She’s fuming.

Perfect.

Knowing I’ve gotten under her skin means I know I’m up one. Sure, she’s pissed, and the dark circles under her eyes that look like delicate bruising tell me she hasn’t’ been sleeping, but all these things will work in my favor. They always do. She’s tired. Off her game. Stressed.

So she’ll be unreasonable as usual, but she’ll also make mistakes.

Still, when Olivia laces her fingers with Emma’s I find myself struggling. Part of me wants to tell my daughter not to get attached, but if I do I’ll wind up cluing them both in on my plot.

I’ll talk to Olivia tonight. When it’s just her and I. I’ll remind her that this woman is still a stranger. She’s not a friend. She’ll never be a friend.

At the house, she hands me a clipboard and I flip through, signing papers without even reading the forms. I pass it back as she glares at me. She walks past me into the kitchen and grabs an apple and passes it off to Olivia, who smiles and takes a bite.

We leave the house, heading toward the barn as Olivia crunches and takes Emma’s hand again.

“Can I see the colt?” Olivia looks up at Emma, who smiles down on her as I follow a few steps behind.

“Of course. He’s this way.” Emma alters course, and I see Olivia bounce just once with joy. Following, I find my eyes drawn to Emma’s trim backside. The curve of her thighs is still mouthwatering, though I see now that she’s in cream coloured leggings that she’s a bit too thin for my taste.

In another twenty pounds she’ll be the kind of woman I generally prefer. Still, she’s not bad looking even slim like this. I could still give it to her good.

As if aware of my thoughts, she glances over her shoulder at me, her lovely cat-like eyes narrowing just a bit as I bring my gaze up to meet hers. Arching an eyebrow at her, I notice Olivia is looking at me. I flash her a big grin, hoping she didn’t notice the tension between me and the woman beside her.

Judging by the arctic chill in her baby blues, I’m busted. I swear, this girl is just too smart for her own good. So I catch up to the duo and walk beside Olivia. I never want her to see what I do - who I am - and think that’s what men are supposed to be. The dichotomy of who I am and the father I want to be is agonizing.

Olivia slips her fingers in my hand and grips tightly. I can feel her displeasure in the firmness of her grasp. It feels like she’s trying to hurt me. But I keep my grim loose, careful not to feed into her anger.

“He’s in there,” Emma says, guiding Olivia to the fence. Instantly, Olivia climbs up and Emma reaches out as if to grip her hips and keep her from falling. Her hands don’t quite make contact and her eyes meet mine, wide and worried.

“She’s okay,” I mouth silently. Part of me is startled and the rest of me respects how careful and thoughtful Emma’s reaction was.

Emma nods, her gaze still chilly. She crosses her arms across her chest and stares over the field where a mare and foal play in the grasses. A glance at Olivia tells me she’s loving every second of this.

“What’s his name?” Olivia asks.

Emma’s shoulders lift in a thoughtful shrug. “He’ll make it known when he’s ready. His momma is Genuine Honor; Jenny for short.”

Olivia smiles, her face lighting up. “I love it!”

“How long have you and your family raised horses?” I ask, trying to be polite. Instantly I’m met with two icy glares.

Startled, I back up a step, wondering how to deal with my daughter’s sudden anger and the graceful fury behind her.

“About a century,” Emma says, but I sense she’s being kind for Olivia’s sake. “Are you ready?” She asks Olivia, who’s captivated by the mare and her playful foal. But she nods, climbing down off the fence.

“You can toss your core out there,” Emma says, “They’ll eat it.”

Olivia’s face lights up and she tosses her apple core out into the field. “What’s first?” she asks, sounding so responsible and adult it breaks my heart. She’s growing up way too fast.

“First,” Emma says, a hint of amusement in her voice, “you learn to take care of the horses.”

Olivia’s nose wrinkles like she knows she isn’t going to like this part. “I have to shovel up poop, don’t I?” she asks, giving Emma a soulful glance that makes Emma grin. The smile is so genuine and beautiful I feel like someone struck me right in the solar plexus. My heart kicks into overdrive and I notice how her smile dims when she notices me over Olivia’s head.

“You do,” she answers Olivia, staring me down for a moment before her attention returns to Olivia.

Once again, Olivia slips her hand in Emma’s as they walk toward the barn. I hang back this time, looking over the land. It’s nice to put actual land to plans I’ve drawn up in my mind. The grass, once cut, would make beautiful lawns. It’s free of weeds, verdant green, and perfect. Not that it matters. It would all be mud once the contractors came in to lay foundation.

But it’s good to know that the very soil itself is in good condition. Marketing rich, backyard garden quality soil is a huge selling point that hits the market I want right between the eyes.

Catching up to Emma and Olivia, I watch Emma show my daughter how to muck out a stall. I sense she’s enjoying herself. Of course she is. I’m sure she’s getting even with me through making my daughter shovel up dung. What a childlike thing.

But as I watch, I begin to wonder if I’m wrong. There’s an animation in Emma as she talks to Olivia and works shoulder to shoulder with her. Olivia laughs at something Emma says, and I see them share a giggle.

After a few minutes, Emma walks over toward me. “She’s doing good,” she says, focusing on Olivia.

“Thank you for being adult about this,” I say, knowing she could have refused to teach Olivia.

Emma crosses her arms. “I didn’t do it for you,” she says, her tone stony. “I did it for her.”

“I do everything for her,” I say, hearing the truth in my words. “Even trying to buy you out is for her.”

Emma stares at me, shaking her head and letting out an unladylike snort. “Are you kidding me?” she asks, her stare shocked. “Even now you’re trying to use your own daughter against me to make me sell?” she walks away, muttering “Unbelievable.”

“It’s not like that,” I say.

She turns to face me as Olivia continues to work just out of earshot. “No?’ she asks, arching an eyebrow at me like she can convince me to tell the truth. Except I am. That wasn’t my intent. Not really. It was truth first, manipulation second.

Emma looks away, then marches right up to me, planting her hands on her hips. “Look, Mr. Knight,” She says, my name leaving her lips like a curse, “don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like I am.”

“I know you’re not,” I say, and she hesitates, studying me intently. Her full attention feels like a ray of sunlight, warm and comforting. But I don’t have time to ponder why. “But I am going to buy this property.” Lowering my voice to a dangerous growl that demands respect, I say, “I always get what I want.”

She blinks, her gaze softening in a way I didn’t expect. “I’m truly sorry for you, Mr. Knight.”

She walks away, leaving me trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.