Chapter 10
Saramaria
“He did what?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think to stop them.
I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but I’d stepped out onto the porch, drawn by the urgent murmur of their voices, and Rhett’s last words hit me like a physical blow.
All three of them turn to me. It’s a strange, synchronized movement, like three wolves catching a new scent. Knox’s face is a mask of grim anger. I can’t tell what Boone is feeling, and Rhett’s eyes are wide with shock.
“Jack Dalton,” Rhett says, his voice careful, like he’s walking on broken glass. “I’m not sure exactly what happened, that’s just what everyone in town is saying. That he... tried to force himself on Willa James.”
Holy shit.
The world tilts on its axis. The porch, the yard, the three massive Alphas staring at me—it all blurs into a swirling, nauseating vortex.
Willa. Sweet, quiet Willa with her gentle hands and her fierce love for animals. The woman I just shared a laugh with over a ridiculous romance novel. The woman who helped me rescue a puppy from a well.
Fear floods my veins. I spin around, my feet clumsy on the porch steps, and rush back inside the house. I need my phone. I need to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay.
My bag is where I left it, dumped on the floor by the sofa. I rummage through it, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the contents. Lipstick, wallet, a crumpled receipt. Finally, my fingers close around the cool, smooth glass of my phone.
“Are you okay?”
The voice is deep and quiet, and I jump, letting out a small yelp. Boone is standing in the doorway to the living room, his large frame filling the space. He’s watching me, his brow furrowed.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the lie is obvious. I can feel the tremor running through my entire body, a fine, uncontrollable shiver. I’m shaking.
I fumble with the screen, my thumb slipping twice before I manage to pull up my contacts. I find Willa’s name and press the call button, holding the phone to my ear with a hand that won’t stay still. It rings once. Twice. Then, a cool, automated voice.
“The person you have called is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“No,” I whisper, ending the call and immediately trying again. Same result. Voicemail. I try a third time. Nothing.
“Shit.” I throw the phone onto the sofa in frustration. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Where the fuck are my car keys? I start tearing through my bags again, tossing clothes and toiletries onto the floor. I have to go. I have to go to the clinic. I have to see for myself.
Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and angry.
I’m not sure why I’m crying. I barely know Willa.
But I can imagine it. I can imagine that feeling of helplessness, of being trapped, of a larger, stronger body pressing you down, their scent suffocating you, their hands where you don’t want them. I can imagine it all too well.
The thought of her, alone and going through that, makes something inside me crack wide open.
“What are you looking for?” Knox’s voice. He’s in the living room now, too.
“Keys,” I gasp, my breath coming in ragged, painful hitches. “My car keys. I have to go check on her.”
I spin around too fast, my foot catching on the edge of the sofa leg. A blinding, white-hot pain shoots up from my toe.
“Fuck!” I scream, hopping on one foot, cradling my injured hand to my chest. The pain, the fear, the frustration—it all boils over into a single, explosive moment of pure panic.
Boone takes a step forward, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “Saramaria,” he says, a steady rumble that cuts through the noise in my head. “You’re freaking out.”
“I have to,” I sob, the words tearing from my throat. “I have to go.”
“I get it,” he says, his voice impossibly calm. “But can you breathe? Just for a second. Breathe for me.”
I look at him, really look at him. His eyes are locked on mine, his focus so absolute it’s like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning apart. I find myself nodding, a jerky, involuntary motion.
He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. The air crackles with tension. “I’m going to take your hand,” he says, his voice dropping even lower. “And I’m going to pull you in for a hug. Nod if you’re okay with that.”
My mind is screaming no. No, I don’t need his help. No, I don’t want his touch. But my body, my traitorous, trembling body, betrays me.
I nod again.
He moves. His hand closes around my good wrist, his touch warm and firm. He pulls me gently but inexorably toward him, and then I’m against his chest. His arms wrap around me, one hand pressing my head to his shoulder, the other spreading wide across my back, holding me together.
And I break.
