Chapter 27
Rhett
Iam warm. Warmer than I have been in days.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the light. I’m lying on my side, my arm wrapped around something soft and fragrant.
Saramaria.
She is curled into my chest, her head tucked under my chin. Her breath puffs against my neck in a soft, rhythmic rhythm. One of her hands is resting on my chest, right over my heart. She’s still wearing her T-shirt, her legs tangled with mine under the heavy quilt.
My cock is hard. It’s a relentless, aching throb that demands attention, pressing against the fly of my sweatpants. I ignore it. I shift slightly, trying to ease the pressure without waking her.
She smells incredible. Even through the lingering scent of tequila and the slight salt of sleep, I can smell her. Vanilla and honey and almond blossom. And underneath it, something deeper. The rich, sweet scent of an Omega who is on the edge.
I watch her sleep. Her dark lashes. Her perfect nose. Her mouth slightly parted to show perfectly straight teeth. She looks so beautiful like this.
It sparks something deep inside me, something I thought I had buried years ago in the ashes of my old pack. A need to protect. A need to possess. A need to build a world around this woman and keep her safe from everything that hurts her.
I carefully extricate my arm from under her head. She mumbles a protest, her hand reaching blindly for me, but I tuck the quilt around her.
“Shh,” I whisper. “Sleep.”
She settles back into the pillow, a small sigh escaping her lips.
I slip out of the bed. I grab my boots and tiptoe to the door. I look back at her one last time. The morning light catches the curve of her shoulder, the messy tangle of her hair on the pillow.
I want to crawl back in. I want to wrap her up and never let her face the world again.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I pull the door shut and head out into the crisp morning air. The cold is a shock, but it helps clear the fog of sleep and the lingering haze of desire.
I walk to the barn. The mud has dried into a hard, cracked crust. The ground is uneven under my boots.
I find Boone and Knox near the corral. They’re drinking coffee, leaning against the fence. The mood is subdued.
“Morning,” Knox says. He looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Morning,” I say. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot they have set up on a bale of hay.
“How is she?” Boone asks. He doesn’t look at me. He’s staring at the horses in the pasture.
“She’s sleeping,” I say. “She had a fever last night. It seems to have broken, but she was... restless.”
“Restless?” Knox asks, raising an eyebrow.
“She was having urges,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Heat symptoms. She’s not in full-blown heat yet, but she’s close. The tequila probably masked it, but her biology is catching up.”
Knox whistles. “That explains a lot.”
Boone turns to me. “You stayed with her.”
“I stayed,” I say.
“Did you...” Knox trails off, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I helped her,” I confess. “She was in pain. I helped her. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh,” Knox says.
I take a sip of coffee. The hot liquid burns my throat.
“I like her,” I say.
The words hang in the air. I’ve said it to myself, silently, a thousand times. But saying it out loud to them makes it real.
Boone looks at me. He doesn’t look surprised. He just nods. “No shit.”
I frown. “You don’t seem shocked.”
“Because we aren’t blind, Rhett,” Boone says. “We’ve all seen it. We’ve all felt it. You’re the one who’s been holding back.”
“I’m trying to be practical,” I argue. “She’s the owner. She’s the client. And she’s still fighting us.”
“She’s scared,” Knox says. “She’s not fighting us. She’s fighting herself.”
“So what do we do about it?” I ask. “If she goes into heat... things are going to get complicated. We can’t just ignore that.”
“We handle it,” Boone says simply. “Like we handle everything else. We support her. We keep her safe. We don’t push her until she’s ready.”
“And if she’s never ready?” I ask.
“Then we wait,” Knox says. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”
“I’m not,” I say.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that she thinks we’re trying to steal her life,” I say. “And if we throw a pack dynamic at her while she’s feeling vulnerable, she’s going to run. Again.”
“We take it slow,” Boone says. “We show her we’re here for the ranch, not just for her.”
“Speaking of the ranch,” Knox says, shifting his weight, “I got a call from Gary this morning.”
I tense. “And?”
“I’m considering taking the job,” Knox says. “The Bayou Circuit. Louisiana.”
The news hits me like a splash of cold water. I look at him, and he looks resigned.
“Louisiana?” I ask. “That’s three months away. Four, with travel.”
“I know,” he says. “But the money’s good, Rhett. Really good. And with the circuit suspended... I don’t have a choice. I need the income.”
“We can manage here,” Boone says. “We can handle the fences and the cattle. We can fix the barns. You go. Ride the bulls. Win the money.”
“You don’t mind?” Knox asks.
“It’s your career,” Boone says. “We’re not going to hold you back.”
“It’s just... the timing,” Knox says. “With Saramaria just getting back. With the repairs starting...”
“We’ll be fine,” I say, though my chest feels tight. “We can handle it.”
Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. West Montgomery.
I have a bad feeling about this. West doesn’t call this early unless something is wrong.
“I need to take this,” I say.
“Take it,” Boone says. He turns to Knox. “I’m going to go check on the water troughs. The lines are still wonky.”
“I’ll come with you,” Knox says. “I need to move my legs anyway.”
Boone and Knox walk off toward the pasture, leaving me alone near the barn. I answer the phone.
“West,” I say. “Please tell me you have good news.”
“It depends on your definition of good,” West says. His tone is clipped, professional. “I followed up on those pipe breaks. You were right to call me.”
“What did you find?”
“I went out to the site this morning,” West says. “I brought a kit. I looked at the cuts.”
“Vandals?” I ask.
“No,” West says. “The cuts were too clean. Too precise. And I found something else near the south ditch. Boot prints. Not hiking boots. Work boots. Lug soles.”
