A/N: So this got long... like 10,000+ words long. But I'm sure none of you are complaining, right? ;)
Monday and Tuesday pass as usual; routine tasks, mucking stalls and feeding horses, trail rides and caring for guests. Things between her and Killian fall back into what, for them at least, constitutes a normal rhythm. He doesn't push, she doesn't run, and the whole 'friendship' thing seems to be working out quite well.
He joins them for a barbeque dinner on Tuesday night; hamburgers, hot dogs, and the season's first harvest of corn on the cob. They gather around the picnic table, eating and talking well into the evening as they make plans to check out some horses at auction in the morning.
Wednesday morning arrives early and she rises before the sun, meeting her father and Killian in the barn to quickly work through the morning chores. They feed and turn the horses out, and with the three of them mucking stalls, the barn is spotless less than an hour after daybreak.
Her mother wakes and finds them outside as Emma helps her father hitch the horse trailer to the truck. Mary Margaret brings out three large thermoses filled with coffee and a basket full of fresh-baked banana muffins, handing them to Killian before running back into the house and lugging out a cooler filled with juice, water and enough sandwiches and snacks to feed a small army.
Killian places the coffee and muffins in the front seat of the truck and the cooler gets tucked away in the storage area of the large trailer. Emma loads up water buckets, along with her helmet and a tote filled with wraps, pads, and other supplies. Killian tosses a couple bales of hay into the back of the truck and secures them in place with bungee cords and a tarp.
By the time 7:30am rolls around, she's hugging her mother goodbye and piling into the truck, squished between her father and Killian, sipping on coffee as she prepares for the two hour drive south to the nearest auction grounds.
It's unusual for an auction to be held midweek, but there have been so many horses going through the grounds lately, that weekly Saturday's just haven't been able to keep up with the surplus.
They probably won't make it back to the farm until well after dinner, but her mother is taking care of the guests today and Belle has promised to stop by later this afternoon to help with bringing in and feeding the horses.
As her father drives, they snack on muffins and discuss what they're looking for in potential horses. They're planning to retire three horses at the end of the season, so ideally they'll be bringing home three new mounts. Her father would prefer to spend less than five thousand total, and while age doesn't matter a great deal, the horses need to be sound and in good health.
They're looking for a pony; big enough to carry a small adult, but sane enough to be trusted with a child, as well as some sort of heavy-set gelding that would be ideal for larger men. The third is open to negotiation, but her father is considering something faster and high-spirited to replace one of his aging and slightly arthritic lesson horses.
Horse auctions can be hit and miss, but they're hopeful that it won't be a wasted trip.
The highway stretches out before them, long and monotonous, and Emma is glad she's not the one driving. Her father and Killian fall into conversation about fishing or something else she doesn't have a great deal of interest in, and as she pulls her worn copy of The Goblet of Fire from her bag to re-read, she thinks that maybe it would have made more sense for Killian to sit in the middle. It's lacking in leg room though, and being the shortest of the bunch, she gets stuck with it.
She gives up on reading and tucks the book away when the topic of Killian's sister-in-law and nephew arise. She'd almost forgotten they were scheduled to arrive this weekend. Their flight lands at 4pm on Saturday afternoon and Killian is wondering, if it's not too much of an imposition, could she bring in and feed by herself that day so he can pick them up from the airport. If not, he's sure they can take a taxi.
"Don't be silly, of course that's fine," she tells him, elbowing him softly in the side. "Don't make them take a cab. It costs a small fortune and the drivers always get lost."
She knows this from experience after flying home each Christmas. Her father always offered to pick her up, but she was often too stubborn and independent for her own good.
Killian chuckles, thanking her.
"We haven't really discussed it yet," David says, eyes flickering briefly from the road, "but Abigail and Colin are more than welcome to stay in one of the guest cabins. We have an empty one this weekend and I'm sure we could shuffle reservations around to make it available for longer."
"I don't want you to go to any trouble," Killian says, frowning. "I was thinking perhaps they could stay in the apartment for the duration, and if it's all right with you, I'd just crash on your couch? I promise you'll hardly know I'm there."
David nods. "The couch is yours if you want it – it pulls out and is more comfortable than it looks," he tells Killian, and then he bumps his shoulder against Emma's. "There's the two-piece bathroom off the living room, but you'll have to ask Emma if she's willing to share her shower."
Emma barks out a laugh at her father's suggestion, because oh boy, if he had any idea about the events of last weekend, he certainly wouldn't be putting the words 'share' and 'shower' in the same sentence with her name and Killian's.
Killian blushes, tugging at his ear, and okay, so sue her – he's adorable when he's flustered. Taking pity on him she nods and says, "That's fine," before steering the conversation toward less dangerous waters.
"So how old is Colin now?"
She already knows the answer, but it's a safe question, so she asks it anyway.
Killian gives her a look that tells her he knows this too, and she just smiles, waiting for him to reply.
"He'll be turning three at the end of the month," Killian says, sounding very much like the proud uncle he is, "I'll have to find time this week to pick up a birthday present for him."
"Are zebras still his favourite animal, or has he changed his mind again?" Emma asks, grinning as she plucks another muffin from the basket at her feet.
"I believe warthogs are the pick of the week. Abigail has introduced him to The Lion King and he absolutely adores Pumba."
Both she and David laugh at that. "I imagine you're excited to see them?" David surmises.
Killian nods. "I am. It's been far too long."
The remainder of the drive to the auction grounds is spent discussing Abigail and Colin. David seems to know the vague details of Liam's death, but they're all careful to avoid the name as they speak, and it strikes her that Killian's family is just about as small as her own. She has no remaining grandparents to speak of, her mother was an only child, and her father's twin brother passed back before she was born.
It's never really bothered her though; that she's an only child with a very small family tree. She's known Ruby and Belle for as long as she can remember, and loved them for longer; they're like sisters to her. And her parents have always played an active role in the town community, so in a way, friends and teachers and neighbours have been a sort of extended family.
