Chapter 19 Wyatt, Boone, Levi, Wade, Cooper #2
When there wasn’t a lick of the devil plant remaining, I straightened up and moved to lean against the nearby fence.
My back was screaming after the nonstop stooping and digging.
I leaned from side to side, trying to work out kinks, then I just took a beat to stare at Sagebrush.
The south pasture dotted with cows stretched before me, a stunning fraction of our Wyoming paradise.
Couldn’t believe the Larkspur had attacked this area again.
We'd cleared this patch four times, which made no damn sense because I never left a root behind. The plant was as stubborn as Cooper when he got an idea in his head. I sighed heavily at that thought. Cooper and his ideas… I think I’d had enough of them for a lifetime.
I’d die for the man, but if he ever pulled something like Eros again, I might kill him myself.
In a moment of frustration, I savagely kicked the nearest fence post. The damn thing tilted at an angle, the barbed wire sagging between it and the next support. Perfect. Another thing to fix.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered.
I yanked off the gloves, stuffing them into the metal loop of my utility belt, and ran a hand over my head and down the braid, pulling it over my shoulder. It was still securely plaited. The only thing about me that stayed consistently put-together.
The truth was, I wasn't just angry at the Larkspur.
I was angry at everything, especially the restlessness that had been building in the pack over the past months.
It translated differently for each of us—into dogged work ethic, brutal self-deprecation, empty sexual pursuits, nonstop baking and burning food, and… leaving everything behind to escape.
Behaichi, my horse, nickered softly on the other side of the fence.
Couldn’t let him over on the Larkspur side.
He’d tried eating a flower last time. I never tethered him; he wasn’t the kind to wander.
His dark eyes watched me warily, sensing my mood.
Sometimes, I thought the gentle giant knew me better than I knew myself.
Hopping the barrier, I grabbed the manual post-driver from one of my saddlebags and moved back to the damage I’d caused. Sliding the hollow tip onto the angled support, I lifted and slammed back down. The resulting thunk was satisfying, vibrating up my arms.
Again. And again. And again.
I lifted and slammed down.
Each impact drove the post deeper into the resistant earth.
It felt good to fix something.
Once finished, I stepped back to inspect my work. Wasn’t pretty. The post was a little crooked still, but it would hold. I adjusted the barbed wire, careful not to catch my skin on the sharp points. The newer scar on my leg reminded me that fighting with fences rarely ended well.
I strolled back to Behaichi and returned the driver to the saddlebag.
His ears perked up as I checked the straps before mounting.
I lightly tugged the reins, and we started moseying forward.
I glanced over at the dozen filled trash bags as we passed, dreading coming back on the Polaris to haul the shit over to the dumpster.
That was a problem for twenty minutes from now.
Until then, I’d soak in the sun, the Wyoming air, the feel of Behaichi’s heartbeat, and I’d try to forget that this stunning place we called home wasn’t what it could be. Wasn’t finished.
Even if we moved into the new house…
Even if we got the new fields planted…
Even if we finally eradicated the Larkspur…
Even if… Even if… Even if…
There was no completion without an Omega.
Halfway home, I got that familiar urge again.
To run away.
Levi.
The pencil snapped between my fingers with a sound that seemed to echo in the tiny, overcrowded bedroom we called an office.
I stared at the broken halves, yellow paint flecking off onto my financial ledger where I'd been recording our monthly expenses. I kept this physical copy just in case the software went down. You couldn’t be too careful.
The ledger showed numbers in the black—a refreshing change from the years of red that had preceded our recent successes. Our bank account looked healthier than ever, Cooper’s broker always working magic, but our bodies and minds were another story entirely.
"Order more pencils," I wrote on my reminders pad, using the pointed half of the busted pencil. I tossed the abused number two into the trash can, where it joined many other members of its yellow family.
On second thought though…
I fished the two halves out of the waste bin.
I lined them up precisely, pushing them back together almost seamlessly. Almost. You could still see the faint fracture line.
How easy life could be if that’s all it took to mend the biggest breaks.
