Chapter 19
Saramaria
We’ve only been on the road for ten minutes when the rain starts again.
The drive over feels like navigating a riverbed. Boone’s truck cuts through the ruts in the mud with the ease of a ship slicing through waves, the big tires gripping where my rental would have surely spun out and died.
I sit in the back, my hands gripping the handle above the door, watching the water sheet down the windows. The world outside is a blur of gray and brown, but inside the cab, the air is warm and smells of leather and Boone’s distinct scent. It’s calming, much as I hate to admit it.
When we finally pull up to the ranch, the rain has slowed to a fine, misty drizzle. I jump out before Boone can even put the truck in park.
“Wait,” he calls out, but I’m already running toward the side entrance.
I need to see her. I need to know she’s real.
I find her in the birthing stall at the back of the main barn. The air in here is humid, and heavy with the scents of straw, disinfectant, and the metallic tang of birth. Willa is elbow-deep in a haystack, cooing softly to an ewe that’s lying on her side, panting.
“Saramaria?”
She looks up, surprise widening her eyes. Her face is pale, her hair pulled back in a messy braid, and there are dark circles etched deeply under her eyes that makeup can’t hide. But she’s here. She’s standing.
“I came as soon as I could,” I say, rushing forward. “I tried to call.”
She wipes a forearm across her forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt. “Phone’s been off. I just... I couldn’t deal with the noise.” She gestures to the stall. “This little one decided to make an entrance early. Breech. I’ve been trying to turn him for twenty minutes.”
“Do you need help?” I ask, stripping off my coat.
Willa smiles, a tired, genuine thing. “Actually, yes. I need an extra pair of hands to hold the mother while I manipulate the lamb.”
I don’t hesitate. I wash my hands in the bucket of warm water near the door and step into the stall. The ewe bleats, a low, pitiful sound, and I place my hands on her flank, murmuring soothing words. Willa goes to work, her movements sure and professional.
I watch her, admiring her focus. Here, in this stall, she isn’t the victim of a scandal. She isn’t the Omega who was cornered by a monster. She’s a doctor. A healer.
Ten minutes later, a wet, slippery lamb slides onto the straw. Willa clears the airways, rubbing the creature vigorously with a towel. The lamb sneezes, shakes its head, and lets out a loud, indignant bleat.
“Good lungs,” Willa says, sitting back on her heels. She looks exhausted but relieved.
We move the lamb and mother to a clean pen, ensuring the baby is nursing. Then we strip off our gloves and wash up.
“Josie’s in the house,” Willa says, leading me toward the door that connects the barn to the clinic’s living quarters. “She made cocoa. She refuses to leave until she’s sure I’ve eaten something.”
The house is warm and cluttered, filled with books and medical journals and piles of clean laundry. Josie’s in the kitchen, standing by the stove. She turns when we walk in, her eyes softening when she sees me.
“There she is,” Josie says, enveloping me in a hug that smells of vanilla and old books. “What have you been up to?”
I run through everything with my mind before landing on the simplest. Wellsy. They both listen as I explain how the little rascal ran off in the middle of the night.
“You could’ve been really hurt,” Willa says. “Maybe we should look at putting a bell on that puppy before it puts you in danger.”
“I had to find the dog,” I say, accepting a mug of hot chocolate from her. “And it’s our dog. I didn’t want to risk looking like a reckless co-parent.”
“I would never think of you as reckless,” Willa says sweetly.
“Sit. Both of you,” Josie says, and then, turning to me, adds, “You’ll love my hot cocoa.”
We sit at the small kitchen table. The cocoa is rich and dark, with melting marshmallows on top. It warms me from the inside out.
Willa wraps her hands around her mug, staring into the dark liquid. “So,” she says quietly. “How are you holding up?”
I almost laugh. I’m the one who is supposed to ask her that. “I’m... managing. How are you, babe?”
She groans. “I’m okay. I don’t want to think about it. Please distract me. How’s it going with your squatters?”
“Not great. The Alphas still refuse to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” Willa says. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”
“It is,” I admit. “But I’m more worried about you. I heard... rumors in town. People saying terrible things.”
Willa flinches slightly. “I’ve heard them. Or rather, I’ve heard that people are saying them. Beau and Charlie have been running interference, keeping me away from the phone and the internet. They say it’s bad. That a lot of people are blaming me.”
“Blaming you?” I ask, my blood heating up. “How is that even possible?”
