Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
NOLAN
I couldn't get her out of my head.
I finished up with Bella on autopilot, my hands going through the familiar motions of checking vitals and administering anti-inflammatories while my mind stayed stuck on pale green eyes and clenched fists.
On the way she'd stood in the shadows like she was ready to bolt.
On the faint, barely-there scent that had hit me like a punch to the chest.
Omega.
Feral. Malnourished. Terrified.
Something else underneath all of that. Something that had made every protective instinct I had snap to attention.
Bella nickered softly, nudging my shoulder with her nose, and I realized I'd been standing there with my hand on her neck for god knows how long, staring at the empty doorway where Aster had disappeared.
"Sorry, girl." I gave the mare one last pat, my voice coming out rougher than I intended, and gathered my supplies, shoving them back into my kit with less care than usual. "Got distracted."
Distracted. That was one word for it. I'd seen plenty of Omegas in my life.
Treated them, talked to them, worked alongside them.
I'd dated a few, back before I'd moved to Thornwood, back when I thought I knew what I wanted.
None of them had ever made me react like that.
None of them had ever made my hands shake with the urge to reach out, to touch, to soothe.
She'd been so thin. That was the first thing I'd noticed, even before the scent registered.
The sharp angles of her cheekbones, the way her clothes hung loose on her frame, the shadows under her eyes that spoke of too many missed meals and not enough sleep.
Her hands had been callused, her nails bitten short, her dark hair escaping from its braid in wisps that framed a face that might have been pretty if it weren't so gaunt.
She'd looked like something that had been running for a long time. Something that had forgotten what it felt like to stop.
And those eyes. Pale green, striking against her dark hair, watchful and wary.
She'd cataloged every exit and every threat before she'd even registered that I was there.
When she'd finally looked at me, it had been the way prey looks at a predator—calculating distance, measuring speed, figuring out exactly how fast she'd need to move to get away if I made a wrong move.
I'd stayed still. Kept my voice low. Given her space.
It was what I did with frightened animals. Approach slow, don't make sudden movements, let them come to you. I hadn't even thought about it—just slipped into that mode automatically, treating her the same way I'd treat a spooked horse or a feral cat.
She wasn't an animal. I knew that. But something about her had triggered the same instincts, the same careful gentleness that I used with wounded creatures.
And when she'd growled her name at me—actually growled, like she was daring me to make something of it—something in my chest had twisted in a way I couldn't explain.
Aster. Like the flower. Delicate but hardy, my grandmother would have said. The kind of flower that blooms late and survives the frost.
I shouldered my kit and headed out of the stable, squinting against the midday sun. The ranch was busy around me—workers moving between buildings, the distant sound of cattle, the clang of metal from somewhere near the equipment shed. Normal sounds. Normal day.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
I found myself scanning the property as I walked, looking for a dark braid and a defensive hunch. Looking for her. I didn't see her—she was probably out on fence duty by now if Hank had anything to say about it—but that didn't stop me from looking.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I'd come to Longhorn Ranch to check on a pregnant mare. That was it. A routine visit, same as I'd done a hundred times before. I wasn't supposed to walk away with my head full of green eyes and the ghost of lilacs clinging to my clothes.
Lilacs. Her scent had been so faint I'd almost missed it, buried under layers of stress and exhaustion and the sharp tang of fear.
But it was there, underneath everything else.
Delicate. Sweet. The kind of scent that made you want to lean closer, breathe deeper, bury your face in the curve of her neck and—
I cut that thought off before it could go anywhere dangerous. I hadn't leaned closer. Hadn't breathed deeper. I'd stayed exactly where I was, crouched in the hay, and let her decide whether to run or stay.
She'd stayed. For a few minutes, at least. That had to mean something. Or maybe it didn't mean anything at all. Maybe she'd just been frozen with fear, too tired to run, too wary to do anything but stand there and wait for the threat to pass.