I gasp, a huge, teary, shuddering sound that seems to come from the very depths of my soul.
The tears come harder now, not just quiet streams but a torrent of grief and fear and rage.
I’m soaking the front of his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.
He just holds me, a solid, immovable anchor in the storm of my emotions.
His scent is everywhere. Rosemary, citrus, and cool mint. It’s the scent from my past, the scent from the rain, the scent from the shower. It’s calming. The hand on my back moves in slow, soothing circles, gradually slowing down the frantic beating of my heart.
Outside, I can see Jasper through the door watching the whole thing unfold with a curious expression. Knox must see him too, because he moves, kicking the door shut with a bang that blocks out the outside world completely.
“Got ’em,” Knox says from somewhere behind me. I hear the soft jingle of metal. “They were on the kitchen counter.”
I pull away from Boone, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling cold and exposed. I wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I have to go,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“No way you can drive in this condition,” Knox says, his tone firm. He tosses the keys.
“I’ll drive you,” Rhett says. He’s standing by the door, my keys dangling from his finger.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I will drive you,” he says, leaving no room for argument. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.
“Okay,” I whisper, defeated.
I walk out to the car, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment.
Rhett opens the passenger door and waits for me to slide in before leaning over me to grab the seatbelt.
His arm brushes against mine, and he clicks the belt into place with a soft, decisive click.
Then he climbs in beside me, the engine turning over with a low rumble.
I look in front of us. Wellsy is running in frantic, happy circles around Blue, who is trying his best to herd the puppy. Knox and Boone are standing on the porch, watching us leave. They look concerned.
Rhett pulls a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. I take it, pressing the soft cloth to my wet cheeks.
“Ready?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He waits, his patience astounding.
Finally, I take a deep breath and nod.
“Let’s go,” he says, and puts the truck in drive.
The truck idles in front of the Sweetgrass Veterinary Clinic. The sign in the window is flipped to “Closed.” The blinds are drawn. There’s no light on inside. It looks deserted, sad.
“Try again,” Rhett says.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. My thumb, still trembling, presses the redial button on my phone. I hold my breath, listening to the ring.
“The person you have called is unavailable...”
The automated voice is a cold, digital rejection. I end the call with a frustrated stab of my finger. “I can’t reach her,” I tell him, the words thick with unshed tears. “It just goes to voicemail.”
Rhett curses under his breath. He runs a hand over his face, his jaw tight with frustration. “I can call one of her packmates,” he says, already reaching for his own phone. “Beau or Jake. One of them will answer.”
He’s just pulling his phone from his pocket when he pauses, a thought striking him.
“Wait,” he says. “Maybe Josie is with her. She’s her best friend, right?”
Of course. Josie. The witty woman from the book club. The one who looks at Willa with such fierce, protective love.
“You’re a genius,” I say, a wave of relief so strong it almost buckles my knees. I’m so grateful Dot insisted on getting everyone’s numbers, a small social act that now feels like a lifeline.
I find Josie’s name in my contacts and press call. The phone rings twice before she picks up.
“Saramaria? You heard.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. The whole town knows. The whole world knows.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice cracking. “I just... I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
Josie lets out a long, weary sigh on the other end of the line. “She’s... processing. This happened last circuit, you know. Willa never shared all the details, just that there was an... incident with Dalton. But now that it’s out, it’s all hitting her again.”
“Last circuit?” I repeat, my mind reeling. “But the news is making it sound like it just happened.”
“That’s Jack’s team doing damage control,” Josie says, her voice laced with contempt. “Trying to make it seem like an isolated, recent event. But the truth is, that asshole had her cornered. Locked her in a bathroom in the middle of her heat.”
“Shit,” I whisper, the word a puff of air. A cold, sickening dread washes over me. An Omega in her heat, trapped and at the mercy of an Alpha who wants to force a bond. It’s one of the most deep-seated fears of our designation. A violation on every possible level.
