Chapter 10
Emmy
The barn doesn't look like the same place.
Garlands twine along the beams, white lights shimmer in loops across the rafters, and Matty's crew built a makeshift stage near the back wall where the Hope Peak Community Choir arranges their sheet music.
Tables groan under the weight of roast pork, apple pies, and steaming cider.
Children dart between the decorated stalls, laughing as volunteers hand out sugar cookies shaped like stars and candy canes.
I stand by the loft railing, watching the whole town of Hope Peak fill Dry Creek Ranch with sound and light, and for the first time in months, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong.
This place isn't just his anymore. It's become something bigger. Something that belongs to all of us.
Below, Wyatt moves through the crowd with surprising ease, shaking hands and accepting compliments on the renovation.
He's wearing a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark jeans, and boots polished to a shine.
His hair is still damp from a shower, and when his eyes find me across the crowd, my stomach does that familiar flip.
But it's more than attraction now. It's recognition. Like my heart calling to its match.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mayor Patterson announces from the small stage, his voice carrying over the conversations. "Before our carolers begin, I'd like to ask Wyatt Callahan to say a few words."
Wyatt's shoulders tense, and I see him glance toward the exit like he's considering bolting. But then his gaze finds mine again, and something in his expression settles. He walks to the stage with that confident stride I've come to love, accepting the microphone with a nod.
"I'll keep this short," he begins, his deep voice carrying easily through the barn. "Five years ago, I thought Dry Creek Ranch was just land. Fences and cattle and buildings that needed constant repair."
Laughter ripples through the crowd, warm and knowing.
"But I was wrong," he continues, and now his eyes are locked on mine. "A ranch isn't just land. It's a community. It's the people who show up when you need them most, who see potential where you only see problems. It's family, whether you're born into it or choose it."
My throat tightens with emotion as murmurs of agreement echo around the barn.
"Tonight, we're opening our doors not just for Christmas, but for all the Christmases to come. Because Dry Creek isn't mine alone anymore. It belongs to all of us."
The applause that follows is thunderous, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. He's talking about more than just tonight, more than just the community. He's talking about us, about the life we could build together.
When he steps down from the stage, people surge forward to congratulate him. But his eyes never leave mine as he works his way through the crowd, accepting handshakes and back slaps with grace I didn't know he possessed.
"Dr. Sinclair!" Mrs. Parker appears at my elbow, beaming. "What a transformation. You must be so proud of what you've accomplished here."
"Wyatt did all the work," I say, though I can't take my eyes off him.
"Oh, I don't think so," she replies with a knowing smile. "A man doesn't change this much without the right woman's influence. He looks at you like you hung the moon, dear."
Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can respond, the choir strikes the opening notes of "Silent Night." The barn fills with voices, beautiful and harmonious, and I slip away from the crowd, climbing to the loft where the lights glow softer and the music drifts up like a prayer.
I don't wait long. Wyatt's boots creak on the ladder rungs, and then he's there, silhouetted against the warm glow below, eyes finding mine in the gentle darkness.
"You disappeared," he says, crossing the loft to where I stand by the window.
"I knew you'd follow."
He stops just close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell his cologne mixed with sawdust and winter air. Below us, voices rise and fall in perfect harmony, but up here it's just us and the soft twinkle of Christmas lights.
"You meant what you said down there," I say. It's not a question.
"Every word." He reaches up to touch my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. "I used to think letting people in was a weakness. That caring too much would destroy everything I'd built."
"What changed your mind?"
"You." The simple word carries so much weight. "You walked into my world and made me remember what it felt like to hope for something more than just surviving."
My breath catches. "Wyatt..."
"I love you, Emmy." The words fall between us like a gift, precious and perfect. "I love your stubborn streak and your gentle hands and the way you make everything better just by being there. I love that you saw potential in this old barn, in this broken-down ranch. In me."
Tears blur my vision as I reach for him, my hands fisting in his shirt. "I love you too. I have since that first day in the clinic, when you looked at me like I was the answer to a question you'd been afraid to ask."
He kisses me then, soft and reverent, like I'm something precious he's afraid of breaking. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the golden glow of Christmas lights.
"Stay with me," he whispers. "Not just tonight. Forever. Move in, make this place yours as much as mine. Build something real with me."
"The clinic in town..."
