Chapter 43
EMMA
The drive home from the Rusty Spur is quiet, just the hum of my truck's engine and the occasional crackle of gravel under my tires. The whiskey sits warm in my belly, making everything feel softer around the edges—the darkness, the empty road, the uncertainty gnawing at me.
I had a good night. A really good night, except for the one moment when I found out that there was an inquest into Dad’s accident. But that’s already reconciled in my mind. I’ll just call Sheriff Garrett in the morning and ask him.
Harper and Lily were exactly what I needed—easy conversation, genuine laughter, the kind of female friendship I've been missing since I broke up with my ex and all our friends turned out to be only his. Tonight felt normal, like I was just Emma Hayes again.
But now, driving home alone in the dark, the uncertainty creeps back in—and a reluctance to be alone, even knowing Eli Turner can’t bother me.
Only Jake hasn’t invited me over tonight.
Sure, he texted earlier, but feeling protective is duty, not love, and he didn’t ask me to come to Blackthorn. He didn’t say he wants to see me.
And I hate that I'm annoyed about it.
I hate that I'm second-guessing whether I should go home to the Circle H and collapse into my own bed or drive the extra twenty minutes to Blackthorn and crawl into his.
I grip the steering wheel as I turn onto the drive up to my ranch. I shouldn't have to guess. I shouldn't have to wonder if he wants me there.
But Jake doesn't operate like normal men. He doesn't ask. He decides. He claims.
I have to be honest—I love that. Something is yummy about a man who takes charge.
But tonight? Tonight I'm tired and skittish and horny, not to mention irritated. Does he just expect me to show up without actually saying the words?
The headlights cut through the trees, and I catch a reflection off the windows. The house sits dark and silent against the Montana sky, with no lights on and no sign of life.
Jake's truck isn't in the driveway.
I don't know why that bothers me. He's probably at Blackthorn with Mason and Luke. They’re probably all sitting around, having beers, and playing with themselves.
If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d linger at that image a little.
Hell—maybe I’ll linger on it later when I’m in bed. Alone.
I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, staring at the dark house. I could text him. Ask if he wants me to come over.
But that feels needy. Desperate.
I'm not desperate.
I'm just… uncertain.
I grab my purse and climb out of the truck, the cool night air hitting my flushed cheeks. I walk up to the front door, trying to find my keys. Why is it so dark? I frown at the porch light as I unlock the door. It should be on.
Inside, the house is dark and quiet. I flip on the living room lights, toss my purse on the couch, and pull off my boots. Then I pad barefoot into the kitchen. I’m going to have one more sip of whiskey before going to bed.
My dad always kept his favorite whiskey and a glass on a tray on the counter. I used to tease him about only having one glass—antisocial much? But he’d grunt and say, “Whiskey’s better alone. Doesn’t ask questions and never lies to you.”
I pour a splash into the glass and raise it to my lips. “I have to disagree,” I mutter, looking into the amber liquid. This would be a hundred times better with Jake—especially licking it off his abs.
And now I’m horny all over again. I huff a breath and toss back the rest, wincing at the bite as it goes down. Returning the glass to its spot, I head to my room.