Chapter 2
Emmy
The clinic buzzes with pre-holiday chaos from the moment I unlock the door.
Jingle bells chime from the radio, phones ring constantly, and I've got one arm wrapped around a wriggling border collie while trying to write dosage instructions for Mrs. Hampton's diabetic cat.
Red and green tinsel drapes the reception desk, and the miniature Christmas village I set up last week twinkles cheerfully despite the mayhem.
"Hold still, Romeo," I murmur to the collie, who responds by licking my chin enthusiastically.
The memory of yesterday hits me without warning. Wyatt's calloused fingers brushing mine when I handed him the lead rope. The way his dark eyes tracked my every movement. How his presence filled the entire clinic, making the air feel charged and dangerous.
I shake my head, focusing on Romeo's vaccination record. I do not have time to think about brooding ranchers with shoulders built for sin.
The bell above the door jingles, and Carly bursts in carrying two cardboard trays of steaming cups. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and snowflakes dust her dark hair.
"Emergency caffeine delivery," she announces, kicking the door shut with her boot. "You look like you haven't slept."
Because I haven't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Wyatt's hands. Those strong, capable hands that probably knew exactly how to touch a woman. The thought sends heat spiraling through my stomach.
"You're a lifesaver." I release Romeo into the exam room and grab a peppermint mocha from her tray. The sweet warmth floods my tongue, but it doesn't chase away the restless energy that's been plaguing me since yesterday.
"So." Carly leans against the counter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I heard through the grapevine that Wyatt Callahan graced you with his presence yesterday."
My pulse quickens at his name. "He brought in an injured foal. Just a routine call."
"Routine?" She laughs. "Honey, that man hasn't set foot in town since Halloween. Mrs. Peterson nearly fainted when she saw his truck at the feed store last month. So spill. What's he like?"
Images flash through my mind. The way his jeans hugged his lean hips. How his voice dropped to that gravelly whisper when he was close. The barely contained power in his movements, like a predator pretending to be tame.
"Difficult," I say, hoping she doesn't notice the breathiness in my voice. "Stubborn. The strong, silent type who probably thinks emotions are a sign of weakness."
"Mmm." Carly's grin widens. "Sounds like exactly the kind of man you need to unwrap this Christmas."
"Carly!" Heat floods my cheeks. "I am not unwrapping anyone. Especially not someone like him."
"Someone like what? Gorgeous? Built like a lumberjack? Rich enough to own half the county?"
"Someone who looks at me like I'm an inconvenience." The lie tastes bitter. Wyatt hadn't looked at me like I was inconvenient. He'd looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole, and God help me, some traitorous part of my body had wanted to let him.
My phone buzzes against the counter. Matty's name flashes on the screen, and my heart does something stupid in my chest.
Matty
Need your professional opinion on the Dry Creek barn situation. Tomorrow morning work for you?
I stare at the message, my pulse hammering. Why would Matty need a veterinary opinion on barn construction? Unless Wyatt specifically asked for me. The thought makes my stomach flip with equal parts dread and anticipation.
"Work text?" Carly peers over my shoulder before I can hide the screen.
"Matty wants me to look at something tomorrow."
"Matty works for Wyatt." Her eyebrows shoot up. "Interesting."
"It's just work." I type back trying to sound professional.
Emmy
What time?
Matty
Wyatt will be there. Of course he will. My fingers tremble slightly as I respond with:
Emmy
I'll be there.
"Just work, huh?" Carly's voice drips with amusement. "Then why do you look like you're about to hyperventilate?"
Because the thought of seeing Wyatt again makes my entire body hum with nervous energy. Because I spent half the night wondering what his hands would feel like on my skin. Because, despite every rational thought in my head, I want to see him again with an intensity that scares me.
My mother's voice echoes in my memory, sharp with old pain: Men like your father don't change, Emmy. They take what they want and leave destruction in their wake. Promise me you'll be smarter than I was.
I'd made that promise fifteen years ago, standing in our empty house while Mom packed the last of our belongings.
Dad had left for his secretary, taking our security and her self-worth with him.
The lesson stuck: powerful men were dangerous.
They charmed you, claimed you, then discarded you when something shinier came along.
But Wyatt isn't charming. There's nothing polished or smooth about him. He's all rough edges and barely leashed intensity, and that somehow makes him more dangerous, not less.
