Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Clay
I thought I’d gotten over my feelings for Hollie Bright. I thought I’d gotten over her a long, long time ago. After all, it’s been ten years since I first laid eyes on the little omega.
But as soon as I spot her spinning in the snow outside the airport, arms flung wide, head tipped back, pretty blue eyes sparkling with excitement, caramel hair caught in the wind, I realize I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
I am most definitely not over Hollie Bright.
My crush on my little sister’s college roommate – my little sister’s now longest, oldest, and bestest friend – was fine when, all those years ago, our interactions were sparse and brief.
But this time, the omega is spending a whole damn week with us.
With my family. At our ranch. And it’s not just any week; it’s Christmas week.
Sure, I can keep myself busy on the ranch. There’s always plenty to do. But there are still going to be family occasions where I won’t have an excuse to disappear and when I am most definitely going to be in the omega’s company.
I swallow hard, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel of my truck, and try my best not to suck in the sweet little thing’s scent.
If she weren’t so darn cute, with a curvy little figure to die for, I’d say Hollie Bright’s scent was the best thing about the omega.
It smells like… like honey. The kind of honey you want to drizzle all over your bread in the morning.
The kind of honey you want to drizzle all over your tongue.
The kind of honey you want to sink your fingers into and lick them clean.
It was her scent that hit me first all those years ago.
Hit me like a slap around the face. Like a bucket of cold water over the head.
Like a punch to the gut. Wake up, motherfucker, and take notice; something special has entered your life.
Turned out Hollie Bright was more than just special.
She was the type of girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off when she entered a room, the kind of girl who had you entranced when she spoke, the only girl who’s ever made my stupid heart actually flutter with one of her smiles.
And the kind of girl who has never been interested in alphas.
I shake my head and focus on the road ahead. The drive back home seems to last twice as long as the drive out to the airport, and I blame that entirely on Hollie Bright’s honey scent and the way it has my taste buds tingling and my blood buzzing.
Finally – goddamn finally – we reach the outer boundary of the ranch, passing from the main road onto the track and bumping along, passing under the big sign that marks our land: Big Sky Ranch.
“This is it?” Hollie asks. “This is the ranch?”
“Yep,” Annie says, with a definite hint of pride in her voice.
“Wow,” Hollie gasps.
And am I crazy, but I can’t help a sense of pride myself at her obvious admiration. Then again, who wouldn’t admire Big Sky Ranch? Of course I’m biased, but I happen to think it’s the most beautiful ranch in the whole of Colorado – scrap that – probably in the whole of the country.
We pass by one of our winter pastures where part of the Hereford herd is huddled together, and Annie points them out.
“Aren’t they cold?” Hollie asks almost immediately.
“No,” I tell her. “Cattle are hardy. They’re built for weather like this.”
“Really?” she says. “But what do they eat?”
“Hay!” Annie says, giggling. She leans forward in her seat.
“Hollie is a big animal lover.” I don’t need reminding.
I happen to have catalogued and stored away every bit of information my sister has ever mentioned in passing about her best friend.
“Clay, expect to answer a whole host of animal welfare questions while she’s here. ”
I snort. “You’re one of those… vegans, are you?”
“No,” Hollie says. I sigh in relief. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“I can’t help thinking that’s worse,” I mutter.
“Don’t listen to him,” Annie says. “My dad is actually super excited about the prospect of cooking for a vegetarian this Christmas. He has about a million different recipe ideas he wants to run past you.”
“I’m happy with just a block of cheese or a boiled egg,” Hollie says.
And I snort again. Omegas may be tiny, but everyone knows they need to eat well. There can’t be a lot of protein and nutrients in a lump of cheese.
We drive past the second pasture. Tucker’s out on this one on the back of Storm, breaking ice on the water trough. He spots us too, knocking the hat off his head and swinging it in circles above his head, waving at all of us. Annie waves back.
“That’s Tucker,” she says.
“Ah,” Hollie says. “Who’s Tucker?”
I fidget in my seat.
“Oh,” Annie says, innocently – although I wonder if my little sister Annie is ever innocent. She’s been wrapping the lot of us around her little finger ever since she was born 29 years ago. “Tucker is one of Clay’s … pack mates.”
There’s silence in the car – a loaded one – and it takes all my self-control not to peer into the rearview mirror at Hollie’s face.
I do not care about her reaction.
I do not care. I repeat, I do not care.
“P-p-pack,” she mumbles at last, the unease in her voice automatically setting off a reciprocating unease in my body.
Obviously, I do care.
“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you?” Annie says, still sounding suspiciously innocent, as if this was a casual piece of information that just so happened to slip her mind. “Yeah, Clay’s pack mate. Tucker.”
“You have a pack?” Hollie says, this time directing her question to me. “Since when did you have a pack?”
“Since a year and a half ago,” I say. This time I can’t help but peer at her reflection.
She looks shocked. Utterly shocked. And I wonder why it’s so hard to believe that a man, an alpha like me, could be part of a pack.
Okay, I know I can be an asshole. Stubborn.
Seclusive. Downright irritating sometimes.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t get along with people.
And it doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to form a pack.
And I’m in a good position to form a pack now.
I’m running the family ranch, and luckily I’ve found two alphas who love the work, who love the ranch, just as much as I do.
