Chapter 12
Saramaria
The gravel of the Feed and Seed parking lot crunches under the tires of my rented pickup as I pull into a spot near the back. The lot is busy, filled with trucks and horse trailers, but my eyes go immediately to the corner.
I grab my bag and whistle for Wellsy. We walk over to The Human Bean cart.
The patio is charming, a designated area of flat, packed gravel separated from the parking lines by wooden planters overflowing with hardy sage and wildflowers.
There are half a dozen heavy wooden picnic tables scattered around, each with a large umbrella folded down against the wind.
A couple of massive metal fire pits sit in the center of the seating area, and even though it’s just after noon, the propane heaters mounted on the poles are buzzing, casting a warm orange glow that fights off the chill of the mountain air.
String lights crisscross above the patio, waiting for the dusk to light up the space.
Tessa is inside the cart, visible through the large serving window. The counter is polished wood, and behind her, the espresso machine gleams. She’s moving with her usual frantic energy, a blur of dark hair and a green apron, steaming milk and shouting orders to a barista I haven’t met before.
I take a seat at one of the picnic tables. Wellsy lies down on the gravel beneath the bench, resting his chin on my boot.
“Saramaria!”
Tessa’s head pops out of the serving window a few minutes later. She holds up a paper cup with a sleeve. “Your usual. Oat milk latte, extra shot.”
I walk up to the window to grab it. “You’re a lifesaver, Tessa.”
She wipes her hands on her apron, leaning her elbows on the counter. The lunch rush seems to have paused for a second. She looks exhausted. There are dark circles under her eyes that makeup doesn’t quite hide.
“How are you holding up?” she asks, her voice dropping so the customers in the drive-thru lane can’t hear. “I heard you were down at the clinic looking for Willa after the news broke. Seen her yet?”
I take a sip of the coffee. It’s perfect. Hot and strong, cutting through the cold. “Not yet. I really hope she’s okay. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. I’m still trying to process it all. It’s sickening.”
Tessa lets out a huff of air that blows a stray hair out of her face. “You can say that again. This town has gone insane. I had an Alpha in here not twenty minutes ago—a guy I’ve been serving for two years—who tried to tell me it wasn’t really Jack’s fault.”
My hand tightens around the cup. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says, her eyes flashing with anger. “He said, and I quote, ‘If an Omega is in heat and projecting that hard, you can’t blame a man for losing control.’”
The blood in my veins turns to ice. I set the cup down on the ledge before I crush it. “He said that? Out loud?”
“Like it was the most natural thing in the world,” she confirms, her jaw set. “He said Jack Dalton was a victim of his own biology. That Willa should have known better than to be around a powerful Alpha when she was... susceptible.”
The misogyny of it sits heavy and sour in my stomach.
It’s the same old story. The same narrative that’s been used to excuse bad behavior for centuries.
It doesn’t matter that we are in a modern era, or that we have laws.
At the end of the day, people like that customer—and people like Jack—see Omegas as things to be managed or conquered, not people to be respected.
“That’s disgusting,” I say, my voice shaking. “Being in heat doesn’t strip a person of their right to say no. It doesn’t give anyone a pass to assault them. Jack Dalton is a predator. Full stop. Her biology didn’t make him do anything. His lack of morality did.”
Tessa nods vigorously. “Thank you! I told him exactly that. I told him if he wanted to keep drinking my coffee, he’d better check his attitude at the window. He just huffed and drove off.”
She leans closer, lowering her voice further. “It’s not just him. The talk around town... it’s divided. A lot of the older Alphas are circling the wagons, protecting their own. They’re saying it’s a tragedy, sure, but a misunderstanding. A biological error.”
“It makes me sick,” I say.
“Me too.” She sighs, looking out over the parking lot toward the main road. “You know Baby couldn’t even be at The Salt Lick last night?”
“Baby closed the bar?” I ask, surprised. The Salt Lick is the heart of this town’s nightlife. It’s rare for it to be shut down unless it’s a holiday or a blizzard.
“Nah,” Tessa says. “She had someone else run the place for her. She called me this morning. Said she couldn’t open the doors and serve drinks to men who were sitting there making jokes about Willa. She said one guy toasted Jack. Actually toasted him.”
I shake my head, a mix of horror and admiration for Baby washing over me.
