Page 59 of Saddle and Scent
"How?" I ask, and I hate how lost I sound. "How do we do that when she pushes us away at every turn? When she looks at us like we're the enemy?"
"Take it slow," he says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Invite her on dates. Do stuff she wants to do. Help her around the sanctuary, even if she's stubborn about it."
He leans forward, fixing me with that intense stare that means he's about to say something important.
"Do you think she wants to fix that place all by her lonesome? No. Doesn't matter if she's stubborn—an Omega, a woman, shouldn't be doing such hard labor. That's not what they were born to do, and even if they're capable, it doesn't make it right. That's why you're here, Beckett. That's why all of you are here."
The protective instinct flares in my chest, hot and immediate.
The thought of Juniper struggling with broken fences and structural repairs, trying to manage everything on her own because she's too proud or too hurt to ask for help... it makes my hands clench into fists.
"But I'm better with my hands in the bakery than I am with labor," I protest, gesturing around the flour-covered kitchen. "This is what I know. Mixing, measuring, creating things that make people happy. I'm not Callum with his engine expertise or Wes with his veterinary skills. I make pastries."
Dad laughs, rich and warm, the sound filling the kitchen.
"Your mother told me the same thing when we first got together. Said she was better with books than with ranch work, better in the classroom than in the barn." His expression turns fond, nostalgic. "That's why we've been married for twenty-five years, son. Because the best partnerships aren't about being identical—they're about complementing each other. Your gentleness, your patience, your ability to create comfort and beauty... that's exactly what she needs."
"Ew, Dad," I groan, making a face. "I don't need to hear about your marital wisdom right now."
He laughs again, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
"Speaking of which, Wes should be back from his delivery run any time now, and I got Callum to pick up some fixing supplies from the hardware store." He stands, brushing flour off his shirt with casual movements. "Time to go fix your girl's sanctuary and her heart."
My girl.
The possessive hits me square in the chest, and for a moment, I can barely breathe around the want.
The idea of Juniper as ours—not in the controlling, dominating way that some Alphas claim Omegas, but in the cherishing, protecting, worshipping way that feels right down to my bones.
"Dad—"
"No arguing," he says firmly, but there's warmth in his voice. "Clean up this kitchen, put on some work clothes, and go be the man I raised you to be. That girl needs you, whether she wants to admit it or not."
He heads for the back door, then pauses, looking back at me with something like pride in his expression.
"And Beckett? For what it's worth, I think you three are exactly the people she needs. You just have to give her time to remember why she fell for you in the first place."
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the scent of sugar and possibility.
I look around the kitchen—at the successful pies cooling on their racks, at the disaster of a wedding cake that somehow looks more fixable than it did an hour ago, at the evidence of my emotional breakdown scattered across every surface.
Dad's right.
I can't bake my way out of this mess. Can't create enough comfort food to fill the Juniper-shaped hole in my life. I certainly can't hide behind flour and butter and the safe, predictable world of recipes that always turn out right if you follow the instructions.
Real life doesn't come with instructions.
Real love doesn't follow recipes.
But if I'm brave enough to try, I can help build something new.
Something better than what we had before, stronger because it's been tested by time and distance and the kind of heartbreak that either destroys you or teaches you what really matters.
I start cleaning up the kitchen, movements efficient and purposeful.
The wedding cake can wait—the Hendersons won't pick it up until Thursday, and I'll have time to fix the structural issues when I'm not operating on emotion and insufficient sleep.
Right now, I have more important things to do.