We bonded over cattle driving. It was always inevitable that when I stepped up to take over the family business, they’d want to do it with me and we’d make it official. We’d become a pack.
Plus, every sensible alpha – every alpha in his right mind – wants a pack. And a little omega to go with that pack.
“There’s me, Tucker, and Nash,” I say. “Just the three of us.”
“Just three,” Annie chuckles.
But I don’t see what’s so funny about that.
“And they’re basically running the ranch now,” Annie says. “Dad’s knee’s gotten so bad he can’t really do much around the ranch anymore. They’ve basically taken it over.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“And they’re doing a pretty good job.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Annie says, blowing me a kiss.
We continue down the bumpy track, the girls bouncing in the back seat, Hollie much quieter than she has been for the rest of the drive.
I wonder whether she regrets coming. I know a pack isn’t every omega’s dream.
In fact, some omegas steer clear of packs altogether, packs and alphas.
Hollie has always been one of those omegas; from the little snippets of information I’ve gleaned over the years, it’s clear she’s only ever dated betas.
Which is fine. Just dandy. A-okay. Because I don’t need to be mixing myself up with Hollie Bright.
I was there when Annie asked my parents if Hollie could visit over Christmas. I know how worried my little sister has been about her oldest friend, how anxious she is to ensure this festive period is perfect for her. I’m more than aware of what the woman needs right now and it isn’t me.
Besides, Hollie Bright is a city girl. Always has been, always will be, and I don’t need the distraction of a fling with a girl I’ve been thinking about for the last ten years. It would only lead to a lot more thinking in the long run.
Finally, as we swing past a small copse of trees, the old family home comes into view, its many windows a soft pink in the winter’s sunlight and the wooden porch that runs the entirety of the house decorated with fir branches, sprigs of holly and bunches of mistletoe.
“This is it!” Annie cries, pointing out of the front windshield. “This is the old family house, built by my great-great-great-grandfather in 1874.”
“It’s that old?” Hollie says.
“You better believe it,” Annie says. “Which is why every floorboard creaks and every tap leaks.”
“Virtually the only original thing remaining are the foundations,” I add. “Obviously it’s had a lot of updating and renovation since 1874.”
“Yeah,” Annie says with a grin, “there’s heating and everything. Even running water and flushing lavatories.”
“Lavatories. Good to know,” Hollie says. “I’m not sure I fancy the idea of trekking through the snow to some outback toilet.”
I pull up outside the house, and I’m guessing my parents must hear the truck ’cause they come out to greet us, my mom practically sprinting down the front steps. She has almost as much energy as my little sister.
“Hollie, sweetheart,” she says, enveloping the smaller omega in one of her renowned hugs, locks of silvery red hair slipping loose from her bun. “I was so sorry to hear about your mom, and I’m so glad you’re here,” she says.
I don’t know if Hollie is a hugger or not, but she has no choice but to stand and take the hug my mom’s offering. And then my dad’s there too. He’s definitely not a hugger, but he pats her on the shoulder.
“How you doing, kid?” he asks her.
“Good,” Hollie says. “I’m good – thank you – and very grateful to you both for letting me come stay.”
“Nonsense,” my mom says. “The more, the merrier.”
“And it’s going to be particularly merry this year,” my dad says. “Clay’s pack, Annie home and you too, Hollie. I don’t think we’ve ever had this many people for Christmas.”
“Think you can cope?” Annie asks my dad, nudging him lightheartedly with her elbow.
He places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “I think I can rise to the challenge.”
Since my dad’s knee gave way 18 months ago and stopped him from taking a more active role in the running of the ranch, he’s discovered a passion for cooking.
Some might call it an obsession. I blame that damn show, The Great British Bake-Off.
For the first two weeks after he did his knee, all he could do was sit and watch TV with his leg stretched out in front of him.
He watched a hell of a lot of that show.
Since then he’s been creating all sorts in the kitchen and I’m having to work extra hard on the ranch to keep off the pounds.
“Well, come on,” my mom says. “Let’s not stand around out here in the cold. Let’s take you inside and warm you up. Clay, you can bring the bags, right?”
I tip my hat at my mom to signal my consent and watch as my mom and sister lead the little omega up the steps, across the porch, and through the door, disappearing inside.
I guess I must stand and watch a little too long because my dad hobbles alongside me, leans in, and says, “I forgot how pretty she was.”
“Huh?” I say, shaking my head.
“Pretty. Hollie’s really quite something to look at.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
My dad’s silver eyes, always piercing, assess me.
He doesn’t say anything else, simply nods and waits for me to collect the suitcases.
In the old days, there’s no way my dad wouldn’t have taken one himself.
He’s always prided himself on his strength and his can-do attitude – got a burst pipe, he’ll mend it, burst tyre, he’ll replace it, 100 head of cattle that need wrangling, he’s on it.
But now, with the knee, he’s resigned to the sidelines in more than one way.
I’m secretly glad about it. I think, given half the chance, my dad would have worked himself right the way into his own grave – heck, he’d probably have dug that grave too, save everyone else the job.
He’s worked hard all his life, very hard, and it’s about time he put his feet up and had some fun.
Even if that fun wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. Still, at least it’s not knitting.
I carry the bags through into the house, definitely not noticing how Hollie’s honey scent has already infused into our home and definitely not thinking about just how pretty the little omega is.