Page 25 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
His shoulders tense, the relaxed atmosphere evaporating like morning dew under sudden sun.
“Not that I’m interested,” I add quickly, feeling heat flood my cheeks that has nothing to do with the cool night air. “God, I’m not. That came out wrong. I just meant… you have such a perfect setup here. Ranch, brotherhood, stability. Seems like the kind of place you’d want to put down roots. Maybe find someone to share it with. If you were into that. Which you’re not. According to Belle. Who could be wrong. Is she wrong?”
Stop talking, Sophia. Stop talking right now.
He’s quiet long enough that I wonder if I’ve stepped on some invisible land mine, triggered some cowboy code violation about asking personal questions under starlight.
“Walker wants to settle down. Eventually. Cash isstill having fun dating and stuff. But when the right person comes along, they’ll both know it.” He pauses, jaw working like he’s chewing on words that taste bitter. “Deep down, they both believe in that kind of thing. Forever. Mates. Family.”
“But not you?”
He turns to look at me fully, and even in the moonlight, the intensity of his gaze has me catching my breath. There’s something raw there, quickly shuttered but not fast enough. Pain, maybe a badly healed break.
“We don’t need an Omega here.” The words come out flat, decisive, like a judge passing a sentence. “Well, at least I don’t.”
The words land like ice water on overheated skin, dousing the warm feeling that had been building with each constellation, each shared moment of quiet understanding. Of course. I’m the interloper, the complication in their perfect bachelor paradise. The temporary inconvenience who’ll be gone in three months.
“That makes two of us.” I force my chin up, summoning every ounce of city-girl brass to cover the unexpected sting of rejection. Pride is the only thing keeping me steady when my body wants to sway toward him like he’s gravity and I’m a poorly anchored satellite. “I don’t want any Alphas. I’m not here for that. Three months to satisfy the will, then I’m gone, back to civilization where the only predators wear suitsand the stars hide behind smog. You don’t have to worry about me getting ideas.”
Something flashes across his face. Regret? Relief? Pain? It’s gone too quickly to identify.
The kitten chooses that moment to squirm with sudden determination, slipping from my grip like it’s made of liquid rather than fur and tiny bones. Probably bored with all the human drama and wanting to get back to important kitten business.
It lands softly in the grass, immediately crouching for a spring toward the shadows where things with appetites lurk.
Ridge moves surprisingly fast. He scoops the kitten up before it can take two steps, large hands impossibly tender around the tiny body. The kitten, probably shocked by the sudden altitude change, goes limp like a little orange noodle.
“Here,” he says, stepping closer to hand it back.
Our fingers brush in the transfer, and the contact sparks through me like touching a live wire. Every nerve ending lights up, sending urgent messages to parts of my body that really need to calm down. This close, I can see details, the darkness and distance hidden, the faint lines around his eyes that speak of squinting into too many suns, the way his pupils dilate as he breathes in, nostrils flaring slightly like he’s scenting me.
He doesn’t retreat.
I can’t move, can’t think beyond the warmthradiating from his body, the way his scent smothers me, and I’m left breathless. We’re suspended in moonlight and possibility, the space between us charged with everything we’re not saying, everything we’re not supposed to feel.
His free hand lifts, moving with dreamlike slowness. A strand of my hair has escaped, hanging across my cheek like it has any business being anywhere but firmly behind my ear. He reaches for it, and I stop breathing entirely, every cell in my body focused on the approach of his fingers.
He tucks the strand behind my ear with incredible gentleness, fingertips barely grazing skin. The touch is lighter than butterfly wings, softer than whispers, but it burns through me like wildfire. The point of contact leaves a trail of heat that spreads outward until I’m burning from the inside out.
The world narrows to this moment—his fingers lingering near my ear, the kitten purring between us like a tiny furry chaperone, the sound of synchronized breathing in the vast Montana night. Time stretches like taffy, seconds becoming hours becoming lifetimes.
My thighs clench involuntarily, heat pooling low and insistent in places that have no business responding to an almost touch. Every Omega instinct I’ve spent years learning to control roars to life, desiring things I can’t name, shouldn’t want, definitely can’t have with a man who just made his disinterest crystalclear.
His hand drops, but he’s still too close, close enough that I notice his pulse jumping in his throat, quick and hard as if he’s been running. His gaze lowers to my mouth, holds there with a purpose that makes my lips part without my permission, like they’re offering an invitation I didn’t authorize.
“You should go back,” he says, but his voice has gone rough, dropped an octave to a sound that vibrates through my bones like bass through speakers.
“Should I?” The question comes out breathier than intended, like I’ve been running too. Which I haven’t. Unless you count running from good sense.
“Yes.” The word is gravel and smoke and warning, but he still doesn’t move, doesn’t step back, doesn’t do any of the sensible things that would break this spell.
“Why?” I’m playing with fire now and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop.
“Because if you don’t…” He doesn’t finish, but the promise and threat in those unfinished words melt my knees, making me want to know exactly what happens if I don’t.
“Ridge—”
“Go.” This time it’s almost a growl, Alpha command bleeding through this voice. Not quite an order but close enough that my Omega instincts whimper. “I’ll watch. Make sure you get there safely.”
