29. Boone
Boone
I’m standing near the new barn foundation, talking to the contractor Rhett hired. He’s a local guy, a weather-beaten Beta named Miller who knows his way around a post-hole digger better than he knows his own wife.
We’re discussing the lumber delivery for the roof repair. It’s technical, boring stuff, but it needs to be done.
Rhett walks out of the house. He moves with a stiff urgency, his face drained of color.
I nod at Miller. “Give us a minute.”
Miller tips his hat and wanders toward his truck, wiping his hands on a rag.
Rhett stops in front of me. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“What is it?” I ask. The knot in my gut tightens instantly.
“That was Pearl,” Rhett says. His voice is tight. “They’re taking Saramaria to the clinic.”
My heart stops. “The clinic? Is she hurt? Did she fall?”
“She missed her shot,” Rhett says.
I blink. “What?”
“The suppressant,” he says. “She missed the appointment. The email got buried in everything else. Pearl and Dot took her to see the doctor. Saramaria is already showing symptoms.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Missed shot. Symptoms.
“She’s going into heat,” I say. The realization is a cold shock.
“Yes,” Rhett says. “And she’s scared.”
“We have to go,” I say immediately. I turn toward the truck.
“Boone,” Rhett says, grabbing my arm. “Think about this. If she’s in heat... and we take her home...”
“What? We keep her safe,” I snap, pulling my arm free. “We lock the gates. We don’t let anyone near her.”
“We live with her,” Rhett says. “We’re Alphas. She’s an Omega in heat. Do you think we can just... ignore it?”
“Of course we can,” I lie. “We have self-control. We aren’t animals.”
“I know that,” Rhett says. “But she’s scared. She’s overwhelmed. We can’t just react like this is a free-for-all. She isn’t just some random Omega. She’s Saramaria.”
“Then what do you suggest?” I ask. “We leave her alone at the clinic? In a waiting room full of strange Alphas? Like she’s meat?”
“No,” Rhett says. “We go get her. We bring her home. We protect her. But we have to be careful. She needs to feel safe. Not... hunted.”
“Hunted,” I repeat, the word leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I think of Jack Dalton, of what he tried to do to Willa. Locking her in a bathroom. Taking advantage of her biology.
“We aren’t him,” I say. “We will never be him.”
“I know that,” Rhett says. “But she doesn’t. Not really. Not yet. We have to show her. We have to prove that she’s safe with us. That we aren’t going to pounce on her the second she smells good.”
He’s right. If we storm in there, eyes black with instinct, she’s going to bolt. Or worse.
“Okay,” I say. “We go get her. We keep it professional. We act like protectors. Not predators.”
We jump into the truck. I drive. Rhett calls Knox, who meets us at the end of the driveway. He hops in the back, looking worried.
“What’s the plan?” Knox asks.
“We bring her home,” I say. “And we make sure she knows she’s in control.”
The drive to town is a blur. The rain hammers the roof. The tension in the cab is thick.
“She’s terrified,” Knox says. “She’s going to think we’re going to lose it.”
“Then we show her we won’t,” I say.
I pull up to the clinic. The lights are on in the front office. I jump out, not waiting for the others.
I burst through the door. The waiting room is empty. The reception desk is abandoned.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Back here,” a voice calls out from the hallway.
Dot steps out. She’s holding a clipboard, and she blocks my path.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” she says. “You can’t go back there. Dr. Wyatt is with her.”
“I’m not leaving her,” I say.
“She’s in exam room two,” Dot says. “Dr. Wyatt is running some tests. You can wait here.”
“I’m not waiting in the lobby,” I say. “I need to see her.”
“You’re making a scene,” Dot says. “Sit down. We’ll bring you back when they’re done.”
“I’m not sitting down!” I snap. I’m aware of the irony—a big Alpha barking at an old woman—but I don’t care. Saramaria is in there. She’s vulnerable. I need to see her.
Dot steps closer to me. She looks up at me, her eyes sharp.
“Listen to me,” she says, her voice firm. “Saramaria needs space right now. She’s scared. She’s feeling out of control. You three barging in there, reeking of testosterone and anxiety, is not going to help.”
I glare at her. I look at the hallway. I can hear the murmur of voices. Dr. Wyatt’s low, soothing tone. Saramaria’s, high and thin.
“She’s our pack’s Omega,” I say. “We have a right to be there.”
“Oh, you’ve already make that clear,” Dot scoffs.
“Dot, please.” This time it’s Rhett who’s talking.
“Being a pack means you put her needs first,” Dot counters. “Right now, she needs to process this with her doctor. So sit. Down.”
She points to a plastic chair.
I clench my jaw and look at Rhett and Knox. They look as frustrated as I feel. But we know Dot is right. We’re outnumbered. And we’re not going to win a fight with the Matriarchs of Muddy Creek.
We sit. It’s the longest ten minutes of my life.
Finally, the door opens.
Dr. Kit Wyatt walks out. She looks so tired. “You can come back now,” she says. “But keep it quiet. She’s... fragile.”