I was still turning it over in my head when I reached the main house. Reid's truck was parked out front, which meant he was probably in his office doing paperwork. Good. I needed to talk to him anyway about Bella's treatment plan.
Maybe about something else too.
The front door was unlocked, as always. I let myself in and headed down the hallway toward the back of the house, my boots loud on the hardwood floors.
The house was old but well-maintained, full of furniture that had been here for generations and photos on the walls of Reid's father and grandfather and the ranch in its earlier days.
It smelled like Reid—whiskey and leather and woodsmoke, that steady, grounding scent that had become as familiar to me as my own over the years.
We'd known each other for five years now, ever since I'd taken over the large animal practice in town.
What had started as a professional relationship had turned into something more—friendship, trust, the kind of bond that forms between Alphas who respect each other.
We'd talked about pack, about someday, about finding the right fit.
About how four Alphas was unusual but not unheard of, about how we'd know when we found the right Omega, about all the theoretical ways a future might unfold.
Never quite taken the leap. Never quite found what we were looking for.
Maybe that was about to change.
Reid's office door was open, and I found him exactly where I expected—behind his desk, frowning at a stack of invoices like they'd personally offended him.
His black hair was disheveled, silver threading through at the temples, and there was a smudge of dirt on his jaw that said he'd been out working before he'd come inside to deal with paperwork.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, and even sitting behind a desk he radiated that quiet authority that made people want to follow him.
He looked up when I knocked on the doorframe, those dark eyes sharp and assessing before they softened into something like welcome.
"Nolan." He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, his voice low and steady the way it always was. Reid didn't waste words, didn't raise his voice, didn't need to. When he spoke, people listened. "Bella okay?"
"She's fine." I stepped into the office, dropping my kit by the door and running a hand through my hair. "Mild inflammation in her front legs, probably from the extra weight. I gave her something for the swelling. She should be good to foal in a few weeks."
Reid nodded, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly at the news, one hand coming up to rub absently at the stubble on his jaw.
"Good. I was worried about her." He paused, those dark eyes studying me with the same careful attention he gave everything—the look that said he was reading between the lines, seeing what I wasn't saying. "Something else on your mind?"
I shouldn't have been surprised. Reid had always been able to read me like a book.
It was one of the things that made him a good leader—and one of the things that made him impossible to lie to.
I moved further into the office, lowering myself into the leather chair across from his desk.
Tried to figure out how to say what I needed to say without sounding like I'd lost my mind.
"The new worker." I kept my voice even, casual, though my fingers drummed against my thigh in a rhythm I couldn't quite control. "In the stables this morning. Dark hair, green eyes. Aster."
Something flickered in Reid's expression—a sharpening of focus, a subtle shift in posture that most people wouldn't notice.
Interest, maybe, or recognition. "Hank hired her yesterday.
Said she showed up looking for work, didn't ask too many questions.
" He tilted his head, watching me with those knowing dark eyes, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Why?"
"She's an Omega." The words hung in the air between us.
Reid's eyes sharpened, his whole body going still in that way he had—the predator's stillness, the Alpha's focus.
I watched him process the information, watched his nostrils flare slightly as if he could catch her scent from here, watched his hands flatten against the arms of his chair.
"You're sure?" His voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the undercurrent beneath it. The same thing I was feeling. His dark eyes hadn't left my face.
"I'm sure." I rubbed a hand over my jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against my palm, remembering the way that faint lilac scent had hit me. "Barely there, almost impossible to catch. But it's her. She's Omega."
Reid was quiet for a long moment, processing.
His fingers tapped against the arm of his chair—the only sign of agitation he ever showed, that rhythmic drumming that meant his mind was working through something complicated.
I watched him think, watched the calculations happening behind those dark eyes.
He wasn't the kind of man who reacted without considering all the angles first.
"Hank didn't mention it." He said it slowly, thoughtfully, his brow furrowed slightly as he turned the information over.