6. Can’t Breathe
Can’t Breathe
~WILLA~
" Y our grandfather ran about fifty head of cattle," Cole says, stopping at a fence line where red and white Herefords graze. "We've expanded to seventy-five, introduced some Black Angus bloodlines for hybrid vigor. Market prices have been good, especially for grass-fed operations."
His hand rests on a fence post as he talks, and something about the gesture—the casual ownership, the protective stance—tugs at my memory. But the thought dissolves when he turns those steel-gray eyes on me, assessing.
"You know cattle?" he asks.
"Not really." I watch a calf kick up its heels, playing in the afternoon sun. "Grandpa's letters mentioned them sometimes, but..."
"William was a good man," River says softly from beside me. "Taught us a lot about ranching. About life."
The way he says it suggests years of history I'm not privy to. "How long have you all been here?"
Another one of those loaded looks passes between them.
"Few years," Cole says, which feels like a non-answer. "Come on, I'll show you the barn."
The barn smells like hay and horses and something indefinable that makes my chest tight. More memories trying to surface— the scent of leather, strong hands steadying me, a voice saying "easy, sweetheart, I've got you."
But when I try to grasp it, it slips away like smoke.
"These are the working horses," River says, taking over as we enter the stable area. His whole demeanor shifts here, becoming even calmer if that's possible. "This is Sundance, he's Cole's. Tempest here is mine. That pretty girl is Maverick's mare, Whisper."
"Stupid name for a horse," Mavi mutters from the doorway, but his eyes soften when he looks at the black mare.
"Says the man who spends his evenings brushing her and telling her she's beautiful," Austin teases, making Luna giggle.
"Operational security includes maintaining working relationships with all ranch assets," Mavi shoots back, but his ears pink slightly.
River opens a stall door, and a golden palomino pushes her head out, immediately seeking his hands.
"This is Honey. She was your grandfather's favorite. Gentle as they come, perfect for—" He stops himself, glancing at the others.
"Perfect for beginners," Cole finishes smoothly. "If you want to learn to ride."
River's hands move over the horse with practiced ease, checking her over while murmuring soft words.
There's something hypnotic about watching him work, the way the animals respond to him like he speaks their language.
When Honey lips at his shirt pocket, he produces a piece of carrot with a quiet laugh that sends another jolt of almost-recognition through me.
"The security system is integrated," Mavi says abruptly, like he's uncomfortable with the soft moment. "Cameras at all entry points, motion sensors on the perimeter. Your grandfather was concerned about rustlers."
"Mavi's former law enforcement," Austin explains when I look confused. "He insisted on upgrading everything when he moved in—I mean, when he started working here."
That slip doesn't go unnoticed, but I file it away with all the other strange things about this situation.
Four men this attractive don't just end up working on a remote ranch together.
There's a story here, one they're carefully not telling.
We continue the tour—the equipment shed where everything gleams with maintenance, the chicken coop with its dozen laying hens, the garden plot already turned for winter.
Every corner of this ranch speaks of care, of love even.
These men haven't just maintained my grandfather's property; they've improved it, cherished it.
"The house next," Austin says as Luna starts to fuss, rubbing her eyes. "She knows it's nap time."
But the moment Austin tries to adjust her position, Luna protests loudly, reaching for me again with determined hands.
Without thinking, I step closer, and she practically flings herself into my arms.
The moment she settles against my chest, everything shifts. Her weight feels familiar, right in a way that makes no sense. She smells like baby powder and something sweet, and underneath that?—
Pine. Earth. Smoke. Clean linen.
She smells like all of them.
"She doesn't usually go to strangers," River observes quietly.
"Maybe I'm not a stranger," I murmur, studying her unusual eyes. One blue, one green-gray. Where have I seen eyes like that before?
Luna pats my cheek with one chubby hand, babbling seriously like she's trying to tell me something important.
Behind her, I catch the men doing that thing again—perfect synchronization as Austin pulls out a pacifier, River checks his watch, Cole heads for the house, and Mavi scans the area like threats might materialize from thin air.
"How long have you four been together?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
"What makes you think we're together?" Cole asks, but there's no real denial in it.
"You move like a unit. Like..." Like a pack, my mind supplies, but that's absurd.
Packs don't form around babies and ranches.
Except apparently they do, because that's exactly what I'm looking at.
"It's complicated," Austin says, reaching for Luna as she starts to genuinely wind down. "We're family. Found family, but still family."
Luna goes reluctantly, whimpering until Austin picks her from my grasp and starts a gentle bounce that speaks of long practice. All four men adjust subtly—River moving closer to Austin, Cole taking point again, Mavi falling back to guard position.
It's beautiful and strange and makes something ache in my chest.
A representation of what I thought I’d have with Blake and the Iron ridge pack…but that…
I don’t dare finish the thought because its in the past.
"The house," Cole says, heading for the wraparound porch. "Austin oversaw most of the renovations. Kept the character but updated everything for safety and comfort."
Safety. There's that word again, following me like a shadow I can't shake.
But safe from what? And why do these men move like they're protecting something precious?
Luna's eyes drift closed as we climb the porch steps, but not before she gives me one last look—knowing and impossibly ancient for a baby. Like she's waiting for me to remember something important.
The feeling follows me into the house, where the smell of lemon polish mixes with a scent that only makes my heart clench with fear and my lungs tighten as if every breath is sacred.
Smoke.
Not current, but memory.
The phantom of fire that my body remembers even if my mind won't.
The kitchen swallows us in warmth and golden light, all gleaming surfaces and copper pots that catch the late afternoon sun streaming through gauze curtains.