I stood up, suddenly restless, and walked out of the office.
The house was too quiet, everybody lost inside themselves and going separate ways.
Boone would be out fighting Larkspur.
Cooper was probably in the kitchen ruining another recipe.
Wyatt kept disappearing into town, coming back half alive and reeking of beer and bad decisions. He’d done that just last night. One of the trucks was gone.
Wade tried to be in a million places at once, doing anything he could think of to keep moving. He’d gone to town this morning for greenhouse supplies. When was the last time he’d slept? Really slept. Not those cat naps his body forced him into.
We were fraying at the edges, all of us. The strain of waiting for Eros to find us a match was reaching a fever pitch. It wouldn’t be overboard to say we were literally dying.
I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache blooming there, as I slowly moved through the house.
I needed a glass of water and a pain killer.
I'd been working for hours already, since before dawn, and it wasn’t because the books needed to be checked.
It was because I needed to be busy. Guess I couldn’t fault Wade for favoring constant labor over rest; it would be hypocritical.
I hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen once I arrived.
Cooper was here, as predicted. He was facing away from me, gripping the counter and staring down at an open cookbook.
The place was a mess, pots and pans everywhere.
His laptop was open on the dining table, screen displaying his email inbox.
NO new messages. Nothing from Eros. Cooper’s Alpha scent was pungent, vinegar notes ruining the normally delicious cologne.
Smelling him made me feel more anxious. I couldn’t handle that right now.
No matter how I analyzed the situation, no matter how I calculated and hoped for a different solution, the answer was always going to be an Omega.
A wave of anxiety crashed over me. The house felt too small, too enclosed.
If I stayed in here a minute longer, I was going to end up computing the exact force needed to slam my body through a wall.
I needed to do what Boone did when he felt the pressure building—get out of the house, get some fresh air.
Maybe get bit by a rattlesnake and peace out from life entirely.
Hell, I’d already run the cost analysis on a no-frills funeral.
Though, I might come back and haunt my pack if they got me a cheap ass coffin that couldn’t keep even the worms at bay.
The thought was darkly appealing for a moment, and that scared me. I'd never been prone to morbidity, but lately, my mind had been wandering down gloomy paths.
An invisible, ever-present band around my chest tightened.
I turned around, walking back to the living room and out the front door. Don’t even think I closed the damn thing after leaving. I wasn’t even wearing shoes, but I didn’t care. I just kept moving, past the shadows of the porch and out into sunlight. Where to go? What to do?
The new house caught my eyes.
It looked like it was finished now that the outside was put together. Windows installed and the front door closed, just waiting for someone to knock. An onlooker with less information might think we already lived there.
Maybe I'd go see the interior progress. The contractors kept pussyfooting around a timeline, right up until the point I’d pulled out our contracts and referenced that delays due to mismanagement, not force majeure, gave our pack the right to demand a ten percent compensation for inconvenience. Now things were moving like magic.
The soles of my bare feet ached by the time I walked into the two-story.
A maze of ladders, plastic sheeting, and five-gallon paint buckets made it hard to navigate, but there was no hiding how magnificent this place would be when finished.
Spacious, open, with huge windows to capture the stunning Wyoming views. We’d all branded the place already.
Cooper’s professional kitchen boasting the French Blue fridge I’d fought against; the damn thing cost over six grand.
He’d reasoned he was saving us money by moving the Viking oven over from the rambler, so I shouldn’t pinch pennies.
Sometimes I wondered why fate made him the pack member to fall into a ton of money.
Wade's mudroom with dog washing station—Tripp and Tater were going to hate that.
Boone's sustainable heating system, which even ran under the hardwoods to combat chilly Wyoming nights, waited to be used.
Wyatt's nonnegotiable ask was a wrap-around porch, big enough for six rocking chairs so we never had to fight for the measly two we could fit on the old house’s poured patio.
And then there was my office. Fucking magnificent, with built-in bookshelves galore.
I could have checked out any space in the building.
But I found myself standing in the middle of the enormous master suite.