Page 2 of Wild Omegas
I ran from my financial woes. I ran from disappointing my parents by losing my pack even though it was hardly my fault we weren’t scent-matched. I tried to run from life entirely, but the fire I set wasn’t quite fatal to anything except Damien’s property.
I swallow all this down and pull my car into the main driveway which is really more a bunch of well-worn stones pressed into the earth. Three cars are parked along the semi-circle toward the far end. Staff, I suppose, as no one from the family is supposed to be here.
I park the car in front of the walkway leading to the main house and climb out to stretch my legs. Sounds of cattle echo in the distance as well as sprinklers and wind that meets little resistance here with minimal trees. It blows my long brown hair around my face. I push it back behind my ears and step toward the trunk of the car where the cooler of groceries is.
But the wind is as unforgiving as Damien. My hair whips around my eyes and I lose my balance. My foot dips into a hole in the driveway made of pebbles and I tilt sideways at an odd angle. My ankle twists and I topple to the ground about as ungracefully as possible, a loud yelp leaving my lips and everything.
My right hip hits the pebbles first, sending shooting pain through my legs and lower back. A pulsing agony follows as it envelops my ankle and foot.
“Fuckinghell,” I curse. Tears well in my eyes. What a welcome back this is. I feel like a glass vase under pressure—fragile and about to snap. The weight ofeverythinghits. A crash out is imminent.
Then I hear someone running toward me.
Blood drains from my face. Someonesawthat? Oh, hell no.
I refuse to look up and meet their gaze. How fucking embarrassing is this?
“Ma’am!” a male voice calls out. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
I catch a glimpse of a pair of boots rushing toward me.For fuck’s sake.I try to stand but my twisted ankle doesn’t oblige. Instead I fall back to the ground in a heap of limbs and resign to the fact that maybe this is a sign from the universe.
I don’t belong anywhere.
I won’tsucceedanywhere.
There is no escape from what I did—or failed to do.
The man finally catches up to where I’ve all but given up on life, my final straw reached. He kneels down before me. “Are you okay?”
He’s breathless, like he’s run a long distance to get here. He’s wearing brown gardening gloves still covered in dirt and his voice is like water on stones—smooth and unyielding. And then a wall of cedar scent hits me strong as any forest.
Cedar scent.
This man is an alpha.
I look up mostly out of shock to find he’s about my age, with short black hair and a matching short beard. Twin pools of sapphire eyes check me over for injuries and, upon spotting the obvious swelling ankle, a deep crease forms in his brow.
“Let’s get you inside,” he says and moves to help me up.
I take his hand—his warm, strong,ablehand—and he hauls me up from the ground like I weigh nothing at all. His bare forearms are sun-kissed from working outside and a small amount of sweat crests his brow.
“I’m okay,” I stammer with absolutely zero confidence in the statement. But why I’m not okay and the fact I’ve twisted my ankle are two very different worries. “I can get all this inside.”
He lets out a curt breath. “Like hell you can. Let me help.” He leaves me standing but watches me to make sure I’m steady while he grabs the cooler from the trunk of my car. “You are?”
Right. Common decency would warrant telling someone who helped you up from the ground what your name is. Too bad I’m slightly infuriated at his insistence to help me. While Iamgrateful he was there to lift me up, I’d much rather he’d not have seen what happened at all.
“Josie,” I finally say. “My grandparents own Wild Skies Ranch.”
His eyes go wide. He inclines his head. “I was told you might be stopping by. My apologies. I’m Carson, the ranch gardener and landscaper. I heard you go down.” He sets the cooler down and it’s takes everything in me tonotwatch the way his forearms flex as he does so. I fail. I fail so hard. Those forearms look like he could liftmeover his head and right into?—
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Carson’s tone conveys worry but there’s an amused twist of his lips. He waswatchingme watch him.
A hot blush creeps up my cheeks.I might die.I just might. Right here. Right now. “Y-yes. I’m good, thank you—” I go to walk away, having obviously completely forgot what brought the two of us to this very moment, and stumble so hard I nearly topple to the ground a second time.
“Yep, all right.” Carson abandon’s the cooler. “We’re gettingyouinto the house first.”
He touches a polite hand to the back of my elbow and my entire world does a sort of flip flop motion—or is that my stomach? Butterflies take flight there.
