Page 21 of Fragile Heart

Not that Omegas can’t love Betas. Tons of packs—the legal term for a romantic group that includes at least one Alpha and Omega—have Betas included. But Omegas aren’t built for monogamy, not really. They’re wired for multiple lovers, especially when they go into heat.

Mom frowns. “What’s that look for?”

I shake my head and take another drink of coffee. I love my mom, but I’m not admitting to what’s happened in the middle of her coffee shop, especially with Betty sitting in the corner reading her book. She’s not quite the worst gossip in town, but she’s certainly not trustworthy, either. Not unless you want everyone to know in a matter of a few days.

And, yes, that’s better than what some of them manage. You say something within earshot of Molly Bailey, and you better be prepared for everyone knowing in under twelve hours.

“You don’t want to know, Mom,” I mutter. “Trust me.”

She sighs and takes a couple of the pretzels she brought for Camden.

“She’s not interested in any of that,” she says. “Alex and Calder have already asked to go out as far as I’m aware. She’s turned them both down.”

“How do you know that?”

Mom doesn’t talk to the Deans. Not since they ended up on the other side of a dispute involving Brandon when we were teens.

“Miranda and Leanne were talking about it this morning. Apparently it’s the big gossip right now.” She pins me with one of those looks, the one that says she’s tired of my shit and that I need to listen before the really bad consequences start. I may be thirty-five, but that look still gets my heart in my throat. “You know what it’s like to grieve, Caleb. Give her space.”

I wish I could.

I take another drink of coffee and run my hand through Camden’s hair, focusing on the road again. I don’t want to lie to Mom.

“Need any help?” She lets me change the subject.

“Nope. You might text Melissa, though. One of her employees quit last week, and she’s been having to cover all the work.”

I nod. Camden loves going to Melissa’s ranch. It’ll keep us both busy.

“Thank you for the coffee,” I say. Mom waves her hand, kissing Camden’s temple as she heads back around the counter.

Chapter Ten

BRIELLE

By Friday, I’m not feeling quite like a drowning woman—at least in navigating the barn and going through the morning chores I’ve taken over from Melissa and Emily so they can focus on Misty Mountain. The jury is still out regarding everything else, though. Yesterday only three people stared at me when I grabbed some basics at the grocery store. It was down from the ten that stared at the coffee house Monday morning. And, by some miracle, I’ve managed to avoid Ethan since the awkward run-in Tuesday.

Combined with the chat with Faedra yesterday, it’s just enough that the sense of belonging is starting to lay roots. Sunrises on the porch each morning, hanging out with Melissa and Emily most evenings. Even chatting with some of the stable hands and other employees from both ranches. It’s enough to push the overwhelming loneliness down a few notches until it doesn’t feel like it’s a crater inside my chest.

Nyx pushes into my back, and I smile before I straighten and run a hand down his nose.

A man steps into the barn, his strides long and sure.

Who had wandered into the private barn?

I set the feed bucket into its holder and step out of the stall, closing the gate behind me before Nyx can decide to try for an escape. I move to Phoebe’s stall as I take in the man while his attention is on one of the horses on the far side of the barn. Maple probably. Or maybe Daphne.

He’s dressed in jeans so dark they’re nearly black and a maroon shirt that clings to his chest and arms. The sleeve covers about half of a tattoo that looks like a bird of some kind, and I can see the flash of another colorful piece on his forearm as he tucks his hands into his pockets. His cowboy hat is sun faded, whatever color it had originally been now surrendered to a splotchy warm brown. There’s an air of comfortability about him, like he’s here often.

I rack my mind, trying to decide which person he might be. There’s something in the shape of his shoulder and the lines of his face that seem oddly familiar. When he glances toward me, my breath catches in my throat, realizing at once who he must be. The high cheekbones and deep-set eyes that are the light blue color of a clear winter sky in Denver are practically identical to Beau’s.

“You ride?” he asks before I figure out how to get myself out of the barn without looking like I’m bolting—which I am. I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat.

“Getting back into it,” I offer. “It’s been a long time for me.”

He raises an eyebrow. I breathe through my nose, slowly, to keep from blushing. Why did that suddenly sound like I was talking about something very different from riding horses? He steps up to one of the stalls and runs his hand down the horse’s nose. The horse presses into him, and he smiles.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he all but croons. “How are you today? I haven’t been here often enough the last couple months, have I?”

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