10. Emma
Ten
Emma
T he first thing that enveloped me as I drifted into consciousness was an intoxicating scent – a heady blend of rich, earthy notes intertwined with the unmistakable aroma of warm, musky wood. It was a scent so utterly intoxicating, so utterly captivating, that I found myself instinctively burrowing deeper into the cocoon of soft, inviting sheets, desperate to immerse myself fully in its alluring embrace.
For a fleeting moment, everything else faded away – the worries that had plagued me, the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon my shoulders, even the persistent ache that had taken root deep within my soul. All that existed was this moment, this delicious instant of pure, unadulterated bliss.
But as the hazy tendrils of sleep slowly dissipated, reality came crashing back in a dizzying rush. With a start, I realized that the bed I was nestled in, the sheets that caressed my skin with such tantalizing softness, were not my own.
“Shit,” I breathed, the word slipping past my lips in a hushed whisper as the weight of the realization settled upon me.
Had I truly allowed myself to indulge in such a deliciously vivid fantasy, or had the unthinkable actually transpired? Had the deliciously rugged, tantalizingly off-limits Ridge – my smoldering next-door neighbor and single dad extraordinaire – truly swept me up into his arms and carried me off into the night, like some sort of modern-day prince charming?
The mere thought sent a giddy thrill coursing through my veins, igniting a blazing trail of heat that licked at my very core. Before I could stop myself, a breathless squeal of delight escaped my lips, the sound muffled by the pillow I clutched tightly against my chest.
God, what was wrong with me? I was acting like a lovestruck teenager, all flushed cheeks and breathless sighs over a man who, for all intents and purposes, should have been utterly off-limits. Ridge was a father, a man with responsibilities and burdens that I could scarcely fathom. He was the epitome of everything I should have been steering clear of, a temptation far too dangerous to even entertain.
And yet, here I was, cocooned in the very essence of him, surrounded by the intoxicating aura that seemed to cling to every fiber of his existence. It was utterly intoxicating, utterly consuming, and I found myself powerless to resist its siren call.
With a trembling hand, I reached out, my fingers skimming across the crisp cotton of the pillowcase, seeking out the lingering traces of Ridge’s scent. It was there, woven into the very fabric, a heady blend of earthy musk and something undeniably, deliciously masculine.
A shudder rippled through me, my senses utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations that seemed to assault me from every angle. It was as if every nerve ending had been set ablaze, every fiber of my being attuned to the mere essence of the man who had so effortlessly upended my world.
Forcing myself to take a deep, steadying breath, I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist as I cast a furtive glance around the unfamiliar room. It was sparsely furnished, yet carried an undeniable warmth and lived-in feel that spoke volumes about its occupant.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I drank in the details – the well-worn armchair tucked into the corner, the haphazard stack of books on the nightstand, the faded photograph perched atop the dresser, capturing a moment frozen in time.
It was a glimpse into the life of Ridge, a tantalizing peek behind the curtain that he so carefully maintained. And in that moment, I found myself utterly captivated, desperate to unravel the mysteries that seemed to swirl around him like a shroud.
My gaze swept across the room, coming to rest on a neatly folded piece of paper perched on the nightstand beside the bed. With trembling fingers, I reached out, snagging the note and unfolding it with a reverence that bordered on the sacrilegious.
Ridge’s distinctive scrawl leapt off the page, the words etched into the paper with a boldness that sent a shiver skittering down my spine.
“Gone to drop the kids,” the note read, the words seeming to resonate with a weight that belied their simplicity. “Hope you slept well. There’s coffee in the kitchen and some banana bread.”
The casual domesticity of the message, the easy familiarity with which he extended such a simple kindness, was enough to steal the very breath from my lungs. It was a glimpse into the side of Ridge that so few were privy to – the doting father, the attentive provider, the man who found solace in the simple pleasures of a freshly brewed pot of coffee and a homemade treat.
A soft, breathless laugh bubbled up from within me, the sound tinged with a mixture of disbelief and unbridled delight. How was it possible that this man, this ruggedly handsome, impossibly alluring embodiment of everything I should have been steering clear of, could elicit such a visceral reaction from me with the mere stroke of a pen?