We stand up and file down the hallway.
Exam room two is small. Saramaria is sitting on the exam table, her feet dangling over the edge. She’s wearing a hospital gown. Her face is pale, but there’s a flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with fever.
She looks up when we walk in.
“We got your message,” I say. I stop a few feet away, giving her space.
She clutches the paper covering her legs. “I missed the shot,” she whispers. “I forgot. I just... I forgot.”
“It happens,” Rhett says gently. “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
Dr. Wyatt leans against the counter. “She’s already showing early signs of the pre-heat phase. Her temperature is elevated. Her scent markers are changing.”
“Can you give her a shot now?” I ask. “Can you stop it?”
Dr. Wyatt shakes her head. “Usually, yes. But she’s too far along. The hormonal cascade has already started. Injecting suppressants now would be like trying to stop a mudslide with a shovel. It could make her very sick. It could cause a hormone crash that would last for weeks.”
“So what do we do?” Knox asks.
“We manage the symptoms,” Dr. Wyatt says. “We make her comfortable. But ultimately... you have to let the cycle run its course.”
“Run its course,” I repeat. “You mean... she goes into heat. Full heat.”
“Yes,” Dr. Wyatt says. “It won’t be pleasant. She’ll have cramps, mood swings. The fever. And the urges.” She looks at me, then at Knox and Rhett. “She’s going to need to be isolated. She’s going to need a safe place to ride it out.”
“She has the ranch,” I say.
“Is it safe?” Dr. Wyatt asks. “Is she isolated? Are there other Alphas around?”
“We are,” Rhett says. “But we can control the perimeter. We can keep the ranch locked down. No visitors.”
“That might work,” Dr. Wyatt says. “But be careful. When an Omega is in heat, their instincts take over. They become... reactive. She might not be herself. She might be aggressive. Or she might be... compliant. You need to be prepared for either.”
She looks at Saramaria. “You have a choice, Saramaria. You can stay here, in the clinic, under observation. Or you can go home with your pack. But if you go home, make sure they know what they are signing up for.”
Saramaria looks at us. At me. At Knox. At Rhett.
She looks tired. She looks scared.
“I want to go home,” she says. “I don’t want to be here.”
Dr. Wyatt nods. “Then take her home. Keep her warm. Keep her hydrated. Let her rest.”
“Can I have a word with them?” Saramaria asks.
Dr. Wyatt looks at us, then at Saramaria. “Five minutes. Then she needs to rest.”
Dr. Wyatt leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
The silence in the small room is heavy. Saramaria looks down at her hands.
“I’m scared,” she admits. Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I feel like I’m losing control of my own mind.”
“We won’t let that happen,” I say.
“It’s complicated,” she says. “The ranch... the sabotage... the money. The heat. It’s all hitting at once.”
“We can handle the ranch,” Knox says. “We’re fixing the fences. We’re securing the perimeter. No one is getting in that we don’t want in.”
“And we can handle the money,” I add. “We have the fundraiser cash. Knox has his check. We’ll get the bills paid.”
“And the heat?” she says. “What happens then?”
“We take care of you,” Rhett says. “That’s what we do. We take care of what is ours.”
Saramaria’s head snaps up. “Yours?” She looks at me. “You said... you would keep me safe. Not that I’m yours.”
“Same thing,” I say. I don’t flinch. “You are ours to take care of, Saramaria. All of you. Even the parts you’re scared of.”
Knox steps up. “We aren’t leaving you. I’m not going to Louisiana. We aren’t running away. We are staying right here.”
“We want to help,” Rhett adds. “Whatever you need. If you need space, we’ll give you space. If you need touch, we’ll give you touch. But we aren’t leaving you alone.”
Saramaria stares at us. Her eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears.
“You’re sure?” she asks. “This isn’t just because of the biology? Because if it’s just because I’m an Omega in heat, then... I don’t want that. I don’t want to be used.”
“It’s not about biology,” Knox says. “It’s about you. It’s about the woman who burned the barn down because she was angry. The woman who tried to save a dog in a storm. The woman who saved the ranch.”
“I love you,” I say. The words are simple, but they carry the weight of the world. “I have loved you since you were a wild kid riding bareback through the mud. And I’m not going to stop loving you just because things get complicated.”
Saramaria lets out a breath that sounds like a sob.
“Be sure,” she whispers. “Please. Be sure. Because if you break me... I won’t come back from that.”
“I’m sure,” I say.
“Me too,” Knox says.
“I’m sure,” Rhett says.
Saramaria nods. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Take me home.”
I help her off the table. She wobbles slightly. I steady her.
I look at the guys.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk her out to the truck. The rain is still falling, but it feels lighter now. The weight of the decision—the decision to stay, to commit, to be her pack—sits on my shoulders.
But as we drive toward the ranch, with her asleep in the passenger seat, I know the hard part is just beginning.
We have to get through the heat. We have to navigate the urges, the instincts, the potential for disaster.
But looking at her, I know one thing.
She’s ours. And we’ll burn down the world before we let anything hurt her.