3. Chapter 3
3
My new bedroom was covered in pale blue wallpaper. My gaze caught on one ripped, sagged corner as sunlight crept across the ceiling. My sheets were in a tangled knot at the foot of the bed. Despite their absence, a sheen of sweat covered me. I stared at the ceiling most of the night, unable to escape my anxiety. I covered my mouth with my hand and muffled the noise that escaped me. I thwarted Daniel, but I wasn’t safe. Not when my secret choked my throat. It felt like such a small falsehood in Breton City, the danger far more pressing than my being an omega.
What would Hale do when he found his new wife was not the beta he requested?
The vitriol in his tone kept echoing in my head, a savage warning. Last night, after Bram had been sent away, Hale escorted me to their dinner table. Oliver brought out bread rolls with cold cuts of meat. There was no conversation. The alphas’ mouths were full of food and my tongue was too frozen with shock. The precarious situation slowly dawned on me, and I could barely manage a mouthful before I begged to be excused.
I rolled out of bed and padded across the floor barefoot, wincing as the floorboards creaked. There would be no privacy in this house. Someone left a tub of water with a crumbly cake of soap. The scent reminded me of crisp, ironed sheets. There was a stack of cloth beside it. I scrunched out the cloth with water and wiped it over my arms and legs. I'd used the chilled water to wash down my tired limbs before I went to bed last night. Wearing the same dress for the three-day train journey made it heaven to slough off the layers of grime. My clean chemise would have given me more joy if my stomach hadn’t been in horrible knots. Birds chittered with excitement outside my window. Bleats, neighs, and barks. My knowledge of animals was limited to the sight of them from the sitting-room window. No pets were allowed to mar my father’s expensive rugs.
I dabbed on the lemon scent I brought with me, and I opened my trunk. Ruck carried it up here for me before sitting down for his dinner. I unwrapped the tin container from one of my petticoats. It once held tobacco before Birdie commandeered it. The rusted lid hadn’t budged, and I let out a rattled sigh of relief. I tucked it in the pocket of an apron I tied around my waist. My hand shook as I turned the worn brass knob. I threw my shoulders back and felt the invisible chuck of my mother’s fingers under my chin.
“Eyes up. Nobody knows what’s in your heart but you. Never let them see you tremble, even if you crash to your knees.”
“I’m already faltering,” I insisted, twisting my handkerchief in my hands. My mother made a face, pouring me a cup from her prized teapot. She wiped a drop off a bright, painted orange. The only sign she was as shaken as I was by my terrible designation. Birdie didn’t look up from her book. But she’d taken a break from her tinkering to keep us company, which meant a lot. She didn’t understand what I was dealing with as an omega. “Tell me what the doctor told you.”
“He said the wetness between your legs is normal.” My mother grimaced at the bold language. “It’s called slick, and there are certain things you can wear to soak it up. He also told me about something called a heat, which is meant to be quite lovely. When you get married, your husband will speak to you more about what happens.”
“Slick, heat? Being an omega is horrible,” I exclaimed, and my mother reached out to grab my hands.
“We’ll be with you every step of the way, won’t we, Birdie?”
“You’re stronger than you realize, Esta.” Birdie looked up and my fear melted at their staunch support.
My mother didn’t know what to do with an omega daughter, but she’d tried to instill strength and independence in me, just like my sister, Birdie. Humans might insist there was no hierarchy, but they didn’t know what it felt like to wilt under an alpha’s dominance. A strong bark could bring me to my knees. The echoes of my mother’s lessons rang like bells through my ears, and I strode into the kitchen. The sun beat down, a blistering welcome that made my cheeks flush. I’d overslept. The kitchen was empty, and I spun in the space, my false bravado slipped before I jerked it back. The cast iron oven was smaller than I was used to, but someone already filled it with enough coal to give the cozy space cheery warmth.
I fixed myself a cup of suppressant tea. My scent was soft, but even a hint would give me away. Peaches and cream. That was what I’d been told. Once an alpha knocked my guard to the ground and groaned it in my ear. I was sipping through the dregs of the cup when a startled Oliver strode into the kitchen. He only just snatched the pail of water he was carrying before it dropped. A few stray drops landed on my face, and I let out a breathy laugh of surprise.
“Apologies, Mrs. Hartlock.” His eyes darted to the floor, and he turned and fled.
I followed him out onto the porch and watched as the hulking redhead almost ran to the barn. I squinted in the sunlight, catching sight of Ruck and a horse in the round wooden pen. He was working the beast with methodical intensity, and it intrigued me.