For her, family has never really been about blood ties.
When they arrive, the auction grounds are already filling up with trucks and trailers, cars parked in makeshift rows on the gravel lot. Her father pulls the truck around, skillfully backing the trailer into a large empty spot between two others.
Killian slides from the truck first, and she follows after him, finally able to stretch her legs. They wait by the truck, flipping through the auction catalogue while David wanders off to register and obtain a bidding card.
Last night after dinner they had folded the corners back on several pages and circled a number of prospects, so today, going in, they already have a pretty good idea of what they want to look at.
She hasn't been to these auction grounds since she was sixteen or seventeen, but she remembers it well; the chaos, people everywhere, rows and rows of temporary stalls and fencing to house horses and cattle, hastily constructed round pens, vendors and booths, all leading up to the main auction ring. Killian, on the other hand, has never been to a livestock auction, and she can't blame him for looking a little bit overwhelmed by it all.
David rejoins them after only a few minutes, and Emma grabs her helmet from the trailer. Her father knows a number of the sellers, acquaintances and the odd childhood friend, and most of them are willing to tack up their horses for short trial rides in the cramped confines of narrow pens.
It's not the ideal way to test out a potential mount, but a few minutes to assess training, temperament, and soundness is better than purchasing a horse sight unseen.
They wander through the rows of pens and stables, checking over horses that look promising. Some they dismiss outright, when temperament, even from a distance, is clearly unsuitable.
Others they speak with owners about, gathering history and whatever information they can. They check the horse's teeth to assess age, and are always on the lookout for injuries and illness. They run their hands down legs and along spines, feeling for heat and sensitivity indicative of potential issues, observing conformation and any abnormalities that could present as problematic later on.
David walks Killian through each step of the process, giving pointers, asking and answering questions.
When they find a horse that looks promising and get the go-ahead from the seller, they tack the horse up, cataloguing reactions. Some horses are downright nasty when the time comes to tighten the girth, and others are head-shy about being bridled. They're issues, but not ones that can't be worked through with a little bit of time and patience.
Once mounted, Emma takes a moment to get a feel for each horse. Some, despite being listed as 'broke to ride' clearly aren't, and when she can feel a horse about to explode beneath her, she quickly dismounts before being dumped in the dirt or thrown into a wall.
Walking and trotting, halting and backing up, she tests out a few horses that are well trained, but she and her father both know that they will likely fetch prices well above their budget. Others are calm, hesitant but willing, and even though they have little in the way of training, it's something they can easily work with. Her father marks down lot numbers and highlights them in the program, taking note of auction times and asking owners about reserve prices to get an idea of how much the horse will go for.
By the time noon rolls around, Emma has been on and off at least ten different horses, and they've looked at nearly triple that. They have a solid eight mounts that that they would be content with bringing home, and out of that, there are four that they're really have their sights set on.
They head back to the trailer to grab a quick lunch before the auction starts, and when they get there, Emma pulls the helmet from her head, wiping the sweat from her brow and rearranging her hair in what she hopes is something less resembling a terrifying case of helmet-head.
David grabs a sandwich and a water bottle and takes his lunch with him into the front seat of the truck, phone held to his ear as he recounts the morning's events to his wife.
Emma finds it adorable, that even after almost thirty years of marriage, her parents still chat like newlyweds.
Grabbing a sandwich for herself and a bottle of lemonade, she tosses them up into the bed of the pickup before putting one foot on the wheel and climbing over the edge. It's not the most elegant place to eat, but it's way too hot to join her father in the front seat of the cab, even with the windows rolled down.
Once she's in the truck, she reaches out her hand to grab Killian's lunch, leaving his hands free to pull himself up.
They settle down with their backs against the tarp covered hay, and she smiles at him as she unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite. The back window of the truck is open, and through it she can hear her father still talking on the phone.
"So what do ya think of all this?" she asks, waving her hand around to indicate the bustle of people and animals surrounding them.
"It's a tad overwhelming," Killian admits. "I certainly wouldn't want to figure it out all on my own the first time. You and your dad seem to have it down to a science though."
She nods. "Just wait until we actually get into the auction ring. Took me a few trips before I could make out a single word the auctioneer was saying. Sounded like some sort of jumbled alien language," she laughs, "still does most of the time. That's why dad does the bidding. I just play crash test dummy beforehand."
After washing down a bite of sandwich with a mouthful of water, Killian asks, "Have you been dumped while trying out the horses here?"
"Just once, when I was twelve – nasty little pony tossed me into a wall. Got this," she points to the small scar beside her left eye, "and a nasty concussion for my trouble."
Killian reaches out, tracing the scar lightly with his thumb, his fingers resting against her hair, and she freezes, holding her breath. After a couple of very long seconds, he drops his hand, smiling apologetically.
Choosing to brush off the touch seems like the best course of action, so she does, shrugging her shoulders and saying, "It's barely noticeable now, but at the time it was pretty messy. Blood everywhere – you know how head wounds are. I thought for sure mom was never going to let me near a horse again, and dad, well, he got quite the talking to."
Killian laughs and her father speaks up, turning his head to address them through the open window. "I thought for sure I was going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the year!"
"I take it neither of those things happened?" Killian questions, shaking his head in amusement.
"Nah, I just got a very long lecture about wearing my helmet while riding and dad only got saddled with two nights on the couch."
Emma's about to tell another story about the gelding that stepped on and broke her father's big toe, when the PA system crackles to life and it's announced for all to hear that the first round of horses will be entering the auction ring in twenty minutes.
Finishing up lunch quickly, they pack the cooler away and head toward the ring, wanting to get good seats.
It's a long afternoon, watching horse after horse make their way through the ring. There are young horses and old horses, pregnant mares and sturdy geldings. Some are fancy and obviously well cared for, while others are too skinny, all ribs and hip bones jutting against lackluster coats. Some go to good homes, far too many go to meat buyers. She's always hated it, but it's a sad reality at most auctions and there's very little to be done about it.