“She must be pissed. She loves that saloon more than anything, and from what I see, she’s not very good at delegating. This must be killing her, not overseeing her own business.”
“She said she’d rather lose a weekend’s profits than lose her soul,” Tessa says. “She’s getting some part-timer to run the place for a few days. Someone from out of town, maybe. She just said she couldn’t deal with it. She didn’t want to hear it.”
“Good for her,” I say firmly. “Good for both of you.”
“It’s a mess,” Tessa agrees, glancing at the line of cars forming at the drive-thru. “But maybe it’s a mess that needed to happen. Maybe people need to see exactly how ugly this mindset is.”
She pushes off the counter. “I have to get back to work. You take care of yourself, Saramaria. And don’t let those cowboys on your ranch get you down. I heard they’re being particularly stubborn.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
She gives me a sympathetic smile before turning back to the espresso machine. I pick up my coffee and whistle for Wellsy. We leave the patio, the buzz of conversation and the hiss of the steam wand fading behind us.
I don’t get back in the truck right away. The anger sparked by Tessa’s story is thrumming through my veins, making it impossible to sit still. I need to move. I need to burn off this energy before I drive back to the ranch and inevitably have to deal with Boone, Knox, or Rhett.
I clip the makeshift rope leash onto Wellsy’s collar—we really need to get him proper things—and we start walking toward Main Street.
Muddy Creek is quiet, but the silence feels brittle. The main street is lined with brick buildings that house boutiques, gear shops, and the occasional office. Wind whips down the avenue, carrying dry leaves that skitter across the sidewalk like nervous crabs.
I pass The Salt Lick. The neon signs are dark.
The “Closed” sign hangs in the window, looking lonely against the glass.
The usual crowd of motorcycles and trucks is gone from the lot.
It feels like a ghost town. I wonder if Baby is inside, scrubbing tables just to have something to do, or if she’s at home, fuming in the safety of her own space.
Farther down, I see the Iron Spur Inn. The lights are on in the lobby, illuminating the wide porch.
An older Omega is sitting in one of the rocking chairs outside, knitting.
She watches me as I walk by, her eyes assessing.
I offer a small nod, but she just keeps knitting, her needles clicking together in a pattern that echoes in the quiet street.
I walk past the park. The swings are swaying in the wind.
There’s a group of teenagers near the fountain, but they aren’t laughing or shouting.
They’re standing in a tight circle, their heads bent together.
Even they feel the tension. The scandal touches everyone.
Willa is well-liked. She’s the vet who saved their horses, the quiet girl who always had a kind word.
Seeing her dragged through the mud by the town’s rumor mill is an open wound that won’t heal.
Wellsy stops to sniff a lamppost, and I wait, pulling my jacket tighter around myself. The sky is a heavy gray slate, pressing down on the valley. It feels like snow.
I think about Tessa’s customer. “If an Omega is in heat... you can’t blame a man.” That’s a terrifying logic. It implies that Alphas are animals, incapable of reason or restraint. And if they’re animals, then Omegas are just prey. It strips us of our humanity.
I think about my grandfather. He never said those exact words, but he lived by that code.
He believed in roles. Alphas lead. Omegas follow.
Betas support. He believed that my designation made me weak, incapable of running a ranch, incapable of making hard decisions.
He looked at me and saw a liability, not an asset.
That’s why he tried to sell me off to the Hendersons. That’s why he never taught me the business side of the ranch. He thought I belonged in a house, making babies and dinner.
I kick at a loose piece of pavement, sending it skittering into the gutter. I am so tired of being underestimated. I’m tired of a world that thinks my biology dictates my destiny.
By the time I loop back to the Feed and Seed parking lot, my coffee is cold and my hands are numb. The anger hasn’t gone away, but it has settled into a hard, cold knot in my chest. Resolve.
I get back in the truck. Wellsy jumps into the passenger seat, settling in with a happy sigh. He has no idea what’s going on. He just knows he got a walk and a stick. I envy him sometimes.
The drive back to the ranch is quiet. The landscape turns from town streets to open road, flanked by the golden expanse of the plains. The mountains loom in the distance, their peaks hidden by clouds.
When I turn onto the dirt road that leads to Meadowlark, I expect to see the usual scene. Boone working on a fence, Knox riding, or just the empty stillness of the land.
But as I pull up to the main house, I see a truck parked near the porch. It’s Rhett’s.