3. Emery

3

EMERY

“Dad!” Stevie ran toward me with her arms flung open wide. I angled my good side toward her, thrilled that she was back from staying with my mother.

I’d always known that I was meant to be a father, and the second Kess and I’d made our first significant amount of cash from selling a retirement planning app to a big multi-national, I set about looking for a surrogate. I was only in my mid-twenties but I was determined.

Despite my other friends’ dire warnings about single fatherhood at that age, I’d only ever felt like the luckiest man in the world. That I got to be Stevie’s father meant I was double lucky.

“Don’t forget that my shoulder is still a little tender,” I said, giving her a one-armed hug.

My mother tsked. “I could have kept her for a few extra days.”

“I know, Mom. But I missed my girl.”

She gestured at the workers repairing my gutters on one side and painting the house on the other. “I see you’ve hired professionals for the job.”

“Had to find some way to stop my neighbor from calling me an idiot.”

“Who called you an idiot?” Stevie asked, frowning.

“I did,” answered a familiar voice on high. I startled and turned, wondering how I’d missed Lockwood riding up on Shadow. Who knew what insults he had in store for me? “Because it’s stupid to work three stories up without another adult around to supervise.”

“Amen,” Mom said. I sent her a look, but she was unimpressed.

To be fair, she’d teared up when she realized how close I’d come to badly getting injured. Sure, it was my fault for not looking up how I was supposed to set up the stabilizers, but still. Was there no loyalty?

Lockwood dismounted so smoothly it looked like a magic trick. I had to admit that he was kinda badass, even if he was wearing a Perfect Strangers T-shirt. Approaching me with pursed lips and a judgmental look in his ethereal eyes, he smacked a jar of something in my hand.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a CBD ointment that a buddy of mine makes from my crops.” He flitted another—nervous?—look at Stevie, then leaned in. “This is an extra strong batch, not strictly legal. But it’ll take care of your shoulder. Just keep it away from the little one over there.”

His crops ? I’d definitely be looking into that.

I bounced the jar in my hand, impressed by the weight of it. “By the way—how’s the pup doing?”

His sharp eyes turned soft. “Lovett stitched the cut above his eye, and the amputation was two days ago. No internal damage or other major health issues that they could find. He’s already up and about, chewing on everything he can find in my cabin, getting used to walking on three legs.”

“I’m surprised he’s out so quickly.”

Lockwood nodded. “He has a ways to go, but as long as he keeps healing well and putting on weight, they’d rather he be home.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re the right guy for the job.”

He dipped his chin, embarrassed by the mild compliment. Refocusing on the jar in my hand, I opened it up and took a whiff.

“Fu—udge, that’s strong,” I said, glancing at Stevie, who was thankfully too busy staring up at Shadow to pay attention to us. Putting on a suspicious expression, I asked, “Is this poison? Are you trying to finish the job?”

He rolled his eyes, unimpressed by my attempt at humor. “I think we’ve already agreed that if you die, it’ll be because you’re a fool city mouse trying to act like you know anything about country life.”

“Ignorant isn’t the same as foolish. Ignorance is temporary.”

“Yeah, but stupid is forever.” As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, “You should take some of that money of yours and hire a damn property manager, especially after this morning’s delivery.”

Thankfully Stevie didn’t know what he meant, but damn him for almost giving away the surprise. Side note: Wranglers should be illegal on an ass that perfect. He mounted Shadow so smooth and fast I nearly missed it, then took off without another word.

Damn. My competency kink was at war with the fact that my daughter was standing right there.

“ He’s your neighbor?” Mom asked, eyeballing his ass as he rode away.

“Yep.”

“He’s not very nice, is he?” Stevie said at his retreating form, a reminder that I definitely needed to stop ogling my neighbor.

“No, he is not.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Didn’t even introduce himself.”

“No, he didn’t. His name is Lockwood.”

Mom stood there, rubbing her chin. “He did bring your dad some ointment for his shoulder, though.” Shooting me a look, she continued, “And usually when people are prickly like that, they’re hiding some kind of hurt.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But, whatever their reasons, we still don’t let them treat us like shit.”

“Dad, you cursed.”

“Look at that,” I teased, yanking lightly on the braid she’d probably insisted on doing herself. “Just in time to start a new swear jar in our new place.”

“ Yes .” She pumped her fist. “You keep swearing, Dad. I’m going to get a pony for sure.”

Mom and I shared a look as we both tried—and failed—to stifle a grin.

“Actually, I’ve got something for you in the barn.”

Stevie’s eyes widened. Then she took off like a shot, reaching the barn before Mom and I could even get started in that direction. She tugged on the massive sliding doors, then, failing to open them, yanked even harder. Still unsuccessful, she stepped back and jammed her fists into her hips, examining the locking mechanism. By the time we reached the door, she’d worked it out and was sliding the doors apart.

