Chapter 8 Beau
EIGHT
beau
This fucking woman.
I watch as her car pulls away from the parking lot, making eye contact in her rearview mirror, and an uneasiness settles in my chest. I don’t like it. And I don’t like that I don’t like it.
Has she really been here in Muddy Creek for weeks? I guess even if she had been, it wouldn’t be hard to believe I hadn’t run into her before. With competition, I’m usually not around any place longer than a few weeks during the season. And when I’m off, I usually recover.
Riding. That’s where my head needs to be. I’m a man on a mission who doesn’t give two fucks about the opposite sex.
Right.
Fuck, I want this woman. Her scent crawls underneath my skin and takes up residence like it has every right to be there.
I’m putting my phone back in my pocket and head around the truck when it buzzes. Checking the screen, it’s our group text.
Jake: Where are those biscuits, asshole?
Beau: On the way home, you impatient fuck.
Charlie: We’re all so nice to each other.
Beau: What else would we be?
Jake: If we were nice, I’d think the old man was dying.
The “old man” is me. It’s been his joke since we met, though fuck if I know why he thinks thirty-seven is old enough to be geriatric.
Charlie: Easy, junior.
Jake: HA. HA.
Beau: Alright, children, I’m on the way. Got held up.
Held up and steamrolled. I bring my hand up to touch where we connected, feeling a sizable goose egg forming on the side of my cheekbone. And the smell assaults me all over again—her scent is all over my hands where they cradled her head and nestled into the crevice of her neck and shoulder.
Her sultry, thick, sweet scent is so damn good. The way she looked up at me with those gray eyes dilated, pupils blown wide. Fuck. When she parted her lips, I was seconds away from picking her up and kissing every sassy thought out of her head.
If that group of old biddies hadn’t picked the exact wrong moment to interrupt, I would have.
I nearly groan at what I imagine those thick thighs and round ass would feel like in my hands, lifting her up and pressing her against me. My cock twitches in agreement, and I have to adjust myself before climbing into the truck.
I shake my head. Good God, get it together, McCrae.
I toss the bag of biscuits onto the passenger seat before climbing into the truck.
Normally, I would’ve eaten them at Sweet Buns.
There’s something about that place, the aesthetic of it, that I just love.
The first day I walked in there and saw the collection of little green picnic tables with checkered tablecloths, I was sold.
It definitely helps that Hattie Belle makes the best damn biscuits in Wyoming.
Lord knows people would kill for that gravy.
I head toward the ranch. It’s the last day of this competition. I have to get my head in the game. My scores have been pretty good, and I’m feeling decent about today. I just need one more good ride, and the championship title is mine. I can feel it.
Open fields flow out around me as I drive down the road. Who knew I’d learn to love the desolation here as much as I have? Few things are more beautiful than Wyoming. After this season is over and I finally retire, I can’t wait to call this place home permanently.
But for now, I have less than a week before I’m on the road again. Today is probably the last day that me and the pack will be together before I leave with Jake.
There’s something we need to talk about… now, before we all get pulled away again. It’s all I can think about.
We did talk a bit about Willa last night. Not gonna lie, I did get a pang of jealousy that Jake already knows what she feels like, tastes like. I hold onto the look in his eye that told me he’s a long way from being over her.
Maybe it’s time we brought an Omega into our pack. I don’t know why we’ve put it off for so long—shit just got busy, honestly. Jake and Charlie never really talked about it, and life hasn’t slowed down enough to want it or miss it.
There’s always been somebody there to scratch the itch, but maybe it’s time we all start talking about settling down. Maybe the pack needs an Omega… Maybe we just need Willa.
The rightness of it settles over me.
There’s some magical shit at work here. I don’t even understand it. A week ago, Pack McCrae was well-rounded, high-functioning. Fuck, we all have shit we’re dealing with. Charlie’s only been back for a few weeks—Horses of Hope has kept him busier than I ever thought possible.
But I swear it’s fate. How is it that the one Omega—the only Omega—that’s ever tempted me to want to pack up with happens to be the same girl that Jake’s been crazy for… for six years? And the same one Charlie grew up with and has been in some sort of love with since they were kids?
That is some crazy shit.
My Alpha rumbles with satisfaction at the thought. Ours. Meant to be ours.
I pull up the long drive that winds toward the ranch house—a big, beautiful Craftsman perched on the hill. Open fields roll out for miles, disappearing into the morning fog.
