Chapter 10 Eric
I lean back against the bakery’s yellow brick facade, arms crossed, scanning the quiet street. Late mornings in Lords Valley carry that teasing hint of autumn’s balmy air with a whisper of winter’s chill, but by noon, the sun reigns supreme in the sky, leaving a trail of sweat trickling down my spine. I peel off my sweater, rolling my shoulders as the heat settles in.
A deep, familiar rumble moves through town, a sound etched in my memory. My heart stutters. Around the corner, Grandpa Albert rolls up in an old turquoise truck, its sputtering engine chugging along like a relic refusing to be forgotten. A plume of dust rises in his wake, settling like an earthy halo around him as he parks outside the bakery.
I shake my head and walk over. "Where did you dig this thing up?"
Grandpa grins, patting the truck’s rusted hood with affection. "You don’t recognize her?"
I do, now that I’m up close. "Is that?—?"
"Suzy," he confirms with pride. "Been gathering dust in the Fields' garage. Derek finally got her running again. Your grandmother and I used to drive Suzy all over town."
A warmth spreads through me at the thought of Grandma Estonia riding shotgun, probably ordering Grandpa around.
"I remember the truck," I say, "but I didn’t know you named her."
"Not me. Your grandmother did."
"And you just went with it?"
His brow arches, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Happy wife, happy life, son. When you love someone, and something as simple as naming a car brings them joy, why not?"
Considering my lack of experience with relationships, I’m guessing he’s right.
He switches off the engine and steps out, his frame still sturdy despite the years. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing a little tighter than usual. The extra inches he’s packed on from my mother’s cooking and his indulgence in Aruba haven’t slowed him down. His doctor would have a fit.
"It’s good to see you, Grandpa. Sorry I missed breakfast."
He waves it off. "Gave me time to chat with Emma." His smile stretches wide. "She’s a fine young lady, Eric. She’ll make a good wife."
She would if she were my real fiancee. I swallow down the guilt threatening to rise.
Pretend. Just pretend.
"I think so too."
Grandpa claps my shoulder. "Let’s grab some lunch."
Inside the bakery, the scent of fresh bread and sugar hangs in the air, wrapping around me like a memory. We find a spot by the window and take our seats. The comforting rhythm of small-town life settles my nerves—until Grandpa orders a heart attack on a plate.
"Bacon and eggs Benedict for me," he tells the waitress, grinning. "With extra sausage. And french toast on the side."
I groan. "You’re going against doctor’s orders again."
He shrugs. "I can’t indulge after I’m dead, can I?"
I shake my head, exasperated. "Don’t you want to meet your great-grandchildren?"
His eyes gleam. "Is Emma pregnant?"
I nearly choke on my coffee. " No. No, she’s not."
"Shame. You two make a handsome pair."
I run a hand down my face. "I’d like you around for a few more years, Grandpa. That’s all I’m saying."
He softens. "That girl’s got spirit, Eric. You’d do well to hold onto her." His words settle into something too real, too dangerous. "You give me those great-grandkids, and I’ll sign up for a marathon."
I snort. "Are you blackmailing me with your health?"
"No, but if you don’t marry that girl, I will ."
Marry Emma? Two days ago, I would’ve laughed. But now, the thought lingers like an itch under my skin. I keep picturing kissing her, holding her, and keeping her.
"You think her brothers will stand in the way?" Grandpa asks.
My stomach clenches. I panic, shifting my mind frame to where our ruse is real, and Emma is truly mine so I can kiss her anytime I want. And how does he know about her brothers?
Grandpa leans in, waiting for my answer.
"I love Emma, and Emma loves me. I won’t let them stand in the way."
Grandpa nods approvingly. "I assume you asked for her hand?"
"Not yet," I say, keeping my voice steady. "We’ll do that after Harvest Fest."
"Good answer." He winks.
I force a smile, but bitterness pools in my gut. None of this is real. We won’t marry. We’re not even dating. But kissing her… That was real. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
"You said you had a lawyer joining us?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.
"She should be here any minute," Grandpa says, glancing at his watch. "It’s just a formality, so we can transfer the assets before the auction next week."
She?
My blood runs cold. Right on cue, the cafe door squeaks open and my heart stops as Caroline Gnatz strolls in.
Fuck me.
Our eyes met, and she grins. She struts across the room, her heels clicking against the ceramic floor like gunfire. Her smile is painted on, polished and artificial. My stomach knots.
Grandpa smiles. "Isn’t that?—?"
"—Caroline," I mutter, my jaw clenched. "We went to school together."
"Tristan Silver recommended Ms. Gnatz," Grandpa says.
My blood turns to ice. Tristan sent her .
Not just a spy.
A warning .
Caroline stops at the table. “Good morning, Mr. Waters.” Her smile widens as her gaze locks onto me. "Hello, Eric. It’s nice to see you again."
