Page 8 of Wild Omegas
I crack open the beer and take a sip. “A baker? Is that what you do professionally?”
Josie goes back to stirring whatever delicious-smelling food is in the pot closest to her. It doesn’t escape me that she’s moving with stiffened motions not attributed to her twisted ankle. “I did. Might still go back to it one day. But Wild Skies is my focus for now.”
I sip my beer again. “It’s a great focus. Your grandparents and theirs really built something special here.”
Josie brushes a lock of her long brown hair behind one ear and then turns back to me. “How long have you worked here?”
“A few years,” I answer. “I’ve only met your grandparents a handful of times, but they’re good people.”
She nods with a smile. “They are. And what didyoudo before Wild Skies?”
And that’s where I usually stop with women and offer some other kind of answer. Half the time women love to know I was a cop because they’re into uniforms or the idea of an honorable man, but the truth of what I experienced was not so much of either of those things.
“I worked in law enforcement.” I sip my beer again. “But I’ve always loved animals. Had several huge shepherds growing up,the loveliest dogs you’ve ever seen. Thought I might as well give sheep-herding a go.”
The corner of her lips quirks up into a smile. “And is herding dozens of bleating sheep that much less stressful than chasing shoplifters?”
If only those omega traffickers had been sheep instead.
I chuckle lightly. “Something like that.”
Josie’s smile slips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore, and she turns back around to stir the pot again. “What kind of law enforcement were you in?”
“I was a detective.” At least she hasn’t run yet like some women do. Maybe she will now. Although maybe that’s an unfair assessment. But it has to have gone through her mind to check up on the alphas she’ll be staying with as an omega. No matter how we decide to slice this, unless she’s on suppressants, she’ll be in heat eventually. And how that is handled…
Hell, Brooks. Getting ahead of yourself much?
“How does a detective end up working on cars and other farming machines?” she asks without turning back around.
I spend too long studying her posture. Long enough to realize she’s purposely looking away from me. “I’ve always enjoyed working on cars. Farming equipment wasn’t that big a change. Honestly, my work here at Wild Skies has been far more rewarding than I ever would have suspected, and I’m happy to have a home here on top of it.”
Josie finally turns back to face me, and when she does, it’s with a carefully crafted expression thatlooksintentional. Like she’s trying to present herself in a certain way. Which some might say is a leap, but I don’t do leaps. Not without evidence. And all the evidence I’ve seen from Josie is that she came here on a whim from some professional baking job to live at her grandparents’ ranch which she very clearly didn’t think anyoneelse was living at. Working at, sure. This place is always staffed. But it’s obvious Josie thought she’d be living here alone.
That shewantedto be alone.
And, sure, maybe her reaction to the knowledge she’s not alone here is simply disappointment at that reality, or nerves because we’re not just alphas but because we’remen. But it might also be something more.
Josie turns back to the stove long enough to pull the pot from the burner and set it on a trivet. She does the same with the other pot and then pulls vegetables, potatoes, and steaks from the oven.
It all smells absolutely divine, and it signals the end of my time to softly question Josie. She’s absolutely hiding something. But who am I to press further? We’reallhiding something. I just hope she lets us help her out. That ankle won’t heal quickly, least of all if she’s pushing it by standing for so long—even with frozen peas keeping it snug. She needs rest and probably a solid lesson or two on how her childhood ranch functions.
Something tells me a big city girl like her has no idea what ranch life is even like.
But shecancook. This I learn after Carson and Luke appear, also washed up, just in time for dinner as if the scent of her meal itself drew them in without being called.
We have a breezy conversation over dinner and then Josie presents red velvet cupcakes for dessert.
Cupcakes.When the hell did she make those?
“I don’t know,” Carson says as he leans back, clearly indicating a would-be bloated stomach that does not exist on a man that muscular. “I could get used to this.”
Luke nods his agreement with a grin lighting up his eyes and a mouthful of cupcake keeping his words at bay.
I also agree. Butwillwe get a chance to get used to this?
As if she heard my thoughts, Josie says, “Well, don’t,” while laughing, giving the impression of sarcasm.
I can’t unsee the layers of walls in this omega’s bright hazel eyes.
