Page 117 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The room spins. My chest feels like it’s actually on fire, not from heat but from rage. Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to march in there and rip her off my Alpha. But I can’t. Because maybe he’s not really mine. Maybe none of them are.
Just like Nolan never really was.
The thought sends me spiraling. They got what they wanted—Ridge had his fun, proved his point about being the biggest, claimed me thoroughly—and now they’re moving on to business. Once they get the ranch situation sorted, they’ll find a way to push me out. They’ll take what Rose left me and leave me with nothing.
Just like Nolan would have, if he’d lived.
I glance back at the group. They’re all absorbed in conversation, Brittany now showing Cash something on her phone while her father talks to Ridge about property values. None of them notice me watching.
I dart across the doorway while they’re distracted, practically diving for the front door. My hands shake as I turn the handle as quietly as possible. The door opens with a soft click that soundslike a gunshot to my paranoid ears, but no one calls out.
Then I’m outside, and I run.
My feet pound against the dirt path to the guesthouse, kicking up dust. Tears blur my vision, making me stumble. I feel so stupid. So naive. I let Ridge in, let him see me vulnerable, let him claim me, and for what? So he could clean me up like a responsibility and leave me alone while Cash entertains other women?
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I chant with each step.
The rational part of my brain tries to argue that Ridge was probably letting me sleep, that Cash is probably just being polite to business associates, that there’s probably a reasonable explanation. But that voice is drowned out by the roar of hurt and heat.
I burst into the guesthouse to find Chonkarella and the kittens waiting by the door, meowing plaintively.
“I know, I know,” I sob, dropping to my knees to pet them. “I’m late with breakfast. I’m a terrible cat mother on top of everything else.”
My hands quiver so badly I can barely open the cat food. I spill half of it on the floor, but the cats don’t seem to mind, descending on it like they haven’t eaten in days instead of just since yesterday.
“At least you guys want me around,” I tell them as Chonkarella purrs against my leg. “Even if it’s just for the food.”
One of the kittens climbs up my leg with those tiny claws, and I grab him in my arms while sliding downto sit on the kitchen floor with them. The little one starts kneading its claws into my thigh.
“Ow, buddy. I’m already in enough pain.”
But I don’t push him away. I sit there for a moment, surrounded by purring cats, trying to get myself under control. The pre-heat is getting worse, making my skin feel too tight, too hot. I need to do something. Need to think.
My nest. I’ll go to my nest, surround myself with comfort things, and figure out a plan.
I stand on shaky legs and head to the library, to my sanctuary. The suspended bamboo chair is piled with soft blankets and pillows, my little tables nearby holding chocolate and biscuits from Cookie’s care package. This is my space, my safe place where?—
Yet, all I can see is green.
Jealous, venomous green coloring everything. Brittany’s manicured nails on Cash’s arm. Her perfect smile. Her father’s money and connections. Everything I’m not and never will be.
The first pillow flies before I even realize I’ve grabbed it. It hits the wall with an unsatisfying thump.
“Not enough,” I growl, snatching another. This one I tear at, but the fabric is too strong. “Why won’t you rip?”
I throw it anyway, then reach for the blankets from the chair, yanking them free with violent jerks. The chair swings wildly on its chain, creaking in protest.
“Stupid nest!” I kick at the pile of blankets on thefloor. “Stupid Alpha pheromones making me nest in the first place!”
The side table goes next. I sweep my arm across it, sending chocolate bars and cookies flying. They scatter across the floor with satisfying crashes and thuds.
“Tempting,” I spit, getting the books from the shelves and hurling them. “She’s TEMPTING, while I’m dying here!”
I’m full-on ugly-crying now. Then I take another pillow, this one finally giving way under my assault. Feathers explode everywhere, floating through the air like snow. I sneeze, which makes me cry harder because even my own destruction is turning against me.
“Can’t even destroy things properly,” I sob, kicking at the feathers. They just flutter away, some sticking to my tear-wet face. “Pathetic. No wonder Nolan didn’t want me. No wonder they don’t really need me either.”
A kitten appears in the doorway, surveying the destruction with typical cat judgment.
