Chapter 13 Emma
EMMA
The drive home feels endless and too short all at once. I have a death-grip on the steering wheel the entire way. I keep checking the rearview mirror for Jake.
My headlights cut through the darkness as I turn onto the long dirt driveway that leads to the Circle H—my father's ranch. Well, my ranch now.
The ranch house comes into view as I roll up the drive.
It’s a dark silhouette against the Montana night sky.
No lights. No signs of life. Just the empty structure my father left behind when he died a month ago.
I've been living here alone ever since, trying to make sense of the land, the legacy, and the loneliness, feeling vulnerable and exposed.
Not tonight. Tonight, I feel like I can breathe.
I pull up to the house and kill the engine. Through the pines that circle the house, I see faint light. The bunkhouse and Jim’s cabin are farther down the drive. Not even knowing the guys are there has been comforting.
But that’s all changed tonight.
It seems like a lot of time passes before Jake pulls in behind me, but it could easily only be a few minutes. The lights from the truck illuminate the front porch before he cuts them. I frown at the fancy truck he’s driving. I wouldn’t have figured Jake to drive something that flashy.
His door opens.
I watch in the side mirror as he climbs out, his movements controlled and deliberate. He doesn't come to my car. Instead, he walks the perimeter of the driveway, his eyes scanning the property with the kind of focus that makes my stomach tighten.
He's not just looking. He's assessing.
What is there to assess? Eli’s dead.
I get out of the SUV slowly, my boots sticking a bit in the mud, and watch as Jake moves around the side of the house. He checks the back door first—testing the handle, examining the lock, his hand running along the doorframe. Then he moves to the windows, checking each one methodically.
I follow him at a distance, staying quiet, watching the way he moves. There's no wasted motion. No hesitation. His eyes sweep the tree line at the edge of the property, the barn in the distance, the long driveway that's the only way in or out.
He's treating my home like a tactical position.
It kind of turns me on because it’s territorial, like he’s staking his claim. But it’s also a little freaky, because it makes me feel like a bad guy is hiding somewhere and about to jump out.
Jake finishes his sweep at the front door, testing the lock and frowning when it turns too easily. He looks at me as I join him on the porch, his expression hard. "This lock is shit."
"It's been fine for the past month."
"It's shit," he repeats. "Anyone could kick this door in."
"No one's tried." I know better than to point out that the only person who was a threat is gone now.
"And no one will." He steps inside without asking permission, flipping on the lights and moving through the house with the same methodical precision. Living room. Kitchen. Hallway. He checks every window and door.
I stand in the doorway and watch him work, my heart pounding.
When he finally comes back to the living room, his jaw is tight.
"You've got no security system. No cameras.
Your locks are shit. You're five minutes walking from the bunkhouse and Hal’s cabin, and twenty minutes from the nearest neighbor down the road.
The Turner spread butts up against the other end of your property. "
"I know." I hug myself. I felt safer living in Chicago than I have since coming home to Iron Ridge.
"This place is a fucking liability, Emma."
"It's my home."
His eyes flash. "It's a target."
“Not anymore.” I take a breath and step inside, closing the door behind me. The house feels smaller with him in it. More charged. Like the walls can barely contain the energy radiating off him. "Why did you do it?"
He goes still. "Do what?"
"Fight Eli Turner." I meet his eyes, refusing to look away, because I want to hear it’s because of me, that I matter that much after all these years.
I’d been devastated when he disappeared after high school. I’d convinced myself that he’d led me on, that we’d been just about sex, and he’d moved on.
Of course, my dad had encouraged those thoughts. I didn’t know what he’d done until a few months after my wedding, when he’d made an offhand comment about how he should have run Mark off like he had Jake. I had to shake the truth out of him.
It’d shattered me. My dad and I always had a sandpaper relationship, but I didn’t talk to him for months after he told me what he’d done.
And then I felt guilty and awful, like I’d betrayed Jake by believing he’d abandoned me. Only it’d been too late to do anything, even if I could find him.
What a clusterfuck.
So I know it’s selfish to want him to care—maybe even mean—but I can’t help myself. I still care. Seeing him in my house after all this time makes me remember what I wanted.