“That apple did not fall far from the tree,” Mom joked as she and I helped slide the doors open the rest of the way.

While a finance bro— someone had been Googling me—and a horse girl seemed like opposites, Stevie and I both enjoyed the thrill of figuring something out on our own. We were each bold in our own ways, and I had determined a long time ago that I would always support her adventurous spirit, even if it meant showing her how to do dangerous things in the safest way possible.

That was something I’d learned from my dad.

Not bothering to wait for the olds dithering outside, Stevie raced inside.

“A pony!” she whisper-screamed. “You bought me a pony !”

One of the first things she’d been taught was that horses—and ponies—were sensitive to loud noises, and watching her try to contain her excitement was hilarious.

“Yep. I also added a paddock on the other side of the barn, complete with barrels and some roping dummies.”

The owner of the horse camp she’d gone to said he’d never seen somebody take to horses—and barrel racing—as well as she had. I had tried to steer her toward dressage, but once she had a taste of speed, she was hooked.

“Where did you get her?”

“She’s a rescue from a ranch over by Johnson City. She’s well trained, but she’s fast, so we have to be careful. “

“Good luck with that,” Mom whispered out the side of her mouth.

“What’s her name?” Stevie asked, softly clapping as she spun in her twirl dress and her cowgirl boots.

“They named her Blanche because they sometimes name their horses after characters on TV shows. They said you could change her name if you wanted to, but?—”

“It’s perfect! I love that name!”

I laughed as she did, like, ten more spins before she’d calmed down enough to approach the stall.

She let out a long breath, wiggling out the last of the nervous energy, then asked, “Can I pet her now?”

“Of course. She’s yours. Do you want me to go in there with you?”

She looked up at me, bouncing on her heels. “Yes, please.”

I quietly opened the door to the stall. Blanche was munching on some hay and stopped as we approached. Stevie held up her hand, and Blanche touched her nose to Stevie’s open palm.

“Remember what they said at camp—horses love having their noses rubbed.”

Stevie squared up to her pony. “Okay, Blanche. I’m going to pet you now. Please don’t bite me.”

Mom and I laughed, but went silent as my brave girl ran her hand up Blanche’s nose. Blanche moved in a little closer, and Stevie smoothed her hand down the long neck.

She turned to me, her enormous amber eyes shiny with happy tears. “She’s perfect, Dad.”

It was true. Blanche was a quarter pony and had the most gorgeous cola brown coat with black socks.

“Can I ride her today?”

“That depends.” I pointed to my sling. “I can’t put a saddle on her.”

She shot her hand up, like she was in a classroom. “I know how to do that!”

“Hm.” I tapped my chin, looking pensive. “Let’s see what you know. Tack room’s over there,” I said, pointing to the corner.

Mom grinned, and we followed Stevie as she ran inside. As soon as we entered the room, she was already dragging the small saddle from its seat and handing it to her grandmother. She then put on her helmet and grabbed the saddle pad.

“Dad, can you reach the bridle for me?”

Mom and I hung back as she went through the motions, only helping her when it required someone a little taller.

“Now, I’d normally just put you on the horse, but my shoulder wouldn’t appreciate that. What should we do?”

We had a mounting block, but I wanted to see how she’d solve the problem.

Stevie gave Blanche an assessing once-over, then shook her head. “I can get up on my own.”

Mom and I shared a look, but I gestured for Stevie to continue.

While the pony was small, it took Stevie some doing to get her little boot in the stirrups, and she could barely reach the pommel. It took her a few tries, but Blanche was solid as a rock and Stevie eventually got enough momentum to swing her leg over the saddle.

She looked so proud of herself, and I almost cried. To be fair, when it came to my daughter, I cried at the drop of a hat.

We walked her out to the turnout yard, and she led Blanche through two fairly sedate turns around the large space. By the third, however, she was going a little faster. The way she handled the reins, it looked like she’d been doing it her entire life.

With her next pass, Stevie sped up, taking turns around the barrels just like she’d learned in camp. She let out a whoop, her braid a mess, her face shining as she sent me the widest grin.

Even if my neighbor thought I was a stone-cold idiot for buying this place, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make my daughter smile like that.

Stevie kept at it until Blanche showed signs of tiredness. I thought we’d have to drag my daughter off the horse, but the two had become fast friends, and Stevie knew it was time for her friend to go to bed.

My shoulder was aching, so Mom helped her curry the horse and put away the tack.

“You need me to hang around for a few days? Maybe give your shoulder a break while she gets to know Blanche?”

I shook my head. My mom was a busy woman who ran multiple charities, and I knew she had lots of work to get back to. Besides, Lockwood had been right. I needed to hire someone, if only temporarily.

“No, that’s fine. My shoulder is going to be in the sling for a while, so we’ll figure out how to make it work. The guys over at Rebel Sky recommended a horse trainer, so I’ve scheduled him to come by and see what lessons Stevie needs to get better at the sport. The trainer’s husband used to be some famous rodeo person, and they might just have the connections we need.”

