11. Not Alone Anymore? #2
"Never apologize for asking for help with her." His voice carries unusual intensity. "We should have done a better job preparing you or at least made sure you had everything you needed to reach us."
"I should have a real phone," I admit, the words tasting like shame. "But Blake... he controlled the plan, tracked everything. After the divorce, it got shut off immediately. All I have is this cheap prepaid that barely holds a charge."
Austin's expression darkens in a way I've never seen from him.
The usual sunshine replaced by something harder.
"He isolated you."
"It was for pack unity," I say automatically, then hear how hollow it sounds. "Or that's what he said. Keep outside influences from disrupting our bond."
"Bullshit." The vehemence surprises me. "That's not pack behavior, that's abuser behavior. A real pack, a good pack—we make each other stronger, not smaller."
The 'we' hangs between us, loaded with meaning.
Luna sighs in her sleep, and I rock her automatically, processing his words.
"I thought I was doing everything right," I admit to the darkness. "Followed all the rules for being a good pack Omega. Submissive, supportive, accepting whatever the Alphas decided was best."
"Can I—" Austin pauses, something uncertain in his expression. "Can I hug you? Just... you look like you need a hug, and I'm trying not to assume?—"
"Yes," I breathe, surprising myself. "Yes, please."
He's careful about it, mindful of Luna between us. One arm around my shoulders, the other supporting Luna's weight. His scent— clean linen and mountain mornings —wraps around us both. Not demanding, not claiming, just...offering comfort.
"Iron Ridge failed you," he says quietly against my hair. "Blake failed you. But that's on them, not you. And I hope—we all hope—that maybe we can show you what pack is supposed to be. What family is supposed to be."
I should pull away…maintain boundaries…remember that I barely know these men, that trust is dangerous, that Alpha promises have burned me before. But Luna's warm between us, and Austin's embrace asks for nothing except the chance to offer comfort, and I'm so tired of being strong alone.
"Thank you," I whisper again, meaning more than just tonight's rescue.
"Always," he says simply. "That's what pack does."
When he finally pulls away, I miss the warmth immediately.
Luna stirs but doesn't wake as I adjust her in my arms.
"I should let you get back to sleep," I say, though part of me wants to beg him to stay. To not leave me alone with the responsibility and the quiet.
"I'll walk you up," he offers. "Make sure she settles okay."
We climb the stairs together, Luna a bridge between us.
In her nursery, he watches me lay her in the crib, nodding approval at how I position her.
"You're doing better than you think," he says softly. "She's just particular sometimes. Gets it from her fathers."
Fathers, plural. The questions burn again, but this isn't the time.
"Get some rest," he says from the doorway. "Tomorrow the others will want to mother-hen you about the whole phone situation. Fair warning—Cole's probably already online shopping for options."
The image of stern Cole browsing cell phone plans makes me smile despite everything.
"Noted."
Austin disappears into the darkness, and I hear the back door close softly. Luna sleeps on, peaceful now, while I stand watching her breathe.
This strange little family that's folded me into their midst, offering help without judgment, protection without possession. Maybe Austin's right…that this is what pack is supposed to be.
Time will tell.
The sound of axes splitting wood pulls me from sleep, rhythmic and sure, and for a moment I forget where I am.
Then Luna's soft breathing through the baby monitor brings everything back—the ranch, the men, my new reality that feels more like a fever dream than inheritance.
Pale morning light filters through curtains I don't remember drawing. My body aches from yesterday's emotional marathon, muscles sore in places I didn't know could hold tension. But underneath the exhaustion, something else stirs.
Curiosity, maybe. Or the dangerous beginning of feeling safe.
From the window, I can see them already at work.
Cole splitting logs with economical precision, each swing deliberate and controlled. River mucking out stalls, moving with the fluid grace of someone who finds peace in routine. Mavi walking the perimeter, checking things I probably wouldn't even notice.
Their breath clouds in the crisp October air, but they move like the cold energizes rather than hinders.
No sign of Austin, but Luna's contented babbling through the monitor suggests he's already retrieved her.
The easy way they share her care speaks of long practice, complete trust.
A family in everything but name.
I dress quickly, pulling on jeans and one of the few sweaters that doesn't smell like smoke or bad memories. My reflection looks foreign—hair wild from sleep, face softer than I remember seeing it. Like the constant alertness I've worn for two years is finally, cautiously, easing.
The kitchen smells like coffee and contentment. Austin has Luna in her high chair, cheerfully wearing what appears to be half her oatmeal. River appears at my elbow before I've fully entered, pressing a mug into my hands.
"Two sugars, splash of cream," he says with a quiet smile. "Figured you could use it after last night's adventure."
He's already learned how I take my coffee.
Such a small thing, but it makes my throat tight with emotion I can't afford.
"Morning," Cole says from the doorway, bringing the scent of fresh-cut wood and morning frost. "Sleep okay after the Luna incident?"
