19. Ride The Worries Away
Ride The Worries Away
~WILLA~
T he October sun has no business being this hot, but here it sits on my shoulders like a weight, making my tank top cling to the small of my back with sweat that feels too much like the slickness gathering between my thighs.
I press the cold latte glass against my neck, letting condensation trickle down my collar as I sit alone on the café's patio, trying to pretend I'm just another local enjoying an unseasonably warm morning instead of an Omega fleeing the suffocating cloud of Alpha pheromones that's turned Cactus Rose into my personal torture chamber.
The foam on my latte forms a heart— because of course it does —and I destroy it with my spoon before anyone can see. My body thrums with awareness, every nerve ending hypersensitive as the new blockers work their plant-based magic through my system.
Dr. Sylvie warned me about the adjustment period, but she didn't mention how I'd feel everything.
The rough wood grain of the table under my palms, the slight breeze that makes my nipples tighten beneath thin cotton, the way my pulse beats hot and insistent in places I'm trying very hard not to think about.
Twenty-three hours down. Twenty-five to go.
The café bustles with morning activity—ranchers grabbing coffee before heading to their fields, shop owners preparing for the day, a cluster of older women at the corner table who've been dissecting everyone's business since I sat down thirty minutes ago.
Their voices carry despite their attempts at discretion.
"—that's her, Cole's new Omega ? —"
"—heard she inherited the whole ranch ? —"
"—living with all four of them, can you imagine ? —"
I take a long sip of my latte, fighting the urge to smirk at their failed attempts at subtlety.
Cole's Omega.
As if I'm already branded, already claimed, already slotted into the neat little box this town has prepared for me. Part of me bristles at the assumption.
Another part— the part that remembers Cole's hands gripping my chair hard enough to make wood creak, the hunger in his storm-gray eyes when Wendolyn spelled out exactly what we couldn't do —that part preens like a cat in sunshine.
The sun beats down harder, and I shift in my metal chair, trying to find a position that doesn't make me so aware of my body.
Everything feels swollen, sensitive, ready. The cotton of my jeans rubs against my inner thighs with each movement, and I have to bite back a whimper that would definitely give the gossip circle new material.
This is why I fled the ranch at dawn, leaving a note on the kitchen counter like a coward. The house had been thick with their scents—pine and leather, metal and storm, earth and sunshine, clean linen and care.
Every breath I took made my body clench with need, made my throat tight with want I couldn't act on.
Austin had been up with Luna, humming softly as he changed her diaper, and just the sight of his gentle hands had made me ache in ways that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with longing for that tenderness turned my way.
So I ran.
Sort of…
Borrowed the ranch truck and drove into town like the hounds of hell were chasing me, which wasn't entirely inaccurate given how Maverick's security instincts probably had him tracking the vehicle before I even hit the main road.
Another drop of condensation rolls down my glass, and I track its path with my finger, trying to ground myself in the simple sensation.
The town moves around me in its morning rhythm, and I notice something that makes my chest tight with unexpected emotion. I'm not the only Omega out and about, unchaperoned and unafraid.
There's Wendolyn across the street, striding into the fire station with her copper hair catching the light, her turnout gear slung over one shoulder like she's carrying the weight of the world and making it look easy.
Two blocks down, I can see the police station where Chief Martinez supposedly rules with an iron fist wrapped in legal precedent.
And somewhere in this town, Dr. Sylvie is probably already at her clinic, revolutionizing Omega healthcare one patient at a time.
We're changing things.
The thought hits me with unexpected force. Not through grand gestures or violent upheaval, but through simple presence. Through refusing to hide, to cower, to accept that our biology makes us less than.
Through owning businesses and enforcing laws and saving lives and yes, inheriting ranches from grandfathers who saw our worth when the rest of the world didn't.
The heat makes my head swim slightly, or maybe that's the hormones. I press the glass to my forehead, letting the cold shock through me.
