Chapter Three
I was going to start working with Atlas and his pack next week.
It would give me time to start looking up recipes and such for their meals.
It would’ve been easier if I’d met the other two members, had been able to ask them about their work and what food they preferred.
Even better, I should’ve asked Atlas except my tongue had refused to work properly.
Shaking my head, I told myself that I had a week.
Less than, actually, to get my head on straight about this pack and their scents.
Maybe I could drench a fabric in artificial copies of their scent until it stopped affecting me?
Or I bet there’s something on the market that I could sniff to ensure I don’t scent them as strongly.
Betas don’t typically have a strong sense of smell, but there might be something to cater to the other designations.
Unfortunately, that was a problem for later. The more current issue was my car, still stuck in the hole. It was actually quite dangerous. A kid, or even a horse, could’ve easily fallen into the hole, breaking their leg.
I set my bag inside the car, squeezed my stuffed keychain for some good luck, and pulled out my phone to start searching for how to get my car unstuck.
A tow truck would be a last result, especially considering the expense and how far out I was from the city.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was problem-solving. And obviously not interviewing.
Off in the distance I heard Atlas’ truck start and pull away. He drove around the house, most likely to another gate in the fence that he’d opened for quicker access to the ranch. It was a relief to know he wasn’t around and wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t left.
The first article I read suggested digging out the hole so that the car could easily drive out.
Since the hole was big enough that lessening the edge wouldn’t mean it rolled back onto my arm, I decided to try it.
Laying on the ground, in the dirt, I carefully snuck my arm in front of the tire, feeling the hole.
It was not going to be easy or quick to make it bigger since it wasn’t a hole of sand but a hole of rocks.
I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to add sand to the hole, like adding water to a cup, making the object inside float higher. Except the car wouldn’t float and I think that would just make it worse. So I started digging.
One of my nails bent backward when I scratched at an unmoving rock, making me swear and yank my hand back.
The length of the nail was torn, dangling like a sad little leaf about to fall from a branch.
I was just grateful it didn’t go so far back as to make me bleed.
Switching onto my other side, I started again, just slightly more careful.
After a few minutes, I pulled back to take a look, mentally expecting at least halfway to be done.
Instead, it didn’t look like I’d done anything.
That wasn’t effective. Got it.
Gently, I tore off the hanging nail, and then I grabbed for my phone, going to the second suggestion.
I didn’t have a mat or anything like that to put under the tire, although I did have my coat.
Mats weren’t that strong, so a coat would work the same right?
Especially if all I needed was some traction?
Worth a try.
I did my best to work the coat under the tire and then tried to lay it out as flat as possible in the hole. Except the hole wasn’t large enough for me to lay out the coat and it was too large for me to leverage the coat over the edge like a fabric-made ramp.
Okay, that wasn’t going to work either.
Without anyone else around, I didn’t have the option to rock the car and try moving it with the momentum, so the only other option was going to be letting out some of the air to try and get more surface traction.
I had no idea how much air was the right amount to let out, and if I let out too much, I’d have to call a tow truck anyway.
Well, if I went really, really, slowly, then maybe it was worth a try?
Although, if I was going to have to call a tow truck anyway. ..
“You need some help, darlin?”
The sudden male voice made me gasp. I hadn’t heard a car pull up, but one glance over my shoulder showed a truck, window down, and a man looking incredibly concerned.
“My car is stuck,” I told him, despite it being obvious.
He just smiled. “I see that. I kept meaning to fill that hole, but apparently, I’m good at procrastinating. You could say, though, that since it was my job to fill it, it’s my job to help you out.”
“You work here?”
He opened the door, grabbing his hat and covering his blond hair as he said, “The name’s Franklyn Oaks. Most just call me Oaks around here, though. I live there.” He jutted his chin toward the house behind me.
“You’re one of Atlas’ alphas?”
“I wouldn’t let him hear you say that.”
“Why not? You’re a pack, right?”
“True. But a lot of people have expectations for alphas and omegas. Even on betas, for that matter.”
Hannah and Koda were definitely a victim of people like that, assuming because they were omegas they should act a certain way.
