17. The Rodeo Around Cactus Rose Ranch #4
But something has shifted. The air between us grows heavy with unspoken words, with the memory of his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair. I force myself to focus on the fence, on his instructions about tension and spacing, but my body remembers. My body wants.
"Boss! Cole!" Austin's voice carries across the field, urgent enough to break the spell. "Magnus is loose again!"
Cole curses under his breath, already moving. "Bull," he explains tersely. "Territorial as hell and too smart for his own good. Stay behind me."
I follow as he jogs toward the north pasture, and sure enough, a massive Angus bull stands in the middle of the path. Magnus is appropriately named—he's enormous, all muscle and attitude, pawing at the ground like something from a bullfighting poster.
"Easy, big guy," Cole murmurs, slowing his approach. "Just need you to move along."
Magnus snorts, lowering his head in clear threat. That's when I realize we're between him and his herd—the worst possible position. Cole realizes it too, his body shifting subtly to put himself between me and two thousand pounds of territorial beef.
"When I move, you go left," he says quietly. "Don't run, just walk steady to the fence."
"Cole—"
"Trust me."
And I do. Despite every instinct screaming at me to run from the advancing bull, I trust Cole's calm authority. He steps forward, arms spread wide, making himself the bigger target. Magnus focuses on him entirely, and I ease left as instructed, heart hammering against my ribs.
What happens next is like watching a dance.
Cole doesn't challenge the bull directly—instead, he angles his body, redirects Magnus's attention, guides him with subtle movements until the animal is headed back toward his herd.
It's masterful, the kind of skill that comes from a lifetime of understanding animals.
"Jesus," I breathe when Cole rejoins me at the fence. "That was?—"
"Stupid," he finishes, but he's grinning. "Magnus likes to test boundaries. Part of why he's such a good breeding bull—that attitude passes to strong calves."
We're both breathing hard from adrenaline, standing closer than necessary. His pine-leather scent wraps around me, intensified by exertion, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for him.
"Come on," he says, voice rougher than before. "Let me show you the property maps."
He leads me to a small outbuilding that serves as a field office. Inside, the walls are covered with topographical maps, precipitation charts, grazing schedules that look like military planning documents. Cole spreads a worn property map on the desk, and we bend over it together.
"Here's where we are," he says, pointing. "Eastern pasture. This section here is winter grazing, more sheltered. This is hay production..."
I try to focus on his words, but he's standing so close. Close enough that his arm brushes mine as he traces property lines. Close enough that his breath stirs my hair when he leans in to point out water sources. The proximity is torture, made worse by how natural it feels.
"The creek forms our eastern boundary," he continues, professional despite the tension. "Good year-round water, but we have to watch erosion during spring melt. See how the previous owners let cattle access it directly? We've had to fence it off, install water systems instead."
His hand covers mine on the map, guiding my finger along the creek line. The touch is meant to be instructional, but my body doesn't care about intentions. Heat floods through me from that simple contact, and I hear his breath catch.
"Everything's connected," he says, and I'm not sure if he's still talking about the ranch. "Water affects grass, grass affects cattle, cattle affect soil. Change one thing, everything shifts."
"Like pack dynamics," I murmur without thinking.
His hand stills on mine. "Yeah. Exactly like that."
We stand frozen, the moment stretching taut between us. Then footsteps on gravel break the spell—someone approaching the office. Cole steps back smoothly, professional distance restored, but his eyes hold promises of conversations we'll have later. Promises of more than conversation.
"Should get back," he says. "Dinner prep soon."
I nod, not trusting my voice. We leave the office together, and I'm so focused on not touching him that I miss the rough ground. My ankle turns, and I stumble. Cole's there instantly, arm around my waist, steadying me against his solid warmth.
"Careful," he murmurs, and the word carries weight beyond the immediate concern.
"I'm trying," I reply, and we both know I'm not talking about walking.
He holds me a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing the strip of skin where my tank has ridden up. Then he releases me, stepping back with visible effort.
"Ranch work's dangerous," he says, voice carefully neutral again. "Have to watch every step."
But as we walk back toward the main house, the careful distance between us feels more like anticipation than separation.
