11. Ridge
Eleven
Ridge
I finished up the last of the chores around the horse shed, muscles burning pleasantly from an honest day’s labor. After delegating the remaining tasks to John and Dalton, my most reliable ranch hands, I retreated to the shaded corner where Avery’s baby chair was set up.
My youngest daughter slumbered peacefully amid the comforting scents of saddle leather and fresh hay, tiny rosebud lips parted slightly as she rode the gentle cadence of sleep.
Sinking onto a well-worn hay bale, I swiped a forearm across my brow while drinking in the serene tableau. Despite the chaotic whirlwind of the last year, these rare, achingly tender moments of stillness with my girls always managed to recenter me. To remind me why I pushed so relentlessly to keep our fractured family intact and functional.
“You know, you’re going to make her disappear staring at her like that.”
The familiar, wry rasp intruded on my private reverie, startling me from my thoughts. I glanced up to find Ethan leaning against the shed’s doorframe, trademark smirk firmly in place as he watched me doting on Avery.
“Don’t you have a million dollar operation to go mismanage?” I fired back without missing a beat, felt my own smile tugging despite his interruption.
Ethan’s answering snort echoed through the musty interior as he ambled further inside, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t turn into an overbearing helicopter father,” he drawled, dodging the half-hearted shove I aimed his way.
I couldn’t bite back the bark of grudging laughter at his ridiculous comment. Typical Ethan Harrisons - never one to quit while he’s behind when it comes to dishing out gratuitous digs and thinly-veiled insults wrapped up in that shit-eating grin.
“I can’t wait for them to start dating, you going to turn into a papa bear growling at 10 year olds for ‘touching’ his little girl.” He says
“You’re a sad, sick man, you know that?” I shot back, still chuckling as he plopped his lean frame down on the neighbouring hay bale. “Between you and my kids, I may very well end up going prematurely grey.”
Rather than rising to my own brand of male needling, Ethan simply waved me off with a casual flick of those perpetually ink-stained fingers. His expression grew more contemplative as he plucked a piece of straw from a nearby bale and began worrying it between his teeth.
“Seriously though…” he began, pausing until I slanted a look in his direction to indicate I was listening. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to some operational shifts with the Amore di Vino.”
I tensed instinctively at his tone, recognizing the precursor to one of Ethan’s grand philosophical digressions about business and entrepreneurship. Over the last few years, he’d been steadily transitioning from the role of wine-making genius to taking a much more hands-on role with the business of wine empire and resort, he built.
While I was glad to see him building his empire, he certainly had a way of droning on about every nitty-gritty logistical detail ad nauseam. Squaring my body towards his out of ingrained politeness, I settled in for what was sure to be another long-winded monologue.
“I’m thinking about pivoting the core business model to double down on hospitality and destination experiences,” he explained, warming to the topic with familiar gusto. “Really capitalizing on the estate’s natural beauty and pastoral atmosphere to create a luxury retreat-style environment for our guests.”
I tried valiantly to concentrate as he outlined his grand vision, full of buzzwords like “thematic immersion” and “curated experiences”. But before long, my attention started straying despite my best efforts.
The truth was, ever since Emma’s unexpected appearance at my house the three nights ago, she had utterly dominated my thought streams in a way I hadn’t allowed another woman to for years. Every time I tried to corral my runaway mind back to Ethan’s entrepreneurial speechifying, stray flashes of memory would kick my hindbrain into overdrive.
The soft citrusy perfume of her shampoo that still clung to my pillowcase the next morning when I awoke, even hours after she’d departed…the vivid recollection of her slight frame near me, although in my mind the night ended quite different…
Just thinking about the range of vulnerability Emma had bared to me in those unchaperoned minutes made my pulse kick up in a way it hadn’t in longer than I cared to admit. Despite the years between us, the unbridgeable differences in our respective stages of life, she’d disarmed me utterly with her soft smiles and off-kilter charm.
And maybe it was a character flaw of my own, but there was something about her contradictory combination of effortless beauty and chronic self-doubt that made me ache to…what? Reassure her? Protect her from her own toughest critic - herself? Discover what other layers and unvarnished truths lay underneath that deceptively delicate exterior?
