Chapter 21
Boone
The metal latch is cold against my palms, slick with the freezing rain. I work the screwdriver into the rusted groove, forcing the bolt to turn. It protests with a screech, but finally, it snaps shut. I test the gate, shaking it hard. It holds.
The lower pasture is secure. For now.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, but the denim is already soaked through. It’s been raining for days. The sky is a relentless sheet of gray, pressing down on the valley, turning the world into a mud pit.
The air carries the scent of her, of all of us, mixing into a cloud that makes it hard to think.
I need to move. I need to run.
I whistle, the sound cutting through the downpour. Midnight emerges from the shelter of the trees. He’s huge, a black mountain against the gray landscape. He tosses his head, his mane plastered to his neck. He feels the restless energy rolling off me. He knows what it means.
I swing into the saddle. The leather is wet, but my grip is sure. I don’t need a saddle pad today. I need contact.
“Let’s go, old man,” I murmur.
I don’t use spurs. I don’t need them. I squeeze with my legs, and we explode into motion.
We fly across the meadow. The mud sucks at Midnight’s hooves, but he powers through it, finding traction in the slick grass. The wind hits my face, icy needles that sting my skin, but I welcome it. It clears the fog in my brain.
We crest the hill and drop into the valley. I let him have his head. He stretches out, his gait lengthening into a ground-eating gallop. The world blurs—green grass, brown earth, gray sky. There’s only the rhythm of his hooves beating against the ground and the thunder of my own heart.
This is the only time the noise stops. The debt, the fines, Saramaria, the sheer impossibility of our situation—it all fades away. There’s only the speed. The power. The control.
We run for maybe twenty minutes, until Midnight’s breathing becomes heavy and steam curls from his shoulders in great clouds. I slow him to a trot, guiding him toward the creek. The water is high, rushing and brown, churning with runoff.
I pull him to a stop near the bank. He dips his head, drinking greedily. I sit tall in the saddle, breathing hard, the cold air burning my lungs.
This is my church. This is where I come to pray.
A sound cuts through the noise of the water. Hoofbeats. Not the heavy drum of Midnight’s gait, but something lighter. Faster.
I look back toward the ridge.
A horse is cresting the hill. A golden coat, wild and wet. It’s the mustang. The one Rhett said was green. But he’s moving like he’s done this a thousand times.
And on his back is her.
She leans low over the mustang’s neck, her body moving with his in perfect sync. She’s soaking wet, her hair a dark rope down her back, her coat flapping in the wind.
She sees me. She pulls the mustang up, reining him in. He prances, tossing his head, splashing in the wet grass.
She looks down at me from her perch on the ridge. Rain streams down her face, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She just looks.
“Are you following me?” I call out over the rushing water.
She scoffs. The sound is audible even from this distance. “Don’t flatter yourself, Boone. The scenery is just better over here.”
She slides off the horse’s back, landing with a thud in the mud. She doesn’t seem to care. She loops the reins over a low-hanging branch of a nearby oak. The tree is massive, its spreading branches offering a meager shelter from the deluge.
I dismount, tying Midnight next to the mustang. The two horses nose each other, snorting steam.
I walk over to her. She’s huddled under the tree, shivering slightly.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say. “It’s coming down harder.”
“I needed it,” she says, not looking at me. She stares out at the gray valley. “The house feels... small lately.”
“Three Alphas in one living room will do that,” I say.
She turns to face me. She looks wild. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, her lips red. The water drips from the end of her nose.
“Why weren’t you there?” she asks. “When Rhett told me about the fines. You just... vanished.”
I lean against the rough bark of the oak. “I knew Rhett would handle it. He’s good with the details. He’s good with the plans. I’m better at the fences.”
She nods, accepting this. She tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. Her hand is shaking slightly. The cold, or something else?
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“You can ask.”
“Why did you stay?”
I frown. “What?”
“Why did you stay?” she repeats, stepping closer.
The scent of her hits me—vanilla and honey, diluted by the rain, but still potent.