Over the course of the next few hours, they buy four horses.
The first is a little paint pony gelding, sturdy, calm, and full of potential. Next is a big boned, dark brown quarter horse gelding, followed by a feisty chestnut mare, who, with some fine-tuning, will make an excellent addition to David's lesson program.
The fourth horse is a bit of an impulse buy, and is not on their list of potentials at all, but when Emma sees the appaloosa enter the ring, she immediately offers to pay her father back, whatever the cost. The mare is raggedy, too thin, full of burs and mats, and there's not an ounce of shine in her coat. She's got a nasty cut running up her shoulder, but despite the unkempt exterior, there's a calm intelligence in her eye, and she appears sound as she's hand-trotted around the ring by a handler.
In the end, the mare goes for just shy of $400, and she hugs her father, thanking him as they gather their buyer contracts and head to the cashier to settle for their purchases. The lines are long and it takes a while, but eventually they're heading back to the stables to meet up with each seller.
One by one David collects the horses, bringing them back to the trailer. Together, she and Killian ensure that each horse has some water to drink and some hay to eat, and for the most part the horses are cooperative as Killian holds them steady so she can wrap their legs for the drive home.
Hay is shoved into hay-nets, and Killian ties them into place in the trailer while she finishes the wraps on the dark brown gelding. He's half asleep, eyes barely open, lower lip drooping in relaxation, and the biggest issue she has is convincing him to shift his weight back onto each hind leg so she can properly wrap them.
Killian leads the paint pony in first, and he steps up the ramp and onto the trailer like an old pro. With the little guy secured, happily munching on hay, she pushes the barrier into place, checking to ensure it clicks, locking tightly. The other gelding loads easily as well, and with the next barrier in place, she steps back down the ramp to collect the chestnut mare.
Loading the feisty redhead is an entirely different story; she skitters sideways, shuffles backwards, and plants her feet, refusing to budge, so Emma focuses on leading the mare around the entire trailer in both directions, allowing her to sniff and explore, adjust and relax.
The next time she comes back to the ramp, she asks the mare to take a step up. When the mare does, she pats her on the neck, feeds her a mint, and allows her to step back down. She repeats the process several more times, allowing the mare to walk up the ramp a bit, and reverse back down it.
It takes a full half hour of patience and gentle reassurance, but eventually the mare follows her willingly onto the trailer. Emma praises her as she clips her into place, and when she moves the barrier into position, the mare is still contentedly eating her hay.
It's not the first difficult horse she's ever had to load, and she learned early on that while anger and frustration and forcing the issue might eventually get the horse on the trailer, in the long run, it's always better to approach the situation with patience and understanding, to build trust and reshape it all as a positive experience.
When she exits the trailer, wipes her hands on her jeans, and says "Ta-da!" Killian is watching her with something akin to awed admiration on his face, and her father is waiting with the last horse, smiling proudly.
She steps down the ramp and approaches the appaloosa mare, stroking her neck soothingly as she inspects the gash on her shoulder. It's deep, but superficial, and looks fairly recent.
She asks Killian to fetch a clean bucket of water and a sponge, and she leaves her father holding the horse while she rummages through the storage compartment for supplies. The mare has no history of a tetanus vaccination in her papers, so she draws up a vaccine in one syringe, and a dose of tetanus antitoxin in another.
The mare doesn't fuss at all when she injects the vaccine and antitoxin into the muscles on either side of her neck, and she hands off the empty syringes to Killian, taking the bucket of water from him. She cleans the wound with water first, then iodine, patting it dry with sterile gauze and smearing antibiotic ointment over it before loosely covering it with a breathable bandage.
The little mare stands perfectly still for the entire process, only occasionally moving her head to nose curiously at Emma as she works.
He father wraps the mare's legs, and when all is said and done, and the mare loads willingly into the trailer, Emma knows it wasn't a mistake to spend the extra money. The little lady needs her hooves trimmed and her teeth checked, a decent groom and an improved diet, but Emma's confident that within a month or two, she'll look like an entirely different horse.
It's well past the dinner hour by the time the horses are all tucked away in the trailer, so they grab more food from the cooler, and pile back into the truck. After finishing her sandwich and eating her way through half a bag of chips with Killian's help, she slumps a little in her seat and stretches her legs out to the right.
Her feet knock against Killian's, but he just smiles at her and doesn't seem to mind, so she smiles back and closes her eyes, contemplating possible names for the new horses.
She must fall asleep, because the next thing she knows, Killian is tucking her hair behind her ear and telling her, "Time to wake up, love."
She nuzzles into his shoulder, grumbling a little bit, because he's warm and he smells good and it's been a really long day. Killian chuckles and she frowns as her pillow shakes against her cheek.
"If you'd prefer, I can carry you into the house and put you to bed again?" he says teasingly and she finally pulls back, cracking open an eye to look at the cheeky grin on his face.
Groaning, she rolls her eyes. Smug bastard. "Okay, okay, I'm awake."
Her father is already out of the truck, and she can hear the latches on the trailer being lifted, the ramp being dropped into place. Killian opens the door and slides from the truck first, and when he offers his hand, she takes it, letting him help her down.
She's not sure exactly what time it is, but the yard is bathed in golden light, the sun mere minutes away from dropping below the horizon, so she figures it has to be close to 9pm.
She pulls the little appaloosa from the trailer first, leading her down the ramp and to an empty pen. Killian follows closely behind with the chestnut mare. The horses are new and until they've been checked over by the vet and properly vaccinated, they need to be quarantined – kept separate from all the other horses on the farm.
They unwrap the horse's legs and release the mares into the pen together, keeping watch for a few minutes to make sure they get along without issue. The water trough is already full, so they grab hay from the back of the truck and toss it into the pen for the horses to share.
The geldings follow the same routine and are released into the second pen next to the mares.
