Page 11

Nine

Emery

" Y ou're glowing."

Logan’s voice cuts through the cloud of lusty distraction that’s been hovering over me since sunrise.

I’m knee-deep in the third reorganization of the supply closet, and I still haven’t found inner peace or whatever the hell I’m looking for in these damn bandages.

Mostly, I keep seeing Colt’s hands. His dick.

God, his dick was…gah, beautiful. Dangerous. Chef’s kiss.

“I’m not glowing,” I lie, like a liar who is absolutely glowing.

“Honey, you’re practically radioactive. And you’ve been humming that Ed Sheeran song for half an hour.”

Logan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smugness leaking from every pore. “So. That storm. How’d it go?”

My neck starts heating like a stovetop. “It was fine. No problems.”

“Mmmhmm. And where’d you weather said storm?”

“Logan—”

“Because your car? Not in your driveway when I did my definitely-not-creepy morning wellness check.”

“Wait, you drove by my house ?”

“Don’t change the subject, Emery Rose.” Full name. Oh, he’s serious now. “Where. Did. You. Sleep?”

He’s relentless, so I give him the partial truth. “Colt’s cabin. Roads were dangerous.”

“And?”

“And what?” My cheeks are basically infernos now.

“And did the grumpy, hotter than Hades’ left nut sheriff finally make his move?”

My silence is apparently a full confession, because Logan lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, if that kid was extremely nosy and emotionally invested in my sex life.

“Oh my God. He did. You slept with him. ”

I feel the blush spread over my cheeks before I can turn away to hide it, remembering how good it was to just sleep with a man for the first time in my life. And how Colt wanted just that. It honestly was perfection.

Logan slow claps with a full tooth smile. “Girl, you look like you got thoroughly ransacked and possibly eaten like a midnight snack. In the good way.”

“Logan!”

“What? I'm thrilled. About damn time someone reminded you you’re a woman and not just Legend’s mom.”

Cue stomach punch. Guilt crashes in like a wave.

I’d been so caught up in the Colt vortex of hands, dirty talk, and that scowl that somehow counts as foreplay, I’d let myself pretend the small, wonderful human I’ve been centering my life around is part of a parallel universe somewhere that will not collide with this one at some point.

“He doesn’t want children,” I confess, the thrill of the past couple days suddenly feeling like a drunken Vegas weekend that needs some cold morning after perspective.

Logan’s expression softens. “Did he say that?”

“I asked if he had any. He said, and I quote, ‘Hell no.’ That felt like a statement.”

“Or it’s ‘hell no’ because he hasn’t found the right person to have them with . Until now.”

I want to believe that. I really do. But the fear? It’s like wearing emotional ankle weights.

“I should probably step back,” I say, the idea stomping on my heart like a roach to be crushed. “Before this gets too complicated. It’s just fun, right? He probably won’t even call, or if he does, call for the subtle…thanks for the fun but gotta run talk.”

“Emery Rose Langston.” Logan marches my way, grabbing the stupid gauze I’ve been holding for five minutes out of my hand.

He throws it over my head, it bounces off the wall just under the CPR info graphic, then grips my shoulders with a soft shake.

“That man looks at you like he wants to put you in one of those baby papoose things and carry you around everywhere. You think you’re complicated? Have you met him?”

The door chimes go off before I can answer and relief slacks my muscles as Logan leaves me in the supply room.

A second later, I hear Mrs. Paterson, here to go over her husband’s bill even though her insurance pays for it all. She’s just lonely and girl, I get it.

Pretty sure lonely is what’s gotten me into this pickle myself.

I work my way out of the closet and into the main office. Mrs. Paterson is going over each line item with Logan, who throws me a quick eye roll before going back to explaining why there’s a fifty-dollar charge for a Q-tip on her itemized insurance bill.

Back behind my desk, I go over my light schedule for the day on my laptop, but concentration is nearly impossible. My eyes drift to the front windows, taking in the sunshine on Wildfire’s Main Street before my body goes stiff.

There’s Colt across the street. Talking to Rebecca Martinez.

She’s pretty. Blonde. Older than me, maybe, but with a figure like a Victoria’s Secret model.

She’s laughing at something he said, touching his arm like she owns real estate there, and suddenly I’m one second away from dry-heaving into the candy bowl we keep by the front door.

“Emery…” I suddenly realize Logan is standing in front of me, following my gaze out the window.

