Page 4 of Claimed By the Cowboys
As I woefully watched her retreat, my eyes landed on the colorful box that was the current solution to my problem at home.
With a sigh, I grabbed the box of Berry Bunny fruit snacks and made my way to the checkout, trying to forget that floral and fruity scent that already felt ingrained in my mind.
Sadly, the omega was already gone, and I hadn’t even asked for her number.
Chapter 3
Piper
Bag of treats in hand and no dinner reservations, I made my way back to the dude ranch, thinking about that alpha.
Ever since presenting as an omega, I had gotten plenty of attention from alphas of all kinds—that was simply the nature of being an omega—but this country boy, with his rugged good looks, had me thinking about running my fingers through that short brown hair.
I struggled with the bags in my arms, glancing at the small front desk in the main office for Francie. Instead, the little old lady who checked us in on the day we arrived sat alone, looking through a magazine.
I had hoped to cover my ass by figuring out a dinner reservation with the help of the concierge, but there was nothing to be done except to shuffle the bags of treats in my arms and make my way back to our cabin to unpack the goodies I picked up before Pack Adamar got back.
The last thing I needed was for Lance to realize I had ignored his instructions.
I quickly unloaded the groceries from my trip downtown and tidied myself up. It felt like a good idea to put up my hair andsplash water on my flushed face before seeing Lance, Ralph, and Kyle.
But no matter what I did, I couldn’t get that alpha I’d met in town out of my head. I found myself desperate to redirect my sudden burst of wild,hornyenergy.
The idea of planning a lovely, romantic dinner for myself and the members of Pack Adamar, followed by an evening of extracurricular activities, came to mind.
I resolved to create a perfect evening of wining, dining, and baby making. I set off to the main building to find Francie and wrangle her into helping me make the evening a success. I was more than a little peeved when I got to her station, to find her desk still empty. The older woman seated at the front had already moved on to another magazine and didn’t notice me come in.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I called to her.
She looked up with a smile, one finger holding her page.
“Have you seen Francie? I wanted to ask about places to make a reservation for dinner.”
“Check her office, dear.” The receptionist pointed down a hallway before immediately returning to her magazine.
I quickly found the large wooden door with a black and gold etched plate labeledConcierge.
Timidly, I crept to the door and rapped my knuckles gently against it.
“Yes.” The word was faint, but I could just make it out through the closed door. Taking it as an invitation, I turned the handle and pushed it open.
My eyes were filled with the sight of Francie bent over her desk—her skirt up around her hips—Lance fucking her from behind, Ralph’s cock in her mouth, and Kyle leering at the three of them from the edge of the desk, dick in hand.
The four of them barely seemed to notice as I let out a half-choked scream and slammed the door behind me.
I took Lance’s car.
Was it the most mature thing to do? Probably not, but I needed to get the hell away from that pack of lying, traitorous assholes, and I needed to do itfast.
The stupid car was like a spaceship, with too many buttons and levers for me to understand. I probably damaged it in my mad dash to get away from the cabin, but it didn’t matter. Between the darkening sky and the tears falling from my eyes, I could hardly see.
I drove until I found a diner. It was one of those places with a little old-time flair. Well-worn but clearly loved. It was the kind of place you knew you could get a damn good burger.
Pulling into the first spot I saw, I clambered out of the car, slamming the door probably a lot harder than I needed to and angrily wiping away tears. It was actually Lance’s stupid face I wanted to slam into something, but his car door would have to do.
A fresh wave of tears welled up, and I quickly wiped them as I stalked into the diner. The car smelled like Lance, and I refused to spend a moment longer inside it than necessary.
The diner was warm, and the air smelled thick with bacon and coffee, despite the late hour. It was nearly empty, apart from the odd table. Sliding into the first booth I saw, I grabbed a menu and started looking for the most sugary, greasy food possible.
