Page 166 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
A break from the ranch—we probably all needed that right now.
Every single one of us constantly wondered if Nelly would leave us and Sagebrush behind. Every single one of us kept waiting for the Eros email which would seal our fate. Now, I was the only one who knew that dreaded message had come.
I turned away from Levi, gazing at the ranch again.
Nelly had rooted herself everywhere you looked—in the stables, the paddocks, the fenced pastures, the old barn, and in our damn souls.
If she did leave, I wondered if we could love this place again.
Or if we’d hate it for being a bitter damn reminder of our loss.
One thing our Omega hadn’t really touched was the new house. Impulsively, I decided to visit it. No one was working today. It would be quiet. And, thankfully, everywhere I looked wouldn’t hold the vision of the woman who both existed here and didn’t. A Schrödinger’s Omega. We could keep her, if Eros never responded. We could keep her, if we ignored Eros’s response when it arrived. But Eros had sent their answer and then I’d read the damn thing. Now, for me and Levi, the ‘here, not here’ answer was clear.
I envied our other pack brothers. They didn’t know the truth yet.
For them, they could still hope Nelly would stay.
“Any idea when they’ll be back?” I asked, not looking at Levi.
“No idea. I’m going in the house, need to make sure I get this on the next order.”
I should have bid him farewell. Should have said, ‘Love you, Levi’ like I used to, before I started the Eros bullshit which had my pack emotionally zapped all the time. Should have. Would have. Didn’t.
When the front door whined open behind me, I assumed it was just Levi entering the house.
I was wrong.
"Morning," Nelly's voice still carried a hint of sleepiness.
“Morning,” Levi’s voice answered her.
In slow motion, I rotated to face her. Levi had disappeared into the house, she had taken his place as if by magic. Dammit, why did she have to come outside right now? I hadn’t had enough time to process the email. I wasn’t sure I could hide the bombshell secret I now carefully carried, hoping it wouldn’t explode.
Nelly’s eyes were alert as she stepped onto the porch, her long hair pulled into a messy bun which was failing, releasing coppery strands that stuck out at odd angles. She wore one of my oversized flannel shirts; it hung long enough to pass as a nightgown. Her feet were shoved into her boots, fluffy socks peeking over the top edges. Even like this—tired first thing in the morning, the sleep not yet driven from her eyes—she took my breath away. I must have stared too intensely, because Nelly began fidgeting with the shirt hem, trying to tug it down further to conceal more skin.
“I couldn’t find any clean pants or shorts,” she said, giving the shirt a final pull before giving up, realizing the material wasn’t going to magically lengthen.
I frowned, realizing that we could have bought her different clothes. She’d just been wearing things she borrowed, or the twins’ hand-me-downs for almost a week. Why had none of us thought to order women’s clothing? If I could get an espresso machine overnight, then we could have easily gotten her a wardrobe of her own.
“Something wrong?’ Nelly’s voice hesitant, suddenly unsure.
I shook my head quickly. “No, nothing. I was just thinking that we should order you some clothes.”
“I don’t need different clothes. I’ve managed.”
All I heard within her words was the fact she was leaving us someday.
She could manage with our shirts and pants and boots, because she didn’t plan to be here forever. A sharp pang hit my heart.
“Still, I’ll ask Levi to order some things.”
Nelly shrugged. “I mean, underwear would be great.”
Underwear. Our Omega had been here almost a week, and she didn’t even have panties. What kind of dickhead, thoughtless Alphas were we?
Nelly’s hands were wrapped around her coffee mug; she lifted it to her lips and took a slow draw on the black-as-night contents. I’d ordered the cup for her overnight. White, printed with pink ballet slippers. It was one of those two o’clock in the morning impulse purchases. When it came in, I was horrified at myself for getting her a reminder of the career she’d lost. Yet, Nelly had loved it. She kept using it, washing it, and then using it again. After a day or two of that, I’d decided to buy a backup for when the printed images faded away.
“I’m glad you like the mug.” The words spilled out of me.