When everyone is settled, they gather the leg wraps and toss them into the back of the trailer. David backs it up into its spot beside the garage and detaches the truck. It's dark now, so they'll worry about cleaning it out tomorrow when they have daylight to work with.
Killian heads up to the apartment to shower and change into clean clothes before doing night check for the other horses, and Emma follows her father into the house, dragging her feet up the steps and through the door.
Her mother and Belle are seated on the couch in the living room with a pile of books in-between them, and Emma waves a greeting as she heads to her bathroom for the world's fastest shower.
After her shower (which turns out not to be all that fast), she dresses in pyjama shorts and a loose t-shirt, and finds Belle and her mother in the kitchen, pulling a pie from the oven.
"Looks like you two have had a productive day," Emma says, leaning over the oven to inhale the rich aroma of blueberry pie.
Belle nods. "We planned out reading and activity lists for the next month of summer camp at the library, and I brought the blueberries fresh from town, so we just had to make pie."
Mary Margaret sets the pie up on a cooling rack, and they all take seats at the table.
"You and the boys were certainly busy," her mother states. "We saw you unloading the new horses. Tell me, how did you convince your father to bring home a fourth? I know he didn't want to take on more than three."
Emma grins. "You know how he is; sucker for a lost soul. All I had to do was pout a little bit and offer to pay him back."
Her mother and Belle both laugh at the truth of that statement.
"I know she looks pretty rough right now, and she's not broke to ride, but she's calm and sweet and nothing seems to faze her; once we fatten her up, she'll be a breeze to train," Emma explains.
She tells them all about the other horses as well, and when her father enters the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in his own pyjamas, they cut into the pie.
Belle takes her piece to go, tucked away in a Tupperware container, and after hugging her friend goodbye, Emma piles two large pieces of pie onto a plate, balancing a couple forks on the side.
"I'm gonna bring a piece out to Killian," she calls as she steps into a pair of flip flops.
"Be quiet when you come back in, we'll probably be sleeping," David answers through a mouthful of pie, "and thank him for all his help today!"
"I will!" she says, adding a goodnight over her shoulder as she steps out onto the porch.
The lights in the barn are already off, and while she was hoping to catch Killian there before he went back up to the apartment, she's not about to turn around and head back into the house with two pieces of pie and little in the way of an explanation.
There's a light on in the apartment, and she can see the bluish flicker of the television reflected on one wall, so she crosses the driveway and heads up the steps, taking a deep breath and balancing the plate carefully in her left hand before knocking with her right.
"It's open!" Killian calls out.
She twists the knob and pushes the door open, remembering the last time she was up here; the first night they met, the rain and the thunder, and her less than graceful, stumbling crash into the wall.
"I come bearing blueberry pie," she says, kicking the door shut softly behind her.
Killian twists from his seat on the couch, turning to look at her over the back of the couch. He seems a little bit surprised by her presence, but he takes it in stride, smiling at her as he stands and takes the plate from her hand. "And it's still warm."
She nods and he sets it down on the coffee table, moving into the small kitchenette, rummaging through the fridge. "Something to drink, love?" he asks. "I'm afraid I've only water, milk, or beer."
She makes a face when he says beer – she's not quite sure that would pair well with blueberry pie. "Uh, milk I guess, thanks."
While Killian pours two large glasses of milk, she takes a moment to look around the small apartment now that it's lit by more than a flickering lantern.
The entire space consists of little more than one large room and a small bathroom on the far side of the bed, and for the most part, it's quite like she remembers it. The layout is the same, but the subtle touches Killian has placed upon it are masculine and earthy. The couch is different, distressed caramel leather, and the bed is made up with plaid sheets and a navy comforter. There's some abstract driftwood art above the bed, and on the wall between the two windows, there's a painting she's never seen before.
She steps closer to get a better look.
A herd of horses, snow white coats transitioning from alabaster to spotted, then painted, like snow upon rocks, changing again, shifting to reveal a flock of birds bursting forth in flight. It's beautiful, and she lowers her gaze to read the words printed below.
"A broken song beneath the snow," Killian beings, speaking the words from across the room, "the echo of a soaring joy, a shape in the mist, a touch in the rain, in wilderness you come again..."
Turning from the painting, she faces him, and he continues, "You tell us what we used to know... you speak for all the free wild things, whose ways were ours, when the wind had wings."
And maybe she's standing there a little bit in awe, her mouth agape; because the fucking perfect bastard (she almost rolls her eyes) just recited some of the most beautiful words she's ever heard, entirely from memory, and he's just smiling at her, holding two large glasses of milk and looking adorably rumpled in threadbare pyjama pants and a midnight blue t-shirt.
"Bev Doolittle, 1994," he says, stepping forward and handing her a glass of milk before ushering her to the couch. "Let's eat that pie before it gets cold."
Killian holds the plate and she settles down next to him on the couch, closer than preferred, but she's the idiot that stuck both pieces of pie on the same plate, so really, she has no one to blame but herself.
The pie is the perfect balance of sweet and tangy, rich and flavourful, and she eats it slowly, savouring each bite. Killian finishes his piece first and when he makes a show of going for her piece, she bats his hand away and pulls the plate into her own lap. "Hey! Hands off, buddy!" she scolds, laughing as he pouts, sets his fork down on the coffee table and grabs his glass of milk.
He downs the entire drink in several large gulps and she starts laughing again when he sets it back down on the coaster. "You've got a little..." she points to his face where there's milk caught in his moustache.
He grins, like he's known it was there all along, his tongue darting out to clean the mess from his upper lip, and she has to look away, because he makes adorably dorky look hot as hell, and it's so not fair.
"Better?" he asks.
She glances at him quickly, nods and finishes up the last bite of her pie before discarding the plate on the table and reaching for her own glass of milk.
She's not quite sure how eleven o'clock arrived so quickly, but The Daily Show is starting, and Killian props his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back into the soft cushions as he bumps up the volume so that they can actually make out the words.