I wandered over, knowing I should have brought my bonnet. I spent much of the last few years enjoying sunlight through the muted filter of the sitting room glass windows. Feeling it sink directly into my skin now was delightful.
Ruck flicked a look over his shoulder, as if sensing my approach. He tapped his finger to the brim of his hat before returning to work.
A golden tan horse with black legs galloped around the ring. Ruck’s whistle rang through the crisp air as he slapped a whip on the ground. Dust clouded around him. Ruck clucked under his tongue and the horse skittered to a stop, locking its long-lashed, brown eyes on him. Its flank shuddered, and hooves dragged as if dithering. The horse wore no bridle or saddle, something I’d never seen before.
As Ruck smacked the whip down, the horse kicked up unshorn hooves.
“That dun is smart. Ruck will make good money come market day.” Hale leaned on the fence next to me, watching his brother with mild curiosity. Oliver obviously ran and tattled to Hale that his wayward wife was finally awake.
“Dun?” I didn’t know what he meant.
“It’s the color, light on the body and darker on the face and legs. See it has a black stripe down its back. Ruck captures the wild mustangs and breaks them in, has a reputation for horse magic.”
He shared a half smile with me, one that sent a fizz down my spine. I had a feeling those were rare and intended to hoard each one. I wanted it to widen, for his shapely lips to spread across his entire face. Dark stubble hid most of his jawline, and he scrubbed at it.
“I’m sorry for sleeping in. I was exhausted after the train ride.” I was even more drained thinking about how to tell you I’m an omega . I still didn’t know how I could explain what I’d done.
Ruck was facing off with the horse again, but his gaze drifted over to us. His expression inscrutable, but his body was locked with tension. Hale shrugged and motioned toward the house.
“It’s understandable. Let me show you around the place.” He started walking without waiting for me, pausing with the door open to the house as if he remembered his manners belatedly. “Oliver normally cooked all our meals, so he can show you the pantry.”
“If I can get him to talk to me,” I joked, and Hale scoffed.
“Good luck. He’s not big on conversation.” He took me into the dining room, the place of our awkward dinner last night. “I hope you slept well. Most mornings, I’ll be up and out of the house before you wake, especially in these hot months, as we’ll be harvesting some of the grass soon to bale up for winter. We also farm cattle, and Ruck works his mustangs.”
I took a turn around the room, peering at a faded frame with a miniature painting of a pond. The brushstrokes were fine and layered, incredibly detailed for such small work. There were so few ornamental pieces in this house, I wondered if that was by design or for some other reason. Hale loitered in the doorway with an arched brow. I followed him into a seating area. There were two long couches sizeable enough for alphas. A bookcase crammed full of books. The spines wedged haphazardly. A single armchair was pressed close to the fireplace.
“I wanted to speak to you. This is my family’s home, and it has been for years. Ruck has given up his bedroom for you while you settle, and eventually, we’ll share mine.” He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “Oliver has always chosen to room in the barn, but during winter he usually camps out here. Obviously, we will have to shift things around come the colder months. But tell me now, does this bother you? Would you prefer him gone?”
I looked at him askance.
“Are you suggesting you would throw your worker out because I’m uncomfortable around him?”
Was that why Oliver was so terrified around me this morning? My stomach sank; was he worried his home would be taken? The floorboards creaked as Hale shifted his boots.
“You don’t have the same finicky needs as an omega, but you’re still a woman. Out in the wildlands for the first time,” he flicked a look at my lace-trimmed dress. The plainest of my gowns were still too fancy for Misery Creek. “In a house full of alphas. I’m trying to be solicitous of your needs.” It did not come naturally to Hale. He looked positively pained at the offer.
“Where would Mr. Foxhound go? Should I agree I am uncomfortable with his presence?” I tilted my head, curious about his response. Hale’s chest expanded as he mulled over his answer.
“There are quarters in town, but likely he’d move to one of the other towns bordering the wildlands. He wouldn’t have a reason to stay, and it would be too far for him to travel to the ranch every day. I wouldn’t ask that of him.”
I nodded. Of course, that would be too much. My buttocks stung still from the journey out of town yesterday. I couldn’t imagine doing it twice a day.
“He has no family?” I pressed, curious about the silent redhead who avoided looking at me with every interaction so far. Hale’s gaze dropped to the floor, but a tempestuous storm waylaid his reply. Bram careened into the room, eyes black with bristling fury. He was still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, the buttons open until almost his naval. Around his neck was a ring of dark filth. He brought with him a cloud of sour sweat, and my nose wrinkled.