Truthfully, I didn’t know the root desire driving my sudden, intense fascination with the youngest Harrisons sister. What I did know was that it had been all I could do not to trace the glistening tracks of her lashes with my fingertips last night. To pull her fully into my embrace and—
“Dude, you’re not even listening to me!”
Ethan’s raised voice finally penetrated the fog of sensory recollection I’d become lost in. I blinked rapidly, feeling my cheeks flush slightly at being so thoroughly busted zoning out on his finely-tuned diatribe.
Rather than look even remotely abashed at my blatant disregard, I simply shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Of course not.”
The words had barely left my lips when something small and hard pinged off my shoulder with surprising force. I jerked fully back to awareness just in time to see Ethan palming another little projectile rock from the shed’s gravel-strewn floor, a look of feigned menace on his features.
“Hey, watch it!” I barked with a nervous laugh, holding up my hands in mock surrender even as the second pebble bounced harmlessly off my bicep. “I’ve got three kids to look after, you know. If I get hurt, I’ll just have to dump them all on your ass for a few weeks.”
Ethan snorted indelicately but didn’t release his next bit of makeshift ammunition, dropping it to join the others scattered at his feet. “Oh please, as if this little stone could actually cause any harm to big bad daddy Ridge,” he sniped, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.
The words and their clear insinuation landed with an unexpected jolt in my gut. I fought not to visibly squirm under the weight of the far too tempting mental images suddenly cavorting behind my eyes. Visions of Emma’s amazing mouth forming that very endearment with those plump, glistening lips…or her bare thighs wrapped around my waist as I—
“Yo, earth to Ridge!” Ethan’s mocking voice sliced through my wandering thoughts like a scalpel, dragging me back to the present with a mortified start.
Had my face betrayed me? Telegraphed even a fraction of the wildly inappropriate fantasies I’d somehow found myself spiraling into concerning his far too young, far too perfect sister?
I schooled my expression into what I hoped was a mask of bored indifference as I focused on reining in whatever rogue impulses were attempting a jailbreak. “Yeah, yeah…” I growled out at last. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be trying to impress with your peacock routine?”
Rather than take the hint and fuck off, Ethan just let out a rich belly laugh and rocked back on his hay bale. “Wow, I’m wounded here. What happened to you being thrilled for the chance to soak up some quality best friend time?”
Before I could formulate a suitably scathing rejoinder, he was up and enveloping me in one of his customarily obnoxious bear hugs, all back-slapping and aggressive male camaraderie. I immediately went rigid but didn’t pull away - long inured to these dramatics from a lifetime of enforced role as Ethan’s perpetual punching bag and favorite target.
“Cut it out, man,” I grumbled, making a half-hearted attempt to shrug out of Ethan’s overbearing bro-hug. But he just cackled and squeezed tighter for a beat before finally releasing me.
“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” he asked, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of me as always. “You’re even more gruff and emotionally constipated than usual.”
I shot him a withering glare, but didn’t take the bait to admit anything about where my mind had wandered earlier. The last thing I needed was to give Ethan more ammunition to mock me over my apparent obsession with his younger sister.
“Sorry I zoned out on your big business pitch,” I said instead, keeping my tone even and disinterested. “Must have been the sheer boredom putting me into a semi-comatose state.”
Ethan rolled his eyes dramatically. “Ouch, low blow, kemosabe. Here I am trying to get your input as someone who actually understands what it’s like to run a successful operation out in the real world…”
I arched an eyebrow at that veiled dig, refusing to be baited so easily into stroking his ego. We both knew full well that I was the one who took the practical realities of sustaining our family businesses much more seriously on a day-to-day basis than Ethan and his artistic dreamer mentality.
Rather than rise to his transparent attempt at goading me, I simply settled back with my arms crossed and an expectant look. A silent challenge for him to dazzle me with whatever new poison he was peddling this time if he thought he was so damn insightful.
