Page 123 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
On top of that, the new piece of information about Boone made me realize that any future escape attempts would need to account for his expertise. For all their expertise. There was no denying each of them knew this land better than I did. They knew how to fire guns. Track predators. I was a ballet dancer so far out of her depth she was probably going to drown.
"I'm only going to eat because I need my strength!" I called after Cooper as he stepped carefully over Boone.
The words were for me, not him. I wanted to lie to myself that I wasn’t surrendering or accepting the situation by eating his damn food. I started following, moving faster than he was so I could catch up and not lose my way. That made my feet ache fiercely, but I refused to slow my pace. As I also walked over Boone’s now outstretched legs—wincing at the extra pressure momentarily supporting my entire wait on one foot caused—I marveled at what a sound sleeper the man was. Even my shout hadn’t stirred him awake.
"Sure," Cooper’s voice trailed back to me from wherever he was now. "Makes sense."
His easy agreement, without argument or condescension, threw me off balance. I followed faster, taking the path he had while my mind tried to figure out what kind of tactic he was using. Not microaggressions and intimidation, just humor and capitulation. Caught in my thoughts, I slammed into the wall of his back.
“Ugh!” I grunted, stumbling backward. Cooper turned quickly, snagging my waist and steadying me. The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smirk. I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.” I sounded like a cornered animal, only ferocious out of fear.
“No problem. I’ll let you fall next time.” He winked, turning back around and walking away, not checking to see if I’d still follow. I did. I did because I was hungry, and now more embarrassed than ever.
As I trailed behind him by a few feet, we moved through the living room. I catalogued details I'd missed before. A row of boots by the front door. A bookshelf filled with volumes on animals, agriculture, and a contrasting collection of fiction. A hand-knit blanket thrown over the back of a worn leather couch. Hooks on one wall, some of them supporting cowboy hats.
Signs of life. Of real people with varied interests and habits. Not asshole Alphas who’d participated in human trafficking, but instead men who read about elves while sitting under heirloom blankets in front of a fire.
I hated that it made them more human. Hated that it complicated the simple narrative of villains and victim I needed to maintain. Hated that somewhere beneath my anger and fear, a tiny, treacherous part of me responded to the homey details with a pang of something that felt dangerously like longing. This felt like home. Like my grandparents mismatched furniture. Like Grandmother’s quilt. If I saw a damn sit around bird, I might break down.
No. This is not my home.I ruthlessly berated myself.They purchased me. Paid for me like cattle. Whatever humanity they possess doesn’t erase that fundamental violation. And I won’t forget it, no matter how good Cooper's cooking might smell.
When I followed Cooper through a doorway, the aroma of food intensified. I couldn’t see anything around his formidable Alpha body until he moved further into the room. This had to be the largest room in the small rambler. A roughhewn, scarred butcher block island anchored the kitchen. Above it, copper pots hung from an overhead wagon wheel style rack. Everything was older, almost antique, except for a professional grade looking range. Even an oil lamp sat in the middle of the dining table, like this was little home on the prairie instead of modern-day Wyoming.
Cooper moved to the fridge, which was also from a bygone era. It was shorter and rounded at the top. It looked heavy, formidable. He reached in and pulled out a pitcher of juice. I glanced over to the left, finding what I hoped wouldn’t be here—the other men, each seated around a table, each nursing a steaming mug of coffee.
I’d hoped Boone and Cooper were the only ones still in the house. It had been so quiet when I’d left the bedroom.Didn’t a ranch have a hell of a lot of daily chores to do? Shouldn’t they be out… I dunno, sweeping hay and tipping cattle? What time was it anyways?
Wyatt occupied the head of the table, his posture radiating that easy authority that seemed as natural to him as breathing. His piercing green eyes locked with mine the moment I looked at him, like he’d just been waiting for me to notice him. The mustache that helped distinguish him from his twin brother Wade twitched slightly as his lips formed what might have been the beginning of a smile, but it faded before it could fully form. Maybe because I was Queen Resting Bitch Face right then.
