Page 8 of Dirty Cowboy

“I won’t.” Another lie. “I want to help. I promise.”

Because here’s the thing: Emma is my best shot at saving my family’s ranch. And the Silvers? They don’t need to know what they don’t need to know.

Tristan clears his throat. “The problem is, Emma won’t leave. Not unless she has a damn good reason.”

“She won’t go willingly,” Julian adds. “She’s glued to Dad’s side.”

A slow smirk tugs at my lips. “Then sweeten the deal.”

Tristan’s brow furrows. “And tell her what?”

“You’re the investigators. Make something up.”

Julian folds his arms. “It needs to be believable.”

Tristan hesitates, then his gaze sharpens. “Weren’t you and Annabelle kidnapped when you were kids?”

A muscle in my jaw jumps, and the air in the room shifts.

“I’d rather forget that,” I mutter.

But I can’t. Not really. The memories are always there, lurking beneath the surface. The muffled screams. The cold cellar. The night that changed everything. My sister was eleven. I was fifteen. And we barely made it out alive.

Julian watches me closely. “Emma won’t fall for a lie.”

I force my face into something neutral. “Good thing it’s not a lie.”

Silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words.

“Fine,” Tristan finally says. “If it gets her out of here, we’ll tell her John Huntz was spotted in town.”

My jaw tightens; I don’t love the idea of lying to her. I exhale. “Fine, then let’s hope she takes the bait.”

Tristan doesn’t look convinced. "What about Caroline? Her parents mentioned a family crisis," he says, his voice edged with something that makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. "You should talk to her."

What the hell does she have to do with anything? My jaw locks. The mention of her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Tristan knows I can’t stand the woman.

"Let’s just stick to Huntz," I say firmly. Better the devil you know than the one that can plunge a knife in your back.

I don’t like the idea of lying to Emma, but I need her help. And, if I’m being honest, she could probably use the distraction. A few years ago, she was just my best friend’s little sister, but that changed in Costa Rica at her best friend’s wedding. The moment I saw her walk into that reception, wearing a dress that should’ve been illegal, everything shifted. She wasn’t just Emma anymore. She was a walking temptation, burned into every late-night thought, and every frustrated moment alone in the shower.

It’s not just her beauty. It’s the way she moves. The way she lights up a room without even trying. But wanting her? That’s dangerous. That’s a fast track to ruining everything: my dignity, my friendship with her brothers, and the fragile balance we’ve managed to maintain over the years.

She may have been a kid once, but at twenty-five, Emma Silver is a goddess men would go to war over. And I sure as hell don’t share that revelation with her brothers.

We finalize the plan, but before we wrap up, we slip into old habits, reminiscing about the past. Our parents were friends once. Mine moved out to the country while the Silvers stayed in the city. It worked out, until I fucked up.

I fill them in on Annabelle’s latest accomplishments, how she’s making a name for herself in San Francisco, and casually mention my neighbor Blake’s recent two-hundred-pig investment. The conversation drifts, but my mind keeps circling back to Emma.

"Is Shadow still giving you trouble?" Julian asks, breaking my thoughts.

I smirk. "From what I hear, not as much as Emma’s giving you. Your mother told mine about the fire she started in the kitchen."

Tristan groans. "She should stick to ordering in, not cooking."

The humor fades fast, though, and the conversation takes a turn I’ve been dreading.

"What happens when Emma finds out she missed those last moments with your dad?" I ask, voice low.

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