Knot My Cowboys (The Muddy Creek Omegas #2)

Prologue

SARAMARIA

The grass tickles my bare arms, a soft whisper against my skin. I close my eyes, letting the Wyoming sun bake my face until I can feel my freckles multiplying.

Beside me, my horse shifts her weight.

“Easy, Blossom,” I call out. She lets out a low neigh.

This spot by Muddy Creek is my sanctuary, the only place on this entire ranch where I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.

I came out here to escape, to breathe and think about my parents. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since they died.

Fuck.

I rub at the spot in my chest that aches whenever I let myself remember. The creek babbles nearby, a constant companion to my thoughts.

I should be cleaning tack or mending fences or whatever chore my grandfather has decided will “build character” today. Instead, I’m here, pretending the ranch doesn’t exist.

The sound of hooves against packed earth makes my eyes snap open. I don’t need to look to know who it is. Only one person rides with that kind of purpose, that unshakeable confidence that both infuriates and attracts me.

Boone Reyes.

He swings down from his favorite horse, Midnight, a massive black stallion with a temperament as wild as the Wyoming wind. Boone’s movements are fluid and easy, like he was born in a saddle.

His jeans hug his thighs in ways they shouldn’t, and his scuffed boots have seen more miles of this ranch than I have. A piece of grass dangles from his lips, and he twirls it between his fingers as he walks toward me.

At twenty-one, Boone’s already got the build of a man who’s worked the land his whole life—broad shoulders, muscular arms, callused hands that could break a man but have touched me with surprising gentleness.

His dark hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes, the color of rich soil after rain, seem to see right through me. He’s been working on our ranch since he was seventeen, growing up alongside me yet always feeling worlds away.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

My heart does that stupid little flip it always does when he’s near. I sit up, brushing grass from my jeans. “What are you doing all the way down here? Don’t you have actual work to do?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Your grandfather sent me.”

Of course he did. I flop back onto the grass with an exaggerated groan. “Crap. What does he want now?”

Boone shakes his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “He just said to find you.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me. “But did you clean out the horse stalls I asked you to this morning?”

I frown. “Yes, I cleaned the horse stalls. I’m not completely useless.”

His smile widens, a genuine, devastating thing that makes my stomach clench. “Then in that case, you’re not in trouble. So why are you pouting?”

“I’m not pouting.” I am totally pouting. I turn away, searching for my iPod in the grass. When I find it, I jam the earbuds in and crank up the volume. Paramore’s “Misery Business” fills my head, Hayley Williams’ angry vocals matching my mood perfectly. It’s a flimsy wall, but it’s all I’ve got.

I can feel his presence more than see him. The air shifts, grows thicker. I keep my eyes fixed on the clouds, pretending I’m lost in my music, but every nerve is tuned to him. He shuffles his boots in the dirt. I can practically hear the sigh he lets out.

“You can ignore me all you want, Saramaria. I’m not going back to the ranch without you.”

Damn him. I rip the earbuds out, sitting up so fast I get a little dizzy. “Fine.” The word is a curse. I scramble to my feet and stomp over to Blossom, grabbing a handful of her mane.

Before I can even figure out my footing, Boone is there. His hands close around my waist, and he lifts. It’s effortless. One moment my feet are on the ground, the next they’re finding purchase in the stirrup as he boosts me into the saddle. The protest dies on my lips, replaced by a gasp.

His hands are warm and strong through the thin fabric of my tank top, his grip sure.

The feel of his arms, the muscles flexing as he hoists me up, sends a jolt straight through me.

It’s just as overwhelming as I remember from last year, when he pulled me from the mud after my horse spooked during that storm.

For one terrifying, exhilarating moment, I was pressed against his chest, drowning in his scent of rosemary, citrus and cool mint.

He was the one person who came looking for me that day.

The storm had come out of nowhere, turning the sky a bruised purple.

I’d been bringing the herd in from the upper pasture when the thunder spooked Blossom, and I went down hard.

The world was a blur of mud and rain and panicked horseflesh.

And then he was there, pulling me from the mud, his hands clamped around my arms.

