Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he morning sun peeks over the horizon, casting a golden glow on the ranch. Normally, this sight fills me with a sense of peace, but today, it only reminds me of her. Weston and I haven't been ourselves the last few days, moping around the ranch like a couple of lost puppies.

I saddle up my horse, the repetitive motion offering some small comfort. But my mind keeps drifting back to Emma. Her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked. How could she just walk away from all that?

As I ride out to check the fences, the memories bombard me. Us moving the goats on the ranch, her laughter echoing across the field as she wrestled the stubborn animals on the trailer. The day at the waterfall when it felt like we were the only three in the world.

It all feels like a cruel joke now.

I had never put so much effort into something, never let myself be this vulnerable, and it was all for her. Now, it feels like all of that, everything I gave, is thrown back in my face. It's as if the effort, the moments we shared, were for nothing. The raw ache of rejection is unfamiliar, sharp. I thought we had something real.

I dismount and inspect the fence, but my heart isn't in it. My thoughts are miles away, with her. I wonder what she's doing right now, if she's thinking about us at all. Does she miss us, even a little? Or was it all just a game to her?

The hours drag on, each task on the ranch a stark reminder of her absence. By the time I head back to the house, I'm exhausted, not from the work but from the weight of my emotions. Weston meets me at the door, his eyes reflecting the same pain I feel.

"Any luck?" he asks, though we both know the answer.

I shake my head. "No. She's still not answering."

We sit in silence for a moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy between us.

Finally, Weston speaks. "Maybe it's time we pack up her things. If she's not coming back…"

His voice trails off, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. Packing up her things feels like admitting defeat, like letting go of the last bit of hope we have. But maybe he's right. Maybe we need to face the reality of the situation.

We head over to the cabin Emma stayed in, the place still smells faintly of her.

"Let's get this over with," Weston says, his voice rough with emotion.

We start packing her things, each item a painful reminder of what we've lost. Her clothes, her toiletries, the little trinkets she collected while here. Everything we touch feels like a stab to the heart.

"Why did you leave, Emma?" I whisper, the emptiness in my chest growing deeper.

Weston places a hand on my shoulder, offering silent support. We work in somber silence; the cabin growing emptier with each passing minute. When we're done, it feels like we've erased a part of our lives, a part of our hearts.

Hadley shows up in her Jeep. "I'll run this all down to the post office and mail it to her."

"Thanks, Hads," I mutter.

She wraps her arms around us. "It's gonna be okay. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'd shoot his ass again in a heartbeat, but I'm still sorry as hell."

"It's not your fault, Hadley. We'd have done the same thing."

Anger courses through me as she gets in her vehicle and pulls away. Anger at Greg for his threats, anger at myself for not being able to protect her, and anger at Emma for leaving.

"Well, that's it. Let's get back. I'm sure Dad has something we can do," Weston mumbles.

"Ya think the pain will ever go away?" I ask him.

"I sure the fuck hope so."

"I think I'm gonna walk back," I tell him.

"Suit yourself." He gets in the UTV and takes off, gravel flying behind him as he spins the tires.

I start to walk toward the main house, and every step is filled with thoughts of Emma. Was everything that happened between us just a fling to her? It didn't seem like it, but now I don't know what to think. Every moment we shared felt significant and intense, but now, I can't help but question it all.

She left us with nothing but a note, no calls, no texts. It's like she vanished into thin air, and it's tearing me apart. I know she left to protect Hadley from the bullshit charges Greg threatened, but going completely non-contact? That's cold.

I stop and stare at my phone, her number on the screen. Despite knowing she won't answer, I can't resist. I press the call button and wait. The line rings and rings before going to voicemail. I take a deep breath, ready to pour my heart out.

"Please listen before you delete this. Emma, I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but I need you to hear me out. We love you. Weston and I, we're in this for the long haul. We're willing to work through anything life throws at us. You're it for us, Emma. Take all the time you need, but know that we're waiting for you. Unless you call or text us to fuck off, we're not going anywhere. And honestly, even if you did, we probably wouldn't. We're that stubborn."

I end the call and let out a shaky breath, feeling a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll listen. But as the hours pass, that hope fades. I head out to the barn, needing to do something with my hands, something to keep my mind off her.

I head to the pig barn, my boots crunching on the gravel driveway. As I step inside, the sharp, pungent smell of ammonia hits me immediately. The pens are a mess, thick with layers of straw and manure that have built up over time.

Taking a deep breath and rolling up my sleeves, I grab a pitchfork and begin working. The tines of the fork pierce through the mess, then I lift and toss the shit into a waiting wheelbarrow. My movements are angry, my face masked in annoyance.

"You look like you're about to tear the whole place apart," Marshall murmurs.

I don't look up, my eyes fixed on the mess. "Just trying to get rid of some excess energy."

"You look like hell."

"Thanks, Marshall," I mutter. "Just what I needed to hear."

I throw the pitchfork across the pen and grab the handles of the wheelbarrow, needing to push it out to the shit pile.

Marshall blocks my path, crossing his arms. "You know, sometimes calling and texting ain't enough."

"What are you getting at?"

"Sometimes, you gotta do more. Show her you mean it. Words are easy, actions are harder. Maybe she needs to see you mean what you said in all those messages and calls."

I chew on that for a moment. "She should know how we feel."

"Did you tell her? When she was here, did you tell her you love her or did you just hope she woke up and decided to stay?"

His words hit me hard. Did we ever truly make her feel wanted, or did we just assume she'd figure it out?

"We've never done half the things we did with her. You know, women have just been a way for us to blow off steam. Emma was different. She is different."

"Wyatt. She knew you for two weeks. The girl ain't a mind reader. If you two nimrods didn't tell her all these things, then how would she know? Now she's gone and you're just deciding to tell her your feelings? Show her."

I stand there, the weight of his words settling in. Emma isn't a mind reader. We never outright told her how much she means to us. Maybe Marshall's right. What do we have to lose? Sitting around moping isn't going to change anything and the only thing being pissed has gotten me is a clean pig pen. We can't just expect her to understand the depth of our feelings through a few text messages or calls. She needs to see it, feel it, and experience it firsthand.

"You're right. Damn it, you're right."

I drop the wheelbarrow and head out, determination burning in my gut. I find Weston in the kitchen, nursing a coffee and looking just as miserable as I feel.

"Weston," I say, and he looks up. "We're going to get her. We're not waiting around anymore."

He stands, eyes lighting up with the fire I've been missing. "Hell yeah. I should have thought of that. What's the plan?"

"We're gonna drag her ass back here, kicking and screaming if we have to," I say, a grin tugging at my lips for the first time in days. "She's ours, and we're not letting her go without a fight."

He claps me on the shoulder, and for the first time since she left, I feel like we have a purpose again. We're going to get Emma back, no matter what it takes.