Prologue. Nelly
Nelly.
Several months later…
Lucky.
That was a word I loved when I was a little girl.
Yes, it was unlucky my parents died. Yes, it was unlucky I was too small at the time to remember much, if anything, about them. But I never wanted for anything. I grew up with amazing grandparents. They loved and adored me. They sacrificed so much to help me achieve my dreams.
Lucky to have the best dance teachers.
Lucky to get accepted to San Francisco Ballet.
Lucky that Imperial offered me a place in the ensemble.
So very lucky I had a brief, shining moment in the spotlight as a principal ballerina. Not many people experience flying across stage while a thousand eyes watched. That was something I could carry with me forever.
The yellow of the kitchen walls had a way of catching the morning light, warming the small rambler.
It wasn’t quite the shade from the house in Tacoma, but close.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching my grandmother's trembling hands as she meticulously spread sunflower butter across whole wheat bread slices. Beside her, Cooper patiently let her teach him how to make her granddaughter’s favorite sandwiches.
“They have to be cut into hearts,” her thin voice explained, pressing two coated pieces of bread together. “She doesn’t like circles or squares.”
Cooper nodded solemnly, as if this was the most important recipe he’d ever learned.
My grandmother smiled vaguely at him, pleased with his understanding, though I knew she had no idea who he was in this moment. There was that blankness to her gaze, the one ever-present these days.
I glanced up, briefly counting the different birds of the wallpaper border Boone chose. It really was perfect.
Turning around, I whispered away from the kitchen.
I heard my grandmother give a papery laugh as I entered the living room. Cooper’s responding laughter sounded like a cannon boom in comparison. He was so good with her. Trailing my hands along the back of the new sofa. It was dark green, a familiar shape, just missing Grandpa’s coffee stain.
My gaze roved over birds.
Ceramic, glass, and wooden.
Perched on every available surface.
Grandmother’s collection had migrated with her from Seattle to this little, renovated rambler in Wyoming.
Kendra, the live-in nurse we'd hired, appeared from the bedroom hallway with her clipboard. We exchanged smiles. She’d been a godsend. Warm and kind, good at her job. I never worried, not even at night, that something would happen to Grandmother.
“Everything okay last night?” I asked the now routine question.
“Right as rain,” she gave her customary response.
“Thank so much, Kendra,” I said before she moved towards the kitchen and I moved to slip out the front door, into the bright Sagebrush morning.
It was hard to believe that not long ago, I’d danced at Club Midnight.
Working a pole.
Recovering from losing my dream.
And now I was here on a ranch, happier than I’d been in my entire life.
The path from the rambler to the main house was worn into the grass now, a testament to frequent trips between the two. The ranch spread around me, and I now saw it for what it was—a paradise with lush pastures, numerous wildflowers, hothouses thriving with sugar beets, and five men who adored me.
Movement in the east pasture caught my eye as I strode.
Ghost was prancing through the paddock, creamy tale swishing and ears twitching.
Beside her trotted Boone’s stallion Behaichi.
The two horses had become quite the pair, rarely seen apart now.
I watched them for a heartbeat, loving how Ghost's playful dance complemented Behaichi's steady presence.
My feet carried me forward along the path toward the new main house. It was beautiful and inviting, but it was the new structure taking shape to the left of it that drew my attention.
My dance studio.
The foundation was poured. Walls going up next week.
My legs seemed to shake with anticipation, excited to have a proper floor again.
It wasn't going to be huge, nothing like the Imperial Ballet Company's massive rehearsal spaces, but it was all I needed.
The hope of it rising against the landscape of Sagebrush had started me thinking about new dreams. About maybe opening a small dance school in Pinedale. I wouldn’t want to teach upper levels. I didn’t want to be involved with that sort of intense, structured, pressure again.
But introducing small children to the joys of dancing.
Watching tiny hands gripping a barre for the first time.
Playing music and helping small feet find their rhythm.
That sent a thrill of joy through me.
I really thought I’d love teaching kids.
Kids…
That word had started to follow me around like a melody I couldn't shake. I found myself lingering at the fence sometimes, watching calves as they orbited around their mothers. Last week, I’d decided which of the guest rooms should become the nursery.
And a few days ago, I’d absolutely lost it over the cutest baby outfit in town.
I hadn’t told the men yet, but I knew how they’d react when they found out I had pup fever.
They’d jump into action.
With plans, and budgets, and homemade baby food recipes.
I climbed the steps up to the house’s wraparound porch, kicking off my boots outside and lining them up with four other pairs. The missing fifth pair was at Grandmother’s rambler.
The smell of home greeted me, wrapping around me like a warm hug.
I smiled at the smell of fresh coffee and the rumble of talking from the kitchen.
This place was so different now versus the first time I’d walked through it with Cooper, when it was only freshly painted, void of furnishings.
The bookcases at the top landing of the wide staircase were crammed with books, just like my childhood home in Tacoma.
Likewise, the walls in the foyer were lined with photographs, nailed to the wall with joyful abandon.
No rhyme. No reason. Candid shots of the men working the ranch, my grandmother feeding chickens, me riding Ghost at sunrise, our pack around a campfire.
One of my favorites was a shot of my Alphas sound asleep, sprawled across our massive sectional.
Not all the photos were new though.
Many were from my old life.
We’d been able to retrieve pretty much everything from Seattle—my car, my clothes, and the treasures no amount of money could replace.
Photographs from my dancing days, from childhood, from the brief golden period when my grandparents were both healthy and happy.
The newspaper clippings of my reviews. My first pair of pointe shoes, the pink satin worn gray at the toes.
And my last pair, the custom-made ones I'd been wearing when I’d had the accident.
The sound of laughter drew me toward the back of the house, where the expansive kitchen opened onto a great room with views of the mountains. I followed the noise, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors, and paused in the doorway.
My other four Alphas were gathered around the kitchen island, illuminated by sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Levi, his dark hair curling around his face, was gesturing with a coffee mug as he recounted some story that had Wade doubled over with laughter.
Wyatt leaned against the counter smiling.
Boone stood slightly apart, observing, listening, his espresso eyes full of warmth.
The didn’t notice me at first.
And I was glad for the moment to admire them.
It was still so hard to believe that they were mine.
That this life was mine.
This house.
This ranch.
Wade spotted me first, his green eyes brightening.
"There she is," he said, his deep voice cutting through the others' conversation. Four pairs of eyes turned toward me, four faces broke into smiles that made my stomach flip.
Lucky.
I used to love that word when I was little.
Then I grew to hate it.
Now, I was learning to love it again.
Loved Nelly & her Alphas? Get ready for the next pack!