Chapter Eleven
~ Jojo ~
The feed store was a low-slung brick building set back from the main road, surrounded by a muddy patchwork of pickup trucks and battered SUVs. The sign above the door said “Miller’s Feed & Supply,” but everyone in Black Butte just called it Miller’s.
Rawley parked at the edge of the lot, making sure the truck faced the street. Habit, he’d said—always make sure you can leave in a hurry. It made me laugh at first, but I found myself checking the rearview mirror, too, counting the unfamiliar vehicles.
Inside, the air smelled like a punch of grain dust, sweet hay, and something animal and wild underneath. The place was crowded, Saturday busy—ranchers in their best boots, old-timers trading stories by the seed sacks, a couple of teenage boys loading up salt licks near the loading bay.
Rawley led the way, pushing the battered cart down the narrow aisles.
I trailed close, notebook in hand, trying to keep track of everything we needed—layer pellets for the chicks, cracked corn, scratch grains, mineral supplements, and the big stuff: fencing boards, T-posts, bags of lime for the barn floor.
I’d written it all out the night before, but my handwriting had gone to hell after the third cup of coffee. Rawley made fun of me for it, calling it “chicken scratch,” which I thought was hilarious, and he pretended not to.
Still, he liked it when I checked the list off out loud.
I was halfway through reading the next line—“Needle syringes, three dozen, for the vaccination day”—when a shadow fell across the aisle.
Victor Hargrove was bigger than I expected.
Not taller, but broader, a barrel-chested Beta with the kind of build that spoke to expensive lunches and an aversion to manual labor.
His hair was salt-and-pepper, slicked back to emphasize the widow’s peak, and his boots shone like they’d never seen mud.
His wife, Melissa, trailed two steps behind, her platinum hair falling in perfect waves. She wore designer jeans tucked into spotless riding boots and a jacket that probably cost more than a car. Her eyes, pale and glinting, latched onto Rawley and never let go.
I felt the air change, heavy and thick. Rawley must have, too, because he squared up instantly, taking a half-step in front of me.
“Steele,” Victor said, drawing out the name like he was tasting it. “Heard you were in town.”
“Shopping for my own ranch, Hargrove. You lose the address to yours?”
Victor smiled, all teeth. “Can’t blame a man for being curious. Word gets around quick out here. Especially when the new owner’s a little… unconventional.” His eyes drifted to me, and the way he said it made my skin crawl.
Melissa stepped forward, eyes tracking Rawley up and down. “We heard you did two tours, Commander,” she purred, the title rolling off her tongue like something practiced. “You must be handy with more than just a hammer.”
Rawley didn’t react. “I do what needs doing.”
Victor’s gaze fell to the notebook in my hands, then to the mark on my neck. He leaned in, lips curling. “Got your own help already, I see.”
I bristled, but kept my head down. I didn’t want to start anything. Rawley did it for me.
“Joseph’s the best worker I’ve ever had,” he said, voice like granite. “Smart, loyal, doesn’t waste time.”
Victor chuckled. “That’s a new way of saying it. The help these days, always more delicate than they look.”
Melissa’s gaze never left Rawley. “We keep having trouble with ours,” she said. “Maybe you could… lend a hand. Or a few lessons.”
She let her fingers brush Rawley’s forearm, just long enough to make the intention clear. I felt my blood freeze. Rawley shifted away, the motion so subtle only I would have caught it.
“Not interested,” Rawley said.
Melissa’s smile thinned, but she didn’t drop her gaze. “Some omegas like a little variety, you know. Gets dull out on these farms.”
I wanted to say something, but the words caught. Victor saw the flash of anger on my face and grinned, leaning in as if to share a secret.
“It’s good you’ve got someone to keep you company,” he said to me, voice syrupy. “These places can get lonely. But don’t let him work you too hard. Alphas are famous for using things up and moving on.”
Rawley’s hand closed around the cart handle, knuckles white. “If you got something to say to me, say it,” he growled.
Victor straightened, his face going cold. “All I’m saying is, it’s tough out here. You need friends. Allies. You ever want to sell that property, Steele, you know who to call.”
“I’m not selling,” Rawley said.
“Not yet,” Victor said, the words a threat and a promise.
They stared each other down, the world shrinking to the small circle of tension between them. I could feel every muscle in Rawley’s body tensing, ready for a fight.
After a moment, Victor shrugged, all false good humor. “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, our offer’s on the table. The only table.”
