Page 149 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
And a future in which… she didn’t.
34
WYATT
Four days later…
No response from Eros.
I spotted her just after ten, a flicker of copper hair catching the morning light as she moved along the fence line and watched the horses. Abandoning my journey to the truck, I moved instead to the metal garage where we kept the utility vehicles. I turned, leaning against its solidness to watch my Omega explore Sagebrush.
Glancing down at her feet, I spied the rolled socks peeking out from the top of the borrowed boots. I’d spent days trying to remember if Gran had bought those Ariats for me or for Wade. In the end, I’d decided to believe they were mine. Just like the socks were mine, given to her this morning. It meant a part of me was continuously touching her.
In the mudroom, I sorted through unfolded laundry, looking for the shirt I wanted, the one with the three buttons at the neck and the sleeves that fit just right, not cutting into my biceps but not hanging loose.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as my fingers curled around the olive-green top. I stood up, knowing it was Nelly. Her scent was already filling the room, mixing with mine and the powdery detergent and softener. The kind we got was supposedly perfume free, but our Alpha noses picked up the subtle notes of washing soda, Castile, and salt. I turned slowly, the world vibrating around me, and found her standing in the doorway. She watched me, cheeks pinking, eyes beginning to, inch-by-torturous-inch, travel down the length of my bare torso.
“Sorry,” I murmured, quickly yanking on the shirt.
“For what?” she countered, gaze locked on my face now. Fuckkk meee. She was still blushing, and it brought out her freckles and made her eyes grow brighter in contrast.
“Not sure,” I admitted, feeling strange. I was always sure of everything. Always had been.
She said nothing.
I shuffled my damn feet like an idiot.
"Wade said you might have some socks," she'd finally said, her voice carefully neutral. "For the boots. They fit pretty well when I had the bandages on but…” she let the rest of her explanation trail away.
I'd straightened, surprised she'd sought me out. "Are you allergic to wool?”
Damn, what if she was… did we have cotton?
“Not that I know of,” she shrugged. “I’ll take anything.”
Nelly asking for socks was such a small thing, but it felt monumental. It was the first time she'd directly requested something from me. The first time she'd acknowledged, however obliquely, that she felt like she had the ability to ask, the freedom, the invitation. I bent down, digging through the clean clothing again, frowning as I kept turning upmismatched pairs. Eventually, I won, rolling together a long navy-blue pair with white at the toes.
She'd took them, careful not to let our fingers brush. "Thanks."
I watched as she separated the socks I’d just married, leaned against the door frame, and pulled them onto her much smaller feet. They were comically long, but she rolled them over several times, creating a thick cuff at the top.
She left the bathroom, taking a piece of my heart with her.
Nelly tipped back her head and laughed. The sound traveled across the property to where I stood leaning. I was supposed to run into town and pick up a package at the post office, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the ranch. Irrationally, I worried that if I did, she’d been gone when I came back.
Ghost frolicked in the paddock, dancing for Nelly like the mare knew how badly her rider missed ballet.
We all knew it now.
How much she’d lost. The pain she’d endured.
The battle she’d won to stand on a stage again.
A stage which our actions, deliberate or not, had ripped away from her.
The words she’d spoken to the pack this morning burned through me, each syllable scarred into my soul. And I wasn’t the kind of guy that let emotional shit cause turmoil. I pushed it out with hard labor or a hard fuck. Yet, knowing Nelly had suffered caused me more pain than I knew possible.
Crazy how getting her to eat a second muffin felt like such a damn victory.