“Because I was in heat,” Willa says, her voice devoid of emotion. “Because I went to the headquarters alone. Because I didn’t have a chaperone. Apparently, in some people’s eyes, that’s the same as asking for it.”
“That’s disgusting,” I say, slamming my mug down on the table. Josie jumps, then nods in agreement.
“Tell me about it.” Willa sighs. She takes a sip of her cocoa. “But honestly, I don’t care what the town says. I know what happened. Jack knows what happened. My pack knows what happened. That’s the only truth that matters.”
“Your pack is solid?” I ask.
“They’re incredible,” Willa says, and for the first time, a real light enters her eyes.
“Beau is... he’s my rock. He’s so angry, but he’s trying so hard to keep it together for me.
Charlie is always protecting me. And Jake.
.. he’s surprisingly fierce about it.” She traces the rim of her mug.
“We’re actually heading to Cheyenne in a little bit. ”
“Cheyenne?”
“To register,” she says. “With the Omega Protection Service. We want to make it official. We want the pack to be formally recognized in the system.”
I frown. The OPS is a relic, a bureaucratic dinosaur left over from a darker time in our history.
It functions mostly as a catalog, a way for the government to keep tabs on bonded pairs and packs.
It’s invasive and often humiliating, involving physicals and background checks and interviews that treat Omegas like breeding stock.
“You’re going through that?” I ask. “Willa, you don’t have to do that to be a pack.”
“I know,” she says. “But with everything happening... Jack was high up in the APbrA. He had connections. If this turns into a legal battle—and it might—we need every protection we can get. If we’re registered, the law has to acknowledge our bond.
It makes it harder for people to... interfere. Or claim I’m being coerced.”
The logic is sound, but it makes me sad that she has to jump through these hoops just to feel safe.
“Charlie mentioned something else,” Willa continues, looking at Josie. “He heard from one of the riders that the APbrA is thinking about postponing the whole circuit. Indefinitely.”
Josie nods. “I heard that too. Gus was talking about it at the bar last night before he closed up. He thinks the sponsors are pulling out.”
“They might be right,” Willa says. “Beau is talking about taking a vacation. Just getting us all out of town for a while. Maybe going up to the cabin in Montana until the dust settles.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Josie says. “Get away from the whispering. Let the town find a new scandal to obsess over.”
“Maybe,” Willa says. She looks out the window at the gray sky. “I don’t want to run. That feels like letting him win. But I also don’t know if I can handle seeing the pity in everyone’s eyes every time I go to the grocery store.”
She wipes a hand across her cheek, and I realize she’s crying. Just a single tear, tracking through the dirt on her face.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to cover her hand with mine. Her skin is cold. “You don’t have to decide today. You’re safe here. Your men have your back.”
She squeezes my hand back. “I know. I just... can someone talk about something else? Anything? I need a distraction.”
Josie clears her throat. “Well, I have news.”
Willa looks at her, grateful. “Please.”
“Baby called me this morning,” Josie says, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “She’s still closing the Salt Lick for a few days, but she asked if I’d be willing to help Gus manage things for the next week. Just take inventory, handle the orders, make sure nobody burns the place down.”
“You? Working at a bar?” Willa asks, a small smile touching her lips.
“I know,” Josie says, preening. “I’ll be the best bartender this town has ever seen. I already have a list of drinks I’m banning. No more body shots for anyone who looks like they might vote against Omega rights.”
“That sounds like a lot of power,” I say.
“It is.” Josie grins. “I plan to abuse it.”
Willa laughs, a soft, rusty sound. It’s good to hear.
“Speaking of power,” Willa says, turning her gaze to me. “What are you going to do about the ranch situation? You said they won’t leave?”
I take a deep breath and set down my mug. The warmth of the cocoa fades, replaced by the cold knot of anger that has been living in my chest since I opened that box of documents.
“I found out why,” I say. “Rhett gave me the files. The leases.”
I explain it to them—the dates, the terms, the dollar-a-year rent. I tell them about the cabins, the land use, the way Anthony built them a life while telling me I was unfit to run the place.
By the time I finish, Josie looks furious and Willa looks heartbroken.
“That bastard,” Josie mutters. “I know Anthony was old school, but that’s cold. He basically adopted them and disinherited you in practice.”
“He didn’t disinherit me on paper,” I say. “He left me the deed. But he tied my hands. If I evict them, I have to prove breach of contract, and the contracts are solid. If I sell, the new owner has to honor the leases or buy them out, which devalues the land significantly.”