Him.
I swallow the hope that’s risen up my throat. “Well? Why did you do it, Jake?”
He just stands there in the middle of my living room, his hands loose at his sides, his expression unreadable, watching me.
Then he says, "Because no one touches you."
The words are simple and still so complicated. My heart pounds in thick beats. I matter to him. Maybe I’m projecting what I want to believe, but I’m running with it until otherwise proven wrong.
He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on mine. "No one threatens you. No one puts their hands on you. No one makes you feel unsafe. Not while I'm alive. And I didn’t fight him. I eliminated the threat. On purpose."
My breath catches. "Jake—"
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," he says, cutting me off. "I'm not apologizing. I did what needed to be done, and I'd do it again. No hesitation, no second thoughts. You need to understand that. Understand the kind of man I am. If that’s not what you want, back out now."
Maybe once I process everything, I’ll come to my senses and realize how unhinged it is that I’m grateful to Jake for killing someone to protect me. But right now? I only feel relief.
I take a jagged breath, hugging myself. “Every time he showed up here and made those comments, every time he looked at me like I was something he could take, I felt weak, like there was nothing I could do to stop him. Sheriff Garrett said there wasn’t anything he could do unless something happened.
So thank you for, uh, eliminating the threat. "
He looks like he wants to say something more. Or like he wants to step up to me and take me in his arms.
I’d really like that.
I’d love to cuddle into him and have him tell me about where he’s been and who he’s become. I’d give anything to rest my head on his chest until he lifts it for a soul-destroying kiss.
"I need to go," Jake says, and it hits me like a physical blow.
"Stay," I say before I can muzzle myself, putting my hand on his arm.
He hesitates. Heat flares in his eyes, but he shakes his head. "I still have a couple of things to take care of, and I need to debrief Ace and Riot."
“Ace and Riot?”
“Mason and Luke, my teammates.”
What’s up with guys and their weird nicknames? “Do you have a nickname?”
“From the Unit?” He nods. “Warden. Because I keep what’s mine locked down.”
Intense. Also hot. “Mason and Luke are the guys you bought Blackthorn Ranch with?”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth quirks the way it does when he’s amused. “So the Iron Ridge gossip mill is still active.”
I flush, thinking about the titillated whispers I’ve heard from other women all week. Apparently, Jake’s two friends are as hot as he is. There have been more than one woman who’s said she wants to take on all three. I only want Jake.
And I don't want him to leave. I want him here, in my house, in my space. Close enough to touch. I look into his blue eyes, so familiar and so foreign, and I grip his sleeve. “We need to talk.”
His fingers graze my cheek. "Yes. But not tonight.”
I search his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation, any doubt. There is none. Only absolute certainty. I won’t be able to budge him, so I nod. "Okay."
"Okay," he echoes, and then he kisses me.
It's not gentle. It's not soft. It’s claiming and possessive and desperate, and I kiss him back with everything I have. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans against my mouth. My head starts to spin, and I never want it to stop.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine. "Get some sleep," he says roughly. "Lock your doors. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I sigh. “I wish you’d stay.”
"No." He steps back, putting distance between us. "When I take you again, Emma, I’m never letting you go. I made that mistake before, and I won’t make it again. You need to decide that’s what you want.
You need time to process what happened. I can’t change who I am, and you need to accept what that means. "
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
“Tomorrow, we’ll discuss getting you a security system.” He steps back, putting distance between us.
“I need to give you my cell number.” I look around for my purse. Did I leave it in the car?
“I have it.”
Frowning, I return my attention to him. “How did you get my number? Not that many people have it.”
"Lock the door behind me," he says as he moves toward the door.
Then he's gone.
Locking the door after him, I go to my room, close the door, and lock it too for good measure. Then I lean against it, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Jake Callahan eliminated a threat—for me.
Jake Callahan still wants me.
Damn it all, I more than want him. I close my eyes, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on mine—from a second ago and from eighteen years ago. I feel the imprint of him on my heart, emerging from where I’d tucked it away.
Do I still love him?
Did I ever stop?