Page 26 of Fragile Heart

“Right. Roping.” Every third “r” he pronounces is garbled, but it doesn’t seem to affect Brielle being able to understand him. He frowns before eating a piece of cheese.

A new calm settles over us, and I hear birds for the first time since we’ve been here. I leave the relative safety of Maple and settle next to Camden. He crawls into my lap, smiling as he adjusts so his cheek presses against my chest.

He grabs a pretzel and holds it up, looking at Brielle.

“Bri, do you want a pretzel?”

Chapter Twelve

BRIELLE

The clearing is quiet. Well, not really. A light breeze sways the bench swing and ripples through the prairie grasses. Several birds sit perched on the far railing of the porch, sorting through the birdseed feeder I put up last weekend. One of the smaller birds chirps happily, its yellow belly flashing each time it adjusts its stance or ruffles its feathers.

But the clearingfeelsquiet in a way the city never could.

I settle onto the swing, trying to keep from disturbing the birds. My skin feels tight, like it’s somehow shrinking over my bones. It takes all my willpower to not claw at my chest and belly to try and ease away the horrid feeling.

Touch-starved. And it’s getting worse.

I pull up the article from the Council’s website detailing the condition, trying to find anything that gives more optimistic outcomes than everything else I’ve heard about the condition. Sure, some of the symptoms seem benign. Fever, mind fog, irritability.

But some of them? Some of them arebadbad.

Scent changes. Anxiety. Paranoia. And, to top off the happy little symptom cake, a heat-like haze that drives the Omega to seek out an Alpha’s knot.

Yeah, that sounds about as appealing as being stuck in four inch stilettos for a seven-hour standing-room-only meeting.

I close the browser on my phone and drop it into my lap. Freaking out about it won’t change anything. I’m not going to hop into some random person’s bed just to satisfy my body’s needs.

Maybe I can see if there’s a doctor in Jackson able to prescribe me suppressors. Though the idea of ending up back on those is about as appealing as knotting some random stranger.

It doesn’t have to be a stranger, the little voice inside whispers.

I ignore it, just like I have the last twenty-four hours since smelling Caleb Taylor’s cinnamon scent and wanting to fall to my knees in front of him.

“Brielle, get it together,” I mutter.

I tuck my phone under my leg to keep it from tempting me, and focus on the birds again. I let myself get lost in watching them until a light blue Subaru pulls up at the base of the driveway to the guest house a few hundred feet away.

Melissa’s glasses match her dress today, the sky blue color bringing out the darker strands of her blonde hair which she wears in its natural curls. She waves as she heads toward me, and I can’t help but smile.

The birds scatter as she steps onto the porch.

“Everything good at the ranch?” I ask.

She drops into the space next to me with a heavy sigh. “As good as they can be. Things will slow down once Alec is fully trained and able to take over Trish’s job entirely.”

She drops her head to my shoulder, and the itching sensation crawling under my skin eases just a breath.

“Thank you for all the help,” she says after a minute. “I know you came out here for a fresh start to figure out what you want to do next. Sorry you’ve been spending all the time driving between both ranches.”

“It’s fine, Mel.” I ease away her worries as best I can. Taking over the animals from her has been a breath of fresh air. “I needed something to do other than cosplay Betty at the Rustic Roast.”

She huffs a laugh. “Joan loves having you there,” she admits.

My phone vibrates. I answer the video call and prop it against the chain holding the bench swing.

“Hey, Bri. Is now a good time?”

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