"Keep it. Run both. Hell, expand into the next county if you want. Just say you'll stay."
I look into his eyes, seeing my future reflected there.
Mornings in this barn treating animals together.
Evenings on the porch watching the sunset.
Christmases are filled with community and laughter and love.
Children running through these fields someday, building snowmen and learning to ride horses.
"Yes," I whisper, and the word feels like coming home. "Yes to all of it."
He spins me around, both of us laughing, and when he sets me down, I'm dizzy with happiness and possibility. Outside, snow begins to fall, dusting the window with white crystals that catch the light like stars.
"There's something else," he says, suddenly nervous. "My family's coming tomorrow. Aunt May and Remy and probably half of Texas. They've been trying to drag me back into the fold for years, and now..."
"Now you're ready?"
"With you, yeah. I think I am."
The vulnerability in his admission makes my heart ache in the best way. "I'd love to meet them."
"They'll adore you. Aunt May's going to try to feed you until you burst, and Remy will probably tell you embarrassing stories about when I was twelve."
"I can't wait."
Below us, the choir finishes "Silent Night" and transitions into "Joy to the World," voices soaring with celebration. The barn is packed now, families clustered around tables, children playing games, teenagers stealing kisses under the mistletoe Matty's wife hung by the door.
"Look at that," I murmur, watching an elderly couple dance slowly near the stage. "We did this. We brought the community together."
"You did this," he corrects. "I just provided the space."
"We make a good team."
"The best." He pulls me closer, and we stand there watching our neighbors celebrate in the space we've created together. "Next year, we'll have the whole winter ready. Maybe add sleigh rides every weekend in December."
"Hot chocolate station in the loft," I add, getting into the spirit of planning. "And maybe a petting zoo for the kids."
"Christmas tree lot in the north pasture."
"You're getting carried away," I laugh, but I love seeing this side of him, full of dreams and possibilities.
"Maybe. But for the first time in years, the future feels like something to look forward to instead of something to survive."
The clock on the barn wall chimes eleven thirty, and slowly the crowd begins to thin. Families with young children head home first, followed by the elderly folks who have early church services tomorrow. By midnight, only a few stragglers remain, helping clean up and pack leftover food.
Carly finds us in the loft as we're taking down some of the lights.
"This was incredible," she says, beaming. "The whole town's talking about it. You two have started something special here."
"It was a team effort," I say, but Wyatt shakes his head.
"Emmy organized everything. I just tried not to get in the way."
Carly looks between us, taking in our linked hands and the obvious happiness radiating from both of us. "Well, whatever magic happened here tonight, bottle it. The town council's already asking about making this an annual tradition."
After she leaves, Wyatt and I finish packing up in comfortable silence.
The barn feels different now, not just because of the decorations, but because it's been christened with community and joy.
It's no longer just a building where we store hay and treat animals. It's the heart of something bigger.
"Come on," Wyatt says when we're done, taking my hand. "Let's go home."
Home. The word settles into my chest like a warm glow.
We walk through the snow to the main house, Christmas lights twinkling on the porch and smoke curling from the chimney. Inside, a fire crackles in the living room, and the Christmas tree Matty's wife decorated glows softly in the corner.
"Coffee?" Wyatt asks, but I shake my head.
Instead, I pull him down onto the couch, curling against his side as we watch the fire dance. Outside, snow continues to fall, blanketing the ranch in pristine white that makes everything look clean and new.
"I can't believe this is real," I murmur against his chest.
"It's real." His arms tighten around me. "We're real."
"What time is your family arriving tomorrow?"
"Probably around noon, knowing Aunt May. She'll have packed enough food for an army and presents for people she's never met."
"Should I be nervous?"
"Terrified," he says solemnly, then grins when I poke his ribs. "They're going to love you. How could they not?"
We sit in comfortable silence, listening to the fire crackle and the wind whistle around the house. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new adventures, new joy. But tonight, it's just us and the promise of all the Christmases to come.
"Merry Christmas, Wyatt," I whisper as the grandfather clock in the hall chimes midnight.
"Merry Christmas, Emmy." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "The first of many."
Outside, the snow keeps falling, covering the world in white possibility. And inside, wrapped in Wyatt's arms beside the Christmas tree, I finally understand what home feels like.
It feels like forever, and it feels like just the beginning.