Every shared glance, every accidental touch, adds fuel to the fire we started yesterday.
And despite all the reasons to be careful, to go slow, to protect what's being built here—I know it's only a matter of time before we burn.
Wendolyn's cherry-red hatchback looks deliriously out of place among the ranch trucks, like a metropolitan fairy tale that took a wrong turn at the county line.
Cole and I round the corner to find the front porch occupied—Wendolyn chatting animatedly with an elderly woman in a hand-knit cardigan, while River holds Luna on his hip, pointing out birds in the evening sky.
"Auntie Willa!" Wendolyn calls out, waving enthusiastically. "Mrs. H and I thought we'd stop by with the little princess. Someone's been fussy all afternoon—apparently she missed her new favorite person."
As if to prove the point, Luna's heterochromatic eyes lock onto me, and she immediately starts reaching, making grabby hands and the particular whimpering sound that means 'pick me up now.' River chuckles, moving closer to transfer her, and I catch myself reaching back just as eagerly.
"Well," Mrs. Holloway observes with sharp eyes that belie her grandmotherly appearance, "that's quite the bond already. Usually takes her weeks to warm up to new folks."
Luna settles against my chest with a contented sigh, her chubby fingers immediately tangling in my ponytail.
The weight of her, the baby-powder-and-milk scent, the absolute trust in how she melts into me—it's overwhelming in the best way.
Around us, the men seem to relax, like Luna in my arms completes some invisible circuit.
"How long have you been watching her?" I ask Mrs. Holloway, shifting Luna to my hip with growing confidence.
"Oh, going on four months now," she replies, producing a thermos of what smells like legendary hot chocolate from her massive purse. "Ever since these boys realized a baby couldn't exactly tag along for cattle drives. Though Lord knows they tried at first."
"She rode in a carrier on my back for the first month," Austin admits, appearing from the house with a fresh diaper bag. "Worked great until she learned to grab things. Ever try to vaccinate cattle with a baby pulling your hair?"
The image makes me laugh, which makes Luna laugh, her joy infectious. "She's lucky to have all of you. But I'm curious—how did she come to you? I mean, it's not exactly traditional..."
The men exchange looks—quick, loaded with unspoken communication. River takes the lead, his voice careful. "Luna came to us when we were... at a crossroads. The pack was struggling. We'd been through some difficult times, made some mistakes, and honestly, we were close to going our separate ways."
My chest tightens. I can't imagine these men as anything but united, can't picture this ranch without their interwoven presence. "You were going to split up?"
"It was bad," Cole admits, his usual authority tempered with old pain. "We'd lost trust in each other, in the pack structure. Everything we'd built felt poisoned. Then Luna arrived—suddenly we had someone who needed us whole, functioning, united. She saved us, really."
"But how—" I start, then Austin smoothly interrupts.
"Anyone want coffee? Mrs. H brought her famous coffee cake too. We should get inside before it gets cold." His hazel eyes hold gentle warning—this story has boundaries, places they're not ready to let me enter yet.
I accept the deflection, but my mind races as we move inside.
Another Omega. There had to have been another Omega here—someone who left or was lost, someone whose absence nearly destroyed them.
The thought sparks unexpected jealousy, hot and sharp.
Which is ridiculous. I have no claim here, no right to feel possessive of men who've known love before.
But watching them move around the kitchen, the easy domesticity of their routine, I can't help wondering.
Did she stand where I'm standing, holding Luna while Austin made coffee?
Did she laugh at Maverick's paranoid security checks, learn to read the land from Cole, find peace with River's horses?
The ghost of her lingers in their careful silence, in the way they've circled around certain topics since I arrived.
"You're thinking too hard," Wendolyn murmurs, appearing at my elbow with a slice of coffee cake that could feed three people. "I can actually hear the gears turning."
"Just wondering," I admit quietly, bouncing Luna when she starts to fuss. "About before. About what happened."
Wendolyn's perpetually cheerful expression softens. "Not my story to tell, hon. But I will say this—what they have now, with Luna, with the ranch stable again? It's precious to them. They won't risk it lightly."