"Earth to Emmy." Carly waves a hand in front of my face. "You're doing that thing where you disappear into your head."
"Sorry." I take another sip of mocha, letting the sweetness ground me. "Just thinking about tomorrow's schedule."
"Right. Because thinking about work makes you blush like a virgin on prom night."
The afternoon flies by in a blur of holiday-stressed pet owners and last-minute emergencies.
Mrs. Parker brings in her ancient Persian cat for his pre-Christmas checkup, complete with a tiny Santa hat that he tolerates with feline dignity.
The Morrison twins drag their parents in because their hamster seems ‘sad about Christmas,’ which turns out to be perfectly normal hamster behavior.
By six o'clock, I'm finally alone in the clinic. Snow falls steadily outside, coating Main Street in pristine white. The Christmas lights strung between the lampposts cast rainbow reflections on the wet pavement, and carols drift from the speakers of Peterson's General Store across the street.
I should go home. Heat up some leftover soup, grade the anatomy papers I've been putting off for the local 4H kids, maybe watch a cheesy holiday movie. Instead, I find myself standing at the front window, staring toward the road that leads to Dry Creek Ranch.
What am I doing? Wyatt Callahan is exactly the kind of man my mother warned me about. Powerful, remote, used to getting his way. The smart thing would be to call Matty tomorrow and claim an emergency. Send him to Dr. Harrison in Billings instead.
But I can't stop thinking about the gentleness in Wyatt's voice when he spoke to his injured foal.
The way his jaw tightened when I told him he should have brought her in sooner, like he genuinely cared about my opinion.
There had been something vulnerable in his eyes, quickly hidden but definitely there.
Maybe I'm imagining things. Maybe I'm projecting my own loneliness onto a man who's made it clear he prefers solitude. The holidays have a way of making people see connections that don't exist.
My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. Mom's face appears on the screen, all warm smiles and concerned eyes from her video call in Phoenix.
"Hi, sweetheart. How was your day?"
"Busy." I settle into my desk chair, grateful for the distraction. "How's the retirement community treating you?"
"Like a queen. We had a cookie decorating contest today, and I may have gotten a little competitive." She holds up a plate of elaborately frosted sugar cookies shaped like reindeer. "I won second place."
"Only second? You're slipping."
She laughs, then her expression grows serious. "You look tired, Emmy. Are you taking care of yourself?"
"I'm fine, Mom. Just the usual holiday rush."
"And no handsome cowboys trying to sweep you off your feet?"
The question hits closer to home than she could possibly know. "You know me better than that."
"I do. That's why I worry." Her voice softens. "I know I taught you to be careful, but honey, not every man is your father. Some of them are worth the risk."
"Since when do you advocate for risk-taking?"
"Since I realized I might have overcorrected after the divorce. You deserve love, Emmy. Real, honest love. Don't let my mistakes keep you from finding it."
After we hang up, I sit in the darkened clinic listening to the snow tap against the windows.
Love. Such a simple word for something that's caused so much pain in my family.
My grandmother lost herself in a man who drank away their farm.
My mother fell for a charmer who abandoned us when things got tough.
And me? I've spent the last five years building walls so high that no one could possibly scale them.
Until yesterday, when a gruff rancher with storm-gray eyes walked into my clinic and made those walls feel suddenly fragile.
I lock up the clinic and drive home through the snowy streets, Christmas lights blurring past my windows.
My little rental house sits at the end of Birch Lane, modest but cozy with its own string of colored lights wrapped around the porch railings.
Inside, my tabby cat Sebastian greets me with his usual demands for dinner and attention.
"What do you think, Seb?" I ask as he winds around my legs. "Should I go to the ranch tomorrow?"
He meows once and stalks toward his food bowl, clearly more interested in dinner than my romantic dilemmas.
I heat up leftover chili and try to grade papers, but my attention keeps drifting to tomorrow morning. What will I wear? Something professional but approachable? What if he thinks I'm overdressed? Underdressed? What if he doesn't even remember asking Matty to call me?
By the time I crawl into bed, snow is falling harder, coating my bedroom window in intricate patterns. I close my eyes and try not to think about Wyatt's hands, or the way his voice dropped when he said my name, or the possibility that tomorrow might change everything.
But sleep doesn't come easily, and when it finally does, my dreams are full of storm-gray eyes and the promise of something that feels dangerously like hope.