Page 123 of Saddle and Scent
The silence stretches for several heartbeats before Wes clears his throat.
"Right," he says, his voice slightly rougher than before. "Swimming. Later. After we get some actual work done."
Callum hasn't said anything at all, but I can feel his gaze tracking over my exposed skin like a physical touch. His jaw isclenched tight enough to crack teeth, and there's a flush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with the morning heat.
Beckett just shakes his head with fond exasperation. "You're going to be the death of all of us, you know that?"
I flash him my most innocent smile. "I have no idea what you mean. I'm just dressed appropriately for the weather."
"Uh-huh," he says, clearly not buying my act for a second. "And I suppose the fact that you're planning to spend the day half-naked around three Alphas who are already struggling to keep their hands to themselves is just a coincidence?"
Heat floods my cheeks at his blunt assessment, but I lift my chin with stubborn defiance. "Maybe I'm just hoping you'll work faster if you're properly motivated."
"Jesus Christ," Callum mutters, running a hand through his hair. "You're going to be the end of me, Bell."
The rough affection in his voice makes my stomach flutter with something that has nothing to do with nervousness. There's hunger there, yes, but also something deeper. Something that speaks to the kind of possessive tenderness that makes my Omega instincts purr with satisfaction.
"If you're gonna work, you're gonna need gear," Wes announces, apparently deciding that the safest course of action is to focus on practical matters. "Can't have you handling power tools without proper protection."
He disappears into the truck and emerges with an armload of safety equipment that looks heavy and uncomfortable and completely at odds with my plans for staying cool in the summer heat.
"Really?" I groan, eyeing the thick work gloves, safety glasses, and what appears to be a hard hat with genuine dismay. "It's like ninety degrees already. I'll melt in all that stuff."
"Better melted than missing fingers," Wes says firmly, holding out the gear with the kind of implacable determinationthat suggests argument is futile. "I have to protect my Omega, right?"
My Omega.
The casual possessiveness in those two words hits me like a physical blow, sending heat spiraling through my entire body. My face goes nuclear, and I know I'm blushing hard enough to be visible from space.
"I—you—that's not—" I stammer, apparently incapable of forming complete sentences.
Beckett's low chuckle rumbles through the air like distant thunder. "If anyone can convince her to do something she doesn't want to do, it's Wes. Man could charm a snake out of its skin."
Wes grins and waggles his eyebrows at me.
"Come on, Junebug. Don't make me get creative about enforcement."
The threat in his voice is mostly playful, but there's an underlying edge that makes my knees go weak. Because I know exactly how creative Wes can get when he sets his mind to it, and my body is already responding to the promise in his tone with embarrassing enthusiasm.
"Fine," I huff, snatching the safety gear from his hands. "But if I pass out from heat stroke, I'm blaming all of you."
"Noted," Callum says dryly. "Though I'm pretty sure your chances of heat stroke are lower than your chances of serious injury if you try to use a circular saw while wearing a bikini."
I pull on the work gloves with exaggerated martyrdom, then settle the hard hat on my head with the kind of resigned dignity usually reserved for facing execution. The safety glasses complete the look, transforming me from beach-ready to construction worker in the span of thirty seconds.
"There," I announce, spreading my arms to display my ensemble. "Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," Wes says, but his eyes are dancing with amusement and something hotter. "You look like the world's sexiest safety inspector."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I inform him, though I can't quite suppress my smile.
The work itself is more engaging than I expected. There's something satisfying about the systematic process of demolition and reconstruction, the way broken things can be transformed into something functional and beautiful with enough patience and skill.
Callum takes charge with the quiet authority that comes naturally to him, directing the placement of new support beams and explaining the engineering principles that will keep the whole structure standing. His hands are steady and sure as he demonstrates proper technique, and I find myself mesmerized by the casual competence with which he handles tools that look like they could cause serious damage in the wrong hands.
Wes focuses on the electrical work, running new lines for outlets and lighting with the kind of methodical precision that speaks to formal training. He hums while he works, occasionally breaking into actual song when a particular lyric strikes his fancy, completely unconscious of the way his voice transforms mundane labor into something almost musical.
Beckett handles the detail work, measuring and cutting and fitting pieces together with the same attention to quality that he brings to his baking. Every joint is perfectly aligned, every angle precisely calculated, and watching him work is like observing a master craftsman in his element.