I could see how Atlas wouldn’t like that either.
He wasn’t a stereotypical omega, staying at home, catering to his and his alphas’ needs.
No, he worked, and such a laborious job, too.
“So, want some help?” Franklyn Oaks asked again.
“Yes please. I’ve tried digging out the hole but all I managed was a broken nail and dirty clothes.”
He chuckled. “Most people just call for a tow. That thought ever cross your pretty little mind?”
Pretty? He thought I was pretty? This pack was very strange in the way they spoke with me. First Atlas and now Franklyn Oaks.
I watched as he got into his truck and drove it closer to the back end of mine. It was quiet, the engine barely making a noise despite how large the truck was.
When he got out, and started digging through his truck bed, I said, “I’m Eve by the way. Eve Tellus. I’ll be working with you, or I guess, for you, doing the home management. Cooking, cleaning, decorating. That kind of thing.”
“Yeah, well, welcome aboard, darlin. It’ll be nice to have a pretty face around.”
That made me frown. “Atlas is pretty.” I immediately blushed, knowing I shouldn’t have said that.
Franklyn Oaks just laughed. “He sure is. But I think he prefers the term ruggedly handsome.”
“Right, of course. Is there anything I can do to help you with this?”
“Nah, just wait. I’ll have you start up your baby in a moment and put her in neutral. Hopefully we can just ease her out.”
I nodded, watching as he hauled a large chain out of his truck bed, grunting under the weight of it.
His arms flexed, showing off the strength of his muscles all the way from his forearms to his biceps.
Even his thighs strained against his slacks, the nice clothing he was wearing suddenly becoming wrinkled and dusty as he dropped the chain between our vehicles.
He didn’t look like a rancher, not like Atlas had in his jeans and denim shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. No, Franklyn Oaks was dressed like he was going to an office.
His collared shirt was thin, and a high-quality fabric, and although his sleeves were rolled up, too, they were done elegantly, with decorative pins keeping them from falling back down.
His slacks were form-fitting, but not too tight, and his shoes, despite being fancy, were covered in dirt.
He was a strange mix of rancher and office attire.
“You, um, work here?” I asked. “On Pink Lady?”
“Sure. I’m an accountant, but most of my paying jobs are for the other ranches and businesses out here.
Pink Lady’s my home. I work from here when people can come to me and sometimes I go to them, though not so often anymore.
A lot of the newer generations are coming in to inherit and they know how to send me all the shit I need.
Means I can spend more time working than traveling. ”
“How long have you been a pack?”
“We packed up right at eighteen, so twelve years now? We knew we’d be pack before we all presented. It happens like that sometimes. The designations didn’t really mean anything besides waiting for Atlas to graduate the OC.”
I couldn’t help it, I sighed. It was so romantic.
Franklyn Oaks looked up from where he was finished wrapping the chain around my car and smirked. He didn’t say anything, though, just tilted his head toward my car in a silent order to start her and put it into neutral. I did, quickly.
I was tense as I watched the truck slowly back up, carefully putting tension on the chain before it started to tug at my own car.
My car crawled out of its little hole, and I felt the stress of the day finally disappear from my body.
The interview was over, I’d gotten the job, and I didn’t have to call a tow truck. That was a lot of good luck.
“That should do it, darlin.”
“I wish I had another gift basket to give you as thanks.”
“Gift basket?”
“Yeah. I gave one to Atlas.”
He chuckled. “You gave Atlas a gift basket? I would have loved to see that.”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t a courting gift or anything like that. With my old job—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, darlin. Did he like the basket?”
“I think so?”
“Then it’s all good. Atlas is his own man, so long as he’s happy, I’m happy.” Wiping his hand on a small towel he pulled from his truck bed, he reached out, obviously intending to shake my hand. I accepted his touch, hoping that I was using the appropriate amount of strength.
This close, I saw Franklyn Oaks’s nostrils flare, like he’d wanted to take in my scent. Or maybe he could scent his omega on me? Atlas had touched me once.
I was about to apologize, to explain why his omega’s scent was on me when he said, “Where’s your scent?”