Clutching the note against my chest, I allowed myself to bask in the warmth of the moment, to revel in the delicious novelty of waking up surrounded by the essence of Ridge. It was a dangerous indulgence, one that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed barriers I had so painstakingly erected around my heart.
But in that moment, I simply couldn’t bring myself to care.
With a reluctant sigh, I tossed aside the sheets, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and allowing my bare feet to sink into the plush carpeting. A delicious shiver rippled through me as the soft fibers caressed my skin, the sensation serving as a tangible reminder of the intimate proximity I had found myself in.
Slowly, almost reverently, I rose to my feet, my senses attuned to the slightest shift in the air around me. Every inch of this space seemed permeated with Ridge’s essence, from the faint traces of his cologne that lingered in the air to the warmth that still clung to the sheets I had so recently vacated.
It was utterly intoxicating, utterly consuming, and I found myself reveling in the heady rush of sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.
With measured steps, I made my way towards the door, my fingers trailing along the smooth surface of the dresser as I passed. The weight of the photograph perched atop it drew my gaze, and I found myself pausing, unable to resist the temptation to drink in the frozen moment it captured.
The image was a simple one – Ridge, his features slightly younger and more carefree, gazing down at a tiny bundle cradled in his arms. The love and adoration that shone in his eyes, the pure, unadulterated joy that radiated from his very being, was enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the man beneath the rugged exterior, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve and loved with a fierceness that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying in its intensity.
A lump formed in my throat as I tore my gaze away, suddenly feeling as though I had intruded on a moment far too sacred, far too intimate for my prying eyes. With a shaky exhale, I continued on my way, my steps a little less steady, my heart a little more burdened by the weight of emotions that threatened to consume me.
The rest of the house was eerily silent, a stillness that seemed to permeate every inch of the space. It was as if the world had been suspended in a moment of breathless anticipation, awaiting the arrival of something – or someone – to breathe life back into its walls.
I moved through the hallways like a ghost, my footsteps whispering against the hardwood floors, my fingertips trailing along the surfaces that bore the indelible marks of a life well-lived. Each room I passed seemed to hold a story, a whispered tale of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all woven together into the tapestry that made up the existence of Ridge and his family.
Eventually, my wanderings led me to the kitchen, a space that seemed to radiate warmth and comfort despite its current state of disarray. The countertops were littered with the remnants of a hastily prepared meal, the air still carrying the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and bacon & eggs.
As I cleared the breakfast detritus, my mind kept wandering back to the night before and the unexpected sense of belonging I’d felt surrounded by Ridge.After eating and cleaning up I wrote a thank you note for him and left hoping it might prompt another warm interaction.
Over the next few days, Ridge seemed to materialize at the vineyard under the flimsiest of pretenses - dropping Avery off with me one afternoon, needing Ethan’s take on some ranch matter the next. Sometimes the kids tagged along, and Cody would insist on being shown the intricacies of the fermentation room while Lily peppered me with a million questions about my “very best job.”
Whenever Ridge stuck around after completing his official excuse for visiting, I couldn’t help drinking in his presence like a dewdrop-starved seedling relishing the sun’s rays. We’d settle into one of the patio’s battered couch swings, his arm casually draped along the back as we languidly discussed everything from ranch operations to my latest haphazard endeavors. My fidgeting fingers would pleating the fabric of my shirt, transfixed by the rumbly timbre of his voice and the crinkles around his warm amber eyes whenever he laughed.
On late Friday afternoon sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the vineyard’s back patio as I stepped outside. Ridge was already settled into one of the deep adirondack chairs, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he cradled a sweating bottle of beer. His tattered white cowboy hat was tipped low over his eyes, but I could see the faint twitch of a smile on his lips as Lily and Cody chased each other in circles through the grass, shrieks of laughter piercing the valley’s tranquil quiet.
Little Avery was cuddled snugly against her dad’s broad chest, her tiny rosebud mouth parted slightly as she slumbered, one chubby fist tucked beneath her chin. The serene picture they created - this gruff, ruggedly handsome cowboy completely undone by his precious infant daughter - made my heart constrict almost painfully in my chest.
