Chapter 30 Nelly #2
I pushed the brim of Wade’s hat slightly up so I could see where we were walking.
My head was much smaller than his, so it slipped back down again almost immediately.
Using both hands, I gathered my hair and twirled it into a makeshift bun, then shoved the knotted strands into the back of the hat to take up the extra space.
This time when I tilted the brim, it stayed in place.
“Sorry it’s big,” Wade said, eyes still trained ahead.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, “Thank you. I should have said that already.” My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, demure and sweet.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied.
I wanted to ask if he was only being nice because his Alpha nature wanted me to stay, but it was an unfair question.
If I’d learned anything since touching down in Wyoming and meeting these men, it was that biological instincts are impossibly woven into everything—they’re the real driving force behind our feelings and thoughts and needs of the body.
I was as stubborn and determined as a person could be.
Yet, when faced with my scent matches, all my convictions seem to melt.
They were little more than ice cubes left out on a hot day.
We walked in silence, crossing over both grass and gravel patches, our footsteps crunching in rhythm. Every now and then, the uneven ground reminded me that I had broken blisters and scrapes all over my feet. But I distracted myself with the sights, sounds, and smells of Sagebrush.
The air was so different here than in Seattle. Richer. Cleaner. Dancing with notes of soil, wildflowers, and animal musk. No pollution. No tobacco smoke. No urine from alleyways. There were more cars than creatures back home. It was all waste, worry, and hurry.
Despite everything, I found myself breathing deeper than I had in months.
The rain stopped, the clouds on a break, and I slicked my palms down each arm to drive away lingering dampness.
The pregnant cow was in a pasture about a quarter mile from the house, standing on the opposite side of a wooden fence that looked hand built.
She was massive—black and white spotted, with an udder so swollen I wondered how she could walk.
Wade approached the barrier with easy confidence, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue.
Surprisingly agile, he hopped the fence in one fluid motion, moving towards the cow as he spoke sweetly.
"Hey there, Dolly," he murmured, running his hands along her flank with practiced familiarity. "How are you feeling today, mama?"
I hung back on the other side of the fence. The cow looked calm, but I knew absolutely nothing about livestock. Would it get angry if I approached it? Would it charge me? Do cows charge? Maybe I was thinking about bulls and how you shouldn’t wear red.
"You can come closer, you know," Wade called, gesturing me forward. "Dolly’s gentle as a lamb. Been with us since she was a calf."
I hesitated, eyeing the massive creature.
She had to weigh at least a thousand pounds, with hooves that could easily crush my toes if she decided to shift her weight.
In the city, my closest encounter with farm animals had been petting zoos at festivals.
This cow could probably trample me without breaking stride.
I don’t know why my thoughts kept going to a dark place—that these men could subdue me easily, if they tried; that this animal could crush me without wasting extra effort.
Though, unlike the men—where my ‘dark’ imaginings also drifted into delicious territory—the cow only gave ‘stomp me to death’ vibes.
Still, something about Wade's easy manner with her was oddly compelling. It almost made me trust him, and the animal, enough to climb over.
“I'll stay here, thanks,” I eventually said, deciding to err on the side of caution.
“No pressure.” Wade shrugged, returning his attention to Dolly. His large hands moved with surprising delicacy along her swollen belly, pressing gently in different spots. The cow seemed completely unbothered, occasionally swishing her tail or turning her head to observe what he was doing.
"She's close," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Maybe another week." He turned his head enough to smile warmly at me. “I try to be at every birth on the property. It’s messy but I can’t even describe how beautiful. The newborns bond with me easier too.”
“That’s very John Hammond of you,” I replied off hand.
“What?” He cocked his head now, smile faltering.
“The dinosaur movie,” I said stupidly. “Jurassic Alphas?”
“Ah,” he nodded. “That one where they clone raptors using frogs.”
“Right,” I nodded. “Raptors and frogs.”
Wow, could I be any dumber?
He turned his attention back to the soon-to-be mama.
I watched, fascinated, as he continued his gentle assessment.
There was something mesmerizing about seeing Wade’s huge, calloused hands move with such care.
These were the same thick, long fingers that had cleaned my wounds last night.
He was obviously strong, but there was something about an Alpha who could temper his strength into something soft and kind.
I wondered what else he could do with those hands…
“This might hurt a little, just bear with me.”
Wade positioned the compact folding knife’s tip at the edge of the blister. He pressed carefully, making a minor incision to drain the one blister that hadn’t been popped by the loose boots on my walk of shame back to the ranch. He used a damp cotton ball to empty the vesicle.
I was clean after the bath, wearing his long shirt, and I had a towel over my lap, but I felt so exposed right now.
“You doing okay?” He gazed at me through lashes, forest eyes searching for any sign that I was uncomfortable.
“I’m fine. That didn’t hurt much.”
“This won’t either,” he held up a bottle, “I got the good one.”
The label said wound wash on it, with claims like ‘effective’ and ‘sting-free’. Wade put a folded towel beneath my feet and began methodically spraying, making sure he didn’t miss any of the blisters or raw skin. When he was done, he waved a hand and blew softly, trying to speed drying.
“You’re good at this,” I commented, “You could have been a doctor.”
His mouth curved into a smile as he traded the wash for a cream tube. “Never had much interest in treating people. Animals though…” his voice trailed off as he unscrewed the tube’s cap and started applying the antibiotic. When he was done, he unfurled gauze and started wrapping.
