Chapter 15 Boone
BOONE
A week ago...
[Almost present day]
Sagebrush Ranch
The ranch appeared on the horizon, shimmering slightly in the late afternoon heat as I trudged the last quarter mile. It might as well be a mirage. Might as well not be real.
A week alone in the wilderness had settled something in me, but not everything.
My boots scuffed against the ground, walking the same way as normal where I’d nearly worn the grass down to dirt.
Dry soil kicked up in small clouds that clung to my already filthy jeans.
I'd missed the comforts of home, sure, but part of me had wanted to keep walking, to disappear into the easy-to-understand wild and never look back.
That urge to run, to leave, it never quite left me these days.
Sagebrush Ranch looked peaceful from this distance.
Seventy acres of western paradise, spread out like a painting with the mountains rising behind it.
Over the roof of the shorter, older rambler, the new house peeked out.
Sunlight glinted off its tall window. We’d asked the architect to maximize the views, and they’d delivered.
Eight days ago, I’d stood inside the house at those windows while some guys were installing the butcherblock countertops.
From there, Sagebrush somehow looked surreal.
Too beautiful. Too new. The life I shared with my pack seen through a brand-new lens.
I was grateful for this place, and for the love that had fallen into my lap by sheer chance in college.
Yet, I wanted to turn back around.
Wasn’t ready to be back.
I still felt the restlessness in my blood, the razor-edge of my thoughts.
Like a knife that had been sharpened too many times, I was all cutting edge with no safe place to grip.
Everything I touched these days seemed to bleed.
Not literally, I wasn't that far gone. But my mood, my words, my silences—they cut just the same. It’s why I kept leaving.
I wouldn’t let the men I loved become collateral damage.
My mind drifted back to last night, sitting beside my small campfire while the stars wheeled overhead…
The warmth from the flames kissed my face while my back chilled against the evening air. No matter the season, Wyoming took on an icy edge at night. I was cooking rattlesnake—my second of the trip—and the meat had just begun to curl away from the bone. Content. Peaceful. That’s how I felt.
Then I sensed something watching me, tucked away just beyond the firelight.
I waited. Nothing out here could hurt me as badly as people could.
The bear had emerged from the shadows, its massive shoulders rolling as he approached. Its nostrils flared to catch my scent along with the aroma of cooking meat. Not a grizzly, thankfully, but a black bear big enough to make trouble if he wanted.
We locked eyes across the fire. His were amber, intelligent and curious. Mine probably looked pitch dark and appraising. He seemed to hesitate, ears flicking forward then back again.
"Evening," I'd said softly, not moving from my spot. "Not sure you want what I'm having."
The bear cocked its head the way Tater and Tripp did when they were trying to understand my words, then settled onto his haunches. It watched me steadily, without threat. So, I kept talking, kept cooking.
“Live near here?” I asked, reaching forward to pick off a piece of charred snake meat. “You got a nice place.”
The bear gave a low grunt, then lowered its hulking body to the ground and closed its eyes.
Most people would be terrified. But that’s because most people wrongly believe wild creatures are more dangerous than humans. For me, there was something soothing about having the bear for a companion. He was just trying to survive as his habitat shrank against the infringement of a modern world.
Cooper used to joke I had some magic powers when it came to wild creatures, especially predators.
But it wasn’t some mystical connection to nature because of my Arapaho ancestry.
It was just basic respect, an understanding that me and the bear were both part of something bigger.
This was the simple honesty of survival and coexistence. No complications, no expectations.
No growing Alpha madness that threatened to consume me and my brothers.
I shook off the memory, because if I didn’t, I really would turn around and disappear for another week.
Instead of going to the house, I directed my slow approach to the stables.
The large wooden structure stood solid and familiar, offering shade and solitude.
At this time of day, even Wyatt wouldn't be out here yet.
He usually came at dawn to muck the stalls and talk to the horses, finding his own form of therapy in the manual labor and quiet companionship.