He doesn't seem in any great hurry to be rid of her, and oddly enough, she doesn't find herself wanting to leave just yet, so she tucks her feet up underneath her against the cool breeze from the fan in the corner, snuggling into the warmth of the couch.
Killian grabs a blanket from a basket beside the couch, shaking it out and spreading it over her legs. She smiles at him, and maybe she should get up and leave, at the very least she should probably shift into the corner of the couch to put a little distance between them, but somehow, she ends up staying exactly where she is, slouching sideways until her head comes to rest on his shoulder.
His fingers twitch a little bit, his left hand clenching where it rests against his thigh, but he doesn't move to wrap an arm around her, just remains still, focusing too hard on the TV.
She's not sure exactly what it is that makes up her mind; maybe it's his resolve to respect her wishes and not cross the line she's drawn for them, or maybe it's just that she's tired and he's warm and she wants this, but whatever the reason, she finds herself shifting to lift his arm, ducking underneath it before allowing it to settle against her side.
He inhales a sharp breath, and she feels him release it slowly, relaxing as his fingers curl over the curve of her hip. She smiles into the solid warmth of his shoulder, breathing deep as she blinks sleepily, only half watching the laughter playing out on the television before them.
After a while, when she starts to drift off, sleep blurring lines at the edge of consciousness, she thinks that yes, she should definitely get up and leave now.
But she doesn't.
She wakes to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm clock, confused and disoriented, because there's light coming from the wrong side of a bed that is most definitely not her own.
Sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looks around.
She's in Killian's apartment.
In his bed...
And she's really confused.
"Don't worry, love, I slept on the couch," Killian says, and her eyes snap up to where he stands in the small kitchen, smirking as he pours two cups of coffee.
Her gaze drifts over to the couch where one of the pillows from the bed and a wrinkled blanket rest reassuringly.
"Let me guess; I fell asleep and you carried me over here to your bed?" she asks, frowning, because she has no memory of walking over here and she's almost one hundred percent certain that the answer is yes.
Killian nods. "Aye."
"You should have woken me up and sent me home," she says, grumbling as she flips the covers back and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, standing and trying to locate her flip flops. She really doesn't want to explain to her parents why she didn't return to her own bed last night.
She spies her sandals by the door and moves to grab them, but Killian blocks her path and holds out a cup of coffee. "It's still early, your parents won't be up for at least another hour yet," Killian assures her, pressing the mug into her hands as he points to the clock on the microwave. It reads 5:50am and she breathes a sigh of relief, taking a tentative sip of the steaming coffee.
Killian retreats into the kitchen and points at one of the two bar stools along the tiny island. "Have a seat; the omelette will be ready in a minute."
She makes to protest and Killian must sense it, because he shakes his head and moves around the bar to pull out a chair for her. "Sit, please? Fifteen minutes. I promise your parents won't catch you skulking from my apartment."
"They better not," she warns, still maintaining the pretense of irritated grumbling as she takes a seat and continues sipping at her coffee. It's really good; some sort of hazelnut blend, and she has a hard time fighting the smile that tugs at her lips.
Killian just laughs and returns his attention to the large frying pan on the stove.
It's a little weird, sitting here watching him cook breakfast, after a night of what, really, was a completely innocent series of events.
It's kind of nice though, and the omelette smells amazing, so she allows herself to get caught up in it all for a moment, imagining what it might be like if maybe he had slept in the bed with her, if it all had been far less innocent.
Heat creeps into her cheeks and she chews on her lower lip, admiring the way the thin material of his pyjama pants cling to his ass.
And of course he chooses that moment to turn and look at her with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Toast with your omelette?" he asks, and she can hear the lilting laughter in his voice.
Damn him.
"Two slices please. I'm planning to work up quite the appetite today," she says looking him in the eye, grinning right back at him.
Fuck if she's going to let him have all the fun here.
His eyes flicker down to her chest, then back up to her face – retaliation she expects, for staring at his ass.
He puts four slices of bread in the toaster, pressing the levers down quickly before removing the frying pan from the heat and turning back to her. "That so, love?"
She nods, and decides to take a page from Ruby's book of ridiculous horse innuendos. It's common knowledge in the horse world that a 'hand' (four inches) is a unit of measurement for discussing a horse's height. "It's hard work having 16 hands between your legs for hours on end," she tells him, biting back a laugh as she tries to keep a straight face.
She fails miserably.
The look on his face is a mixture of amusement and shock, and by the time she stops laughing, he's setting the loaded plates on the bar with a bottle of ketchup, and then pulling peanut butter and honey from the cupboard next to the sink.
The laughter lightens the mood, and as they eat, they discuss the new horses. The vet is scheduled to come out this afternoon, but her father will be taking care of that while they manage the trail rides.
They end up talking about Avast as she finishes her last bite of toast, and that reminds her that Ashley had called Tuesday night, inviting her and Killian to come out Friday evening for dinner and a visit.
"Oh, I totally forgot with all the chaos yesterday, but Ash called the other night and was wondering if we'd like to come out for dinner on Friday. Honestly I think she just wants to pawn Alexa off on me for a few hours, but I know you haven't had much time to go see Avast lately, so I was thinking it might be fun."
Killian nods, gathering up the dishes and depositing them in the sink. "Sounds good to me, love," he says as he runs hot water, filling up the sink. "You'll let her know I'd be happy to attend?"
She looks at the clock (it's almost quarter to seven – she's stayed far longer than she meant to) and slides down from the chair, heading toward the door. "I will," she tells him.
"And Killian?"
He turns to look at her.
"Thanks for breakfast."
"You're most welcome, love. I'll see you out in the barn shortly," he calls as she heads to the stairs.
She makes it into the house and changes quickly, grabs another cup of coffee and is on her way out the door just as her parents wake and wander into the kitchen.
The rest of the day is spent as usual; they feed, turn out and muck the stalls, throw hay to the new horses and break for lunch before taking guests out on the trails in the afternoon. The vet drops by just before supper, and after they eat, she and Killian spend the rest of the evening together, grooming the new horses.
