Page 28 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
He stops at the window, staring out at the vast expanse of his ranch bathed in moonlight. The horses are shadowy figures in the paddocks, peaceful in their nighttime routine.
Usually, just looking at them centers him.
Tonight, nothing helps.
"She's been hurt," he reminds himself firmly. "The last thing she needs is some Alpha getting all territorial around her."
He thinks of how fragile she'd looked in that moment of stumbling, yet how quickly she'd composed herself — the dancer's discipline evident in every movement.
Sure, he was already hearing about the rumors going around in town with the new young woman’s arrival. Some said she had to be a dancer from somewhere, a few of the elders being prestigious performers in their lives before coming to retire in Willowbend, exhausted with the life of “show biz” and “flashing lights”.
I could tell from the way she moved almost gracefully doing the most basic movements while keeping her back straight as if on duty to spring into another move gave it away, but I wasn’t going to pry in her business.
No matter my immense curiosity to know more…about her.
There had been wariness in her eyes when she'd realized an Alpha had caught her, a momentary flash of fear quickly masked by cool politeness.
Some other Alpha had taught her that caution, or maybe that mistakes in the public eye result in consequences...
The thought makes his jaw clench.
Meadow walks to his dresser, picks up his watch, and sets it down again. Nervous energy crackles through him, making ordinary objects seem strange in his hands. He can't settle, can't quiet the battling instincts —to protect, to claim, to comfort, to possess.
"Enough," he growls, louder this time.
He strides toward the bathroom, yanking his t-shirt over his head as he goes. A shower.
Cold water. That's what he needs to clear his head.
The bathroom light flickers on, harsh against the white tile. Meadow avoids his reflection, not wanting to see the intensity he knows is there in his eyes. He turns the shower to nearly scalding —cold won't cut it tonight— and steps under the spray.
Water pounds against his shoulders, streaming down his back. Steam rises around him, fogging the glass door. He braces both hands against the tile wall, head bowed, letting the heat work into tense muscles.
"She's just another person who needs help with the horses," he says, the words lost beneath the drumming water. "Like any other client."
But the lie doesn't stand up to scrutiny even in his own mind.
No other client has ever made his Alpha instincts surge like this, protective and possessive in equal measure. No other client has made him want to build walls around them both, shutting out everything that might cause harm.
No one since Eliza had made him want to defy all the rules, pin them against the wall, and kiss them breathless until they were pinned by his sculpted frame and given no option of escaping what he wished to foreplay from his spiraling mind.
Meadow closes his eyes, trying to focus on the water, on the present moment, on anything but emerald eyes and the lingering scent of wildflowers.
The shower was supposed to wash away this restlessness, but instead, the cascading water only seemed to intensify his awareness of his own body, and his own needs.
"She deserves peace," he whispers. "Not complications."
And he is definitely a complication — a widowed Alpha with a hardened heart and responsibilities that leave little room for anything else.
Marigold needs healing, not another source of pain.
The water beats a steady rhythm against his skin, but the tension within him refuses to dissolve.
His hand drifts down slowly, as if unsure, finally brushing across the hard planes of his abdomen.
The steam-laden air thickens with heat and want, his frustration steaming like a physical presence around him. Meadow tries desperately to redirect his thoughts, but the memory of Marigold's scent is too strong — it crashes over him like a tide of honey-sweet wildflowers, drawing him under with no hope of escape.
A groan escapes his lips as his fingers curl around his hardened length, needing overtaking caution.
