Chapter 5 Cooper Hart
COOPER HART
Eleven months ago... Pinedale, Wyoming
Shit.
I surveyed the kitchen, frowning.
Looks like a herd of feral hogs had a fucking pancake-eating contest in here.
Moments like this—the aftermath of the frenzied eating by my less-than-cultured pack mates—made me understand Wyatt’s early solo hours outside. I didn’t have time to ignore the situation.
The text had come in seconds after I’d jogged back into the house from teasing Wyatt.
ETA 20 min, ahead of schedule.
Ahead of schedule was a damn understatement.
They were supposed to arrive in the afternoon, two at the earliest. I’d wanted to do this whole awesome thing beforehand—have the guys sit down for an early lunch, give them the whole layout of what I’d done.
Figured I’d butter them up with fresh sourdough and homemade jam.
Life didn’t like to cooperate though. Well, guess I couldn’t bitch about life too much, considering the ‘randomness of life’ had saved Sagebrush.
Still pinched myself sometimes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Zero idea why Great Aunt Tootsie would leave me a literal fortune.
Maybe because she was my dad’s Aunt. Maybe because it was a badly kept family secret that Dad used to beat the shit out of me.
Maybe it was guilt money. I didn’t care.
I’d long gotten over the broken noses and bruised ribs.
I’d found shelter at Sagebrush with the Nelsons as a kid; they’d taken me in and made me family.
They’d done the same for Levi. I owed this ranch a lot, so even if the piles of cash were blood money, that didn’t matter if it saved the place I cared most about in the world.
And if it let me buy all the random shit I wanted.
And if it let me get the ball rolling on the monumental surprise I’d planned for my pack.
The surprise I was just about to spring on them.
I darted between the round dining table and the counter to relocate the soiled dishes, then I used my entire right arm to swipe crumbs off the scratched oak table.
The floor was filthy, but I didn’t have time to make everything spotless.
Like a madman, I raced back to the sink and slammed on the tap.
I didn’t bother to wait for warm water or for the mineralized brown to clear from the well, I just started rinsing things in one side of the split sink and settling everything in a neat pile on the other side.
When that was done, I began shoving dirty cookware inside my oven, mentally apologizing to the Viking which deserved better treatment.
Its stovetop wasn’t terrible, a bit of bacon splatter and crusted pancake mix.
As I quickly wiped away some of the filth from the gas burners, I found myself wishing we were already in the new pack house.
Unfortunately, the foundation wasn’t even poured yet.
Damn contractors moving like molasses. So, for now, I could only daydream—about a farm sink, giant curving island, and large capacity dishwasher.
Someone could whisper ‘second fridge’ in my ear, and I’d instantly get hard.
I’d hit pause on buying things for the new kitchen…
mostly. Wyatt recently had a hissy fit about our closets being at capacity.
I was equal parts dreading and excited to see his face when the giant professional espresso machine arrived.
Probably shouldn’t have mentioned renting the storage container, seeing as he’d immediately shot it down.
It was always better to do first and ask for forgiveness later.
When the top of the Viking was passably clean, I grabbed wet wipes and started swiping off the counters, further dirtying the floor.
Maybe I could open the back door and call the dogs inside?
Tripp and Tater would make quick work of licking the floor clean.
They were usually dozing in the pasture in the morning, always guarding the livestock.
One sharp whistle would bring them racing here.
The blue heeler would outrun the Anatolian shepherd, as always, but what he lacked in speed, Tater made up for in sheer size and muscle.
That dog had saved our herd more than once.
As I was heading to do just that, Boone’s deep voice hollered through the house. “Someone’s coming up the drive!”
I was out of time. Had it really already been twenty minutes of frantic cleaning?
I switched directions, racing to my room. I was still wearing only the apron and boxers. I untied the former as I walked, tossing it to the hallway floor, and then I pushed thumbs into the latter’s waist, slipping them off before I was inside the privacy of the bedroom.
“Damn, man, give us some warning!” Wade’s voice.
I grinned, glancing over to see him covering his eyes with one large hand, his big frame filling the hallway to my right. I released the boxers, letting them drop down my legs to gather at my ankles.