It's a dream kitchen, all modern appliances hidden behind cabinet faces that match the house's vintage character. Austin moves through it like he was born here, already pulling ingredients from the massive refrigerator while Luna babbles from his hip.
"Hope you like salmon," he says, setting packages on the butcher block island. "Fresh caught from River's last fishing trip. Man's got magic hands when it comes to finding fish."
"Among other things," Mavi mutters, earning himself an elbow from River as they move in practiced synchronization.
Cole retrieves plates from a high shelf without being asked, River fills a pot with water, Mavi checks locks on windows I hadn't even noticed needed checking.
They dance around each other without collision, a choreography learned through repetition and intimacy.
I hover near the doorway, unsure where to fit in this domestic ballet.
"Can I help?"
"Just sit," Cole says, pulling out a chair at the large farmhouse table. "I bet you've had a long day."
Luna goes into her high chair with minimal fuss, though her eyes track me constantly. Though they mentioned she’d need a nap, I guess feeding her first would be smart.
Austin ties a bib around her neck with one hand while seasoning fish with the other, humming something low and soothing.
Multitasking rugged men who are raising a baby together on a ranch…wild.
River starts chopping vegetables with knife skills that speak of practice, while Cole sets the table around me like I'm a fixed point they're all navigating.
"She's still staring," Mavi observes, nodding at Luna. He's taken up position by the back door, where he can see both exits and all windows. "Kid's got a fixation."
"She knows quality when she sees it," Austin says lightly, but there's something underneath the joke. "Don't you, moon girl?"
Luna responds by reaching toward me with both hands, her heterochromatic eyes bright with determination.
When I don't immediately respond, she ups the ante—lower lip trembling, small whimpers building toward full distress.
"Here." River slides a cutting board of carrot sticks toward me. "Maybe she's hungry."
But when I offer Luna a carrot, she pushes it away, reaching for me more insistently.
Her whimpers escalate, and all four men tense in unison.
"She's going to work herself up," Austin says, hands full of fish and herbs. "Once she starts the full meltdown?—"
"I'll take her again." The words come out before I think them through. "Just for a minute."
The kitchen goes still.
Four sets of eyes watch as I unbuckle Luna from her chair and lift her into my arms. She settles immediately, pressing her face into my neck with a contented sigh that goes straight through me.
And then ? —
Smoke.
Not the phantom whisper from earlier but thick, choking, real.
My lungs seize as time fractures. I'm not in a warm kitchen anymore. I'm?—
Handcuffed to a bed.
Metal biting into my wrists as I pull, pull, pull until blood makes everything slippery.
Blake's cologne mixing with gasoline, his voice calm as he explains why this is necessary.
"You should have just been a good Omega, Willa. Should have known your place."
The fire starts small.
Just curtains at first, fabric I'd chosen because they reminded me of my grandmother's house.
Orange flames licking up, up, up while Blake watches from the doorway.
"The insurance money will help the pack," he says conversationally. "Your death will be tragic but necessary. Omega who couldn't handle pack life, decided to end it all. They'll believe it. They always believe the Alpha."
Smoke fills the room faster than seems possible.
I'm screaming but no sound comes out, my damaged throat already closing.
The handcuffs won't give, won't break, and the bed frame is solid oak that Granddad made ? —
No.
That's wrong.
This is wrong.
But the memories cascade anyway, mixing truth with fiction with terror.
"Should have mated properly." Blake's voice floats through smoke. "Should have been grateful for what you had instead of asking questions. Looking at bank statements. Threatening to leave."
My chest burns.
Inside and out, fire everywhere.
In my lungs, against my skin, the whole world orange and black and pain.
I can't breathe.
Can't think.
Can't—
"Please." The word tears from my throat, but Blake's already gone.
Just me and the flames and the certainty that this is how I die.
Inappropriate Willa finally put in her place, permanently.
The bed catches.
Sheets I'd washed that morning going up like tissue paper.
Heat blisters along my arms as I fight the cuffs, metal now burning hot against my wrists.
Everything hurts.
Everything burns.
But then ? —
Different voices.
Not Blake's casual cruelty but urgent shouts.
"In here! I've got her!"
Strong hands. Not hurting but helping, breaking the cuffs with bolt cutters. The bite of metal giving way to freedom, but I'm already going under, smoke-drunk and dying.
"Stay with me, sweetheart. I've got you."
Pine and leather. Safety in the middle of hell.
"Get her out! Structure's compromising!"
More hands.
Gentle despite urgency, lifting me like I weigh nothing.
Rain-soaked earth and calm in chaos.
"Clear the door! Medical standing by!"
Smoke and cinnamon, sharp eyes checking for threats even as the world burns.
"She's not breathing right. Smoke inhalation, possible ? —"
Clean linen and desperate care, hands checking my pulse as they run.
Four scents.
Four voices.
Four saviors when I'd resigned myself to death.
But that's impossible.
That's not ? —
My knees hit the kitchen floor, though I don't remember falling.
Luna's weight is gone, someone having grabbed her before I could drop her. My hands claw at my throat as phantom smoke fills lungs already scarred from the real thing.
Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't ? —
The world spins sideways, gray edges creeping in. Somewhere distant, urgent voices call my name. But all I can see is orange flames. All I can feel is metal on my wrists.
All I can hear is Blake explaining why I deserve this, have always deserved this, for being wrong and inappropriate and too much and not enough and?—
"Willa!"
But I'm already gone, drowning in memories that feel more real than the kitchen floor under my knees.