Page 28 of Saddle and Scent
“I’ll make a note of that. Armed and delicious.”
I shrug, aware of how the sunlight catches my hair, how my scent can’t help but rise a little, practically purring with caffeine and sugar.
“It’s a compliment. Some people go their whole lives and never taste anything worth remembering.”
He nods, and for a moment, the energy between us changes. It’s not sexual—not exactly—but it’s charged, electrical, the way dry air gets before a storm. We both know it.
He shifts, turns fully toward me, and leans on the railing so our faces are almost level.
“Town’s weird about new people…or at least those they have no clue are returning,” he says, as if reading my mind. “They’re still talking about the time a Beta from Ridgeview tried to open a smoothie bar. Lasted two weeks. Everyone thought it was a front for a cult.”
“Isn’t everything here a front for a cult?” I ask.
He grins, teeth white against his beard.
“Only on Sundays.”
He glances again at my hands, then back up.
“You did good, standing up to Ray. He’s an ass, but not a bad guy. Just…needs boundaries.”
I snort.
"Don’t we all."
For a while, we just sit in silence.
I drink my coffee, watching the cat flex in the sunlight.
Beckett picks at a splinter in the wood, then glances at me.
"If you ever want real help with the Sanctuary, let me know," he says. "I grew up on a ranch. Miss it, sometimes. And you already know I bake pies." He gives me a saucy wink with that one.
I want to say something clever, but I’m tired and full and not used to kindness.
So I just nod.
"Pies are good." I can’t help but quietly add, “Especially yours.”
He pushes away from the railing, then pauses.
"Take care of yourself, Juniper."
"You too," I say, but he’s already back inside.
Note to self. Work on my social skills.
Mentally sighing, I finish the roll, crumple the napkin, and sit for a long time with the sun on my face. The bakery’s noise fades, replaced by the hum of bees in the planter and the slow tick of the clock in my head.
For a moment, I let myself pretend this could work. That I could fit here, in this patchwork town, surrounded by people who watch and judge but also, maybe, care in their own weird ways.
Then I remember Pickles, waiting back at the ranch, and the list of things to fix.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, stand up, and head for the truck.
Let’s tackle this new life.
5
