Chapter 3 #2
Instead, Boone’s heavy woodsmoke abruptly pulled back, making room for the warm, comforting cardamom underneath.
His gaze swept over her defensive posture, her designer jeans, and the way her arms were crossed tightly over Gideon’s jacket, a little display of attitude that also acted like a defensive shield.
The wind picked up at that moment, and a shiver wracked her.
“You’re freezing, honey,” Boone rumbled, his deep voice impossibly gentle. He didn’t reach for her. He just tilted his head toward the porch. “Come inside. I’ll make you a plate of something warm.”
The suffocating, territorial standoff broke in an instant.
Julia’s jaw actually dropped, and she looked from Boone, to me, and then to Gideon, disarmed by the offer of a hot meal from a brutish giant who looked like he could snap a man in half.
It only took her two seconds to recover. She adjusted the brim of that absurd hat, pulling her armor right back into place.
“After hours on a plane, a warm plate sounds amazing, especially because I was too nervous to eat this morning,” she said, her voice finding its solid footing again.
She shot a withering side-eye at Gideon, who at least had the sense to look sheepish.
“But to be clear, sharing a meal does not mean I am staying.”
Boone gave a single, respectful nod.
Before she took a step, she reached behind her, popping open the back door of the cab. A blur of mottled fur scrambled out. Dusty hit the dirt, tail wagging frantically, and immediately trotted to her side.
She patted her thigh, clicking her tongue as she leaned down to scratch him behind the ears. “Let’s go find you a tasty treat while we’re at it,” she murmured loudly enough for all of us to hear. “Seeing as how you’re the only honest boy in the yard.”
Gideon coughed to cover a laugh as he lowered the tailgate and hauled her fancy-looking luggage out of the truck bed.
Boone grabbed one of the suitcases. “You’re in luck. I just made a fresh batch of treats last night. They’re Dusty’s favorite.”
The woman gaped at his broad back as he turned his massive frame and headed for the porch steps, trusting she’d follow.
“You made them?”
“Sure did,” Boone rumbled over his shoulder. His tone was easy and unbothered, as though everyone made homemade dog treats for their pets. “Peanut butter and pumpkin. The store-bought kinds have too many fillers.”
I watched the Omega blink, clearly trying to reconcile the imposing size of the man with the domesticity of his words. She took a hesitant step to follow him.
But before she could take another, her gaze swept past the hood of the truck and snagged on the round pen.
I turned my head, tracking her line of sight.
Colt was standing dead still in the dirt. He had dropped the lead rope, the skittish roan gelding he’d been working with forgotten.
He didn’t look angry. He looked gutted. His dark eyes were locked on the woman, his jaw clamped tight enough to snap.
Slowly, almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it, his hand came up to his collarbone.
His calloused fingers wrapped around the silver chain hidden under his shirt, gripping the small pendant like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
My stomach plummeted. I knew that look. It was the exact flat, haunted expression he’d worn for the past three years.
It was the look of a man staring down a reality he couldn’t survive.
His grey eyes met mine over Julia’s head, and the look we shared had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the ghost standing between us.
He didn’t step forward to join us. Instead, he deliberately dropped his gaze, turned his back on the driveway, hopped the rails, and walked away into the shadows of the barn.
Beside the truck, the Omega let out a shaky exhale.
The notes in her scent went tart. I propped a hand on my hip and scrubbed the other along the scruff covering my jaw.
This right here was exactly what I was worried about, one of the many reasons I hadn’t registered our pack with the OMA to match with an Omega.
I watched her watch him walk away, and without knowing a damn thing about him or the ghosts he carried, I knew she thought he was rejecting her.
I shot a lethal glare at Gideon. I wanted to tear my Beta apart for bringing her here and dropping her straight into our unhealed wounds without a single warning.
But I couldn’t even summon half the wrath I ought to have.
The anger just wouldn’t hold—not when every breath I took was saturated with her fruity, albeit bruised, scent, hijacking my fury and turning it into a desperate urge to comfort her.
Gideon moved before I could figure out how to fix it. He stepped right into her space, casually throwing his arm around her shoulders, letting that calming, pure Beta signature of his soothe her.
I barely bit back the jealous growl of my Alpha, but I couldn’t deny his ill-thought out plan had worked. The rigid line of her spine melted, and she leaned into his side instinctively.
Then she poked her finger hard into his ribs. “I’m still mad at you.”
Gideon chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. “I know.”
With his free hand, he hefted another of her bags.
I rolled my shoulders, forcing my muscles to release some of their tension, then grabbed the last of her luggage and trailed them up the porch steps.
“Welcome to our little slice of paradise,” Gideon said as Boone opened the heavy wooden front door.
A delicate little snort sounded. “You call this little?”
“We’re a big pack,” Gideon replied effortlessly, guiding her over the threshold. “We need the room.”
I followed them inside, pulling my hat off out of pure habit. But the second my boots hit the hardwood of the entryway, a bolt of panic hit my chest.
Fuck. Had we cleaned up?
Living with six grown men and two tiny terrors usually meant the house was a goddamn disaster zone on our best days. Dusty bolted into the house enthusiastically while I frantically scanned the living room, bracing for the worst.
Instead, I found cleared surfaces, vacuumed rugs, and clutter-free walkways.
My brain stalled, and then the puzzle pieces of the last few days clicked together. Gideon had been unusually domestic all week. I’d even given him shit on Tuesday for scrubbing the baseboards, joking that his Beta instincts were acting up.