Friday arrives, humid, sunny, and even hotter than the day before, and with the afternoon's work completed, she heads into the house for a lukewarm shower to wash the sweat and the dirt and the sunscreen from her skin.
She allows her hair to air-dry in a tangle of wild waves, because with the humid weather, attempting to tame it would be the definition of futility. She tugs on a pair of white shorts and a pale green sleeveless blouse, pulling a pair of flat, strappy sandals from her closet before gathering her purse and heading outside to meet Killian.
He'd offered to drive earlier and when she crosses the driveway, he's already waiting by the jeep, dressed in a pair of grey linen pants and that thin white t-shirt she loves on him far too much. He's all tanned skin and dark hair, holding a bagged bottle of wine, and she finds herself wondering yet again, just why exactly she thought remaining 'friends' would be good idea.
"Ready to head out?" he asks, and her heart beats a little faster when he grins broadly, dropping his sunglasses into place over his eyes.
The drive into town doesn't take long, and Killian parks the jeep in the lot at the side of the small apartment building. She calls up and Ashley buzzes them in. The building is only three stories and Ashley and Sean live on the second floor, so they take the stairs instead of the elevator, knocking twice before they're finally heard over the commotion within.
Ashley opens the door with a puppy in one arm, waving them in, and Alexa comes barrelling forward, blonde curls bouncing, dragging a giant stuffed horse behind her.
"Lex, you remember Emma and Killian, right?" Ashley asks her daughter.
Alexa nods excitedly, abandoning the stuffed animal in the doorway to grab Emma's hand and pull her into the room. "We go see puppies, come!"
"Don't worry about your shoes," Ashley tells them, and Emma discards her purse on the coffee table as she walks past it, allowing the excitable three and a half year old to pull her over to the barricaded area of the living room where the puppies are housed.
Killian follows them through the room, returning the stuffed horse to a basket of toys, and when Ashley places the squirming puppy back in the pen with the others, he hands her the bottle of wine.
Emma had taken a peek at the label in the car; it's a full-bodied Italian red, more expensive than she usually bothers with, but her parents have served it on occasion and it's one of her absolute favourites. Somehow she gets the feeling Killian knows this.
Sean's out on the balcony barbequing dinner and Mia (mama husky) is relaxing in the sun by his feet. They call their greetings through the screen door, laughing over the chaos as the puppies yap loudly and Alexa breaks into a song that contains each of their names.
"Little brats are five weeks old now," Ashley tells them, shaking her head. "I just keep telling myself three more weeks, three more week and they can start going to their new homes. Even poor Mia is fed up with them – jumps out of the pen for some alone time more and more each day."
"You should make Archie puppy-sit; letting Pongo off his leash is what started all of this in the first place," Emma jokes, grabbing Alexa under the armpits and lifting her into the pen before stepping over the barrier to join her.
"He helped me find homes for most of them and pays for the extra dog food, so he's off the hook," Ashley says. "Keep an eye on her for a few minutes, will ya? I should get the table set."
"We will," Killian promises, stepping into the pen behind her.
The puppies have grown significantly since she last saw them, but they're still unbearably cute, chubby balls of fluff and she can't wait to get her hands on them.
Alexa drags them down to sit on the floor and Emma's knee bumps against Killian's as they all sit cross legged in a small circle. The puppies climb all over them, clamouring for attention, and the next ten minutes are spent asking Alexa questions about the dogs and smiling so hard her face hurts.
Avast has outgrown her title as runt of the litter, and is now the second largest of the group. The puppy's big paws press into Killian's chest as she licks at his face, squirming excitedly in his grasp, tail wagging wildly.
"Lex, come wash your hands," Ashley calls from the kitchen.
"Why?" Alexa replies, looking up from where she sits on the floor with a puppy in her lap.
"Because it's almost time to eat," Ashley explains patiently.
"No! Don't wanna," Alexa states firmly, pouting.
Ashley sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Lex..."
But clearly the little girl isn't just playing stubborn.
Killian deposits Avast gently back on the floor and stands, offering his hand to Emma. "What do you say, love? Think we should go wash our hands? Perhaps make some bubbles?"
He winks at her, grinning, and she takes his hand, allowing him to pull her up. "You know what? That sounds like a lot of fun!" she exclaims dramatically. "Maybe we should ask Lex if she wants to join us, huh?"
Killian nods and offers his other hand to Alexa, who looks markedly more interested now. "How's that sound, lass? Want to help Emma and I make bubbles in the sink?"
Alexa pushes the puppy from her lap and stands, nodding enthusiastically. "Uh huh!"
Killian lifts Alexa over the barrier this time, and as they follow the little girl down the hall toward the bathroom, Ashley mouths a 'thank you', looking relieved.
In the bathroom Killian rubs a thin mixture of soap and water between his palms, blowing air through the film to create bubbles that float over the counter and pop against the mirror. Alexa giggles wildly as Killian shows her how to do it with her own hands, and Emma watches from the doorway, a soft smile curving at her lips, because once again, she's blown away by how good he is with kids.
Emma takes her turn blowing bubbles and washing her hands, and a few minutes later, they're all heading back to the table.
"Dada! We made bubbles!" Alexa shouts, barrelling into Sean's legs just seconds after he sets the tray of food on the counter.
"You did?" Sean asks, reaching out to shake Killian's hand over his daughter's head.
Alexa nods, jumping into the story, and Emma joins Ashley at the kitchen counter. "You're probably going to want to wipe down your mirror later," Emma tells her, "there are bubble prints all over it now."
Ashley just laughs and hands Emma the salad. "Totally worth it! You two got her to wash her hands without a fight; that's been a challenge lately."
Sean helps Alexa up into her booster seat, and Killian opens the bottle of Ripasso as Emma helps Ashley carry the food to the table. There's steak, a Caesar salad, and a medley of colourful roasted baby potatoes.