“Okay...”
“I ran the tread pattern through the database. No match, but I cross-referenced it with a report I filed last month. Clint Daniels had a similar issue over near his place. Someone cut his fences right before a scheduled inspection.”
I go still. “Clint? Why would someone cut Clint’s fences?”
“Because Clint wasn’t the target,” West says. “The target was the land. See, Clint has a neighbor who’s been trying to expand his operation. Someone with deep pockets who doesn’t like taking no for an answer. They started a pressure campaign.”
“What kind of pressure?”
“Regulatory harassment,” West says. “They call in anonymous tips to the county. They file complaints about zoning. They sabotage the property. They make it impossible for the owner to maintain compliance. Then, when the owner fails an inspection, the county steps in. Fines, liens, court orders. If the owner can’t pay, the property goes to auction. ”
I grip the phone tight. “And who buys it?”
“A shell company. A holding trust. Untraceable.”
The pieces slide together in my mind. The missed inspections. The fines. The sudden urgency. The massive debt.
“You think someone is doing this to Saramaria,” I say.
“I think someone is trying to force a sale,” West says.
“And I think they are using the county to do it. If she can’t pay the fines, and she can’t fix the code violations in time, the county could condemn the structures.
If they condemn the structures, the land value drops.
The bank could call in the loan. It would be a feeding frenzy. ”
“Who?” I ask. “Who would want this place that badly?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” West says. “But I’m going to find out. I’ve got a few leads I want to chase down. Just keep your eyes open. Watch the perimeter. And tell the owner not to trust any strangers offering ‘help.’”
“Thanks, West.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” he says. “Watch your back, Rhett.”
I hang up. I stand there in the cold morning air, the coffee in my cup forgotten. The anger is a slow burn, starting in my gut and spreading outward. Someone is doing this. Someone is targeting her. They’re trying to steal her home right out from under her.
I look toward the pasture. Knox and Boone are near the water trough, laughing about something.
I walk over to them. Knox is just hanging up his phone.
“That was Gary,” Knox says. “The Wrangler check cleared. It’s in my account.”
“Good news,” Boone says.
“We have the cash from the fundraiser,” I say. “And now Knox has this. We’re in good shape financially.”
“So why do you look like you want to punch someone?” Boone asks.
I tell them about West’s call. I tell them about the sabotage. I tell them about the scheme.
When I finish, the silence is heavy.
Boone stares at the wooden post he is leaning against. His knuckles turn white. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he punches the post. The wood splinters under his fist.
“Who?” he growls. “Who is doing this?”
“We don’t know,” I say. “West is looking into it. But it makes sense. The missed inspections. The fines. It was a setup.”
“Who would want the ranch that bad?” Knox asks. “It’s a mess. It needs a fortune of work.”
“The land,” I say. “The location. It’s prime real estate, especially if you don’t care about the history.”
“This is bullshit,” Boone spits. “She’s trying to save this place. She’s busting her ass. And someone is trying to stab her in the back?”
“We need to tell her,” I say. “She needs to know.”
“Tell me what?” a voice asks.
We turn.
Saramaria is standing on the porch. She’s wearing boots and a heavy coat, her face pale. She looks fragile, but she’s standing tall.
I walk over to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says. “My head still hurts, but the fever is gone. What’s going on? You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I look at Boone. He nods.
“We need to talk,” I say. “Inside.”
We move into the kitchen. The house is quiet. Wellsy comes trotting in behind her, sensing the mood.
Saramaria sits at the table. She folds her hands in front of her.
“What is it?” she asks.
“The pipes,” I say. “West investigated the breaks.”
“And?”
“They weren’t cut by kids,” I say. “They were cut deliberately. To cause a failure. To trigger an inspection.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because someone wants the land,” I say gently. “West thinks there’s a group trying to pressure the county into condemning the property. If it’s condemned, it goes to auction. They can buy it for pennies on the dollar.”
She stares at me. The color drains from her face. “What?”
“It’s a scheme,” I say. “It’s dirty. It’s illegal. But it’s happening.”
She sits there for a long moment. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink.
I watch her face. I see the shock, the denial, and then the dawning realization. I’m terrified she’s going to break. She has been through so much. The grandfather, the betrayal, the financial ruin. To find out it’s not just bad luck, but malice...
She takes a breath. She sits up straighter. Her jaw sets.
“Do you know who?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “West is working on it.”
“Okay,” she says. Her voice trembles, but her eyes are hard. “Okay. Then we find them. And we stop them.”
I look at her. I look at Boone and Knox.
Boone is grinning, a fierce, proud expression. Knox is shaking his head, looking impressed.
She didn’t break. She didn’t crumble. She got mad.
“Okay,” I say.
“And in the meantime,” she says, looking at Knox, “did you tell them about Louisiana? You’re taking the job?”
Knox nods slowly. “I am.”
“Then you should go,” she says. “We need the money. And you need to ride.”
“I don’t want to leave you here with this mess,” Knox says.
“I’m not alone,” she says. She looks at Boone. Then she looks at me. “I have you two. And Wellsy. And Pearl and Dot and the whole damn book club. We can handle a little sabotage.”
I feel a surge of pride so strong it makes my chest ache.
“Okay,” Knox says. “I’ll go. But I’m coming back.”
“We know,” I say.
Saramaria stands up. She puts her hands on her hips.
“So,” she says. “What’s the plan for today? We have a ranch to save and a conspiracy to expose. Let’s get to work.”
I look at Boone. He raises his coffee cup in a mock toast.
“To the ranch,” he says.
“To the ranch,” we all echo.