Trying to divert my wandering thoughts from how effortlessly they could make a person ache to be part of their cozy family tableau, I cleared my throat softly. “Hey there, stranger. This a private party or can anyone join?”
One of Ridge’s eyes cracked open lazily at the sound of my voice, but the other remained stubbornly shielded by the curve of his hat brim. “Why Miss Emma, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as my esteemed guest.” His drawling greeting was tinged with that low, gravelly timbre that never failed to send tendrils of warmth unfurling low in my belly.
I settled onto the worn wooden glider beside Ridge, our shoulders brushing as the old swing swayed beneath our combined weight. He handed me a perspiring glass of cranberry juice, condensation already pebbling the bright green plastic.
I stretched out my own legs with an exhale. “Don’t mind if I do then, Mister Ranch Boss. It’s been one hell of a week.”
A rumbled chuckle rolled through his chest, jostling Avery briefly before she settled back into slumber with a petulant whimper. “Hell of a week, your brother giving you a tough time, little flower? ” My cheeks flushed traitorously at the familiarity of the endearment, over the past few days he has adapted to calling me that.
Clearing my throat again, I aimed for a tone of nonchalance. “Okay, then, Ridge it is. So…how’re things in the land of cows and ploughs this week?”
One corner of his lips kicked up in an amused smirk as he turned to face me more fully, the amber depths of his eyes glinting with a teasing light. “First off, we don’t actually have any plows on the ranch, Emmy. That’s more your brother’s wheelhouse with the vineyards and all.”
I made a face, fighting a grin. “You know very well that’s not how you cowboys talk, but go on - enlighten me about the cowboy way. I’m all ears.”
The deep, rumbly rasp of his laughter was like a comforting salve, smoothing over the raw weariness of teaching a classroom of rowdy fourth graders all week. My body instinctively seemed to angle closer, drawn in by his easy charisma and relaxed presence.
“Fair enough,” he conceded, taking another pull from his bottle before setting it aside on the patio’s built-in beverage cooler. “Truth is, nothin’ too exciting to report lately. Few fencelines needed mendin’ after a particularly ornery herd of cattle got spooked by a coyote. Could’ve been a real rodeo if Josiah and the boys didn’t get ‘em settled down smartly.”
His free hand stroked idly over Avery’s downy curls, the tenderness in the simple gesture making my heart trip over itself. I found myself envying that innocent intimacy, yearning for even the smallest taste of the particular comfort that came from a father’s devoted affection.
Giving myself a mental shake, I pulled my wandering mind back to the conversation. “I’ll bet that was definitely a day of cowboy calamities! Although I have to admit, I can’t quite picture you in the thick of it all anymore.” I gestured vaguely at his torn, dusty jeans and well-worn boots as my voice took on a teasing lilt. “You’ve gone respectable on me, old man.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when Lily came barreling over, sweaty and breathless and giggling madly. “Daddy! Did you tell Emma about you being a bull rider?”
I arched an incredulous eyebrow as Ridge chuckled self-consciously, his cheeks flushing ever-so-slightly beneath the dusk-shadowed stubble. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far, Lil’…”
“Nu-uh!” she insisted, turning her pleading hazel eyes up to me imploringly. “He was gonna be a professional cowboy! He has a whole buncha buckles and pictures and everything!”
“Oh really?” I smirked teasingly at Ridge as his blush deepened. He tugged the brim of his hat lower in a futile attempt to hide behind its tattered shieldas my gaze raked over him appraisingly. “I definitely have to see that.”
Before Ridge could respond, Cody came bounding over and launched himself onto the glider next to me. I grunted at the sudden impact, my shoulder colliding into Ridge’s solid bulk as the swing rocked precariously. He stiffened, quickly adjusting his hold on Avery as she fussed and whimpered groggily against his chest.
“Whoa there, little partner!” he admonished with no real heat as Cody grinned unrepentantly. “Y’all are gonna give an old cowboy like me a heart attack one of these days.”
Lily grabbed her brother’s wrist, tugging impatiently. “Come on, Cody! Let’s go bring Dad’s pictures!”
