by Jill Lynn
The remote burned into her palm—a hot potato. “You are awfully bossy tonight, Gage Frasier.”
“And you, Emma Wilder, need to stop overthinking and worrying about what I would want to watch. No people pleasing. Just pick something that you like.”
“Fine.”
Gage’s answering chuckle was warm and low and sweet as chocolate. Not helping her spastic cardiac issues in the least. Emma clicked through the menu until she found an old favorite. One Gage might possibly enjoy, too.
For the first fifteen minutes of the movie, Gage made a comment here and there—teasing her mostly. And then? Silence. Emma stole a covert glance in his direction. The man’s head sagged back against the couch cushion. Out cold. Poor guy had worked himself to exhaustion today. And then her chick flick had coaxed him to sleep like a lullaby.
Or maybe he’d known that he would conk out either way and had wanted her to watch something she would enjoy. That sounded like her Gage.
Her Gage.
There she went again, putting him in boxes he’d never agreed to crawl into.
Emma moved the popcorn bowl to the coffee table, then added a pillow between them as a new shield. She wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like Gage was even remotely leaning her direction. It was just...a reminder to herself that Gage wasn’t right for her. That he was off-limits. A no-go. Because the man really didn’t want babies someday. And she really did.
In the middle of the movie, Emma got up and used the bathroom. She found the pajamas Gage’s sister had left at his house set out for her along with a new toothbrush. She changed and brushed her teeth, then tossed her clothes into the washing machine on a short cycle for tomorrow.
When she returned, she fought the urge to move the pillow barrier she’d established and scoot next to Gage. Nestle in. She could just imagine him waking up with her snuggled against his arm, his confusion evident. Gage patiently explaining that he didn’t see her as anything more than Luc’s little sister. Probably writing up a contract for her so that she wouldn’t mess up those important details again.
The movie finished, and Emma clicked off the television. She managed to maneuver Gage’s head to the sofa, propping a pillow underneath it. She hefted the dead weight of his legs up to the cushions and spread a blanket over him. He reminded her of a little boy with those long eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, any stress from the day smoothed from his skin.
Emma turned down the kitchen lights, leaving only the microwave one on, then locked the dead bolt on the front door. After moving her clothes over to the dryer, she eased quietly into Hudson’s room and burrowed under the covers on the guest bed.
It should have taken her hours to fall asleep because of the many thoughts tumbling through her mind. Instead, it was only a matter of minutes because she allowed herself a little game of make-believe.
She pretended that this was her life. That Gage was her husband and Hudson her son.
A little imagination couldn’t hurt.
Except it did.
* * *
Gage woke at Hudson’s cry, surprised to find he’d been sleeping on the couch. The last thing he remembered was the opening to the movie. He must have dozed off, abandoning Emma and officially earning the title of Worst Host Ever.
A blanket covered him, and a pillow was wedged between his head and the armrest.
The work of Emma, of course. Best Caregiver Ever.
Hudson wailed again, but it came from the kitchen, not from down the hall. Gage sat up. Emma was next to the sink mixing a bottle, Hudson in her arms.
“Hey.”
She glanced over her shoulder and winced. “I was trying not to wake you. Figured you could use the sleep.”
Gage joined her in the kitchen, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “I didn’t even hear him until just now. Sorry.”
“You were out cold.” Emma finished shaking the bottle, then cradled Hudson. He cupped the middle-of-the-night snack with greedy hands. “Go to bed, Gage. I’ve got him. You’re exhausted. Let me do this.”
His eyes prickled with a strange sensation. The woman was selfless. Emma watched out for him in a way that he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before outside of his family. She made him want...a future. A wife. A family.
Her.
All things that he wasn’t sure he had enough faith to try again.
Frustration bubbled up. Why had Emma come into his life now? When it was too late? Gage was already jaded. Used.
“I can feed him.” She should be sleeping. The baby wasn’t her responsibility, even though she’d come into their lives and cared for him like he was her own. “You should—”
“Nope.” Emma swung Hudson in the other direction so that he was protected from Gage’s offer, a playful grin sneaking over her shoulder. How was she so awake, so happy even in the middle of the night? “You’re not going to win this one, Counselor.”
What Gage really wanted to do was wrap his arms around the two of them. Thank Emma for being...her. Press a kiss to her hair, her forehead...and then travel to other distracting destinations like those lips that could hold his attention for hours. Instead, he barely resisted a growl. What was wrong with him? He had to get away from this woman and the way she made him feel. Gage had worked hard to shut down after Nicole. To not let all of that disappointment, hurt...even guilt rise to the surface.
And Emma was churning it all up. That and more.
“Fine. Thank you.” His words were wooden. Not soft or warm or anything else they should be. Surprise registered in the dash that formed between Emma’s eyebrows. In the faint downward turn of her mouth.
Gage didn’t stay to explain. Didn’t attempt to ease a smile back onto her face. He had to escape before he did something rash. He crashed into his bed and then added an extra pillow, trying to get comfortable. To find a spot that would allow him the peace of sleep instead of replaying how he’d just acted with Emma.
