Page 18 of Saddle and Scent
“Could be worse. Could be Ford’s family place. I heard they’ve got a poltergeist that steals pies off the windowsill.”
Beckett, trudging just behind, raises an eyebrow.
“That was you, Wes.”
Wes’s teeth flash, unrepentant.
“Still counts.”
Callum walks on my other side, eyes fixed dead ahead, posture ramrod straight.
If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was bored, but there’s a tension in the set of his jaw, a barely-contained energy that reads as a dare. His woodsmoke scent is especially sharp now, layered with the tang of cold air and his own version of stubborn.
I catch his glance, and for a moment, we lock stares.
There’s a history there—most of it unspoken, all of it tangled up in too many years and not enough closure.
“You really gonna stay out here alone?” he asks, voice so low it feels like a direct line to my nervous system.
“I don’t see a lot of alternatives,” I say, chin up.
He lets the silence stretch, then: “Could ask for help.”
The words land like a challenge.
I hate that he’s right.
I hate even more that the idea—of someone else sharing the load—makes my heart flip in my chest, just for a second.
Wes throws a companionable arm around my shoulders, dragging me into a jostling half-hug.
“She won’t ask, Cal. Never has, never will.”
I twist free, pie tin tucked like a shield between us.
“I’m fine.”
Beckett’s voice floats in, gentle.
“Nobody said you weren’t, Sweetpea.” I’m surprised with his sudden chosen nickname. “But if you need anything, anything at all, just holler. Pie’s a specialty, but I do a mean sourdough.”
I try to respond with a smile, but it comes out more like a wince.
My Omega scent—normally so contained it might as well be a wall—slips, broadcasting discomfort like a radio gone static.
I wonder if they notice…if they even care.
We reach the property line, and the three Alphas halt in unison, as if it’s a force field they’re not allowed to cross.
Wes tips an imaginary hat.
“Well, Junebug. It’s been a treat.”
Callum just nods, arms crossed, gaze heavy on me.
“Take care.”
Beckett gives a little wave, his goodbye so soft it echoes in my chest.