"Fine," I manage, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. "Sorry again about?—"
"Stop apologizing." It's not quite an order, but close. "Austin said you handled it well for someone thrown in the deep end."
"She just needed some help," Austin adds, wiping banana from Luna's cheek. "Same as anybody would."
Mavi enters last, closing the door firmly behind him.
"Perimeter's clear. No signs of trouble."
The way he says it suggests he always checks, every morning, like danger might manifest overnight.
I wonder what made him this vigilant, what threats he's protecting against.
Or who.
"So," I venture, settling at the table where I can see all of them. "The fire last night?"
They exchange those weighted looks again, whole conversations in glances I can't decode.
"Rosie's Diner," River explains, taking the seat across from me. "Kitchen fire that spread faster than it should have. We got it contained before major damage, but..."
"But?"
"Accelerant," Mavi says bluntly. "Someone wanted that place to burn."
My coffee turns bitter on my tongue.
"Arson? Here?"
"Small towns aren't immune to crime," Cole says, joining us at the table. His hair's still damp with sweat from wood-splitting, and I force my eyes away from how it darkens his collar. "Sometimes they're worse. Everybody knowing everybody's business creates... friction."
"The new chief's investigating," Austin adds, bouncing Luna when she starts to fuss. "She's good. Came from Denver, doesn't have any local biases to work around."
"She?" I ask, surprised.
Female police chiefs in small towns aren't exactly common.
"Hazel Martinez," River supplies. "Tough as nails, fair as they come. She's already ruffling feathers by actually investigating instead of sweeping things under the rug."
"Which some people don't appreciate," Mavi mutters. "Lot of folks liked the old way. Look the other direction, keep the peace, don't ask hard questions."
I think of Harold at the hotel, his immediate dismissal of me. Of the looks that followed me through town.
"And now someone's setting fires?"
"Could be unrelated," Cole says, but his tone suggests otherwise. "Could be someone testing boundaries, seeing what they can get away with. Either way, we'll handle it."
The casual confidence in that statement should worry me.
Four men appointing themselves protectors of a town that may not want protection.
But all I feel is relief that someone's paying attention.
"Emergency services response time is twelve minutes from the county station," Austin explains. "Would've lost the whole building waiting for them. That's why folks call us first."
"And Station Fahrenheit 49?" I remember them mentioning it yesterday.
"New volunteer fire station being built on the old Mackey property," River says. "Should be operational by spring, but for now, we're the stopgap."
"Convenient," Mavi observes, voice dry as dust. "Fire breaks out just when the town's most vulnerable. Makes you wonder who benefits from the chaos."
"Mavi sees conspiracies everywhere," Austin says lightly, but there's acknowledgment in it too. Sometimes paranoia is just pattern recognition.
"Point is," Cole redirects, "we may have more late-night calls. If you're not comfortable being here alone?—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, surprising myself with the firmness. "I've been alone a long time. At least here I have neighbors to call."
Something shifts in the room at that admission.
Luna chooses that moment to throw her spoon with impressive accuracy, hitting Mavi square in the chest. Oatmeal splatter included.
"Your kid's got an arm," he tells Austin, deadpan.
"Our kid," comes the automatic chorus from the other three, and I file away another piece of their puzzle.
Not just Luna's fathers but somehow all equally invested.
River starts cleaning up breakfast dishes while Cole outlines the day's schedule—fence repairs in the north pasture, hay delivery to stack, evening feeding for the stock. Normal ranch operations that feel anything but normal with the undercurrent of arson and Alpha dynamics.
"I can help," I offer. "I might not know much about cattle, but I can learn."
"Today you rest," Cole says firmly. "Get familiar with the house, the immediate grounds. Tomorrow we can talk about what you want to learn."
I should bristle at being ordered, but there's sense in it.
I'm exhausted, overwhelmed, and probably not safe around large animals until I know what I'm doing.
"Besides," Austin adds, standing with Luna, "this one's decided you're her new favorite person. Barely let me dress her this morning without fussing for you."
As if to prove his point, Luna reaches for me with grabby hands, making demanding noises until I take her. She settles immediately, patting my face with sticky fingers that smell like banana and baby powder.
"See?" River laughs. "You've got the most important job—Luna wrangler."
I can’t stop myself from smiling.
They disperse to their various tasks, but not before each checks in somehow. Cole reminds me about the alarm codes. River points out where they'll be working. Mavi shows me the emergency numbers posted by every phone. Austin runs through Luna's schedule one more time.
Then they're gone, leaving me with a baby who thinks I hung the moon and a house that smells like four Alphas who might be the best men I've ever met.
"Well, little one," I murmur to Luna, who's contentedly gnawing on my collar. "Looks like we're both starting over. Think we can figure it out together?"
She babbles something that sounds like agreement, and I choose to take it as a yes.
Outside, I can hear the men calling to each other across the ranch, their voices carrying on the clear morning air.
Not alone anymore, I realize.
For the first time in years, I'm not alone.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as it comforts.