All to avoid kissing her.
No matter how many times Gage warned himself to keep his distance from Emma—that their futures didn’t align—the woman kept shining so much light into his world that she blinded him to his past and the mistakes he’d made.
Almost as if her faith could be enough for the two of them. Emma was sunshine and roses and silver linings. She believed wholeheartedly in love. That it could conquer all. And Gage wasn’t sure he did anymore.
For him, not having children was a stopgap. A way to ensure that if he ever did marry again and botched things up as badly as he and Nicole had the first time around, at least he wouldn’t be taking any innocent little souls down with him. And no one deserved kids more than generous, caring Emma. She was born to be a mom. It was just in her. She couldn’t stop that desire if she tried, and Gage would never want her to. He couldn’t imagine her not having babies.
It would be like Picasso not picking up a paintbrush.
Which was why he had to stop thinking of her as he’d begun to: his saving grace, his new beginning, his first thought in the morning and his last at night.
Because she was none of those things for him. Not if he truly cared about her. Not if he wanted her to have the future she deserved.
Chapter Eleven
Emma woke to the sound of Hudson cooing and talking in his portable crib. She pushed out from under the covers and peeked at him. He grinned, a bit of drool pooling in the corner of his mouth.
“Good morning, cutest baby in the universe.” She scooped him up and, after a squeeze, laid him on the bed and changed his diaper. She slipped his footed pajama back on, then picked him up and inched the bedroom door open.
Was Gage up? And what kind of mood was he in?
Last night their encounter in the kitchen had been so strange. One minute he’d been himself, and the next he’d boarded up like an abandoned miner’s shack in the mountains.
Had i
t just been tiredness? Or something else?
A note on the floor placed on top of a sweatshirt and some other clothes caught her attention.
Here’s some clothes if you need anything. Breakfast is on the stove. Sorry about last night. —G
Whatever had been going on with Gage, Emma trusted that he had a good reason for it. Her curious self would just like to know what it was.
In the kitchen, she and Hudson found eggs in the frying pan covered with foil. A yellow Post-it note clung to the face of the coffeepot, its message scrawled in permanent marker. Drink me. Use the caramel creamer I got you in the fridge. You’ll thank me later.
She laughed, and answering happiness crested Hudson’s face. “Sweet boy.” She pressed kisses to his cheeks, his hair. “What am I going to do with the two of you? Huh? You’re both adorable.”
Emma made toast to go with the eggs. She and Hudson ate together as he chattered away about nothing and everything. The table was stationed near the sliding glass doors that led out back. Bridal-white snow covered the land. Crisp. New. As if a snow globe had been shaken and then settled.
Maybe Emma would bundle Hudson up and take him outside for a bit if it wasn’t too cold. Pull him around on a sled. But then, Gage wouldn’t have any snow toys, would he? Emma was used to Wilder Ranch and the supplies they had for winter groups.
When they finished eating, Emma cleaned Hudson up and settled him on the floor in the kitchen. He opened his favorite cupboard that she’d asked Gage not to babyproof—one filled with Tupperware—and began pulling pieces out, banging on them, tasting.
She chose a white mug from the cupboard, craving a cup of tea. And the man who’d left her notes. Emma got out the variety box of teas as the coffeepot taunted her. Beckoning.
She could try it. It had been years since she’d tasted coffee. Maybe her preferences had evolved over time.
She touched the note Gage had left for her, a smile playing on her lips. The coffee Emma could probably live without, but the man who’d made it was tempting her at every turn. She poured a half cup of brown liquid into her mug, then added a generous dollop of creamer. If she was going to taste the stuff, it had better be well covered.
Her first sip was...interesting. A bit too sweet, so she’d gone overboard with the creamer. But not entirely awful. She added another half inch of coffee, stirred, then tried it again. When Mackenzie made coffee, she drank it with only a little half-and-half. Not Emma’s favorite in the least. But this? This could grow on her.
A few hours later, Emma was stirring a batch of simmering chili when Gage opened the front door and came inside.
“Hey. How’s it going in here?” A gentle note accompanied his greeting, as if he wasn’t sure what kind of response to expect from her after last night’s hiccup. But Gage didn’t need to worry. Emma wasn’t the kind to be scared off by a bump. Especially not when she knew that Gage’s soul was good to the last drop.
“Great.” She set down the spoon on the holder next to the large pot and leaned against the counter, facing him. “How’s it going out there?”
“Cold.” Gage’s pink kissed-by-the-wind cheeks backed up his declaration. He took off his hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving the ends scattered. Attractive.
“How are the roads?”
“Still not great.” He took off his boots, stowed them on the drying mat. “Ford was the only one who made it back this morning. But the sun’s peeking through now, so that’s good. Should be able to drive you home in a bit.” He hung up his coat.
“If things clear up, I can take my car.”
Gage crossed over to her, concern wrinkling his brow. “That thing still won’t make it out of here.”
“Sure it will.”