Wade sat to Wyatt's right, his identical features softened by an expression of gentle concern that made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Unlike his brother, he made no attempt to hide his reaction to my appearance—relief washed openly across his face, followed by a warmth that felt too intimate, too assuming. He had no right to look at me this way. I tried to think something nasty about him.
But, instead, I found myself appreciating things.
The mullet, which I shouldn’t find attractive.
The gap. The little eyebrow scar.
Levi occupied a third chair, his unusual eyes sharp and analytical behind black-framed glasses I hadn't noticed yesterday. He’d been writing in a ledger before my arrival, but his pen stilled the moment I appeared, his gaze moving over me with the careful assessment of someone cataloging data points. I wished I’d paid better attention to the Eros video. Levi was… the numbers guy?
I wondered if he quantified people the way he did finances.Her eyes are equidistance from her nose. Her lips have a satisfying double bell curve. Her body is pleasingly symmetrical.I glanced down at where he’d been writing, noting how he was shoving the pen tip roughly into the paper now. Ink was bleeding outward, ruining what he’d just neatly written. After a moment, Levi averted his gaze, eyes going down to begin writing again. He frowned at the black smudge across his carefully done accounting.
Wyatt and Wade’s eyes were still locked on me, their expressions shifting quickly, as if they weren’t sure what to settle on. The flashes of hope hurt the most. I could deal with unhappy frowns, predatory smiles, maybe irritation that I wasn’t what they’d expected from Eros—which was probably a docile, ready-to-please mate. Yet, when their gazes tightened momentarily, and their mouths stopped on the verge of smiles, I wavered.When I could tell that their own hearts were beating like mine, pulses racing, I had a flash of kinship. When their mouths opened, then closed, as if looking for the right words to say to soothe me, like I was a wild creature they were afraid of startling, I found myself wanting to reassure them that it would all be okay.And why the fuck would I do that?
My heart rate quickened, flight instinct prickling along my spine. I had to leave before they hooked me against my will. I had to leave before my Omega needs were too great to refuse.
They were all staring.
Even Cooper, who’d been prepping a plate of food.
I didn’t like being the center of attention. I didn’t like the way my body subconsciously tilted towards the table, desperate to be closer to them.Damn them to hell. Why did they smell so good.
The air was thick with their collective scent, each one distinct yet blending into a heady cloud that made me dizzy. My own body perfumed the air, and there was no way to stop it. I saw the twins flare nostrils, their Alphas catching wind of the way my anatomy was reacting. Wyatt’s hand dropped from his coffee mug, nails digging into the table as he controlled himself. Wade stood up unexpectedly, his chair screeching across the floor, looking like he’d race towards me and take whatever he wanted.
I straightened my spine, lifting my chin despite the preposterousness of trying to look dignified while wearing lobster-print bottoms and an oversized t-shirt. Let them look, but if they tried to touch me, I’d scratch their eyes out. I wanted them to see the defiance that hadn't dimmed despite last night's failure, despite the awkward intimacy of Wade cleaning my wounds, despite Levi’s stupid jacket, and Cooper’s food.
Deliberately, I allowed my expression to darken, my lips pressing into a thin line, my eyes narrowing. A nonverbal rejection of their hopeful looks, a reminder that I wasn't theirs,would never be theirs, no matter what paperwork Eros had provided.
A flash of hurt crossed Wade’s face before he masked it. He sat back down, hands curling around his chipped mug. Wyatt's reaction was more subtle—a tightening around his eyes, a slight straightening of his already impeccable posture. Levi was still staring down at his ledger, not writing, but deliberately avoiding looking in my direction. I watched as he brutally held the pen. When it snapped, ink splattering across the ledger, his hand, and the table, Cooper came to the rescue with a paper towel. He only succeeded in smearing the ink everywhere, he was so distracted, sending quick glances in my direction.
