grin. “Deal.”

As he climbs into Suzy and rattles off, I breathe easier. But when I turn back toward town, my stomach knots again. Caroline is back. And Tristan fuckingSilversent her.

I need to get ahead of this.

After checking in on Blake’s pigs, I pedal home, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the road. By the time I walk through the front door, the house smells like cinnamon and apples.

For a moment, I think my mother stopped by. But then I see a dish of apple crumble on the counter, next to a folded note.

Eric,

I went to check on the horses and for a walk by the river. Enjoy the crumble. The recipe combines a little bit of your family and mine, but that’s the limit of my cooking abilities.

Love, Emma.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. I lower my face to the crumble, inhaling the rich scent of caramelized apples, buttery oats, and cinnamon.

Damn, she’strying.

I scramble for Annabelle’s cookbook, flipping pages until I find a vegetarian recipe I can work with. Soon, the pot is on the stove; the scent of simmering vegetables completes the dish. I check my watch and head upstairs for a a quick shower. When I’m done, Emma still hasn’t returned. My unease shifts to something sharper, the minutes dragging out into something uncomfortable.

Fifteen minutes pass.

Then thirty.

My stomach twists.Where is she?

My phone vibrates on the counter, Tristan’s name flashing across the screen. I swipe to answer, bracing myself.

“Hello?”

“Eric, how are you doing?”

Tristan’s voice on the other end sends a chill down my spine.

“Hey, Tristan. Good, good. What’s going on? Are you looking for Emma? She’s at my parents’,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“I was hoping to speak with you privately,” he replies, his tone edged with something heavy.

My stomach knots.Shit.“Is your dad all right?”

“He’s taken a turn for the worse. He’s fighting an infection and the doctors aren’t optimistic.”

I grip the counter, jaw tightening. “Want me to bring Emma back to New York?”

“Not yet.” His voice is heavy, carrying the kind of weight that settles deep in my chest.

---