Knot Another Cowboy (The Muddy Creek Omegas #1)

Prologue

Willa

The Muddy Creek fairgrounds look exactly the same as they did six years ago when I swore I’d never come back. Same weathered wooden fences, same smell of hay and horse sweat carried on the Wyoming wind, same buzz of anticipation rippling through the crowd gathering for tonight’s event.

I should feel nostalgic. Instead, my stomach churns, the latte from earlier threatening to come back up.

“You sure about this, Sweets?” Josie asks from the driver’s seat. Her coffee-stained apron is still tied around her waist from her morning shift at The Human Bean. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s utter shit.”

“I’m okay.” The lie tastes bitter. I’ve been telling myself this all morning, ever since I found out who’s going to be my boss.

This internship with the APbrA is the opportunity of a lifetime—a direct path to becoming a licensed livestock vet specializing in rodeo stock. It’s one of the only programs in the country that takes Omegas. It’s everything I’ve worked toward since leaving Wyoming for veterinary school.

Josie parks near the competitor entrance and kills the engine, buying me a little time. Through the windshield, I can see the APbrA banners flapping in the wind, the familiar red and gold logo still making my heart race.

“Hey, are we hugging or fucking shit up?”

I laugh. Josie’s been asking me the same thing since we were teens. Though I don’t think she could throw a punch if her life depended on it, I love her for it.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Willa James, you are many things, but ‘fine’ isn’t one of them right now.” She turns in her seat to study me with those sharp eyes that have always seen through my bullshit. “Look at me.”

I stare at the face of the only person who has ever believed in me.

“You’re a fucking beast. You take no shit, and you don’t let small men stand in your way.” She looks at me expectantly. “Well?”

I swallow. The hard part about trauma is that it can come back to fuck with you whenever it feels like it. You may think you have it together, that the past is the past, but then it can swallow you whole while you’re still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.

“I’m a beast.”

“You’re a fucking beast!” she repeats, giving an encouraging wave of her hand.

“I’m a fucking beast!” I say louder, and I repeat it until my insides settle.

“He doesn’t get to take this away from you,” she whispers as she leans in to envelop me in her small but strong arms, her sweet coconut, cherry, and clove scent wrapping around me.

No, he fucking doesn’t.

Even if the pain and fear sit heavy in my chest like a stone, I get to decide what to do with the weight. Not Mark Felton.

“I know…” I let out a deep sigh, a million thoughts buzzing around my brain.

Josie’s expression softens. She knows about my father’s reaction and plans, knows why I left and never came back. “Want me to come in with you? I can pretend to be your emotional support human.”

“No need to pretend that—you are.” I laugh, but the offer makes my throat tight. She’s one of the reasons I took the offer and moved back to Muddy Creek. “Thanks, but I need to do this. If I can’t, I may as well pack my shit up and head back to California.”

“You sure? Because I can be extremely intimidating. I’ve perfected my death glare since you left.”

She levels me with a look that is so cute my heart warms. She’s never been scary, not even close to intimidating, but I keep that part to myself.

“Save it for the coffee jerks. I’ve got this.”

I don’t, but I will. With a wave, I jump out of the car and head deeper into the fairgrounds.

Minutes later, I’m standing outside the APbrA office trailer, hands in the pockets of my coat, bag on my shoulder, trying to force down the swirling pit of vipers taking up residence in my belly.

My hand freezes on the door handle. I could leave. Turn around, get back in the car, drive back to California where nobody knows who my father is or what Mark Felton tried to do to me. I could find another internship, another path, another dream.

But I’ve spent six years building up to this moment, and I’m tired of being afraid.

There’s something insidious about fear when it burrows so deep inside you that you forget it’s there.

It becomes part of your DNA, this low-grade hum of anxiety that colors everything.

Makes you second-guess yourself when you meet a new guy.

Makes your stomach clench on the first day of a job.

Makes coming home feel like walking into a minefield.

And fuck if it doesn’t pack a punch when it finally rears its ugly head.

Well, I’m done shrinking myself to fit into the safe little box fear built around me.

I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and knock.

“Come in,” says a bright voice I don’t recognize.

I push the trailer door open, and I’m greeted by a friendly Beta with kind eyes and a clipboard. “You must be the new vet! I’m Carrie, the office coordinator—for now, at least. We’ve been expecting you.”