In that moment, with the rain pouring down us, I thought he saw me. For real. Not as the boss’s granddaughter, not as an Omega, but as me—Saramaria, lost and grieving and scared. My parents had died just three months before, and I was still raw with it, still looking for something to hold onto.

So I did something stupid. I leaned in and tried to kiss him.

He’d pulled back so fast I almost fell again, his expression shifting from concern to something else I couldn’t read. Then he set me back on my feet and stalked off to catch Blossom, leaving me shaking in the rain.

The next day, he went right back to ignoring my existence, acting like nothing had happened.

I can’t even look at him without being utterly humiliated.

He had been right. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss him. That was stupid. But my parents had died. I was sad. I was scared. I had hoped he would make me feel better.

I had been wrong.

In fact, he has the same expression on his face now as he did then—something between pity and annoyance, like I’m a problem he has to deal with.

He releases me the second I’m settled, stepping back as if burned.

He tips his hat up, his eyes meeting mine for a split second before looking away. “Ride straight home. I’ll be right behind you.”

I gather the reins, my heart a frantic beat against my ribs. “Or what?”

He looks at me then, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t make me drag you all the way there myself. I will if you make me.”

I ignore the shivers that climb down my spine at that, the ones that have nothing to do with the breeze off the water.

I just click my tongue and nudge Blossom’s sides, turning her toward the path home without a backward glance.

But I can feel his eyes on me the entire way, and I enjoy just how thrilling it feels knowing that I’ve got his full attention.

As we ride back to the ranch, my mind drifts to that day.

How I’d tried to kiss him, how he’d rejected me.

How I’d run back to the house, my face burning with shame, and locked myself in my room for the rest of the day.

How I’d cried myself to sleep, wondering why I was so unlovable, why even the brooding ranch hand who’d been a constant in my life couldn’t stand to touch me.

As we approach the main house, I can see my grandfather standing on the porch, hands on his hips. He’s not happy. I can tell from the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders are squared.

Boone rides up beside me, his expression neutral. “Just tell him you were checking the fence line along the creek.”

I glance at him, surprised by the suggestion. “Why would you help me lie?”

He shrugs, looking away. “I’m not helping you lie. I’m helping you not get grounded for a week.”

A small smile touches my lips. “Thanks, Boone.”

He just nods, his eyes fixed on the house ahead. “Don’t mention it.”

As we dismount, my grandfather descends the porch steps, his face like thunder. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for an hour. And what the hell are you wearing?”

“I was checking the fence line along the creek,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue more easily than I expected.

My grandfather’s eyes narrow, then shift to Boone. “Is that true?”

Boone meets his gaze without flinching. “Yes, sir. We found a section that needs repair. I was about to head back out with tools when you called.”

My grandfather studies us both, his expression skeptical. But he can’t prove we’re lying, and he knows it. “Fine. But Saramaria, I need you in the house. There’s something we need to discuss.”

My stomach sinks. That tone never means anything good. “What is it?”

“We’ll talk inside.” He turns and marches back into the house, leaving me to follow.

I glance at Boone, who gives me a slight nod of encouragement before leading our horses to the barn. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lecture or new set of rules awaits me inside. This is my life now, a series of expectations I can never quite meet, rules I can never quite follow.

But as I step into the house, I can still smell Boone’s scent on my clothes, still feel the warmth of his hands on my waist. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself imagine a different life.

One where I’m not just the Omega granddaughter, but the rancher.

One where I’m not sneaking off to the creek to escape, but riding the fence line because it’s my land to protect.

One where Boone doesn’t just help me lie, but stands beside me as an equal. One where he kissed me back that first time around...

The fantasy dissolves as my grandfather calls my name from the study. I shake my head, clearing away the dangerous thoughts. This isn’t that life. This is Muddy Creek, where some things never change.

Or so I think.

The heavy oak door of my grandfather’s study groans as I push it open.

The room smells of leather and old paper, a scent I’ve associated with power and judgment my entire life.

Dark wood paneling covers the walls, interrupted only by a massive window that looks out over the ranch I’ve always loved but may never truly call mine.

His mahogany desk sits center stage, cluttered with papers and ledgers.