“Eight years, Boone. You could have left. You could have found another ranch. Another life. Why stay here and work for a man who treated you like a servant? Why stay for a ranch that wasn’t yours? ”
The question hangs in the damp air between us. It’s simple, but the answer is not.
“Why would I leave?” I counter. “This is my home. This is the only place I ever belonged.”
“But—”
The rain picks up, drumming harder against the leaves above us. The drops are heavier now, colder.
“I know you and I will never be on the same page about that, but Meadowlark is my home. It’s always been.”
“I’m not the enemy, Boone,” she says, her voice rising slightly to be heard over the weather. “I know you think I am. I know you think I’m just here to destroy everything. But I’m not. I’m just... trying to figure out where I fit.”
I look at her. Really look at her. I see the stubborn set of her jaw. I see the vulnerability in her eyes.
“And I’m not the enemy either, Saramaria,” I say. “Do you have any idea what we’re doing? We are thinking about taking out massive loans. We’re talking about going into debt, risking everything we have, just to keep Meadowlark afloat. To save it for you. How can you not see that?”
She blinks. The surprise on her face is genuine. Her mouth opens slightly.
“Loans?” she whispers. “What loans?”
“The fines,” I say. “Eighteen grand. Plus materials. We don’t have that kind of cash sitting around. We were discussing taking a second mortgage on the cabins. Selling my truck. Knox is trying to liquidate assets. We’re gutting our futures to pay for your grandfather’s mistakes.”
She stares at me. The color drains from her cheeks.
“I... I didn’t know,” she stammers. “Rhett said he would handle it. I thought... I thought the ranch had the money.”
“The ranch is broke,” I say bluntly. “Anthony burned through the liquidity years ago. There’s nothing left but the land.”
She shakes her head, bewildered. “I can foot the bill. I have assets. Stocks, bonds from the firm. I already told the guys that I can move money around and have that paid soon.”
I stare at her. The offer is so simple. So easy.
“We want to help. You should let us.”
“This is my property.”
I scoff unable to hide my frustration. “It’s our home.”
She ignores that. “I’ll handle the payments, so you can tell them that they don’t need to take any loans for the ranch.” She wipes the rain from her eyes, frustration clear in every line of her body.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “If you pay the fines, that helps. But the repairs? The labor?”
“I’ll pay for that, too,” she says firmly. “I have the money. I don’t want you guys to go into debt for me.”
I nod. It changes things. It removes the noose from our necks.
“Then what?” I ask. “You pay the bills. You fix the barns. Then what? We leave? Is that the condition?”
She hesitates. She looks away, toward the horses. “You don’t have to stay. You can find someplace else. I know you’re well liked in town, Boone. You and Rhett can get jobs. Knox already has the circuit to worry about.”
“We’re a pack, Saramaria,” I say. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not. We stick together.”
She lets out a breath, a white cloud in the cold air. She looks up at me. Her lower lip trembles.
I stare at that lip. It’s soft, full, trembling in the cold. A sudden, violent urge hits me, and I wonder what it would be like to bite it. To taste the rain on her skin. To feel that softness give way under my teeth.
I clear my throat, the sound harsh in the quiet shelter of the tree. I take a step back, putting distance between us. I need to get a grip.
“I never wanted to leave Muddy Creek,” she blurts out.
I freeze. My back hits the rough bark of the oak.
“What?” I ask.
She wraps her arms around herself, hugging her coat tight. “All those years ago. When I drove away. Everyone thinks I left because I wanted to. Because I hated the ranch. Because I wanted the city.”
She looks up, and her eyes are swimming with tears.
“I didn’t want to go,” she whispers. “I loved it here. I loved the land. I loved...” She stops. She swallows hard. “But I didn’t have a choice.”
I go still. The rain seems to fade into the background.
“Anthony?” I guess.
She nods. A single tear tracks through the rain on her cheek. “He cornered me the day I left. We had a huge fight. He told me he was selling the ranch.”
“He mentioned that to me once,” I say quietly. “Said he was tired.”
“He wasn’t tired,” she says, her voice gaining strength, turning hard. “He was punishing me. He told me he had found buyers for the land. But first... first he had a different plan for me.”