“Why not be a veterinarian? Why a rancher?” I was genuinely curious, though I didn’t want to be. What I should want—no, I did want—was to be back outside, walking away from Wade and the rest of the pack.
He rocked back on his heels, job done. I looked down, lifting my feet to examine the bandages. Secure, not too tight, neatly done.
“Working the ranch was never a choice,” he shrugged. “Wyatt and I knew it was our future from the time we could walk, so we put our hearts into it early.”
He stood up, offering me his hands.
I let him help me, but when I stood my feet stung.
Automatically, I rose on tiptoes, angling forward to take the pressure off the worst sores.
When I tilted forward, though I wasn’t in danger of falling, Wade automatically reached for me, hands curling around my upper arms. On tiptoes, I was taller.
I only had to tilt my head a little to see his thick, curving mouth.
It wouldn’t have been very hard to kiss him…
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memories.
Wade was murmuring to Dolly, stroking her back.
"You do this a lot? Delivering calves, I mean?" I asked, as my thoughts tried to run rampant again, going back to Wade’s fingers on my body, the proximity of his mouth, the way his expression filled with yearning.
‘Every birth on the ranch’, he’d said. He’d probably delivered dozens of animals.
His smile was full now, eyes sparkling. “A lot might be an overstatement, but often enough. My first delivery was,” he cocked his head, thinking, “at ten maybe? Wyatt and I stayed up all night with Gramps. It was a difficult one."
"Ten?" I couldn't hide my surprise. "That seems young."
"That's ranch life." He shrugged again, patting Dolly’s flank before moving toward her head to scratch behind her ears. "You learn early. The animals depend on you."
The cow leaned into Wade’s touch, her eyes half-closing in what looked like complete trust, and absolute contentment. Dolly was a gentle giant. I didn’t need to be scared.
“She really trusts you.” I couldn’t help smiling.
"People and animals know who really care for them," Wade continued, his voice gentle. "Who respects them. Who’ll be there when shit is tough."
I knew he wasn't just talking about the cow.
The implication hung in the air between us—that, if I let them, Wade and his pack would take care of me too.
They would keep me safe, keep me healthy, respect me, and stay around when shit got tough.
Though I was sure he meant it kindly, I bristled at the comparison.
"I'm not a cow, Wade," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
He looked up, genuine surprise on his face. "I never said you were."
"You didn't have to. The subtext was pretty clear." I turned away from him, giving him my back and crossing my arms. I was being irrational. I knew he didn’t mean it that way. Yet, I felt myself softening towards Wade. Towards the stupid cow. The stupid pasture. The stupid ranch with its Alphas. I didn’t want to sway from my hard resolve. I wanted to get away from them, break the damn contract and go back to Seattle. “I’m not dumb, Wade.” I said fiercely, spinning back around and glaring at him.
Dammit, why did the sight of him make my heartbeat just a little faster?
Wade sighed, giving Dolly one last pat before making his way back to the fence. He hopped over it with the same easy grace, landing beside me with barely a sound.
"That's not what I meant," he said quietly. "I was just saying that both people and animals know when someone means them harm and when someone doesn't. Dolly acts that way because I’ve never hurt her, and I never will.”
“Like you won’t hurt me,” I challenged, wanting to look formidable, but instead fighting tears from my eyes. “You all already did that when you signed with Eros.”
“None of us knew how they’d treat you, Nelly. Believe that, or don’t believe that, but it’s the honest-to-God truth.” His eyes seemed to gaze deep into me, piercing places he wasn’t allowed.
“Don’t look at me that way,” I grumbled, averting my gaze.
“What way?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Like if I’d just give you and your pack a chance, I’d be safe forever. I’d never be hurt again. Never lose anyone or anything again.” A stupid, hot tear began to race down my cheek. I swiped it away angrily. “Looking at me that way is a lie.”
“You got a lot of hurt inside you,” he said slowly. “Nothing’s ever going to be truly good if you don’t let out the poison, Nelly. Everyone’s faced loss, pain, setbacks. Every single person on Earth. People who can’t let it go only end up self-inflicting fresh damage.”
“You’ve no idea what I’ve been through,” I said, and even to myself I sounded like a petulant child.
“You’re right on that account,” he nodded, “but the reverse is true, you know. You know as little about us as we know about you. You don’t know our past. Our own brand of hurting.
You don’t know how long we’ve struggled, putting on fronts so others don’t worry.
Take Boone, for example.” Wade shoved his hands into his pockets and began strolling away.
Take Boone for what? Why mention one of his pack brothers and then not explain?
Was I supposed to follow him? Would he care if I didn’t?
A rustling in the pasture behind me made me turn.
The giant, mother-to-be had ambled closer to the fence, as if she were reluctant to let Wade leave.
She pushed her face through the fence’s gap and brushed my arm.
Even though I knew the animal wouldn’t hurt me, I startled away from it and padded after Wade, quickly covering the distance to him.
Once there, I took a deep breath, falling in step behind him.
Jesus, he was tall, with shoulders so broad that he blocked out where we were heading. I could move to the side to see around him, but there was something about walking in his shadow that… almost felt safe.
I frowned when the day darkened and the sun that had been peeking out vanished. It made that safe darkness behind Wade nearly nonexistent. I shouldn’t be surprised. Wasn’t I used to temporary sanctuaries by now?