Chapter 6
Emmy
Three days. It's been three days since the storage room, and I still can't get the taste of Wyatt Callahan out of my mouth.
By the time I lock up the clinic for lunch, Hope Peak's town square buzzes with holiday energy.
Children build snowmen while their parents string lights between the lampposts, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifts from the vendor cart by Perfect Brews.
Christmas carols play from speakers mounted on the gazebo, and volunteers hang wreaths on every storefront.
Normally, this would fill me with pure joy. Today, my stomach churns with anxiety.
Levi Voss called an hour ago, his voice clipped with official business: "Council voted. Dry Creek barn needs to be ready for the Christmas Eve sleigh rides, or we're pulling the grazing permits. Make sure Callahan understands."
I haven't told Wyatt yet. The man barely tolerates being asked about the weather, let alone being given ultimatums by the town council. But losing those permits would cost him thousands in feed bills, and I know the ranch is already struggling.
Plus, if I'm being honest, part of me wants an excuse to see him again. Even though I shouldn't. Even though every encounter leaves me more confused and aching than the last.
I grab two peppermint lattes from Carly, ignoring her knowing smirk as she hands them over.
"One's for the grumpy cowboy, isn't it?" she asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"It's a peace offering," I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks.
"Sure it is. And I'm Mrs. Claus."
The drive to Dry Creek takes longer than usual, the road slick with fresh snow and my nerves making me drive like a grandmother.
The ranch spreads out below me as I crest the ridge, looking like a Christmas card with snow-covered fields and red barns dotting the landscape.
Smoke curls from the main house chimney, and I can see Matty's crew working on the barn, their trucks scattered across the yard.
My heart pounds harder with each mile.
I find Wyatt in the barn loft, discussing beam placement with Avery.
He's wearing dark jeans that hug his long legs and a green flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and when he looks up at my approach, those storm-gray eyes hit me like a physical blow.
Heat floods my body, memory rushing back unbidden. His hands sliding under my sweater. The desperate way he kissed me. How he groaned my name against my lips.
"Emmy." My name on his lips sounds different now, rougher, like he's remembering too.
"I brought coffee." I hold up the cups, proud that my voice stays steady despite the way my pulse races. "Thought you could use the caffeine."
He studies me for a long moment, and I wonder if he can see the flush creeping up my neck, if he notices how my hands tremble slightly. Finally, he reaches for one of the cups, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange.
The brief contact sends sparks shooting up my arm, and from the way his jaw tightens, I know he feels it too.
"Thanks," he says, his voice carefully controlled.
Avery glances between us, eyebrows raised with curiosity, then makes a show of checking her watch. "I should grab lunch. Back in an hour?"
She disappears down the ladder, leaving us alone in the half-finished loft. The sudden silence feels charged, intimate, and I realize this is the first time we've been truly alone since the storage room.
Wyatt sips his latte, watching me over the rim. "You look nervous."
"I'm not nervous." The lie comes out too quickly.
"No?" He steps closer, close enough that I catch his scent, leather and woodsmoke and something purely him. "Then why are your hands shaking?"
I look down, surprised to find he's right. I clutch the coffee cup tighter, trying to still the tremor. "We need to talk. About the barn."
"The barn." His tone suggests he'd rather discuss anything else.
I pull out my phone, showing him Levi's message. As he reads, I watch his expression harden, jaw setting in that stubborn line I'm learning to recognize.
"They think they can blackmail me?" His voice drops to that dangerous low register that makes my stomach flip.
"It's not blackmail. It's community involvement." I step closer despite every warning in my head. "The Christmas Eve sleigh rides are a tradition. Families bring their kids, the church choir sings carols. It's magical."
He looks at me like I've suggested he sprout wings and fly. "I don't do magic."
"Maybe you should try."
The challenge hangs between us, and for a moment, something shifts in his expression. His eyes soften, and I catch a glimpse of the man beneath all that armor.
"If they pull the permits..." I continue, gentling my voice.