Ethan seemed to recognize that I wasn’t going to make this easy on him. A muscle ticked along his chiseled jawline as he processed my obvious reluctance to be a captive audience. But just as I was beginning to wonder if he’d abandon the whole charade and slink off, that familiar glint of dogged enthusiasm returned to his pale green eyes.
“Okay, hear me out,” he started again, hands gesturing emphatically as he warmed to the rhythm of his own rhetoric. “We’ve been sitting on prime real estate here, right? This place is practically oozing rustic country charm out of every knotted oak and rambling hillside vista.”
I gave a non-committal grunt of acknowledgment, unwilling to be lured in by the low-hanging flattery of his words. Let the man have his say for now - it would only put him off his precious game if I interrupted the deluge.
“Well, I’ve been thinking - why not fully capitalize on that inherent atmosphere instead of just coasting as a run-of-the-mill winery?” Ethan pressed, holding my gaze with well-practiced confidence. “Why not transform this whole estate into a luxury retreat experience like none other?”
For the next fifteen minutes, he outlined his latest grand vision in exhaustive detail: immersive guest packages including award-winning chefs and vintners, curated creative retreats hosted by luminaries in the arts, spa amenities and “spiritual replenishment” activities cooked up by the most acclaimed healers and gurus. All of it augmented by the world-class wines and natural splendor of the Wilkins family homestead, of course.
It was…admittedly an intriguing concept, despite the predictable whiff of Ethan’s trademark hyperbole seasoning every other paragraph. I found myself slowly becoming absorbed in his passionate delivery, momentarily seduced by the fantasy he was spinning right alongside the twinkling sunset filtering through the shed’s open windows.
Part of me rankled at the mere suggestion of disrupting our property’s heritage as a trusted, respected, and above all authentic viticultural institution. But the other part, the side that had tasted the glitz and alluring freedom of luxury excess during wilder younger days, definitely saw the appeal in Ethan’s proposed elevation of our brand.
Maybe a tasteful balance could be struck, fusing our robust winemaking legacy with fresh new avenues and amenities catering to the whims of the rich and self-actualized? If we maintained our integrity and commitment to excellence in our core offerings while diversifying our portfolio as a destination experience…
I realized I’d fallen into a contemplative trance again when Ethan let out a low, amused chuckle beside me. “You’re slipping, man. That’s twice now I’ve lost you to the big brain idling in neutral.” His voice was light and teasing rather than accusatory.
Before I could fire off a retort about the merits of actually thinking things over rather than just talking his ear off, Ethan shifted gears again. “But wait, you haven’t even heard Emma’s role in this whole deal yet…”
My ears perked almost involuntarily at the sound of her name. As much as I wanted to downplay my newly fixated interest, Ethan’s lingering smirk told me I hadn’t quite managed to conceal my reaction.
Rubbing his hands together gleefully like a cartoon villain, he launched back into pitch mode with renewed vigor. “So, Emma’s been thinking about unique ideas to generate more tourism revenue while leaning into the whole socially-conscious hospitality angle. She mentioned possibly opening the property up as a premium wedding destination venue.”
I frowned slightly, not following where he was headed with this. “We’ve hosted ceremonies and receptions on the grounds before, though. What makes Emma’s idea so novel?”
“Well, little sister has this whole ethos-driven vision of creating lush, intimate nuptial experiences beyond just basic location rental,” Ethan explained with a trace of unmistakable pride lacing his words. “Environmentally sustainable set design and decor, ethical food sourcing from local organic providers, sustainable farming and eco-conscious practices integrated into the whole damn fairytale extravaganza. You know, capitalizing on the rustic romanticism of this place while staying true to those crunchy green values the young’uns are so gaga about these days.”
Despite myself, I couldn’t help the tiny curve tugging at the corners of my mouth as he spoke. Leave it to Emma to find a way to inject her passionately idealistic spirit into even the most traditional of conventions. I could picture exactly the kind of blissfully quirky magic she’d weave for brides and grooms seeking a truly unique destination experience…
Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he shot me an apologetic look before stepping outside to take the call. I waved him off dismissively — these interruptions from investors and partners had become so frequent they barely even registered anymore.