This place used to be one of the biggest cattle operations in the county, but it hasn’t been a working ranch in years.
When we talked about retirement, one of the dreams was always bringing it back to life.
The land wants it. You can feel the memory of generations in the soil, waiting for someone to listen again.
Charlie grew up here—had it a lot better than I ever did growing up. I pull up behind the barn and grab the bag of biscuits, figuring I’ll go to the tack room before heading to the house. But just as my foot hits the ground, a tiny football-sized ball of fur launches himself at my legs.
I reach down to pick up the yapping ball of chaos and give him a good scratch behind the ears.
“There you go, buddy,” I say. He’s a mottled color of gray, brown, black, and white. Why Charlie ever named him Buttercup, I’ll never know.
I set Buttercup back on the ground just as I look up and see Charlie sitting on the porch wearing a pair of hot pink sweatpants with tiny popsicles on them. I don’t even know where he finds these things. He waves me over, and I forgo my trip to the tack room.
“Did they make it home?” he asks, gesturing to the bag under my arm.
I level a hard stare at him.
“Look, man. I said if those pants are on you, I’m eating your biscuit.”
I love razzing him about his pants. Charlie has a massive collection of the most whimsical, ridiculous pajama bottoms it’s possible to have. It’s so at odds with the large-framed, virile Alpha in front of me.
“What? No! You love me,” he says, wagging his eyebrows at me. He’s always been the charismatic one, able to charm his way out of anything.
But I reach into the bag and pull out a biscuit anyway. Who am I to deprive a man of a Hattie Belle biscuit?
“Where’s Jake?”
“Still upstairs moping.”
I move past Charlie and notice him stiffen and take a deep breath.
“Why do you smell like buttercups and vanilla?” he asks, a distinct knowing tone in his voice.
“Come on, Chuck. Inside.” I ignore the question, though I’m sure he knows her scent. They grew up together, and another wave of envy swims around my gut, knowing how many years he got to smell her.
How many summers did he spend running wild with her while I was fighting my way through the amateur circuits, trying to make a name for myself? I remember her father, and not for the first time in the last forty-eight hours, I wonder if I ever crossed her path before.
It doesn’t take long for Jake to make it downstairs into the kitchen. When we’re all sitting around the table, I throw out the elephant in the room. I’ve never been one to mince words, and Lord knows I probably could take lessons in being a little more subtle, but it’s just never been easy for me.
“So, what are we doing?”
Two pairs of eyes look up at me, a mix of confusion on their faces.
“What do you mean?” Charlie asks.
“Willa James.”
Dropping her name is the equivalent of sucking the air out of the room. Record scratch. Mic drop.
“What about her?” Jake says, and there’s an edge of defensiveness there that wasn’t there before. His Alpha is already rising to protect her, even in conversation.
“Well, it seems to me that we might need to have a proper conversation.” My own Alpha instincts rush to the surface, demanding that we stop talking and bring her here right now.
The rudeness of it is jarring. It’s been years since I’ve wanted a woman this bad, and never has my Alpha desired an Omega like this.
I look at my brothers, my pack, the men who have stood by me and supported me for years. I look at them, willing them to want her, too. I take a deep breath.
“I want her.” I raise my hand to run through my hair, trying to find the right words. “I want her as our Omega.”
I let that settle. Come what may. I’m mentally preparing myself for potential arguments or pushback. We’ve never really had this conversation, and at this point, I’m starting to think we may end up being an Omega-less pack.
But their response is almost immediate.
Charlie shoots up with a firm and serious, “Yes.”
And Jake, though I can feel the sudden rush of longing through the bond, says a little more reservedly, “Fuck, me too. But I don’t think she’ll have me.” And the pain in that statement is heady.
“So it looks like we need to learn how to woo an Omega,” I say with a half smile I can’t seem to keep off my face.
Fuck, the elation that’s threatening to make me laugh out loud at the idea of courting her is almost impossible to keep inside. My Alpha is practically preening, already planning how to provide for her, protect her, claim her. The flow of emotions and instinct is overwhelming.
“There’s just one problem. Well, one really big problem, at least, among a sea of other little ones,” Charlie says, his expression going serious.
“What?” I ask, because now that the decision’s made, there isn’t anything that will keep me from having her… if she wants us.
“Caleb,” he says matter-of-factly.