Blake McAllister prided himself on three things: his punctuality, his spotless driving record and the indisputable fact that his dog, Rex, was better behaved than most people he knew. Today, however, all three of those sacred truths were being put through the wringer and failing spectacularly.
He was driving back from the feed store in his battered but loyal Ford pickup, the same one he'd driven since college, which now groaned slightly when he took a hard turn but still purred like a champ on long, quiet roads. His mind, like always, ticked through a checklist: help his ranch hands, Jace and Cody fix the broken fence along the east pasture, grease up the tractor…again…because she'd been stalling lately and drop off the extra bags of feed at old man Greaves' place before sunset.
The sun was high, its warmth seeping into the cab through the windshield and the sky was that rich summer blue that made even an ordinary day feel like something out of a postcard. The road stretched ahead in a lazy line, framed by golden grass and fence posts leaning slightly from years of weather.
Then it happened.
A flicker of motion…something bright and fluttery…catches the corner of his eye. A scarf? A bird? A piece of plastic trash lifted by a gust? Or maybe, just maybe, some impish, unseen spirit sent to derail his perfectly ordered afternoon.
Whatever it was, it snagged his attention just long enough to take his eyes off the road.
Which meant he never saw the sedan in front of him brake.
CRUNCH.
The sound was sharp, immediate, brutal…metal twisting like foil, glass shattering in brittle protest. The seatbelt yanking him forward with a punishing snap. Pain blooms across his chest and his hands fly to the wheel to steady himself. Adrenaline surging.
"Shit," Blake mutters, slapping the steering wheel hard enough to sting.
Behind him, Rex…his towering black German Shepherd mix, with the heart of a soldier and the stubbornness of a mule…barks once, sharp and accusatory.
Blake doesn't need words to hear the lecture in that bark.
You had one job, human.
He shoves the gear into park, his legs still shaky from the jolt and climbs out of the cab. The air smells like hot rubber and spilled radiator fluid. The other driver…a thin, elderly man with a full head of silver hair and wild, bewildered eyes…is already out of his car, moving slowly but steady. He looks more shocked than hurt.
Across the street, a wave of hospital staff and paramedics spill from the sliding doors of the county hospital, reacting to the crash like bees from a jostled hive. They move with efficient calm, weaving between onlookers who had begun to cluster near the sidewalk.
Rex trots out beside Blake, tail stiff, his deep brown eyes scanning the scene like a canine bodyguard. Then, with a huff, he sits down next to his owner, as if declaring, Well, you made your bed. Now lie in it.
Blake runs a hand through his dark hair and exhales slowly. Twenty goddamn years without so much as a parking ticket…gone, just like that. Wiped out by what? A floating scrap of silk? A cosmic joke?
A few steps away, Emma Carter was halfway out of the café, balancing a steaming vanilla chai latte in one hand and a paper bag filled with fresh pastries in the other. She wore her signature calm like armour, even as chaos unfolds on the street.
Petite and curvy, with waves of dark hair pulled loosely back and striking blue eyes that always seemed to catch more than they let on, she moves with the kind of unconscious grace that makes people stop and watch without even knowing why. Her loose cardigan flutters behind her like a cape in the breeze.
The crash hadn't been loud inside the café, but the flashing lights and sudden hush outside had caught her attention. A ripple of alarm moves through the space like a dropped stone in water. Emma pauses, then slips past the door and steps onto the sidewalk, drawn by the crowd gathering around the wreck.
She spots the crumpled front bumper of the pickup…accordion-folded metal gleaming beneath the afternoon sun and the man standing beside it. Tall. Broad shoulders. Cowboy boots that had clearly seen a lifetime of dirt. His flannel shirt clung to a lean frame, sleeves pushed up over strong forearms. Hair a little too long at the back, dark and tousled. And a jaw so sharp it could've sliced the tension in the air.
His eyes were locked on the wreck, expression unreadable…until a dog at his side breaks formation and trots towards her.
"Well hey there, handsome," she says, crouching to greet the canine. "You look like you've had quite the day."
The dog leans into her touch without hesitation, tail thudding against the sidewalk in wide, enthusiastic sweeps. His head butting her hand as if to say, Finally, someone reasonable.
She scratches behind his ears. "Somebody's friendly."
The man beside the dog grunts. "He doesn't usually like strangers."
Emma smiles, eyes still on Rex. "Then I'm taking that as a compliment."
She stands and looks at the man fully for the first time. "What happened?"
"Scarf," he growls.
"Excuse me?"
He jerks his chin toward the scene. "A damn scarf. Flew across the road. Distracted me for half a second, and...well, there you go."
Emma tilts her head, confused…until something catches her attention. A flash of blue silk clenched in his fist. Familiar. Too familiar.
Her scarf.
It must've slipped out of her bag, catching the wind and taken a joyride across the road like a rebellious banner.
She blinks. "Wait. That's mine. Where did you get that?"
The man turns, holding it up like Exhibit A, his eyes narrowing. "Yours?"
"Yes. It must've come loose when I went to the café."
He squints. "You caused this."
"I…what?" she laughs, stunned. "How did I cause this?"
He jabs the scarf toward the wreckage. "That little blue menace flew by me. I looked for half a second. Boom. Rear-ended a Cadillac."
"Okay, maybe it took off on its own," Emma says, defensively but amused. "But how is that my fault?"
"Because it was your scarf!"
"And I was not even aware it had gone AWOL! And you should have been more aware!"
"Your scarf decided to perform Swan Lake on the side, distracting me!"
Emma couldn't help it…she laughs. "Oh my God. Are you actually blaming your fender-bender on my wayward scarf?"
Rex barks again, tail wagging with what Emma could only describe as agreement.
Blake looks like he wants to explode.
"You think this is funny?"
She bites her lip. "A little. You have to admit...it's kind of spectacular. You crashed because of a scarf. That's straight out of a rom-com."
Blake exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a notch. "You think this is some kind of meet-cute?"
"No," she teases. "More like a meet-crash."
He stares at her, then at Rex, who is now sitting down dramatically by her feet, making himself very comfortable. The traitor.
"That damn thing did a twirl in the air. I swear. Like it was showing off."
Emma raises an eyebrow and snatches the scarf from his hand. "Then maybe it needs its own Instagram."
"Or a leash."
"Or a GPS tracker."
They fall into silence, broken only by the low rumble of a tow truck and the murmur of a few lingering hospital staff. Police wrap up their questioning. The bystanders trickle away.
Emma opens her pastry bag and holds one out to him. "Peace offering?"
He hesitates, then takes a croissant. Bites into it. Too sweet. Too flaky. He doesn't care.
They find a nearby bench. Rex stretches out across their feet like a living truce.
Blake glances sideways at her. "You know you owe me."
Emma grins. "Only if my scarf personally signs the insurance report."
"I am Emma by the way..."
"Blake..." He mutters out grumpily.
Rex lets out a deep, contented huff.
And for the first time since the crash, Blake feels a sense of peace.
Maybe today hadn't been a complete disaster.
Maybe…just maybe…something unexpected had fluttered into his life for a reason.