He clapped Rawley on the shoulder, the motion so aggressive I half-expected him to swing.
Rawley didn’t flinch.
Melissa leaned in, too close, her perfume thick and sweet. “If you ever get bored,” she whispered, her hand drifting toward Rawley’s hip, “I’d love to show you how the old families do things in Black Butte.”
Rawley stepped back, putting a wall of muscle between her and me. “I’m not interested in old families,” he said, voice soft but dangerous.
Melissa pouted, then turned her focus to me, eyes narrowing. “You should keep an eye on your alpha,” she said, voice like a knife. “Men like that… they get bored of the same meal every night.”
Rawley let out a sound, low and almost animal. The message was clear: Back off.
Victor and Melissa drifted away, but not before she dragged her hand across Rawley’s arm. The contact lasted less than a second, but my stomach twisted. I wanted to punch her. Or maybe just hide.
I wasn’t sure which.
Rawley watched them go, shoulders tense. I reached out, hand trembling, and touched his wrist. “You okay?” I asked.
He looked down at me, something wild in his eyes. “Yeah. Just don’t like being cornered.”
I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding in. “Me either.”
He looked at me for a long time, then squeezed my hand. “You’re not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We finished the rest of the shopping in silence.
When we reached the checkout, the cashier—a kid young enough to still be in high school, Beta, forgettable—gawked at the mark on my neck, then at Rawley, then back at me.
I braced for a comment, but he just rang us up, hands shaking, and mumbled, “Have a nice day.”
Rawley carried the feed to the truck, loading it fast. When he turned, Melissa and Victor were standing by their own car, watching us. Melissa blew a kiss. Victor made a slow, deliberate slicing motion with his hand, like he was cutting the air in half.
Rawley ignored them, but I could tell it took effort.
As we pulled out of the lot, I pressed my forehead to the window, watching the store shrink in the side mirror.
“They’re going to be trouble,” I said, not asking.
“Let them try,” Rawley answered, voice flat.
For a minute, the only sound was the thrum of the tires and the bags of feed shifting in the back.
“Why do they want the ranch so bad?” I asked.
Rawley hesitated, jaw tight. “Water rights. Hargrove’s been buying up land ever since he arrived in town a couple of years back, but the Black Butte Ranch has the only direct access to the river upstream of town. If he gets it, he owns the valley.”
I thought of Victor’s face, the greed, the calculation. I thought of Melissa’s hand, the way she’d lingered on Rawley’s skin, and the jealousy burned hotter than I wanted to admit.
“What if they try to make trouble?”
Rawley looked at me, eyes gone soft. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Or the ranch. That’s a promise.”
I nodded, then reached over and rested my hand on his thigh. He covered it with his own, squeezing gently.
“I believe you,” I said, and meant it.
He let out a breath, then turned his gaze back to the road. “Good. Because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
We drove home in silence, but it was a good silence, full of things that didn’t need saying. But as the feed store faded behind us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Victor and Melissa weren’t done. Not by a long shot.
And the next round was going to be uglier.
We drove in silence for the first five miles out of town, the loaded bed of the truck rattling with every frost-heave in the road. I kept my eyes on the blur of telephone poles, trying to steady the storm of thoughts in my head.
Rawley must have felt it, because he broke the silence. “You’re quiet,” he said, voice soft.
I shrugged, fingers tracing the edge of my seat. “Just thinking.”
He nodded, letting the silence spool out. He never pushed, not unless he had to.
Finally, I said, “You think Hargrove’s really going to make trouble?”
Rawley kept his eyes on the road. “I know his kind. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
“He scares me,” I admitted, the words scraping their way out. “The way he looks at you. At us.”
Rawley’s hands tightened on the wheel. “He’s used to getting his way. I’m not in the habit of letting people take what’s mine.”
I swallowed, not sure if the answer made me feel safer or more scared. Maybe both. “What if he tries something? I mean—really tries?”
Rawley reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “No one’s taking what’s ours, Jojo.” He glanced at me, and for once there was no teasing in his eyes. Just the hard edge of a promise. “Ours. You hear me?”
The word settled in my chest, heavy and warm. Ours. Not just his, or mine, but something we’d built between us. It was stupid how much that meant to me.
I nodded, blinking hard. “Yeah. I hear you.”
He squeezed my hand, then let go to shift gears as the road sloped up toward the valley.