POV: Emma
After we settled Delilah into her stall, nestled deep in fresh pine-scented shavings that smelled like safety itself, we stepped back out into the thick southern heat.
The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the rolling pasture. Cicadas buzzed from the hedgerows, their steady hum mixing with the evening breeze. Colt's hat was darkened with sweat around the brim, dust clinging to his shoulders like he'd been at it for hours, not just minutes.
His hazel eyes found mine.
And suddenly, something in my chest tripped over itself.
It was that kind of look, a man not just seeing you, but sizing you up. Figuring out where you might fit in his world. Heat bloomed fast and confusing inside me, and I scrambled to busy my hands brushing sawdust off my jeans.
"I'd call today a win," he said, his voice low and rough like Tennessee dust mixed with something sharper. "Give it time, she'll come around. Put in the work, and you can fix just about anything that's broken."
There was a weight behind that certainty, pressing into me like a firm hand on my back.
I ducked my chin, feeling my cheeks warm.
"I'll start her in the round pen tomorrow," Colt went on, shifting his weight again. I noticed how he favored his left side. "That's how I figure out what's rattling around in her head. See if she's just green, or if someone taught her to fear the wrong things."
I wanted to ask, how? How does a man read a horse like a book? How does he know what they need before they do?
But he answered before I could.
"You're wondering how she's gonna talk to me," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint smile.
I nodded, sheepish. "I just don't get how they communicate with you like that."
His gaze held mine steady, solid as a bull rope in a cowboy's grip. The late sun caught the amber flecks in his eyes, and I forgot to breathe.
"A horse'll tell you everything you need to know if you're smart enough to listen," he said, voice low and sure, each word rolling smooth. "Like people, they talk with the tilt of a hip, the flick of an ear, how their eyes soften or go hard. Delilah'll talk to me in her own way, and I'll damn well make sure I hear her."
His words hung heavy in the thick air, wrapping around me like smoke.
Without meaning to, I leaned in, letting every word soak in like warm rain on dry earth.
"You've got a real gift with these magnificent creatures," I said, softer than I'd intended, almost reverent.
A small smile curved his lips, like he was carrying secrets and battles fought far from the spotlight. He lifted a hand, running his fingers slowly through the mane of a sorrel resting over a nearby stall door. The gesture was gentle, almost sacred.
"Horses don't lie. They'll give you the truth every time," he said, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of his hat. "You just gotta know how to take it."
Between us, silence stretched, filled only by the lazy swing of barn doors and the crunch of gravel under boots.
I swallowed hard, my tongue dry against the roof of my mouth.
I'd met plenty of men who talked big—men who puffed themselves up like roosters in fancy suits. Sebastian was one. Every man my mother introduced me to was.
Colt wasn't.
He spoke plainly, and somehow, that made him even more dangerous.
The slap of the lead rope against his worn Wranglers broke the stillness, each smack kicking up a little dust. Savannah stepped forward, eyes shining with admiration.
"Thank you for what you're doing for Delilah," she said warmly. "Larry was right. You're a real horse whisperer."
Colt chuckled low. "I wouldn't go that far. But I know my way around 'em."
His phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. "Excuse me a second."
He stepped off, taking the call. "What now?"
I couldn't hear the other side, just his clipped, frustrated replies.
"I told you I'm working on it... No, I can't just flip a switch and be game-ready... Two weeks, Reynolds. That's what the doc said... Yeah, I know what's at stake."
He ended the call, staring at the phone like it was a loaded gun.
When he turned back, the cowboy charm was gone. His face was hard and tired—the look of a man fighting on too many fronts.
"Sorry about that," he said, forcing a smile. "See you ladies tomorrow? Nine o'clock?"
"We'll be here," Savannah said softly, sensing the shift.
He tipped his hat and headed back, his stride hitching more now. He was hurting. Pushing through it. Pretending he was fine when he clearly wasn't.
We climbed into the truck, the door groaning on its hinges. The vinyl seats still held the day's heat, and the faint scent of hay clung to our clothes.
Savannah started the engine but didn't move. Instead, she turned to me, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Lord have mercy," she drawled, slow as molasses. "That man is one fine specimen."
My grip tightened on the door handle. "Savannah."
"What? Don't act like you didn't see it." Her laughter bubbled up. "He looks at you like he's already made up his mind. Makes a girl weak just watching."
I stared hard at the dashboard. "I didn't notice a thing."
