Chapter 4 #2
"You don't have to trust me." Reid's voice was still calm, still steady, and he hadn't moved an inch—still leaning against the doorframe, still giving me all the space in the world.
His hands stayed open at his sides, palms facing me, fingers relaxed.
Everything about his posture said I'm not a threat, I'm not going to move, you're in control here.
"Trust takes time. I get that." He paused, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made it hard to look away, that seemed to see past all my defenses to something underneath.
"But I want you to know—whatever happened before, wherever you came from—it doesn't matter here.
You work hard, you do your job, you've got a place for as long as you want it. No questions asked."
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do with an Alpha who stood in a doorway instead of pushing into my space, who spoke in calm, measured tones instead of commands, who looked at me like I was a person instead of a problem to be solved.
Every Alpha I'd ever known had taken what they wanted without asking.
Had pushed and pressed and demanded until there was nothing left to give.
Reid wasn't pushing. Wasn't pressing. Wasn't demanding anything except that I hear him.
"Okay." The word came out rough, barely more than a whisper, scraped raw from my tight throat. I swallowed hard, my hands unclenching slightly at my sides, and tried again—forcing my voice steadier, my chin lifting just a fraction. "Okay."
Reid nodded, a slight dip of his chin that seemed to settle something between us. The tension in his broad shoulders eased just a fraction, and something that might have been relief flickered across his weathered features.
"Good." His voice warmed on the word, and he glanced at Bella again, his expression shifting into something softer, fonder—the face of a man who loved his animals as much as his land.
Then his dark eyes came back to me, steady and calm.
"You need anything, you let Hank know. Or you can come find me.
I'm usually in the office or out with the herd. "
He pushed off from the doorframe and turned to go, his boots scraping softly against the stable floor, and something in my chest lurched.
I didn't want him to leave—no, that wasn't right.
I did want him to leave. I wanted him as far away from me as possible, wanted to stop breathing in that scent that made my hindbrain go quiet and still in a way it never did.
Some stupid, traitorous part of me wanted him to stay.
"Reid." His name was out of my mouth before I could stop it, rough and uncertain, and I watched him pause mid-step in the doorway.
He turned back to look at me, those patient dark eyes finding mine, the light from the window behind him catching the silver at his temples and making it gleam.
His expression was open, waiting, his body angled toward me—giving me time to find my words.
I didn't know what I wanted to say. Thank you felt wrong. I'm sorry felt worse. So I just stood there, my hands still clenched at my sides, my heart still hammering against my ribs, and said the only thing I could think of.
"The vet. Nolan." I forced the words out one at a time, hating how unsteady they sounded, how much they revealed about what I'd been thinking about for three days. My voice was rough, halting, and I had to look away from those knowing dark eyes. "He was here the other day. Checking on Bella."
Something shifted in Reid's expression—a slight softening around the eyes, a barely perceptible easing of the set of his shoulders.
The hard line of his mouth relaxed, and the corner twitched upward, not quite a smile but close.
His head tilted slightly to one side, dark hair falling across his forehead.
"Yeah. He comes by regularly. Good man." Reid's voice was warm when he spoke about Nolan, easy and fond in a way that spoke of years of friendship. He paused, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read, his dark eyes thoughtful. "He mentioned he'd met you."
Of course he had. Of course the two Alphas had talked about the feral Omega who'd shown up on their doorstep. I should have expected that, should have been prepared for it, but somehow the confirmation still made my stomach twist with something that felt uncomfortably like hope.
"He was kind." I didn't know why I said it.
Didn't know why I felt the need to acknowledge it, to let Reid know that his friend—his pack mate?
his whatever—had treated me like a person instead of a threat.
My voice came out softer than I intended, almost fragile, and my eyes dropped to the straw-covered floor between us. "He didn't—he gave me space."
Reid's dark eyes held mine for a long moment when I finally looked up, and something passed between us that I couldn't name. An understanding, maybe. An acknowledgment of something neither of us was willing to say out loud. His gaze was warm, steady, seeing more than I wanted him to see.
"That's Nolan." Reid's voice was soft now, almost gentle, and there was warmth in it that made my chest ache.