“You only want it when you’re bored,” I taunted. “Not how it works around here, Big W. Seeing me naked once, means you get the privilege for life.”
“You make me regret casual coitus, Coop,” Wade shot back.
“And the fact you say things like ‘casual coitus’ makes me want you more,” I laughed out the words.
“Maybe it’s time to call it quits then,” he challenged, lifting his free hand up as a guide to walk blindly down the hallway and avoid obstacles. If I stood in his way, we could take this banter physical. His hand outstretched plus my naked body…I grinned at the possibilities.
“Can’t change it now. Your brother will never have me,” I quipped, kicking off the boxers to free my legs before striding out of the hall. As much as I wanted to keep playing with Wade, I didn’t have time. The Eros people were probably already parked.
“You know the rule, Cooper.” He was passing my room now, tone chiding.
“Yes, I know. Even secondhand sword crossing is a Nelson ‘no, no’. I feel like I’m having déjà vu. Already had this convo once today.” I used my foot to kick the door closed behind me.
In a flurry, I found relatively clean clothes on the floor.
The first pair of pants were too big, probably Boone’s.
He’d crashed with me last night. Without a belt, they’d never stay on my waist. I flipped them for worn-out, faded jeans with holes at the knees.
The shirt faintly smelled, but no stains.
I debated socks, but I hated wearing them unless necessary. Made my toes feel trapped.
Relatively presentable, I all but ran through the house to the foyer.
I didn’t see Wade or Boone. Levi was probably in his office.
Wyatt, hopefully, was still in the stables.
I jerked open the door to see a now parked obsidian car, with some kind of mobile lab motionless behind it.
My heart jackhammered against my ribs. Months of planning, of keeping my mouth shut, and it was finally here: the answer to our pack's most pressing problem now that our finances were sorted. It was an issue nobody else wanted to face. We’d tried dating sites, mating conferences, and tested every offering of Pinedale’s limited Omega stock.
I loved my pack, but they were being delusional.
They needed to face that too much time had passed, and we couldn’t wait around for fate.
Waiting was how Alphas lost their minds.
It’s how they ended up in rehabilitation centers with little hope of recovery.
I’d seen anger rearing its head in all of us. I wouldn’t live in a home full of hostility again.
My brothers didn’t bellyache about their real feelings often, but I knew they were all kissing the first stages of ferality.
Just. Like. Me.
Eventually, my ability to sugarcoat shit with dumb outfits, relentless flirting, and good food would run out.
I stepped out of the house to stand on the poured concrete front porch.
It was ground level, nothing special, but we’d had it added a few months ago so we’d have somewhere to toss our filthy boots instead of dragging endless dirt inside.
I worried about the impression the old house would make on Eros.
I’d given them a ridiculous sum of money, but Sagebrush certainly didn’t look like we were rolling in dough.
I hoped that didn’t affect the process. I looked to the right, where the foundation of the two story was outlined with rows of ground flags.
Once built, the rambler could fit inside it five times over.
That would be a place worthy of our scent match.
Tearing my gaze off the site of our future home, I looked in the opposite direction. And unfortunately found a professionally dressed woman already squared off with Wyatt. Damn, that wasn’t good.
After plastering on my brightest, most winning smile, I hollered at them.
"Welcome to Sagebrush Ranch!" I waved like an idiot, letting them know they could come inside. The dogs headed my way almost immediately. I padded over to the smoked marrow bones lying on the poured concrete. I snagged them quickly, waiting for Tripp and Tater to be close enough to react before launching the bones away from the ranch. Thankfully, the dogs took the bait and raced off after their treats. If they pushed into the house right now, they’d get underfoot.
I tried to ignore the dark look Wyatt was launching my way, and how he was walking slowly in that storm cloud way of his. I had more important fish to fry right now.
The woman in the crisp gray suit impatiently snapped fingers at her colleagues, motioned toward me, and walked quickly.
She made it to me in record time, her Beta scent barely registering as she halted in front of me.
Two suited men walked slowly behind her.
My gaze, and intuition, clocked the telltale bulges beneath their jackets.
They were armed. Probably just precaution.
These parts had some dangerous wildlife.