I shake her hand out of politeness, but every muscle in my body is screaming at me to run.
What the fuck are you doing here? I demand in my head.
Her fingers squeeze just a fraction too tightly, and she answers like she understands the question in my eyes. "I’m here to deliver a list of your grandfather’s updated assets," she says smoothly. But there’s a gleam in her eye, the same manipulative glint that ruined my career.
Grandpa, oblivious to the tension simmering between us, pulls out her chair. "Why don’t you order lunch before we get down to business."
I slide the menu toward her, trying to keep my hands from fisting on the table.
Caroline flips through the pages, taking her sweet time.
Tick. Tock.
Grandpa excuses himself to the restroom, and the second he’s gone, Caroline leans in, her voice a poisoned whisper.
"You know," she purrs, "at one point, I thought it would be us living in LA. You continuing your service, me practicing law…"
My stomach churns.
"Let's get one thing straight," I say, voice low and sharp, the urge to flip the table over running strong. Instead, my finger traces agitated circles on the tabletop as I find myself wishing it could conjure a tornado to sweep this witch away. "There was never an us , Caroline. There never will be. Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now . I won’t let you ruin my life again."
She smirks. "Aren’t you forgetting? I have the pictures, Eric. "
Cold fury rushes through me.
She leans back, crossing her legs. "A little respect might be in order."
I exhale sharply, every nerve on edge.
I should have seen this coming.
Tristan didn’t just send a spy.
He sent my goddamn nightmare.
Caroline’s eyes lock onto mine, cold and unrelenting. Her voice drops to a whisper, thick with venom. “I’m doing your grandfather a favor today, so don’t fuck it up, Waters. Like I told you before, if I can’t have you, no one can. Your little engagement is just a hiccup and I know you’ll come to your senses.”
Her words wrap around my throat like a noose, the same old threat, just a different day. My fists clench under the table, nails digging into my palms as I fight back the urge to tell her exactly where she can shove her games.
“My engagement is more real than the night you drugged me and picked up a camera.”
She smirks, leaning forward. “If I recall correctly, you were a willing participant.”
I lean back, putting as much space between us as possible without causing a scene. My grandfather returns just as our food arrives, unknowingly cutting through the tension, but Caroline lingers like a bad aftertaste. Every word she utters tightens the coil in my gut, as a reminder that she’s never truly gone.
Then, she drops the bomb I didn’t see coming.
“I’m thinking of moving back to Lords Valley,” she announces, her voice light, casual. My fork clatters against my plate. “My parents need help, and there’s an opportunity for me to open my own practice.”
Grandpa beams. “A lawyer in town? That would be something new.”
I stare at her, my stomach twisting. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s not coming back for family. She’s coming back for me.
“We’ll see how things go,” she continues, checking her watch like she hasn’t just turned my world upside down. “I’m sorry to rush things, but I have an appointment by town hall in fifteen minutes.”
Then, she winks at me. A deliberate, slow wink that has my blood boiling.
I force a breath and push my plate aside, suddenly losing my appetite. “We don’t want you to be late, so let’s get this wrapped up.” I slide the manila envelope from her across the table to Grandpa.
He flips through the pages, signing where Caroline directs, while she sits there like a cat with a canary in its mouth. She acts as a witness, seals the envelope, and hands a copy to Grandpa before sliding the originals into her oversized purse.
“Thanks for your help, Caroline,” Grandpa says, shaking her hand.
“My pleasure.” She turns to me, her lips stretching into a knowing smirk. “I’ll have these delivered to the Silvers on Monday. Congratulations on your engagement, Eric.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “ What? ” The word tumbles from my mouth before I can stop it.
She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “I said, congrat–”
“–no, no… the other part. When are the papers going to the Silvers?”
“Monday. I’d drive over now, but we have Harvest Fest.”
“There’s no hurry,” Grandpa says. “Harvest is more important than some papers.”
I sink back into my chair, my jaw locking. I have until Monday before Emma’s brothers find out we’re engaged.
Caroline turns back to Grandpa and takes a sip of her coffee, glancing at her watch. “That it is. It was a pleasure seeing you both. I should get going. I hate being late.”
Then, without warning, she leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. Her breath is warm, laced with the scent of cinnamon and malice. “I’ve got fifty bucks riding on how fast this little engagement blows up," she whispers sweetly. "Don’t disappoint me, cowboy. I’ll see you at the pub Friday night.”
I jerk back.
The seconds stretch as she finally—finally—walks out the door, and I let go of a long-held breath.
“Everything okay with you and Caroline?” Grandpa asks.
“Yeah, all good.”
Grandpa pats the envelope. “Well, congratulations on the engagement, Eric.” His voice is warm, full of pride. “This time next week, you’ll be able to clear those debts and set things right.”