She takes my paperwork with genuine warmth, her eyes widening as she takes in the details.

“Wow, Dr. James—well, almost Dr. James—these are impressive. UC Davis, Dean’s List, published research on equine respiratory disorders…” She looks at me with something close to awe. “You know, we had over four hundred applicants for this position. Your credentials really stood out.”

The praise makes my cheeks warm, but I keep my voice steady. “Thank you. I’m excited for the opportunity. Just call me Willa.”

She leads me to her office at the back of the trailer.

“So what drew you to rodeo specifically? Most vets go into small-animal practice or the usual large-animal work.”

“I grew up around it. My father was a bull rider, so I spent a lot of time at events. Just developed a taste for it, I guess.” I keep it simple—no need to mention the complicated family dynamics or the years I spent trying to escape this place.

Carrie laughs. “Well, you picked an interesting field. Fair warning—you’re going to have every cowboy within a fifty-mile radius trying to impress you. Occupational hazard of being a smart, pretty woman in a male-dominated sport.”

I force a smile. “I don’t date cowboys. Being an Omega in this environment…” I shrug. “It’s just easier to keep things professional.”

“Smart woman.” She sits with a sigh and motions to the chair across her messy desk. Then she bends to dig through the drawer to her right, pulls out a large folder, and hands it to me.

“These are our scent-blocking protocols. Mandatory for all Omega staff during events. Not that we’ve had many Omegas…

We provide the blockers, but you’ll need to sign off that you understand the requirements.

We have medical personnel on staff just for this part of the contract.

Safety thing, you understand. Lots of Alphas, lots of adrenaline—things can get… intense, for all parties.”

“Makes sense.” I nod, scanning the documents. Standard stuff, mostly. I’ve been on suppressants since first presenting, but I’ve read up on the effects too many Alphas can have on an Omega, and I welcome any extra insurance in that department. “Where do I go to pick up everything?”

“There’s a little pharmacy on Main Street, next to the tack store, but please be aware they can have… small-town hours, and it is mandatory to be on the blockers during events and all arena business. So make sure you don’t run out.”

“Okay, that all sounds good. I’ll keep on it.”

“Any questions about—” she starts to say, but the door opens behind us, cutting her off.

When I turn around, I get a clear view of the tall, middle-aged Alpha who walks in, his too-ripe scent overpowering even from here. It’s cloying and immediately gives me get-the-fuck-out-of-here vibes.

Mark Felton walks in, all professional smiles and circuit-director authority.

“Hey, Carrie…” he says, and I can see her tense a little. He goes to his desk and straightens some papers, acting like he doesn’t see me.

“Miss James?” Carrie says, and I flinch.

That draws his attention. I can feel his stare crawling along my skin like spiders, and my chest starts to tighten.

Breathe, I tell myself. You’re not seventeen. You’re not trapped. You can leave anytime you want.

But my Omega doesn’t give a shit about logic. She knows danger when she smells it, and every instinct is screaming at me to run.

He walks over unbothered and gives me a quick once-over. But I don’t miss the awareness in his eyes. Everything in me is demanding I do something, anything to stop occupying the same space as him.

“Welcome to the team, Miss James,” Mark says, his voice perfectly cordial. “You’ll report to Dr. Boone at seven sharp tomorrow. He’ll get you oriented to the protocols, routines, and the animal athletes.”

He extends his hand for a shake, and I stare at it as if it might bite me. The longer I stare, the more I can feel his irritation.

I look back up to his ruddy face. My father’s best friend. The man who would have bonded a minor. A man who thought touching without consent was okay. The man who took this town away from me. And fuck if the burning rage I thought I’d buried doesn’t rear its ugly head.

I’m sure my scent is sour as fuck but fierce. And suddenly I’m not that underage Omega anymore—I’ve just shed my skin and my new one is brighter, stronger, and bulletproof. I am ferocity. I dig deep for a look that says, “I know who you are and what you did, and I’ll never let you do that again.”

“Thank you for the opportunity,” I say, breaking eye contact but not before I register the surprise in his eyes. I keep my hands firmly at my sides, and I dip my head toward Carrie instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I walk out of that trailer with confident strides, head high, shoulders back. But inside, my Omega is clawing at my ribs, demanding I get as far away from that man as possible.