Chapter 2 #2
The name hits me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Cruz? As in Anthony Cruz?
“Anthony’s granddaughter?” I ask.
She nods, her jaw tight. “And you’re trespassing.”
I can’t help but laugh, a harsh, broken sound. “Trespassing? Sweetheart, I’ve been living here for two years. Renting from your grandfather. This is technically my place for the next five years.”
Her expression falters, confusion warring with the anger still burning in her eyes. “What? Seven years? That’s impossible. He never mentioned...”
“Technically, it’s ten years. And maybe he forgot to inform you,” I say, my tone softer now. “He was getting on in years. Or maybe he didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters,” she insists, her voice trembling slightly. “This is my property. My inheritance.”
The word hangs between us, heavy with implication. Inheritance. So she’s the heir. The one who gets to decide what happens to this place, to the cabins where Boone and I and Rhett have made our homes.
My Alpha instincts surge again, stronger this time. This isn’t just about protecting her anymore. It’s about protecting what’s mine. And right now, this place feels like mine. The cabin, the land, the freedom I’ve found here.
“I think that maybe you should talk to Boone.”
Her eyes narrow. “How do you know him?”
“Boone’s my best friend. He’s the one who introduced me to Anthony,” I say, then curse myself for bringing him into this. For letting her know I’m connected to the one person on this ranch who might have answers about her grandfather’s intentions.
“Boone,” she repeats, and something shifts in her expression. A flicker of pain, quickly masked by anger. “Of course. You’re one of his friends.”
“We’re more than friends,” I say, then immediately regret the choice of words when her eyes flash with something I can’t quite read. “We’re business partners. In a way. He helps manage the cattle, I...”
I trail off, realizing how ridiculous this sounds. I’m standing here in nothing but a towel, trying to explain my living situation to a complete stranger. A woman who happens to be an Omega, whose scent is making it increasingly difficult to think straight.
“Look,” I say, running a hand through my wet hair. “Why don’t we go inside? We can talk about this properly. I can make some coffee, and we can figure out...”
“No,” she cuts me off, taking a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrug, trying to appear casual despite the turmoil raging inside me. “But you’re the one who showed up unannounced and assaulted me with pepper spray. The least you could do is hear me out.”
She hesitates, her internal conflict visible on her face. She clearly wants to negotiate, to find a logical solution. The Omega in her is wary, uncertain. The woman who just caught me naked in an outdoor shower is... well, I’m not sure what she is, but it’s complicating things.
“Fine,” she says finally, her voice tight. “But you put on some clothes first.”
I glance down at myself, at the towel that’s barely clinging to my hips. “Right. Clothes.”
I turn and retreat to my cabin, my heart pounding. I can feel her eyes on my back, and I have to resist the urge to turn around, to see if she’s watching. To see if she’s affected by me the way I’m affected by her.
Inside, I rifle through my drawers, pulling on a pair of worn jeans and a plain T-shirt. My hands are shaking slightly, and I curse under my breath. This is not how I expected my day to go. This is not how I expected to meet the new owner of the ranch.
When I emerge, she’s standing exactly where I left her, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s still angry, still wary, but there’s something else there too. Curiosity, maybe. Or confusion.
“The coffee’s brewing,” I say, gesturing toward my cabin. “It’ll only take a minute.”
She follows me inside, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.
I can feel her presence behind me, a warmth that has nothing to do with the Wyoming sun.
Her scent fills the small space, vanilla and honey and almond, and I have to physically stop myself from turning around and burying my face in her hair.
My cabin is simple, rustic. A couch, a table, a small kitchenette. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
She stands awkwardly near the door, clearly uncomfortable in this unfamiliar environment. I pour two mugs of coffee, adding sugar and cream to one without asking. I don’t know how I know she takes it that way, I just do.
“Here,” I say, handing her the mug. “It might help with the residual burning.”
She takes it, her fingers brushing against mine. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I see her flinch slightly. She felt it too.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice softer now. She takes a sip, her eyes closing briefly. “Why are you here? On my grandfather’s ranch?”
“I told you,” I say, leaning against the counter. “He rented me this cabin. I’m a bull rider. I needed a place to train between events.”
“A bull rider? Like in the APbrA?”
“That’s the one.” I nod. “Or what’s left of it, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitate, then decide there’s no harm in telling her. “There’s trouble with the association. Jack Dalton, one of the heads, has gone missing. No one knows if the season is even going to happen this year.”
“Missing? As in, disappeared? Or just unreachable?”
“Both, I think.” I shrug. “No one’s saying much, but it doesn’t sound good.”
She nods, her mind clearly working, processing the information. I watch her, fascinated by the way her expressions change, by the intelligence in her eyes. She’s not just beautiful, she’s smart. A combination that’s dangerously appealing.
“And the other cabins?” she asks, bringing me back to the present. “Who lives there?”
“Boone, in the one next to mine,” I say, watching her reaction carefully. “And Rhett, in the third. He’s the ranch manager.”
“Boone,” she says again, and this time there’s no mistaking the pain in her voice. “I can’t believe he’s still here.”
“He’s been taking care of the place since your grandfather died.”
She looks away, her jaw tight. “I see.”
The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken questions and history I don’t understand. I want to ask what happened between them, why she left, why she came back.
But it’s not my place.