Page 107 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
How much we all suffered.
“I know, bacon can’t solve this problem.” He assumed what I was thinking and countered it.
“No, probably not. But doesn’t hurt to try.”
“Never hurts to try,” he breathed out.
I nodded, taking a sip of the coffee. It was strong and pitch black, with just a hint of cinnamon. Perfect, as always, the same way he’d been making it for me since college. Though, back then, we’d had thrift store pot with a sizeable chip in the carafe. Cooper had pulled some dumbass moves and bought some bullshit things, but no one could deny he had a heart of gold. He was an open book, loving people fully.
"The others up yet?" I asked as we rounded into the living room.
"Wade's out doing a morning check on that heifer, said the baby was still breach yesterday. Wyatt's outside on the phone with the contractor about the main house, raising hell over some backordered fixtures. Boone's in the shower. Has been for a ridiculous amount of time." Cooper beelined for the stove, pushing a griddle back onto the gas burner and turning the heat back on. After a few moments, he poured batter onto the sizzling surface.
I settled at our worn-out round table while he flipped hot cakes and browned more bacon. The kitchen was Cooper's territory. Though, this morning I noted the subtle signs of his distraction. His hands occasionally stilled mid-task, his gaze drifted toward the window before his attention was called back by the smell of something burning, and he left the faucet going to rinse the pancake batter bowl for so long that I finally got up and shut it off for him.
“You okay, Coop?” I wrapped my arms around him from behind as he began mixing cinnamon and brown sugar into softened butter.
“Fine,” he said, trying to sound normal.
I tugged him into my body. “You’re definitely not fine.”
Her effect on him was obvious, as it was on all of us.
“Think she’s awake now?” He changed the subject.
“It’s what? Pushing seven?” I glanced over at the big clock.
“Maybe it’s too early…” his voice trailed off, his Alpha scent shifting with disappointment.
“Let’s take her a tray anyways,” I suggested. “We’ll knock, and if she doesn’t respond, no harm done.”
I watched as he assembled a tray with meticulous care, filling it with a stack of buttered pancakes, crisp bacon, and fluffy eggs. Lastly, he added fresh-squeezed orange juice and a bowl of washed berries. A peace offering disguised as breakfast. He looked at the food for a moment, gave a satisfied nod, then liftedthe tray and headed out of the kitchen, his steps deliberately measured. I followed at a distance, then stopped at the archway between the hall and our living room.
Outside her door, Cooper balanced the tray on one arm and knocked gently.
“Nelly, I made some food," he called softly.
No response came from within.
“I’ll set it on the floor.” Cooper carefully set the tray down, then backed away, joining me in the doorway. We waited in silence, neither of us willing to leave, both watching his bedroom door and hoping she’d put us out of our misery and take the food.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Twelve.
The food was going cold. I wondered if we should warm it.
But I couldn’t move. Likewise, Cooper was glued to the spot.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes, the door cracked open tentatively.
A heartbeat later, it opened enough for a pale hand to snake out, quickly grasp the edge of the tray, and pull it inside. The door closed immediately afterward, clicking into place.
Cooper and I let out a collective exhale, tension draining from our shoulders. It was a small victory, but significant. She'd accepted something from us—not trust, not forgiveness, but at least sustenance.
By the time we returned to the kitchen, the others had gathered. Boone, fresh from the shower, his long hair still damp. Wyatt, phone in hand, looking more tired than I'd seen him in months. And Wade, sport a few bits of hay stuck in his mullet and smelling faintly of barn.