Josie agrees, her voice grim. “He wanted to take advantage of her, to mate with her in that state when she couldn’t properly consent. When her biology would make it almost impossible for her to refuse. It’s predatory. It’s monstrous.”
I curse again, a string of foul words that would make my grandfather roll over in his grave. “Is she... is she safe now?”
“She’s with her pack,” Josie assures me, her tone firm. “Beau, Charlie, and Jake aren’t letting her out of their sight. But she’s shocked everyone in town knows. She’s a private person. The thought of everyone talking about it, looking at her with pity... it’s a lot. She’s laying low.”
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask, feeling useless. “Anything I can do?”
“I’ll let you know if there is,” Josie says, her voice softening slightly. “Honestly, just knowing you’re thinking of her means a lot. She liked you, at the book club. She thought you were tough.”
I let out a watery laugh. “I don’t feel very tough right now.”
“You are,” Josie says, and it feels like a benediction. “Just... be safe, okay? Things are probably going to get weird around here for a while.”
“I will,” I promise. “Thank you for telling me, Josie.”
“No problem,” she says. “And hey, don’t let those cowboys give you too much trouble.”
I hang up, the phone feeling heavy in my hand. The world outside the truck seems a little more dangerous.
Rhett is waiting patiently, his gaze fixed on the dark clinic. “Were you able to reach her?”
“She’ll be okay,” I say, and it’s not just a platitude. It’s a prayer. A hope. She has her pack. She has friends. She’s not alone.
He lets out a deep, slow breath, the sound releasing some of the tension that has been coiling in the cab. Then, he does something that surprises me.
He reaches across the console and takes my hand.
His hand is warm, callused, and it completely engulfs mine. It’s not a romantic gesture. It’s a grounding one. A simple, human connection in a moment of shared fear and concern.
We just sit there for a moment, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, a slow, soothing rhythm as we watch the sunset.
“Should I take you to the walk-in clinic?” he asks. “Have that hand checked out properly?”
I look down at my wrist, still swollen and bruised. “The ice pack Boone gave me helped,” I say, and it’s strange to say his name out loud to Rhett. “I feel so much better. I think it’s just a sprain.”
He nods, accepting my answer. “Okay. Do you want me to take you home?”
Home. The word hangs in the air. My house. My sofa. My bed. The place I’m fighting to keep.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
He gives my hand one last, gentle squeeze before letting go to shift the truck into drive. It’s a long time before he moves his hand back to the steering wheel, and I find myself missing the warmth of his touch.
The drive back to the ranch is quiet. The landscape flies by in a blur of gold and green.
I watch the horizon, thinking about Willa, about the violation she endured, about the strength it must take to survive something like that.
I think about Josie, a fierce friend ready to go to battle.
I think about Dot and Pearl, their sequins and rhinestones a small rebellion against the darkness.
And I think about the man sitting next to me, his quiet strength a comforting presence in the passenger seat.
When we pull up to the main house, the first thing I notice is that Jasper’s truck is gone. The second thing I notice is Knox.
He’s on the porch, and the oak bed frame I bought is laid out on its side. He’s kneeling beside it, a drill in his hand, a look of intense concentration on his face. He’s tightening a loose screw, his movements sure and efficient. He’s fixing my bed.
And then I see Boone. He’s at the side of the house, near the kitchen door that’s been sticking ever since I got here. He has a small toolbox at his feet and a plane in his hand, shaving down the edge of the door, his brow furrowed in focus. He’s fixing my house.
I stand there for a moment, Rhett still beside me, and just stare. This is not what I expected. This is not the stonewalling, the silent treatment, the territorial posturing I’ve been dealing with for days.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. It’s all I can manage.
Knox looks up, a smudge of grease on his cheek. He doesn’t smirk. He just looks at me. But it’s Boone who answers. He sets down his plane and turns to face me, wiping his hands on a rag.
“We’re just trying to help,” he says. And the simple, direct honesty of the statement hits me harder than any argument, any angry word.
It’s an apology. It’s an offering. It’s a bridge.