"Liar." She pulled out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "You were practically drooling when he was talking about horses speaking their own language."
"I was not."
"You were leaning in like you might fall over. And that flush on your cheeks? Dead giveaway."
Heat flooded my face again. "Can we please stop?"
"Stop what? Pointing out you're into him?" She shot me a sideways look. "Em, there's nothing wrong with that. He's gorgeous, talented, and clearly interested."
"He's not interested. He doesn't even know me."
"Exactly." Her voice softened. "He doesn't know Emma Lawson, billionaire runaway. He just knows Emma, the art teacher afraid of horses. Maybe that's exactly what you need."
Her words hit me harder than I expected.
Because she was right.
Colt doesn't know about my family, the arranged marriage, the tabloids, or the scandal. He just sees Emma. Nobody special.
And God, that feels good.
Terrifying, but good.
"What if he finds out?" I whispered. "What if someone recognizes me and it all falls apart?"
"Then it falls apart," Savannah said matter-of-fact. "But until then, let yourself feel something for someone who doesn't want you for your name."
I leaned my head against the window, watching the mountains roll by.
"He's got his own baggage," I said quietly. "That ex calling. The coach breathing down his neck. The injury. He's a mess, Savannah."
"So are you." She said it without judgment. "Maybe two messes can figure it out."
We drove in silence, the truck rocking over winding roads.
My phone buzzed in my purse.
I almost ignored it. Almost threw it out the window to pretend the outside world didn't exist.
But I couldn't.
I pulled it out and my stomach flipped.
One message from my father: Call me when you can. I miss you, sweetheart.
Nothing threatening. Nothing demanding. Just my dad missing his daughter.
Guilt twisted in my chest.
"You okay?" Savannah glanced over.
"Yeah." I shoved the phone away. "Just my dad."
"You should call him."
"I know." My throat tightened. "But how do I explain I'm happier here—broke and teaching art—than I ever was in Manhattan with everything money could buy?"
"You tell him the truth," Savannah said gently. "Your dad always got you better than your mom did."
She was right. But that didn't make it easier.
We pulled into my driveway. The cottage appeared through the trees like something out of a fairy tale. Small. Simple. Mine.
"You coming back tomorrow?" Savannah asked as I climbed out.
I hesitated, hand on the door. "I don't know."
"Emma." She leaned forward, eyes serious. "Don't run from this. He's good. You deserve good."
"He doesn't even know me."
"Then let him," she said simply. "Let him see Emma, the art teacher scared of horses. Not Emma Lawson. Just Emma."
I nodded, but my chest tightened.
Because I wanted that. God, I wanted it so badly it hurt.
But wanting and having are two different things.
I watched Savannah drive away, then stepped inside my cottage. Quiet. Peaceful. Everything my old life wasn't.
I poured a glass of wine and sank onto the couch, phone in hand.
My dad's message stared back at me.
I should call. Tell him I'm okay. Safe.
Instead, I opened Instagram. A mistake. I knew it the moment I did it.
Sebastian's profile loaded, public, of course. He wanted the world to see his perfect life.
His latest post was from three days ago, a photo at some charity gala, arm around a blonde in a designer gown. Caption: Moving forward. #NewBeginnings
Relief flooded me. He moved on. He wasn't coming after me.
I was about to close the app when I saw it.
A tagged photo. From tonight. Two hours ago.
Sebastian. At a restaurant. In Knoxville.
Knoxville. Forty-five minutes from Wears Valley.
The caption read: Look who I ran into! Sebastian Crane in Tennessee! Business or pleasure?
Sebastian's reply: A little of both.
My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.
He was here. In Tennessee.
Looking for me.
And tomorrow I was supposed to go back to Hayes Training. Back to Colt. Back to the one place I'd felt like myself in years.
But if Sebastian found me there, if he showed up and exposed me in front of Colt...
I couldn't let that happen.
I set my wine down, hands trembling, staring at my phone.
Tomorrow, I should stay home. Stay hidden. Stay safe.
But something inside rebelled.
I'd spent my whole life hiding from the person my mother wanted me to be. Hiding behind fake smiles and perfect manners and a life that never fit.
I wasn't hiding anymore.
Even if it meant risking everything.
Even if Colt found out the truth.
Even if Sebastian tracked me down and tried to drag me back.
I was done running.
But as I sat in my quiet cottage, phone clutched tight, one question kept looping through my mind:
What happens when two worlds collide?
And who gets left standing after the explosion?