I settled back on the work I was doing before Ethan started talking business. Outside, the last dregs of twilight were fading, plunging the cluttered shed into a soupy orange-tinged gloom. Avery woke up and I carried her in one arm as I worked.
The creak of the shed door opening broke the silence. I glanced over my shoulder, assuming Ethan had wrapped up his call already. “Back already, hotshot?” I quipped, a teasing smirk playing across my lips as I rolled my eyes dramatically. “I figured you’d be off self-aggran—”
Because instead of my longtime bro standing there fixing me with one of his familiar shit-eating grins…it was Emma herself.
Time seemed to crash to a shuddering halt, the remaining dredges of twilight suspending between us like some kind of delirious, fractured dream. Hair tumbling in feathery disarray past her collarbones, lips slightly parted as if she’d just emitted the smallest gasp, and those whiskey-hued eyes staring straight into me with inquiry and disarming openness.
For a long, disorienting heartbeat, I found myself utterly spellbound. Lost amid the mesmerizing flow of her effortless loveliness and the equally staggering awareness that she was here. Standing in my inner sanctum after inundating my every thought for what seemed like lifetimes on end.
“Hey,” Emma said simply, her voice a hushed breath that seemed to caress some deep, untapped part of my soul. It carried through the dimness of the shed and washed over me with all the resonant force of a tidal wave. The single hushed syllable seemed to reverberate in the marrow of my bones, leaving fissures of awake in its path.
My throat constricted as I drank in the sight of her standing there. Emma. Dressed in jean shorts that hugged her curves with a baggy Harry Potter t-shirt she was the cutest sight I have ever laid my eyes on “Hey,” I managed to rumble back, impressed by the relative steadiness I’d mustered despite feeling anything but calm and collected on the inside.
Emma stood framed by the doorway’s honeyed light like some uncovered Renaissance masterpiece, soft floral sundress and tumbling waves of chestnut hair appearing more vivid and radiant than should be naturally possible. My gaze traced the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the tantalizing dip of her clavicle, hungrily cataloguing each tiny detail as if gradually emerging from a long drought.
“I…made some brownies,” she continued at last, seeming to gather herself after that loaded pause. “Thought you guys might like them.”
Only then did I register the tupperware container clutched in her hands, opaque sides concealing the homespun contents she was proffering. Squaring my shoulders, I crossed the short distance separating us, boots scuffing through the earthen floor in a series of deliberate strides.
Up close, Emma’s floral perfume and clean, uninhibited scent enveloped me completely - the kind of nostalgic fragrance you could happily get lost inside forever. My fingers brushed against hers with undisguised intent as I relieved her of the baked goods, reveling in the unmistakable spark of contact.
“Thanks,” I murmured simply, distracted by the flickering dance of her lush lashes and the enticing flush that had started blossoming across those exquisite cheekbones. Was it just my imagination, or did a tremor of awareness seem to race through Emma at the same moment our fingers met and held?
Taking a steadying breath, I allowed my free hand to linger perhaps a beat too long against the soft skin of her knuckles as I accepted the container. The charged interim stretched out between us, loaded with unspoken tensions and unvoiced longings that felt at once unfamiliar yet profoundly instinctive.
Had any other woman appeared here unannounced, encroaching upon the solitary inner sanctum of my private ranch world, it would’ve raised all manner of territoriality and masculine bravado. A territorial reckoning of dominance and propriety demanded before opening the space to a disruptive feminine presence.
But with Emma…there was no such automatic reflex towards defensiveness. No subconscious shorthand instructing me to proceed with guarded reserve and ingrained emotional barriers fully reinforced. Quite the opposite, in fact – her arrival in my midst conjured a sense of bone-deep rightness and completion, as if she’d been a dimension sorely lacking in my life all along without my conscious realization.
Perhaps it was the memory of our starlight-soaked communion from last night still exerting its spectral hold on my psyche. Or the persistent intrusive fantasies that had hounded me relentlessly ever since our reckless act of personal candor on the rooftop. Either way, I found myself utterly disarmed in this woman’s presence, wounded by the lightest grazing brush of her hand against mine.