“Oh,” I whisper. “Sorry. I was distracted. I’ll—”

“Come on, Emmy, that’s Rebecca Martinez. The vet tech. Happily married to her high-school sweetheart. Three kids. About as likely to have an affair as a Scarlet Macaw. You know, they mate for life? I was watching this wildlife documentary on…”

But I can’t hear him anymore. My brain has already filled in the worst-case scenario montage: Colt smiling, Colt touching, Colt finding someone normal . Someone child-free and drama-free and way too put-together to ever trip on a Lego at 2 a.m.

So maybe not pretty blonde Rebecca Martinez, but someone .

“I need some air,” I croak and bolt out the back at the same time as my phone buzzes.

Colt : Did you eat since breakfast?

I feel like I have whiplash from the way my emotions are bouncing from one to another. A second ago, I was imagining seeing Colt with another woman. Having to watch them happy every day and know that he would never be mine.

And now my heart is fluttering over the words on my phone screen as I watch myself typing out a reply.

Me : Coffee counts, right?

Colt : No. Eat something. Now.

I stare at the screen, every fiber of my being wanting to call him, hear his voice, and do as he says. Until I have to blink away tears, the messages going blurry in my vision.

How can I ever possibly be enough for him? How can I ever measure up to the pretty girls who are going to tempt him away?

Why am I even thinking of this as a relationship, when for him it was probably just a bit of fun with the girl who happened to be there?

Colt : Answer me. Tell me what you’re eating. And, just so you know, I had new locks installed at your house. No keys. Code is 11562.

Heat flares in my neck, my chest, other places. But I don’t respond.

I should. A thank you would be the polite thing to do. But I don’t.

One minute later, the phone is ringing. It’s him of course, but I let it go to voicemail.

And when Logan locks up, I’ve decided what I need to do. I need to go cold turkey on everything to do with Colt Boone.

Three hours later, I’m scrubbing the already-sterile counters in my house like they insulted me when there’s a pounding at the door. Not a knock. A declaration.

I already know it’s him.

I debate hiding under the sink. But Colt? He’d just tear the door off the hinges and haul me out like a fireman saving his favorite possession.

When I open it, he’s there.

Big. Beautiful. Pissed.

"Did I do something wrong?" His voice is low. Dangerous.

“What?”

“You ignored my texts. My calls. Talk to me. ” He steps inside. I step back like he’s made of TNT.

“I wasn’t avoiding you—”

“Don’t lie to me, baby girl.” His eyes darken. “I don’t like being lied to.”

“I wasn’t! I was just… busy.”

“Too busy to send a one-word text?”

I wilt under the concern laced in his fury. And I know. It’s now or never, I have to tell the truth and I have to know the truth.

“I…” I start, but his words sound so final in my mind. Hell, no . He doesn’t want this, and no amount of Logan telling me otherwise is going to change that.

“What is it, baby?”

“Don’t,” I hiss, shaking my head and turning away. “Don’t call me that. You’re going to hate me and I—”

“Never.” He pulls me back, turns me to face him. “You think I could ever hate you, Emery? If you do, you don’t know me at all. And I’m ready to change that. For the rest of my life, I’m going to prove to you that this is forever. No takebacks.”

“I have a son,” I gasp, ripping off the band-aid. “I have a son and his name’s Legend, and he’s my life. I can’t change that. I wouldn’t even if I could. So there, now you know, and you can—”

“I already knew,” he says, taking my hand and drawing it to his face to kiss the backs of my fingers. “I've known since the beginning. I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me."

“How?” Tears prick my eyes as he shrugs. "When I asked about kids, you said 'no way'—"

"I meant no way had I ever wanted kids. That was true, before.

" He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "No half-hearted bullshit from me. When I’m in, I’m in.

I was so damn glad I hadn't made babies with anyone else. Because all I could think about was making them with you. I’m the Sheriff, I pulled up your entire file the second you left my house that first day. "

The words break something open in my chest. Something that feels like hope.

"Wait. You want kids with me?"

"Baby girl, I want everything with you." His hand slides down to rest on my belly. "Everything. All I was waiting for was for you to be ready for the same, ready to trust me with your truths. All of them." He kisses me softly, just a brush of lips. "Are you on birth control?"

The question catches me off guard. "What?"

"Birth control. Are you on it?"

"Yes. Implant. Three years left." Heat floods my cheeks as his eyes turn dark.

"Tomorrow we’re looking into how to fix that." Something predatory flickers in his expression. "Right now I'm going to fill you up anyway, see if we can’t beat that failure percentage."

Before I can ask what he means, he's kissing me again. But this time it's not soft or gentle. This time it's claiming, possessive, full of barely leashed hunger.