Guilt floods me. He doesn’t know the engagement is fake. He doesn’t know this whole thing is a ruse to keep the ranch. My chest tightens, but I shove it down, reaching for the only truth I can hold onto.
“Thank you, Grandpa.” My voice is thick. “I won’t let you down.”
His face softens. “I transferred some money to your account last night. That should get you started.”
Emotion swells in my throat. “Thank you.”
He pats the envelope again. “Now, you can buy a new car. Maybe get one for Emma as a wedding gift. She liked Suzy.” He winks.
A new car is the least of my concerns, but now, I can finally fix the breaking tractor, replace the broken fencing, expand the stables—and, most importantly, settle my debt with Huntz.
“If I’m still here a year from now,” Grandpa muses, “I can’t wait to see my great-grandchild.”
I nearly choke. “Grandpa.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “You’re not getting any younger, and Emma’s head over heels in love with you.”
That’s because Emma is an incredible liar.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Want more?”
“Sure.”
“You should go to New York with Emma after Harvest Fest.”
I frown. “What?”
“Her father’s on his deathbed. She needs you there. And you need to ask for her hand before he passes.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. Emma’s brothers wanted me to keep her away, but Grandpa’s right. She should be with her father.
“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 fucking Silver sent 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’s trying .
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.
I clench my fist. “Don’t you think she should be by her father’s side?”
“There’s no point right now. He’s in the ICU, no visitors allowed until they get the fever down. I just wanted you to know, it could be soon.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. Lying to Emma about this makes me feel like shit. She should be home with her family, not here playing pretend. But if she leaves now, there’s no engagement announcement at Harvest Fest. No deal with Grandpa. No saving the ranch.
“What if she doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“She will. I’ll make sure of that.” There’s a pause. “And Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep this conversation between us.”
Fuck.
“Got it.” Silence stretches before I exhale sharply. “Tristan?”
“What?”
“Did you send Caroline to Lords Valley on purpose?”
A smirk laces his words. “What do you think?”
I grit my teeth. “Why?”
“To keep your eye on someone other than Emma.”
His words hit like a sucker punch. My gut twists. How far is he willing to go to keep Emma away from me?
“You’re an asshole. I fucking hate Caroline.”
He laughs. “I know.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “I won’t forget this, Silver. And you know it’s not like that with Emma.”
Except maybe it is, because the more he tells me to stay away, the more I want her.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
I grind my teeth.
We hang up, and I stare at my phone. I stir the pot of chili absentmindedly, offering a silent prayer for Mr. Silver.
Minutes pass. Then more.
Emma still isn’t home.
I turn off the stove and grab my phone, dialing Annabelle. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, have you talked to Emma today?”
“No, I spent the day at Derek’s. He got a new dog. Why? Is everything okay?”
“Emma’s not home, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“The connection out here always sends me to voicemail. Want me to ask around?”
“Call Misty too. Let me know if you find her.”
We hang up, and my unease shifts into something heavier.
Where the hell are you, Emma?
I dial my parents. Straight to voicemail.
“Dammit.” I rake a hand through my hair.
Think, Waters.
Then it hits me—the stables. Maybe she took Dash for a ride and lost track of time. I grab my boots and sprint outside.
The second I step into the barn, my stomach drops. Shadow’s stall is empty.
No. No, no, no.
I let out a sharp whistle. Dash thunders across the pasture, hooves kicking up dirt. I waste no time saddling him, swinging up and digging my heels into his sides.
“Emma!” I shout, my voice slicing through the open land.
Nothing.
I push Dash faster, heart slamming against my ribs, the wind cutting against my skin as I race across the open field. The afternoon sun burns overhead, but the heat barely registers. My focus is locked on one thing—Emma.
The sky dims, streaked with gold and deep indigo. My mind spirals— What if she got lost? What if she fell? What if Huntz ? —
I grit my teeth and steer Dash north along the river, the panic clawing up my throat unbearable.
Then, just as the sun begins its descent, I see a lone figure bathed in twilight, standing by the water’s edge. Her silhouette is framed against the water’s shimmering surface. Shadow drinks beside Emma, completely at ease. Relief slams into me so hard I nearly forget to breathe. My grip tightens on the reins.
I slow Dash to a gallop, my chest heaving. She’s alive. Thank fuck , she’s alive.
But that relief is laced with pure, unfiltered frustration.
She scared the shit out of me.
"Emma!" I call out, my voice sharp, carried by the wind.
She turns and waves like nothing is wrong and like she hasn’t just scared the hell out of me. I jump off Dash before he fully halts, closing the distance between us in two strides. My hands clamp onto the reins, gripping them hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
I should be relieved. I am relieved. But all I feel is that raw, burning panic in my chest.
“What the fuck were you thinking, taking Shadow out?” I bark.