Page 9 of Alpha's Promise

"Survival first," she murmured, opening her eyes to the reality of her situation. Her next steps were uncertain, but she was no stranger to adversity. With the dawn, she would find a job—a chance to earn her keep—and maybe decipher her grandfather’s last words.

"Tomorrow," she breathed, setting the empty mug down, "starts a new chapter."

Dakota’s gaze went back to the muted reflection of neon letters spelling out "Open" in the diner's window. Just beneath, a smaller sign, "Help Wanted" scrawled in bold red, beckoned with the promise of something she desperately needed—a purpose, a place to belong. The ache of longing, a sensation as familiar as her own heartbeat, flared within her chest.

The clink of ceramic on Formica drew her attention as the woman behind the counter—her features soft in the warm glow of the overhead lights—refilled her mug with steaming coffee. Dakota's fingers brushed against the waitress's as she accepted the mug, the touch grounding, human.

"Anything else, hon?" the woman asked, a motherly lilt in her voice that tugged at something deep and forgotten in Dakota.

"Um, just this, thanks." Dakota's reply was a murmur, almost lost amidst the comforting hum of the diner. She poured some change onto the counter, counting each coin with meticulous care, ensuring she had enough for the small luxury before her.

She cradled the cup between her hands, the heat seeping into her skin, chasing away the chill that had settled in her bones. The aroma of the coffee mingled with the scent of fried onions and baked pies that wrapped around her like a worn quilt. She sipped, the liquid bittersweet on her tongue, as her thoughts wandered back to Landon Savage—his rugged charm, the way his presence seemed both a threat and a comfort.

Around her, life moved with a rhythm unique to late-night eateries; waitresses weaved between tables, laughter bubbled up from a booth in the corner, and the cook's spatula clattered against the griddle in a metallic staccato. Dakota watched it all through a veil of solitude, her mind turning over the possibilities that lay ahead, the questions that gnawed at her resolve.

Time slipped by, unnoticed, until the silence within her grew too loud to ignore. With a slow exhale, she set down her cup and turned her attention back to the woman behind the counter who was now polishing a glass with a worn dish towel.

"Excuse me," Dakota's voice held a new firmness, a subtle defiance against the uncertainty clawing at her edges. She cleared her throat, her eyes locking with the waitress's. "About the help wanted sign..."

"Interested, are you?" The woman leaned forward, interest piqued, and the towel came to rest on the counter.

"Yes," Dakota replied, pushing past the fear of risk and exposure. "I'm looking for work."

"Is that right?" The waitress appraised her with a practiced eye, one that had likely seen all manner of folks pass through the doors seeking respite or redemption. "You got any experience?"

"Enough to learn quick and work hard," Dakota said, her words steeped in earnestness. There was a raw edge to her purpose, a flicker that lent strength to her plea. “I did work in a bakery once. I can make all kinds of dessert and breakfast pastries.”

The waitress nodded slowly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. "What’s your name?”

“Dakota. Dakota Westwood.”

“Well then, Dakota Westwood, let's see if we can't put that to the test."

And just like that, amid the clatter of the diner and the warmth of strangers, a sliver of hope threaded its way into Dakota's guarded heart. The clink of porcelain on the counter punctuated their negotiation, the scent of coffee heavy between them as the woman's eyes narrowed, dissecting Dakota's every word.

"Can you start tomorrow, bright and early?" the woman finally asked, her tone a mix of challenge and camaraderie.

Dakota nodded, the tightness in her chest easing ever so slightly. "Yes, I can."

"Good," the woman said with a brisk nod, her voice softening. "Then you're hired, Dakota." She scribbled something on a notepad and slid it across the counter. "Be here at five. We open early for the ranch hands looking for a strong cup before heading out to the fields."

"Thank you," Dakota breathed, a lifeline thrown in the turbulent sea of her thoughts. The prospect of work was a tether to normalcy she desperately craved, even if nothing about her life was truly normal.

She toyed with the empty mug, her mind racing through a checklist of necessities. A job secured, now she needed a place to stay. Dakota felt the old fear stir within her, the memory of her ex's shadow darkening the threshold of a shelter long ago. No, she couldn't risk those places again.

"Is there a... library around here?" Dakota asked, her voice casual, masking the turbulence beneath. She hoped her inquiry sounded like idle curiosity rather than the desperate strategizing it was.

"Down the road," the woman replied, pointing with a thumb over her shoulder. "Closed for the evening though."

"Perfect," Dakota said with a smile that didn't quite reach her wary eyes. "I'll check it out tomorrow."

She lingered a few minutes more, her gaze absently tracing the patterns of wear in the laminate countertop. The diner hummed with an undercurrent of life and hunger, but Dakota felt outside of it, an observer peering in through frosted glass. The warmth from the coffee still lingered in her palms, offering a small comfort that she clung to.

Eventually, she swiveled and stood. Her movements were deliberate as she walked away from the counter, each step weighted with the gravity of her situation. With one last glance at the walls of the diner, Dakota stepped into the cool embrace of the night.

Her heart, a drumbeat of silent yearning, sent a faint echo into the vastness of Copper Canyon—a silent plea for refuge among the pages and quiet corners of a library yet unseen.

Dakota made her way toward the haven of knowledge and silence. The library was easy to spot. It loomed ahead, a grand old structure of weathered brick and shadowed windows, its presence both imposing and inviting in the moonlit night. She circled it like a wary predator, the small park beside it offering convenient camouflage among its trees and benches—places where lovers might sit during the day, whispering sweet nothings that now seemed so distant from Dakota's stark reality.

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