“Emma, it’s currently buried in snow. You going to dig your way home?” He paused inches from her, completely distracting her with the rusty, scratchy sound of his voice. “The Jeep can get through way more than your little buggy. I will fight you about this. If you don’t let me drive you, you’re going to be stuck here another night.”
Throw in a ring, a few repeated lines in front of Pastor Higgin and Gage changing his mind about kids, and Emma would pack her suitcases and roll across the threshold of his house right now. “Fine. A ride is great!” She was as fake as a spoonful of Spam.
Gage didn’t seem to notice, instead focusing on the browned beef, garlic, onion and spices wafting from the pot on the stove. “What are you making? It smells amazing. My mom must have made something similar when I was growing up, because it brought me right back to childhood.”
“It’s just chili.”
“Just?” His head shook. “What did we discuss last night?”
What was with this man and his compliments? “That you’re going to stop making a big deal about everything I do?”
His chuckle warmed her like hot fudge melting ice cream. He was still standing awfully close. He smelled of snow and moisture and Gage and goodness all rolled into one.
“You weren’t joking when you said you’d stockpiled groceries.”
Her teeth pressed into the corner of her lip. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not spending too much. And I’d happily pay for it myself if you’d let—”
Gage cut her off by placing his glacial hand over her mouth. “Enough. I’m happy to have food in the house, Em. I could care less about the grocery bill. Do you have any idea how nice it is to come in from out there—” he nodded out back “—and find this? Money can’t buy that kind of goodness.”
Emma had only computed half of his words because his hand was glued to her lips. She was torn between hoping he’d stay put and rescuing herself from his icy palm. She opted for door number two—the hand removal. “You’re freezing! You’d better warm yourself up or you’re going to lose a finger to frostbite.”
Playfulness sparked in Gage’s eyes. “And how do you advise I do that? You offering to help?”
“No.” Her answer was quick. Short. And a lie if there ever was one.
“That doesn’t seem very sacrificial of you. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” He closed the gap between them, hands snaking to rest at the nape of her neck, burrowing under her ponytail.
They were practically in an embrace, his wrists resting on her shoulders, his face so close to hers.
Emma took an exaggerated step back—rather proud of herself for moving away from Gage’s touch—and his arms dropped to his sides. “You could run your hands under some hot water. Take a shower. Hold a cup of that coffee you love so much.”
His mouth hitched. “But what fun would that be when you’re right here in front of me?” Gage lunged for her, and Emma shrieked and took off around the island. She was half laughing, half squealing when Gage caught up to her on the other side of the butcher block. He snagged one wrist, spinning her in his direction before capturing the other. She was trapped. Held captive.
And she suddenly couldn’t recall why she was running at all.
* * *
What had gotten into him? Last night Gage had been racked with all of the reasons he should tread carefully around Emma. Keep things strictly platonic. And then he’d come inside to find her wearing his sweatshirt—the one he’d set out for her—and his brain had hailed a cab.
Emma’s hair was up in a ponytail. She wore jeans and—he glanced down—his slippers. How had she made it around the island in them without falling flat on her face? They must be two sizes too big for her.
She was adorable. Irresistible, it seemed, based on his current actions and the fact that he’d yet to let go of her.
Gage could use a buffer between them. A strong wall. Or a small, squirmy baby. “Where’s Hudson?”
“Down for his nap.”
So much for that barrier. Emma’s eyes still danced and sparkled, and Gage fell right into them. He slid chilly fingers inside the sleeves of
the sweatshirt. Goose bumps erupted along the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists. From the cold? Or from his touch?
“You’re going to turn me into a block of ice.” If Emma wanted to escape, she could. His hold on her was light, gentle. But she didn’t attempt to break free. Her slate-blue eyes held mirth, laughter stifled in the press of her lips.
“I just need you to melt me back to life.” The truth hit Gage like running fifty miles per hour smack into a brick wall. That’s exactly what Emma had done over the past few weeks. She’d taught him to breathe again. To wake up expectant in the morning. To live.
Their gazes met and held, and a rubber band twisted around Gage’s lungs, squeezing. Ho-boy. When the playful moment between them had sprouted, Gage hadn’t imagined ending up here. Close enough to Emma that he could lean in, taste those scrumptious lips.
His grip slacked, loosened. And then Emma did the strangest thing... She captured his hands and brought them up to her face level, then blew warm air across his now-tingling nerves.
“Better?”
Painfully so. Only Emma would take a situation when he was teasing her and actually attempt to add to his comfort.
Gage gave a nod since he couldn’t manage to speak. If he had answered out loud, no doubt his voice would have cracked any syllable into two. His senses screamed and shot into the red zone. He should never have chased Emma. Should have stuck to his plan.
Gage dug deep for a shred of remorse. Anything to stop him from doing what he currently wanted to do.
“I’m sorry I was grumpy and short with you last night.”
“Okay.” Emma smiled, grace evident, and then repeated her actions, the heat tingling against his skin. “Why were you?”
Her eyes were soft. Tender. Everything he wanted to see was written in them, and despite knowing better, Gage felt himself falling. “Because I was trying not to do this.” His head swooped low and his lips found hers as if they’d never had another destination.