"I know what it'll cost." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "Fine. They can have their sleigh rides. But I'm not turning this place into some winter wonderland."
Relief floods through me. "No one's asking for that. Just a safe space for families to make memories."
He nods curtly, but I can see the concession costs him. Wyatt Callahan doesn't like being told what to do, and admitting the council has leverage over him clearly grates.
I glance around the loft, taking in the exposed beams and stacks of drywall. Weak winter sunlight filters through the gaps in the siding, casting everything in golden shadows. "This space has potential."
"For what?"
"A lot of things. Office space, treatment area for larger animals." I move toward the window, imagining the view once it's properly framed. "I could set up a satellite clinic here. Treat foals and calves without having to transport them to town."
When I turn back, he's closer than before, having moved while I was distracted. Close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes, count the days of stubble shadowing his jaw.
"You'd want that?" he asks, voice rough. "To work here?"
"The animals would benefit. And..." I trail off, unsure how to finish. How do I tell him that the idea of spending more time at Dry Creek, more time near him, makes my heart race with equal parts terror and anticipation?
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys that catch the light. "Then do it."
I stare at the keys, then at his face. "Wyatt, I can't just take over your barn."
"You're not taking it. I'm giving it." He holds the keys out, waiting. "Make it what you need."
My throat tightens with emotion I wasn't expecting. This is more than just barn space. It's trust. It's him letting me into his world, onto his land, into his life in a way that clearly doesn't come easy.
I reach for the keys, and again our fingers brush. This time, neither of us pulls away. The contact burns through me, and I see my own want reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, his free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with devastating gentleness. My breath hitches, and I find myself leaning into the touch.
"Emmy." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips.
I know I should step back. We're in his barn in broad daylight with Matty's crew hammering away below us. Anyone could climb that ladder and find us. But I can't make myself move, trapped by the intensity in his gaze.
He leans closer, and I think he's going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me, despite every rational thought screaming that this is complicated enough already.
But footsteps pound up the ladder, heavy and urgent. We spring apart just as Matty's head appears, his face flushed with exertion.
"Boss, we got a problem with the foundation on the south wall," he says, apparently oblivious to the charged atmosphere he's interrupted. "Gonna need you to take a look."
Wyatt steps back, running a hand over his face. "Be right there."
Matty disappears again, and silence stretches between us. I pocket the keys with trembling fingers, hyper-aware of how my entire body still hums from his touch.
"I should get back to town," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake.
He nods, but doesn't move away. "The sleigh rides. When do they start?"
"Christmas Eve. Seven o'clock. The whole town comes out for it."
"And you'll be there?"
The question catches me off guard. "Of course. I help organize the hay rides every year."
Something flickers across his face, too quick to read. "Right. Course you do."
I want to ask what he's thinking, whether he might consider coming, but more footsteps on the ladder announce Matty's return. The moment dissolves, leaving only the awkward reality of two people who can't seem to stay away from each other despite all the reasons they should.
I head for the ladder, acutely aware of Wyatt's eyes on me as I climb down. The keys feel heavy in my pocket, weighted with possibility and promise and the dangerous hope that maybe this thing between us could become something real.
The drive back to town passes in a blur of snow-covered fields and Christmas decorations. By the time I reach the clinic, my mind is spinning with plans for the barn space and memories of Wyatt's touch on my cheek.
Inside, patients wait with their owners, and I throw myself into work to distract myself from the ache of wanting something I'm not sure I can have.
But every time I close my eyes, I see his face in that moment before Matty interrupted.
The way he looked at me like I was something precious, something worth protecting.
And for the first time since arriving in Hope Peak, I let myself imagine what it might be like to build a life here. Not just a practice, but a real life. With someone who makes my heart race and my knees weak and who just gave me the keys to his barn like he was giving me the keys to his heart.
The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
Christmas Eve is two weeks away. Two weeks to figure out if what's building between us is real, or just the product of too much holiday magic and not enough common sense.
Either way, I have a feeling those two weeks are going to change everything.