Emma takes a seat next to Killian at the circular table, and Ashley and Sean sit on either side of Alexa. Killian compliments them on what promises to be a delightful meal, and after the plates are loaded, Emma fills Killian's wine glass and her own before handing the bottle off to Sean.
Everyone digs in, and she swirls the dark ruby red liquid in her glass, testing the aroma before taking a sip; earthy and dry, ripe cherry and oak spice, unite on her tongue.
They chat throughout dinner, discussing work at the ranch and the new horses before moving on to the topic of Ashley and Sean's hunt for a reasonably priced house. Alexa regales them with tales of unlikely friendships between her stuffed horse and stuffed lion, and when she gets impatient listening to the adults speak, Sean lifts her down and sends her off to play in front of the TV.
When the bottle of wine is empty and the food is devoured, Ashley rises to put Alexa to bed. The little girl hugs them both goodnight, pressing sloppy kisses to their cheeks before following her mom down the hall to her bedroom.
Emma helps Killian clear the table, and Sean loads up the dishwasher, insisting that the large trays and delicate wine glasses can wait until later.
"You guys up for coffee?" Sean asks, pulling mugs from the cupboard and starting a pot of coffee when they both nod.
"If you don't mind, the pups are due for a feeding. Food's in the cabinet at the end and they're each getting half a cup – mix it with warm water and wait 'til it's good and soggy. For Mia, you can just fill the big bowl; she'll eat what she wants out of it."
"Not a problem," Emma says, reaching down into the bag to divvy up the food into the small rubber-bottom bowls.
Sean disappears down the hall, probably to say a proper goodnight to his daughter, and Killian takes each bowl from her, adding water and stirring the contents with a spoon.
Mia perks up when she hears the rattle of food in her bowl and hops over the gate, abandoning the puppies. With Mia happily munching away, she and Killian take the smaller bowls and set them on the floor in the pen, shuffling puppies until each one finally stays put at their own dish.
Killian stands next to her and they watch the puppies eat. It's messy and the pups stick their feet in the dishes as much as their faces, but they're really freaking cute and she leans against Killian's side, laughing.
"You ready to deal with that little monster in another month?" she asks, pointing at Avast, whose entire face and most of one ear are now covered in food."
He chuckles, nudging her lightly. "I'm certain she'll be a bit more refined by then."
The coffee maker beeps just Ashley and Sean rejoin them, and after filling their mugs, they retire to the living room.
There's not much furniture in the small space, and Ashley and Sean take up most of the couch, so Killian tells her to sit in the armchair, content to settle down on the floor in front of her.
They chat quietly, careful not to wake Alexa, and when she finishes her coffee, Killian takes the empty mug from her hands sets it on the table.
Sean has dimmed the lights and the tv plays on low volume in the background, a wildlife special of some sort flickering across the screen. The door to the balcony is still open, and a warm, sticky breeze filters in, ruffling her hair every once in a while. It's peaceful, relaxing, and when Killian gets up to fetch a sleepy Avast from the pen, returning to the floor with the pup on his lap and his head resting against her tucked up knees, she thinks that she could certainly get used to this.
And somehow that doesn't scare her quite as much as it used to.
It's after ten o'clock when they finally say goodnight to Ashley and Sean and head back to the jeep.
A thunderstorm blows in on the way home and really, she's not that surprised. With the heat that's been building the last couple of weeks, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and they could certainly use the rain and subsequent cool-off.
They're laughing over Alexa's antics, the wipers beating furiously against the deluge, when there's a loud bang and the jeep wobbles, skidding precariously for a second before Killian gets it under control and slowly steers it over to the shoulder beneath a dim streetlight.
Of course they'd wind up with a flat tire in this weather. Of course.
Killian groans and looks out through the windshield, frowning. "Bloody hell," he mutters, clearly unimpressed. "Wait here, love, I'll change the tire and we'll be on our way again soon."
He's out of the jeep before she can get a word in otherwise, and over the near deafening roar of relentless rain, she can hear him fumbling around in the trunk.
She considers doing as told and waiting in the car, but with the engine off and no circulating air, the atmosphere in the jeep quickly grows thick and suffocating. Plus it's dark out, and the streetlight certainly isn't bright enough to work by, and how the hell is he going to hold a flashlight and change a tire at the same time, so she makes the decision to get out and help him.
He curses as the flashlight falls to the ground, for what, she suspects, is probably not the first time, and she picks it up, wiping the wet hair from her face as she points it toward the tire for him.
Killian gives her a funny look and she just shrugs. "It's only water."
He's already got the jack in place, the lug nuts loosened, and the car lifted, so she holds out her empty hand to catch the nuts as he removes them. He pulls off the old tire and lifts the spare onto the hub. She hands him back the nuts, and he quickly twists them into place.
Finally he lowers the car and she gives him back the flashlight, returning the jack and the ruined tire to the trunk while he finishes tightening the nuts.
When it's all said and done, they're both soaked to the bone, hair plastered to their heads, and the rain hasn't let up one bit.
Her blouse is drenched, clinging to her breasts and her stomach, and she can see the darkness of Killian's chest hair through the nearly transparent fabric of his white t-shirt.
Water beads in his scruff, dripping from ridiculously long eyelashes, and she's sure water droplets pelt against her face when he shakes his head and laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation, but she can't make them out past the torrent of rain still falling from the heavens, and she doesn't really care to.
And now would be the time to retreat to the shelter of the jeep, but she hasn't had a good run around in the rain in far too long, so she grabs Killian's hand, pulling him toward a puddle just up the shoulder, stomping her way through it with a splash.
He looks at her like she's gone mad and she just laughs, kicking water at him. "What? It's not like we can possibly get wetter."
Dropping his hand, she skips away through the puddle, running back toward him and jumping to make a big splash next to him.
Then suddenly she's in his arms, the wet heat of him pressed against her, a stark contrast to the refreshing chill of the late night downpour.
Her chest is heaving from her run through the puddle and adrenaline thrums in her veins as she looks up at him.
