Page 89 of Saddle and Scent
I don't even remember when I'd fallen asleep. The last clear memory I have is sitting on that log with Beckett, watching the stars in comfortable silence, time moving both impossibly fast and languorously slow. I remember the weight of my eyelids growing heavier and heavier, the way my head had settled morecompletely against his shoulder as exhaustion finally won the battle I'd been fighting all day.
And then... nothing.
Just this perfect, dreamless sleep in what might be the most comfortable bed in the history of beds.
The thought triggers something in my chest, a flutter of recognition mixed with disbelief. I wonder if this is what it's like to have a proper nest—not the disaster attempts I've experienced before, but a real nest created by people who actually understand what an Omega needs.
God, the memory of my last "nesting" experience makes me shiver.
Those well-meaning but clueless Alphas in Portland who thought they could help me through a heat flare by building me what could generously be called a tent outside. Like a dog house. Like I was some kind of animal they needed to contain rather than a person they wanted to comfort.
They'd been so proud of themselves too, standing there grinning while I stared at the camping equipment they'd assembled in their backyard.
"It's rustic," one of them had said.
"Natural," another had added.
"Omega-friendly," the third had concluded, apparently missing the expression of horror on my face.
I'd lasted exactly fifteen minutes before making my excuses and never speaking to any of them again.
The contrast between that disaster and whatever situation I'm currently in couldn't be more stark. This feels intentional, carefully constructed, designed by people who actually paid attention to what brings comfort rather than what they think should bring comfort.
I should get up and figure out what's going on.
I should assess my situation and demand explanations and probably panic about the fact that I fell asleep outside and woke up somewhere else entirely.
But honestly? I'm too comfortable to care.
This is the first time in years—maybe decades—that I've woken up feeling genuinely rested.
Still, curiosity eventually wins out over comfort. I open my eyes, blinking against sunlight that seems much brighter than it should be if this were early morning. What I see makes me freeze in confusion.
This isn't my room.
This isn't even close to my room.
The space I'm in has been completely transformed. Where yesterday there had been boxes stacked to the ceiling and furniture covered in dust sheets, now there's a clean, organized bedroom that looks like it belongs in a home decorating magazine. Everything is coordinated—soft blues and creams with touches of sage green, textures that invite touching, lighting that feels warm and welcoming.
The furniture isn't just clean; it's completely different.
A beautiful wooden dresser with brass hardware sits where cardboard boxes used to be stacked.
A comfortable reading chair occupies the corner where old farm equipment had been abandoned.
Even the windows have new curtains—soft, flowing fabric that filters the sunlight into something gentle and golden.
For a moment, I genuinely wonder if I've somehow teleported to some alternate dimension where everything is perfect and nothing hurts. The transformation is so complete, so professional, that it seems impossible it could have happened overnight.
But I remember this isn't a fairytale.
Magic doesn't exist, and miraculous room makeovers don't happen without explanation.
I pinch my arm, hard enough to make myself flinch, just to confirm that I'm actually awake and not trapped in some elaborate dream. The sharp pain is real enough, and when I look around again, everything is still impossibly perfect.
The scents are familiar—the underlying mustiness of the old house mixed with the clean smell of new fabric and, underneath it all, the comforting presence of Callum, Wes, and Beckett. But I still can't figure out which room this actually is. It doesn't match the layout of any space I remember exploring when I first arrived.
Time to investigate.