“What plan?”
She laughs, an angry, broken sound. “The Henderson twins. Do you remember them? Those old fossils?”
I remember them. Two portly Alphas with greasy hands and wandering eyes. They used to come around and leer at the waitresses at The Salt Lick.
“They wanted a wife,” she says. “An Omega to take care of their house and raise their brat kids. My grandfather agreed. He told me I was going to marry them. He told me I was useless on the ranch, that I’d run it into the ground, and this was the only way I could contribute. By selling myself.”
Disgust rises in my throat, bitter and hot.
“He tried to sell you,” I say.
“He tried to trade me,” she corrects. “Like a broodmare. So I left. I packed a bag and I drove away because the alternative was letting him own me.”
I stare at her. I remember that day. I remember watching her truck disappear down the road. I remember the anger I felt. I thought she was abandoning him. I thought she was turning her back on her legacy.
All this time, she was running for her life.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. The question comes out rougher than I intend.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “When, Boone? When was I supposed to tell you? When you were busy ignoring me? When you were busy looking at me like I was a child who didn’t know right from wrong?”
“I didn’t look at you like that,” I say.
“You did!” she shouts, stepping forward, invading my space. “You always did! You still do! You think I’m some spoiled city girl who doesn’t understand the value of this place. You think I’m fragile. You think I’m stupid.”
I look down at her. She’s trembling with rage.
“Is that what you think was happening?” I ask. “That I didn’t respect you?”
“I think you pitied me,” she says. “And I hate it.”
The air between us crackles. The rain pours down outside our little shelter, but it feels hot in here.
“We should head back,” she says, turning away. “This was a mistake.”
I don’t let her go.
I reach out and grab her arm. I tug her back, spinning her around. I step forward, crowding her. I walk her backward until her back hits the rough trunk of the oak tree.
I pin her there with my hips, trapping her against the wood.
“Boone,” she gasps, her hands coming up to my chest.
I don’t move. I loom over her, staring down into her wide eyes.
“Is that what this whole thing is about?” I ask. “Wanting to sell the ranch? Wanting to kick us out? Is this your way of punishing me?”
“Punishing you?” she breathes.
“For what you think were unrequited feelings,” I say. “You think I rejected you eight years ago. You think I didn’t want you. So now you’re going to take the one thing I love. The one place I belong. You’re going to destroy it just to hurt me back.”
Her face flushes a deep red. She tries to push against my chest, but I don’t budge.
“Don’t make me sound so petty,” she snaps, glaring up at me. “I’m not that small, Boone. I’m not destroying this place to get revenge on you. I’m trying to save my life!”
“Are you?” I demand. “Or are you just running away again? Because if you sell this place, if you send us away, you’re going to be right back where you were eight years ago. Alone. Looking for a home that isn’t there.”
Her breath hitches. She stares at me, her defiance warring with the truth in my words.
“I am alone,” she whispers.
“Are you?” I ask. I lean in closer, my nose brushing against her wet hair. “You have a dog that sleeps in your bed. You have three Alphas who are destroying their finances to keep a roof over your head. You have a town full of people who care about you, even if you’re too stubborn to see it.”
She trembles against me. The heat of her body seeps through my wet clothes.
“I’m scared,” she admits, so quietly I almost miss it.
“I know,” I say.
I don’t let her go. I press my hips harder against hers, anchoring her. “So stop pushing. Stop fighting the only people who are on your side. We aren’t the enemy, Saramaria. We never were.”
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. The rain pounds the earth around us, but under this tree, the world has shrunk to just the two of us.
For a moment, she doesn’t move. She doesn’t fight. She just looks at me.
I see the wall come down. I see the girl underneath the lawyer armor. The girl who just wants to be seen.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Okay,” she says again. “I hear you.”
I don’t move away. I don’t step back. I stay there, pinning her to the tree, feeling the beat of her heart against my chest. It matches mine. Fast, hard, alive.
And I realize with a jolt that I don’t want to let her go.
Not now. Maybe not ever.