“You ain’t getting rid of Oliver. Tell your lump of lead wife she can shove it up her damned ass.” His finger was straight as an arrow, and my body flushed hot and cold. Bram had been listening at the door. His unfavorable opinion of me had already given him ideas about my answer. Humans called Designated animals, and right now, Bram looks like one. Hair sticking out in disarray, small teeth gnashing.
Hale’s nostrils flared, and he sighed heavily. “Now, Bram,” he tried to reason with the boy.
“Bram—I—” I tried to interject, but the boy cut me off with a sneer.
“She ain’t welcome here. We don’t need her. She’s too darn soft, anyhow. First winter, she’ll beg for us to put her in a grave. Oliver shouldn’t have to leave, not when she ain’t gonna last, anyway.” His words were designed to cut, but I couldn’t look past the sheen in his eyes. His body coiled tight, like a spring set to explode. He crammed his fists into his eyes, ducking away to disguise the movement. My heart tore at the anguish, and I longed to put my arms around him.
“It’s alright, Bram. I’ll stay in town if I can get work.” Oliver stepped into the room, and I stifled a groan. Bram let up a howl that could have shaken the craters on the moon.
“Mr. Hartlock, please. I would never ask for Mr. Foxhound to leave. In fact, I find the offer deplorable. Please change nothing on my account. The ad was very clear about what you desired and I won’t presume to break apart any arrangements you have, I promise.”
Bram narrowed his eyes, looking at Hale for confirmation. Oliver shared a look with Hale, a flash of relief.
“You don’t want Oliver gone?” Hale seemed shocked at my response.
“Of course not. This is his home.”
Oliver let a smile creep in, and it was tentative but striking. Like dawn creeping over the horizon. A sliver of gold before breathtaking bloom.
“Although, I would like some assurance that I won’t have every conversation overheard.”
Oliver’s cheeks flushed, and he scrunched the rim of his hat in his hands.
“I apologize for our manners,” he elbowed Bram, who muttered what I assumed was a bitter apology under his breath. “You can call me Oliver if you want.”
“Only if you call me Esta,” I beamed.
Hale coughed with embarrassment. “I apologize for making assumptions. It’s difficult to know what a lady might want, and I’m endeavoring to be a good husband. It’s been the four of us for a long time, so some adjustments will need to be made. Including closing the door for any private conversations. Bring me your concerns; don’t stand on politeness. I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Any concern?” I asked, enjoying the way Hale’s expression stilled. Again, he shared a solemn look with Oliver, who hadn’t relaxed one iota.
“If it’s in my power to fix, I will.” He looked at me like Ruck’s horse. His muscles shuddered against the instinct to flee or fight. My smile widened, and I waved a hand at Bram.
“It’s within your power, but perhaps not within your will. You’ve been here with just the four of you for a long while, and it shows. But there is a lady in the house now, and I have standards. When was the last time you attended church?”
Three sets of eyes widened like plates, and Bram hissed under his breath like an adder. If this was a problem, they really would not like my next request. I wasn’t religious. Designated used to have our own gods, before humans decried them as barbaric. The price of equality was steep, and there was only one true church allowed.
In Breton City, I was almost a hermit, except for the omega-only service I attended. I didn’t expect Misery Creek to have one, but I hoped it would give me a chance to meet people.
“On a ranch, it’s hard to spare a day of rest. We don’t often—we haven’t—” Hale cleared his throat.
“When the late Mrs. Hartlock was alive,” Oliver answered.
I figured as much, and it was going to be one of my first requests. A lot of things had been left fallow since the last lady in the house died. I wonder if the men bothered to do anything except work since her passing. They certainly hadn’t spared the thought of making the house a home.
“I understand it’s too difficult to go weekly. I would ask if we go once a month. Would that be possible?”
Hale nodded curtly, but he didn’t look convinced. “It would be good for the boy.”
“A wild creature who hates me?” I teased.
“Hey,” Bram stomped his boot. “I’m not wild.”
Oliver covered a snort with his hand while Hale waited for my next request. I waved a hand at Bram, grimy and furious.
“One more thing. I won’t countenance dirt being tramped through the house or rolled into the sheets. Baths need to be more regular. I’m sure Bram couldn’t remember the last one he had, and it shows. Cleanliness is important. How else will we know what your designation is when you present at twelve? All anyone will scent is dirt and horses.”
Bram’s cheeks flushed ruddy, and he turned his shell-shocked face to Hale. But my husband let out a low chuckle, a rich, deep sound that poured heat down my spine. I wanted to bottle it up and bathe in the timbre of it. Let it rumble over my skin.
“We will become the cleanest Designated in all of Misery Creek. I promise, Mrs. Hartlock.”