Page 138 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Stop asking?
I don’t need to know about them. I don’t need to find more reasons to change my mind.
God, I’m such an idiot.
I really didn’t understand how I could be considering—for even a single, damn second—staying in Wyoming.
But this staring contest with Wade was doing things to me. The way his warm green eyes were now searching my face for something he needed to understand made my breath catch in my throat. When he lifted a hand, pushing his curling hair back to tuck behind both ears, I thought my heart might stop. My belly warmed. My pulse quickened. My Omega scent begin to perfume the air.
My grandparents sprouted into my mind unbidden.
Monogamous mates, which was going out of vogue these days.
They’d met by chance. Fallen in love in a flash. And then they’d had a wonderful live together. They’d had my mother. They’d lost my mother. Then they’d raised me. But any number of things could have changed their destiny. Grandpa could have skipped the charity run because of the business deal going wrong. He almost had, working the weekend instead of keeping his plans. And Grandmother was supposed to work the fundraising table, not the refreshments.
Everything had to work out in a certain, perfect way for them to find one another.
I’d come to Wyoming in a shit way, yet… how many things had worked together to forge my path here?
Why couldn’t this horrible, no-good beginning be our starting point?
I’d been through so much. Was it crazy to think finding five Alphas hell-bent on loving and protecting and marking me might be my reward for surviving?
“Could you say something?” My voice shook a little.
His jaw tightened. Was he angry? I wasn’t sure.
The sound of rain hitting the barn roof grew deafening suddenly, drumming above us like impatient fingers. Then, as quickly as it had intensified, it faded away. The world around us stilled. Our breathing became the only thing I could hear.
"Wade?" I tried again.
He took a step toward me, his wet shirt clinging to his chest in a way that made my mouth go dry. "My pain?" His voice was rough. "You really want to know?"
I nodded, unable to look away from his intense gaze.
"My pain is that I don't know how to do this," he said finally. "I don't know how to convince you to stay when everything in you is screaming to run. I’m not good with people, Nelly. I’m not good at love. You’re not a frightened pony I can soothe with a few tricks. You’ve been here for such a short time and I’m dying inside because I never want you to leave."
A horse nickered softly from one of the stalls, the sound oddly comforting in the charged atmosphere.
Now I was the one who couldn’t speak. I was the one who couldn’t give him a proper response.
Wade moved closer, so near that I could smell him beneath the scent of fallen rain and fresh hay. He was burning wood, graham crackers, clove. There was an undercurrent of something sweeter that made my Omega instincts purr.
“My life isn’t here,” I choked out, “I’m not brave enough to start over. Not again.”
"You are brave enough," His voice dropped lower. "You’re brave enough to stay and love us, Nelly.”
“I’m not,” I shook my head, tears threatening. “I worked so hard, Wade. I clawed and fought to become a principal ballerina. Losing that killed me. But I resurrected. I fought again. And I’m…” I paused, swallowing back the sob that wanted to escape, “I’m just so damn tired.”
His expression softened. "Why can’t you dance anymore?”
"I tore my ACL. Career-ending. My Alpha at the time—Geoff—he was the company's male principal dancer." I let out a bitter laugh. "We matched before the injury. After the injury, I wasn’t good enough."
Wade's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. “How could you ever be not good enough, Nelly? It’s not fucking possible.” His voice deepened with every word, into a growl that seemed to touch my body and tingle down into my toes, curling them.
His conviction touched something deep inside me, a place I'd thought died with my broken dreams and Geoff casting me aside. I stared at this man—this rugged, yet soft-hearted cowboy—and I knew I was entering a dangerous zone where I’d not just contemplate staying here, butI’dactuallystay. My lips parted, but no sound came out. The way he defended me, the way he made me feel valuable, helped wash away the many times over the past three years that I’d felt worthless.
"You don't know me," I finally whispered. "You don't know what I was, and what I could have been. If you did, you’d understand that what you’re seeing," I gestured up and down my body, indicating all of me, “is a pale imitation.”