"Hi," she breathes out, hooking her fingers through the belt loops at his hips.
"Emma," he whispers, and it's as much a question as it is a plea, so she untangles one of her hands from its hold on the belt loop, bringing it up to brush her fingers along the wet scruff at his jaw, gliding sideways until her fingers curl in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, thumbing the soft skin behind his ear.
And still he waits, standing motionless, watching her closely, and it occurs to her that she's actually going to have to tell him what she wants.
But first, she drops her chin to his chest, nuzzling up under his jaw with her nose and parting her lips to lick the rainwater from his neck, the hammer of his pulse fluttering against her tongue.
She takes a second to delight in the groan he releases into her hair and the clench of his fists in the sodden material at her waist before pulling back and grinning up at him.
"Killian?"
"Aye?"
"I think now would be a really good time for you to kiss me."
And he does. Oh boy, does he ever.
She's glad that she's still clinging to his belt and his hair, that his arms are wrapped around her waist, because otherwise, she's fairly certain she'd be crumpling to the ground and merging with the rainwater at their feet.
He kisses her slow and deep, hand tangling in her hair as she groans against his lips, tasting coffee on his tongue. And it's different than the drunken kiss they shared just shy of a week ago in Ruby's bedroom. Misplaced anger and anxiety have no place here.
She's present, here and now, swept up in the solid strength of him, the burning heat and the gentle force of his lips, the pounding rain and the rumbling thunder, reverberating, rolling through him and into her as she fights her way past the cling of fabric to stroke her fingers over the hot skin of his lower back.
And it's not until her ass is pressed up against the hood of the jeep, that she realizes he's been steadily backing her up this entire time. And then he's abandoning her lips and trailing kisses along her jaw, pausing to bite at her earlobe before sweeping the wet tangle of her hair to the side and brushing open mouthed kisses down her neck, over her shoulder, and back across her collarbone.
Tugging at his hair she pulls their lips back together, desire burning low in her belly as she yanks his hips into hers, kissing him until the world threatens to drop out from underneath her and she's forced to draw back, breathing hard to catch her breath.
Killian presses his forehead against hers, and for several long seconds, they breathe the same air, thick with want and foggy mist, the storm dissipating as the rain slows to a gentle patter upon the asphalt.
A cool breeze blows in, making her shiver, and Killian presses one last kiss to her lips before stepping back, taking her hand, and guiding her around to the side of the jeep.
"I think I've got a blanket or two in here somewhere," he tells her, opening the door and releasing her hand to rummage through a box in the back seat.
She wrings the water from her hair as best she can, and when she's done, he wraps her in a thick wool blanket, helping her into her seat before running back around to the driver's side. He places the other blanket over his seat and climbs into the jeep, starting it up and cranking the heat.
Killian signals and pulls back out onto the road, shifting the vehicle up to speed before glancing over at her.
"I suppose this blows our entire 'just friends' deal out of the water, does it not?" he asks hesitantly, as if he's a little bit afraid to hear her answer, afraid that she'll recant the entire exchange and insist on returning to the status quo.
She's not entirely sure where this thing between them is headed, and she'd be lying if she said she was no longer terrified, but there's something here, something between them that she just can't sweep back under the rug.
Not now.
So she thinks that maybe she should run with it, give them a chance and see what happens.
"I guess it does," she agrees, reaching out to twine her fingers with his over the gearshift. "But I think I'm okay with that – if you are?"
The smile he gives her is blinding. "Aye, love, I am quite all right with that."
She holds his hand the rest of the way home, simply because she can, and also, because really, there's not one good reason she can think of to let go.
He's still grinning when he pulls the jeep into the garage and kills the engine, shifting in his seat to face her, turning his hand so that their fingers interlace palm to palm.
"I'd offer to walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight, but I figure you're not likely to allow that." He's still smiling when he says it, though not as wide, and there's no malice in the words, just simple acceptance.
"You figure right," she admits, brushing her thumb over the veins at his wrist, considering her words. "I want to give this a shot – give us a shot, but for now, for a while at least, can we just not tell anyone?"
Killian nods, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. "That's perfectly all right, love, just..." he pauses, and when he speaks again, she can hear the vulnerability in his voice, clinging to the edges of each word, "please, Emma, if you're scared or overwhelmed or having second thoughts, before you panic and shut me out or run away, just talk to me? Okay?"
She's not sure she wants to be having this conversation right now, because this is pretty serious stuff, and serious stuff scares her, but he seems to understand that because he looks a little bit spooked too, and then it hits her – that she's not the only one taking a chance here, so she squeezes his hand and tries to smile at him.
"I don't like making promises I can't keep," she sighs, "but I'll try."
He smiles back, a sort of pained half smile, like he wants to believe her but isn't sure if he should, and suddenly she's got a pretty good idea what it's like to the on the receiving end of all her indecision and uncertainty.
So she unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over the console, stroking her thumb across his cheek before pulling him close and kissing him softly.
And it's little more than a brush of lips against lips, sweet and slow, but when she pulls back, his smile is a little brighter, a little truer.
Pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips, she forces herself to open the door and get out of the car.
"I'll see you in the morning, Killian."
Then she grabs her purse and leaves him seated in the jeep before she can do something really stupid like convince him to take her upstairs to bed.
Her parents are still up, watching something on TV in the living room when she enters the house. Her mother reaches for the remote, pauses the movie, looking concerned, and her father just raises his eyebrows and starts laughing.
"Flat tire," she says by way of explanation. "I'm finding some dry clothes and going to bed. Keep it down, would ya?"
Her parent's laughter follows her down the hall to her room where she takes off her damp clothes and towel dries her hair. She tugs on a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Before climbing into bed, she grabs Killian's sweater from where it's been hanging on her bedpost for the last week, pulling it on and zipping it up. It's faint, but it still smells like him, and she smiles as she switches off the lamp and burrows down into the warmth of her blankets.
When she sleeps, her dreams are filled with kisses in the rain and the potential of tomorrow.