Cooler shadows enveloped me as I stepped inside the stables, and I instantly relaxed at the familiar scent of horses and hay. I walked the central aisle slowly, gazing into each stall, seeing which horses were taking an afternoon breather from prancing in the pastures.
Duck’s stall was empty, so was Bowser’s. No Behaichi, Puck, or Samos either.
I moved deeper into the stables and found the one creature taking advantage of the shadows—the striking Arabian that belonged to our nonexistent Omega.
The rear gate of the mare’s stall was swung wide, giving her access to the connected paddock.
Her creamy coat and white mane seemed to catch the sunlight, becoming mother-of-pearl.
She was stunning, well trained now, but she had no official name, no rider.
How long had we had her now? Almost ten months now?
When she’d first arrived, the mare had lit a fire in us all. She was just the first new member of our Sagebrush family, a second would be here soon. Time both froze and rushed forward simultaneously back then. We became stuck in the reality of ‘now’ and ‘tomorrow’.
And then tomorrow began to fade.
The fire grew cooler.
We know knew Eros’s confidence in their process was just a convincing sales pitch. The matching process wasn't going to be quick or easy. Now, we worried the process would never end, never produce a final product.
Product…
That was one thing I couldn’t digest, that term Eros used in the paperwork. No living creature was an item. No living creature could truly be owned. I sure as hell hoped the institute lived up to that female Beta’s words—that Omegas in their database were valued and respected, treated with care.
"Hey, Ghost," I murmured, my voice rough from days of disuse. It was just a temporary nickname. It fit not only her appearance, but the fact that she was purchased for someone who didn’t exist, and maybe never would.
Ghost watched me with liquid brown eyes as I approached.
She padded forward, stretching her neck over the half-door of her stall.
She’d really settled in at Sagebrush and didn't shy away from my scent or my mood.
I reached out, tracing a hand down her velvety nose.
Her skin twitched beneath my touch, but she leaned into it, wanting more.
Something in my chest loosened a fraction.
When I turned to move on, she whinnied, stopping me in my tracks. I looked back to find her watching me expectantly.
"Demanding, aren't you?" I said, the corner of my mouth lifting in what felt like the first genuine smile in months. “I knew you’d get spoiled. All of us giving you treats every day.”
I went over to the airtight container and snagged a sugar cube. I held it out to her on my palm, and she delicately made it disappear, her whiskers tickling my skin.
As if he had a sixth sense about food, just like his owner, Puck clomped into his stall and stuck his head over the gate.
He stared at me, daring me not to share the wealth.
People say dogs start resembling their owners, but horses were just as bad.
Puck and Cooper were peas in a pod. Silly, playful, and always focused on eating.
I got a second sugar cube, satisfied the greedy horse, and swiped my now slobbery hand down my dirty pants.
Puck, unlike Ghost, was not an elegant eater.
I drifted toward the back of the stable where an empty stall waited.
The hay inside needed changing; its scent was sharper, more fermented than fresh cut.
I was too bent on avoiding the house to care.
I stepped inside, suddenly becoming aware of the bone-deep exhaustion flooding through me.
Seven days of sleeping on hard ground had taken its toll, not to mention a couple of those nights were spent with one eye open.
I might respect the bear, and enjoy its company, but I didn’t trust it enough to rest soundly beside it.
Sliding down the curved log wall, my ass hit the musty hay. The wood pressing into my body was solid and grounding. I let my head tilt back with a soft thud, then closed my eyes.
I stretched one leg out flat, bending the other at the knee to prop my arm on it.
The position pulled at the fresh wound on my leg, but I welcomed the sting, made me feel alive.
Besides, I’d had far worse injuries. This was just the result of a brief fight with a barbed wire fence.
Damage wasn’t too deep, thankfully, but deep enough to need attention.
My pack would raise hell about, once again trying to convince me to stop the solo camping trips.
Their worry always fell on deaf ears. I could handle myself.