Page 55 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“Great,” I say. “Then I’ll come.”
And before Clay Jackson can start arguing with me again or listing all the reasons why this is a stupid idea, I run off to find my newly acquired winter-weather clothing. I’m back in a matter of minutes, half convinced they’ll have gone without me. But they haven’t. They’re waiting for me by the back door.
“You sure you want to do this, Hollie?” Clay says. “It’s horrible out there. It won’t be pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.”
I shrug. I don’t tell him that what else am I going to do – sit on my own watching TV like I’ve been doing for months? The only thing that will achieve is that sadness creeping in through the cracks and overwhelming me, especially on Christmas Eve.
I’m sick of that. I want to feel alive. I want adrenaline pumping through my veins. And, yes, if I’m totally honest, I want to spend time with the three of them – even if it is in a snowstorm.
“Come on then,” Clay says. “Let’s go.”
And he leads the way out to where the horses are sheltering under the overhang of the barn. Tucker motions for me to mount Storm, and I do. Then he’s following up after me, settling himself in the saddle right behind me, his arms coming to wrap around my waist and take a hold of the reins. The snow swirls angrily around us, slapping into our faces with a bitter coldness.
Tucker shakes the reins, clicks his tongue, and then we’re on our way.
Chapter Nineteen
Tucker
Hollie Bright is right. She’s not some teeny, tiny Omega princess. There’s substance to the girl – curves and flesh and muscle.
And, fuck, even through all the layers of clothes I’m wearing and she’s wearing, I can feel that substance as clear as day, because my body is pushed right up against hers, my arms wrapped around her waist as we ride on Storm through the dense snow.
It’s not her build that makes her tough though – she’s still an omega after all – teeny tiny compared to me and my baulking great pack mates. What makes Hollie tough is her big heart and her bravery – a bravery I’m not sure I recognized until today. She’s a tough little cookie. And yeah, she is little, no matter what she says – she’s still a whole foot shorter than I am. Luckily, Storm is the biggest and strongest horse that we have here at the ranch. The added weight, despite the brutal conditions, doesn’t seem to be bothering him.
It’s just as well she is tough because the storm kicks up again as we near the pasture with the cattle. The wind whips aroundour faces and the snow hits us like the sharpest of blades. The little Omega huddles in my arms, taking the full brunt of the elements. She doesn’t complain, though. Like she said, she’s tough.
Her words rattle around my brain. She’s not scared of us. She’s not scared of where things might lead between us – that’s what she meant, right? She doesn’t want us treating her like she might break any moment. The girl’s withstood a lot. And she is still standing. I guess, in comparison to what she has been through, what are three asshole alphas?
“Okay there, sweetheart?” I ask as we cross the first pasture and reach the shelter of the trees. The weather’s been unpredictable for the last few weeks, and we made the decision to move the cattle closer to home – easier to keep an eye on – and I’m thankful for that decision now. It means the ride is shorter.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Although fuck, it’s cold.” She shudders in front of me, and I hug her more tightly.
“We’re nearly there,” I say. “Next field. That’s where the cattle are.”
We pass under the trees, the horses huffing with the exertion, clouds of cold air hanging around their faces and ours, and then we emerge into the next pasture. It’s thick with snow, and it blows across like a curtain.
“They’re in this field,” I tell her. But the snow is so dense now it’s impossible to see farther than a few feet in front of our noses, and so we can’t spot them straight away.
“Should we spread out and look for them?” Nash asks.
“No,” Clay calls back over the sound of the howling wind. “Better stick together.”
I nod my agreement, and we take a right, deciding to circle the field in an anti-clockwise direction. Hopefully, we’ll find the cattle soon.
We hear them before we see them – a low, bellowing rumble, barely audible above the fierce storm.
“Do you hear that?” Hollie says, twisting in my arms and looking at my face.
“I think they’re in that direction,” I call to the others, and we push on with the horses.
We find the cattle huddled together under the loafing shed, their backs to the wind.
“Are they okay?” Hollie asks.
“I doubt they’re having the best Christmas Eve of their lives,” I tell her, “but these girls, they’re hardy.”
I jump down from my horse and offer her a hand. She gives me a look and slides off easily herself, landing in the snow with a bounce. We stroll toward the herd. The old girls are usually a dark brown in color, but today their fur is matted with crusted snow, as if someone has iced them like cakes.
