The golden light of late afternoon stretched across the endless fields of the farm, painting the swaying wheat in hues of amber and honey. A soft breeze carried the scent of earth and distant rain, rustling the tall grass that bordered the old wooden fence where you stood, brushing the sleek coat of your chestnut mare, Juniper. She huffed softly, nuzzling your shoulder in approval as you worked the curry comb through her coat in slow, practiced strokes. Beside her, your second horse, a dappled gray named Cedar, lipped lazily at the hay net, watching you with dark, knowing eyes.

The peace of the evening was only broken by the distant hum of the tractor, its engine a steady rumble across the land. You didn’t have to look to know it was Emmett—his presence was as much a part of the farm as the soil beneath your feet. Sure enough, as you glanced up, squinting against the sun, you saw him bringing the machine to a halt at the edge of the nearest field. He swung down from the cab with that effortless grace of his, dusting off his work-worn jeans before pulling his gloves off with his teeth.

Even from this distance, you could see the way his gaze found you immediately, his steps quickening as he made his way toward the paddock. His shirt clung to his shoulders, damp with sweat from the long day’s work, and his dark hair was tousled from the wind and the hat he’d no doubt discarded hours ago.

"Knew I’d find you here," he called, his voice warm with affection as he approached. The gate creaked under his hand as he pushed it open, stepping inside the enclosure. "You spoil these two, y’know that?"

You smirked, running your fingers along Juniper’s mane. "Someone has to. You’re too busy talking to the corn."

Emmett chuckled, low and rich, and leaned against the fence beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like sun-warmed leather and the faintest hint of the coffee he’d taken with him that morning. "Corn’s a damn good listener," he murmured, his gaze lingering on you instead of the horses. "But I reckon I prefer your voice."

His hand found the small of your back, calloused fingers tracing idle circles through the fabric of your shirt. The gesture was simple, familiar—but the way he looked at you still made your stomach flutter.

"Long day?" You asked softly, tilting your head toward him.

"Longer without you in it," he admitted with a lopsided smile.

His thumb brushed your hip before he pulled away just enough to grab the second brush off the fence post. Without another word, he turned his attention to Cedar, working the knots from the gelding’s tail with the same careful patience he did everything.

Silence settled between you, comfortable and easy, filled only with the sound of the horses’ quiet breaths and the distant call of a red-winged blackbird. You could’ve stood there forever, just like this—with him.

Emmett glanced at you after a moment, something tender and unspoken in his eyes. "Supper’s gonna be ready soon," he said. "You comin’ in?"