My body is a livewire of sensation, every brush of air against exposed skin making me hyperaware of how empty I feel. How much I want to be filled, claimed, marked in ways that would scandalize the church ladies at their corner table.
But it's more than physical need. It's the emotional ache that catches me off guard—the longing for River's quiet presence, Austin's gentle touch, Maverick's protective intensity, Cole's steady authority.
For the first time in my life, I want a pack not because I'm supposed to, not because society expects it, but because these specific men have shown me what it could be.
What we could be, if I'm brave enough to let it happen.
Twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes. Not that I'm counting.
The whispers continue around me, and I catch fragments that make my spine straighten with something between pride and defiance.
They're not just talking about me as Cole's potential Omega.
They're talking about the ranch, about female ownership, about the way the power dynamics in Sweetwater Falls seem to be shifting with each passing day.
"—never seen anything like it ? —"
"—four Alphas letting an Omega run things ? —"
"—heard she's got a head for business ? —"
"—changing everything ? —"
Gossip surely runs these towns, but let them wonder and whisper and try to make sense of something that doesn't fit their neat categories.
I take another sip of my latte, the bitter coffee mixing with sweet foam in perfect balance, and let myself exist in this moment.
An Omega alone but not lonely, claimed by none but belonging to something bigger than tradition or expectation.
The heat presses closer, making my skin glow with perspiration that has nothing to do with exertion. My body prepares itself despite the blockers, despite my will, despite the medical restrictions that keep me safe but slowly driving me insane.
Soon, I'll have to go back to the ranch, face those four sets of eyes that track my every movement with barely leashed hunger.
But for now, I sit in the morning sun, letting my presence be its own small revolution, counting down hours until I can stop pretending I don't want exactly what they're offering.
"You have the most intriguing smile," a voice says, and I look up to find a woman hovering near my table like a hummingbird who's discovered premium nectar.
She's all animated energy despite the heat, wearing a sundress that looks vintage but probably cost more than my truck payment, her dark hair pinned up in a style that manages to be both professional and slightly chaotic.
"I'm sorry?" I blink against the sun, trying to place her. Something about her screams 'I know everyone's business and I'm not sorry about it.'
"Your smile," she repeats, gesturing with hands that never stop moving.
"It's got this quality—like you're thinking of a secret joke but also maybe planning someone's demise.
Perfect for portraiture. You should model for our art club.
" She pulls out a chair without invitation, settling across from me with the confidence of someone who's never met a boundary she couldn't cheerfully ignore.
"I'm Patty Summers, by the way. Local journalist, gossip columnist, occasional investigative reporter, and full-time pain in the ass, depending on who you ask. "
The name clicks—Wendolyn mentioned her. Something about being too curious for her own good. Looking at her now, with sharp brown eyes that seem to catalog every detail of my appearance, I believe it.
"Willa James," I offer, though something tells me she already knows exactly who I am.
"Oh, I know." She grins, producing a small notebook and pen from her purse like a magician with rabbits.
The pen taps against the paper in a rhythm that matches her barely contained energy.
"Everyone knows about Cole Montgomery's mysterious new Omega who inherited old man Garrett's ranch.
You're the most interesting thing to happen to this town since Chief Martinez arrested the mayor's son for drunk driving. "
I stiffen at being called Cole's Omega again, but Patty's already moving on, her pen now twirling between her fingers like a tiny baton.
"Which brings me to my question—why are you here alone?
Those possessive Alphas of yours usually don't let their precious cargo out of sight, especially not.
.." She pauses, nostrils flaring slightly as she catches my scent.
"Oh. Oh, you're close to heat, aren't you?
That explains the sweat. I thought it was just this ridiculous October heat wave. "
My face flames hotter than the sun.
"How do you—why would you?—"
"Know about them?" Patty laughs, a bright sound that carries across the patio. "Honey, it's my job to know everything about everyone in this town. Plus, those four are hardly subtle. Do you have any idea how long I've been watching them orbit each other like planets afraid to collide?"
I lean forward despite myself, the cold latte forgotten.
"You know them well?"