The two scampered off, leaving just the three of us in their whirlwind’s wake. After murmuring a few soothing words and planting a whiskery kiss to her fuzzy crown, Avery settled back into slumber with a contented sigh. Ridge’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed as his broad palm stroked over the downy wisps of hair.
“She’s really something, isn’t she?” His gruff tones rumbled so softly I barely caught the wistful words.
I found myself mesmerized by the tender tableau - this grizzled cowboy completely enchanted by his fragile infant daughter, all his harsh edges smoothed into gentle reverence. It stirred an aching yearning deep within me that I quickly tamped down, refocusing on his question.
“Avery? She’s absolutely precious.”
A flicker of sadness darkened his amber eyes as he nodded slowly in agreement. “Been a tough year for the poor little peanut, that’s for sure.”
My brow furrowed at the somberness suddenly weighing his words. “Oh? If you don’t mind me asking…”
I let the question linger, giving him an easy out, but Ridge just exhaled a heavy sigh and took a swig from his bottle.
“Melissa left when Avery was just a few months old,” he stated bluntly, then instantly seemed to regret the curtness as his jaw tightened. “My ex, I mean. Ran off with some big city lawyer she met through work.”
The pain laced through every syllable and pierced straight through me. I could only imagine how utterly devastating it must have been - a new baby, a fractured family, a profound betrayal. Yet underneath it all burned an unmistakable rage, molten and raw.
“Ridge, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, resting my palm over the weather-worn knuckles of the hand gripping his beer bottle. “That’s…that’s horrible. No one should have to go through that, especially with an infant.”
His free hand swiped dismissively, though he made no move to escape my sympathetic touch. “Ancient history at this point, I guess. Probably saw the escape hatch and took it while she could.”
Somehow I doubted the wounds were quite that aged and calloused over based on the vitriol still blistering his tone. I squeezed his hand again, holding his gaze steadily. “For what it’s worth, she’s a damn fool for throwing away her family. You’ve built an incredible life for your kids here, Ridge.”
Before I could properly gathering my thoughts, Lily and Cody came clattering back out onto the patio, both lugging overstuffed boxes and bickering over whose turn it was to carry them.
“Here, here! Let me take those before you drop Daddy’s memories all over the place,” I interjected, relieving them both of their burdens and depositing the distressingly heavy containers on the patio’s sandstone tiles with a huff of exertion.
Cody immediately flung back the flaps, causing mementoes and glossy photographs to spill out in scattered drifts. Lily shot me an apologetic grimace before flopping onto the ground and beginning to sort through the contents with a focused frown.
“Nice goin’, cowgirl,” Ridge deadpanned at me with an arched brow and a twist of amusement shaping his lips. He shook his head in bemusement as I stuck my tongue out at him petulantly before squatting down to help Lily organize the keepsakes into chronological piles.
An array of whimsical childhood memories quickly took shape - bronzed baby booties, overlapped handprint drawings, a tiny pair of baby wranglers perfectly preserved in an oval frame. My heart clenched at a gap-toothed school portrait of Ridge grinning ear-to-ear, unruly chestnut waves tumbling over his brow and a dusty cowboy hat already perched atop his head.
“Is this you?” I asked, holding up the faded image as he leaned over for a closer look. He made a gruff noise of acknowledgment, sounding slightly chagrined.
“Yup, that’s me - ‘bout seven years old and already fleein’ the schoolhouse every chance I got to go ridin’ with my daddy and grandpaw.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a lopsided grin before he gestured to a laminated clipping from what looked like a county fair’s program. “Oh, and there’s my first rodeo ribbon!”
Warmth bloomed in my chest at the obvious fondness still coloring his voice over the childish accomplishment. “Oh you were so cute.” I mumbled looking closer to the picture. I found myself searching his face, drinking in the rare, unguarded light dancing behind his amber eyes as he reminisced. Somewhere between third grade and next summer’s rodeo season, that bright spark seemed to have been carelessly smothered…but embers still glowed stubbornly.
My reverie was broken as Lily tugged on the knee of my jeans, holding up a framed collection of rodeo photographs showcasing a lean, sun-bronzed teenager effortlessly manhandling a terrifyingly powerful bucking steed. “See, Emma? I toldja Dad was gonna be a real-life cowboy!”