Page 153 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Not weird at all. She has that effect on people. Drew us all in, one by one, until we couldn't imagine life without her." His voice softens. "Kind of like someone else I know."

My throat closes up at the implication, at the easy way he includes me in their circle.

I want to say something, to acknowledge the gift of it, but another yawn steals my words. My eyelids feel weighted with lead, and I'm grateful for Mavi's steady presence guiding me through the darkness.

The hallway stretches before us, longer than I remember, or maybe that's just my exhaustion distorting distance.

Our joined hands swing slightly between us, and I'm struck by how natural this feels. Not the careful distance I maintained with Blake, always aware of boundaries and expectations. Just two people holding hands in the dark, one leading and one trusting enough to follow.

"Almost there," Mavi promises, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Think you can make it, or do I need to carry you again?"

"Don't you dare," I threaten without heat. "I've been carried enough for one day. My dignity can't take anymore."

"Your dignity seemed fine an hour ago when you were?—"

"Finishing that sentence will result in violence," I interrupt, though we both know I'm too tired to follow through on any threats. "Slow, calculated violence when I'm capable of movement again."

His chuckle vibrates through our joined hands, and I find myself smiling despite my exhaustion. This is what I missed all those years with Iron Ridge—this easy affection, the teasing that comes from fondness rather than cruelty, the simple pleasure of being guided through the dark by someone who actually cares if I stumble.

My bedroom door looms before us, and I prepare myself for the simple pleasure of falling face-first into my bed.

Just a few more steps, then blessed unconsciousness where I don't have to think about everything that's changed, everything I want, everything that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

Mavi's hand on the doorknob pauses, and he turns to look at me in the darkness. I can barely make out his features, but I feel the weight of his gaze, the consideration in it.

"What?" I ask, swaying slightly on my feet.

"Nothing," he says after a moment, but his thumb makes another pass over my knuckles before he turns the handle. "Just... welcome home, Willa."

The words sink into my bones, settling next to all the other impossible things I'm beginning to believe might be true. Home. The concept feels foreign and perfect on my tongue, even if I don't say it out loud.

One day, when I'm brave enough to claim it.

The door swings open, and I have to blink several times because what I'm seeing doesn't compute with the simple bedroom I left this morning.

Soft fairy lights crisscross the ceiling like captured stars, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that makes the space feel like something out of a dream. My exhaustion evaporates in the face of pure shock, my mouth falling open as I try to process the transformation.

The room glows with warmth that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with care.

Where my simple bed used to be, there's now a massive cushioned area that takes up half the floor space, piled high with pillows and blankets in soft creams and pale blues.

Fresh flowers—wildflowers from the meadow behind the barn—fill mason jars on every surface, their sweet scent mixing with something else, something that makes my omega instincts purr with contentment. Plush toys peek out from between pillows, and is that—yes, that's definitely a stuffed bear wearing a tiny cowboy hat.

A baby's squeal cuts through my stupor, high and delighted, and my eyes fly to the source.

Austin stands near the window, Luna bouncing in his arms with her chubby hands reaching toward me like I'm her favorite toy come to life. She's in a onesie covered in little moons and stars, her mismatched eyes bright with excitement despite the late hour.

The sight of her, safe and happy and reaching for me, makes something crack open in my chest.

"There she is," Austin says, his smile soft and knowing as Luna continues her happy babbling. "Someone refused to sleep until you got home. I think you've been officially claimed, Willa."

My gaze sweeps the room, taking in details my overwhelmed brain initially missed.

River sits cross-legged on the floor near the cushioned area, his old acoustic guitar resting across his lap. His fingers are still poised over the strings like he was mid-song when we walked in. He offers me one of those gentle smiles that makes me feel seen in ways that should be uncomfortable but aren't.

"Hey, sunshine," he says, voice warm as honey. "Was just practicing that lullaby Luna likes. The one about the horses."

Movement in the corner catches my eye, and I have to bite back a laugh.

---