“You’ll call me if it gets to be too much?”

Mom had never understood why I wanted a child but not a partner and had always worried that things would be “too much” for me. In a way, she’d been right—I’d been too stubborn to get a live-in nanny, despite the hours I kept. I’d operated around Stevie’s schedule for years, making sure I never missed an important event in her life, working into the wee hours and forgoing all but a few hours of sleep to fit it all in.

As Kess liked to point out, my insistence on doing everything on my own was at least partially responsible for the severity of the burnout I’d experienced.

I refocused on Mom. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you should get on the road before it gets dark. Devil’s Backbone is a son of a bitch at night.”

“ Dad ,” Stevie said, holding out her palm.

“I literally just bought you a pony.”

“ Still .”

After I paid off my daughter, Mom parted on a group hug, then Stevie and I went in for dinner. She didn’t protest her usual bedtime routine, which I counted as a win. I joined her in her room after her shower, and we talked about Blanche until her eyes grew heavy. One moment she was chattering away, and the next she was slumped against her pillow, out like a light.

I kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket over her, letting her dream of horses.

My phone buzzed as I hit the landing that overlooked the living area. I pulled it out of my pocket and laughed at Kessler’s text as I made my way to my room.

Kess: Did Stevie love her pony?

Me: OMG. YES. I nearly cried.

Kess: Whatever. You totally cried.

Me: Shut up. And yes.

Me: Blanche is her new best friend. I basically had to drag Stevie off her, and then she practically fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

Kess: A good day, then.

Me: A really good day.

Kess: So . . .

Me: ?

Kess: Did the sexy punk cowboy next door give you any shit today?

Me: I really regret telling you anything about him.

Kess: I plan on getting so much mileage out of this.

Me: Shut it, Counselor. And besides, he confuses me.

Kess: ?

Me: He called me an idiot while giving me his homemade CBD balm.

Kess: Oooh. The plot thickens. A real enemies-to-lovers moment.

Kessler loved nothing more than to bust my balls about my reading habits.

Me: We are not enemies, and this is a grumpy-sunshine trope.

Kess: Wait, are you the sunshine?

Kess: Did the Texas Hill Country cure your shitty, burnt-out attitude? Or are you hoping that the scary cowboy next door would let you work it out on his ass?

Me: He’s not even that scary.

Me: FFS, he’s already adopted the dog that got hit by that car.

Kess: Awwwwwww. Sounds like someone’s in looooove.

Me: Oh, fuck right off.

Kess: kissy face emoji

It’s a good thing I loved Kess like a brother.

After tossing my phone on the nightstand, I slipped out of my sling, carefully rolling my shoulder. The over-the-counter pain meds I had taken weren’t doing much for the deep ache, so I went into the bathroom and grabbed the jar of ointment that Lockwood had given me. It wasn’t labeled, and when I opened it, the potent smell of THC permeated the space. I took a generous dab of the ointment, gingerly rubbing it over the unhappy joint.

After tightening the lid, I washed my hands twice and sprayed the bathroom with fancy eucalyptus spray so it wouldn’t smell like the inside of a dorm room. While that worked for the bathroom, I still smelled like both Cheech and Chong.

Here was hoping he didn’t actually poison me.

I slipped into bed and grabbed one of my well-worn books of poetry, this one by the author who’d convinced me to live here. Even as I cursed him good-naturedly under my breath, I slipped into his familiar words as I waited for the ointment to take effect.

I stand at the edge of a limestone cliff

Hands rough, boots caked with mud

Wind blowing through my hair

Dazzled by the sherbet-colored sunset

And the trees that push through rocky soil to show us their beauty

May they scatter my ashes here

To nourish that which refuses to wither in the heat

That’d always been one of my favorites. I’d always loved coming out here to visit, but now that I lived here I understood his awe for the land. I re-read the poems I’d gone back to again and again, swayed by their romanticism. After, I picked up my Kindle and pulled up my favorite beach read.

Don’t judge my reading habits.

By the time the bastard billionaire was slipping off the mouthy heroine’s bra, my shoulder felt fantastic, and everything was right in the world. I absentmindedly rubbed my cock over my boxers, surprised that I was already at full mast.

Slipping my boxers to mid-thigh, I grasped my shaft, my mind easily switching characters as the scene heated up. Lockwood going to his knees as I pushed my cock into that surly mouth of his.

There you are, sweetheart. Take it.

I tightened my grip while picturing his sullen eyes looking up at me, stroking faster as I dug my heels into the bed. Within moments I was shooting across my belly. Filled with THC and drowsy orgasm chemicals, I grabbed some bedside tissues to wipe off my belly, then clumsily pulled up my boxers.

Fuck, I was going to sleep like a rock.