A small smile finally broke through his serious expression, crinkling the corners of his eyes and softening the hard planes of his face.
He shifted his weight, one hand coming up to rest against the doorframe.
"He's good at reading people. Knowing what they need.
" The smile faded slightly, his expression growing more serious, more intent, his dark eyes holding mine.
"He'll be back tomorrow. To check on Bella. "
It sounded like a warning. Or maybe a promise. I couldn't tell which, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Okay." I said it again, because it was the only word I seemed to be capable of producing. My voice was steadier this time, but only just, and I forced myself to hold his gaze instead of looking away.
Reid nodded once more, that slight dip of his chin, a gesture that seemed to carry more weight than such a small movement should.
Then he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing down the stable aisle, his footsteps steady and unhurried on the hard-packed dirt floor.
A moment later I heard the main door open and close with a soft creak, and then there was nothing but silence and the sound of Bella shifting in her hay.
I stayed pressed against the wall for a long time, breathing through my mouth, trying to get that scent out of my lungs. Whiskey and woodsmoke. Warmth and safety and something that felt terrifyingly like home.
I didn't want it to feel like home. I didn't want any of this—the patient Alphas, the job that didn't ask questions, the bed that was starting to feel familiar instead of temporary.
I didn't want to get comfortable, didn't want to put down roots, didn't want to let myself believe that this could be anything other than another stop on the way to nowhere.
As I sank back down onto my hay bale and watched Bella doze in the morning light, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. That the ground beneath my feet wasn't as solid as I'd thought.
Two Alphas now. Two Alphas who looked at me without demanding, who gave me space instead of crowding, who spoke in calm voices and made promises I was afraid to believe.
I didn't know what to do with that. I didn't know what to do with any of it.
So I did what I always did. I pushed it down, locked it away, focused on the work in front of me. Bella needed watching. The stall needed cleaning. There were tasks to complete, routines to follow, a rhythm to lose myself in.
I could think about the rest later. Or never. Never worked too.
The morning stretched into afternoon, and I stayed in my corner of the stall, watching Bella, listening to the sounds of the ranch going about its business outside.
Occasionally someone would walk past—Danny with a wheelbarrow, one of the other hands leading a horse to the paddock—but no one bothered me. No one pushed.
Around midday, the cook's assistant appeared in the stable doorway.
Sarah was a quiet Beta girl with mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled.
She carried a paper bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, and she walked softly, carefully, like she knew better than to startle me.
She didn't say anything—just set the food on the hay bale next to me, gave me a small smile that didn't demand anything in return, and left as quietly as she'd come.
Her footsteps faded down the aisle, and then I was alone again.
I ate the sandwich slowly, tasting it this time. Ham and cheese on fresh bread, with mustard and some kind of pickle I didn't recognize. Good. Better than good. The coffee was hot and strong, and I wrapped my hands around the thermos and let the warmth seep into my cold fingers.
When had I started noticing how food tasted? When had I started noticing anything beyond survival? I pushed the thought away and focused on Bella, who had woken up and was watching me with those big, soft eyes. She looked curious. Almost friendly. Like she was waiting to see what I would do next.
"What are you looking at?" My voice sounded strange in the quiet of the stable, rough from disuse, unfamiliar even to my own ears. I hadn't talked to anyone—really talked—in days. The words hung in the air between us, awkward and uncertain.
Bella just blinked at me, her long lashes sweeping down and up, and went back to her hay with a soft snort that sounded almost dismissive.
I found myself smiling. Just a little, just for a second, the corners of my mouth turning up before I could stop them.
But it was there—a real smile, not the fake ones I used to deflect attention or the bitter ones I gave myself in the mirror.
That, more than anything else—more than Reid's calm patience or Nolan's gentle hands or the bed that was starting to feel like mine—scared the hell out of me. Because smiling meant settling. Settling meant staying. And staying meant eventually, inevitably, being forced to leave.
That's how it always worked. That's how it would always work.
As the afternoon light slanted through the stable windows and Bella dozed in her straw and the scent of whiskey and eucalyptus faded slowly from the air, I couldn't quite make myself believe it the way I used to.
Something was changing. Something I couldn't name and couldn't stop.
I just didn't know if that was a good thing or a very, very bad one.