Page 161 of Knotting the Cowboys

Not the rigid structure of Iron Ridge where every interaction was weighted with politics and power plays. Not the constant jockeying for position, the careful calculation of who served whom and in what order.

Not Blake's iron fist disguised as leadership, making everyone dance to his tune or face consequences.

This is partnership. Mutual support. Care given freely without expectation of payment or submission.

"You okay?" River asks quietly, and I realize I've stopped eating, fork suspended halfway to my mouth.

"Yeah," I manage around the lump in my throat. "Just... taking it all in."

His dark eyes soften with understanding. "First real Thanksgiving is always emotional."

But it's more than that.

It's the first time I've seen what I was missing all those years. The first time I've experienced pack dynamics based on love rather than control. The first time I've felt like a contributor rather than a servant, valued for more than my designation or what I could provide.

"Thank you," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking to River or all of them or the universe itself. "For this. For letting me do this."

"Thank you," Cole counters firmly, "for giving us something we didn't know we needed."

Luna chooses that moment to sneeze, sending mashed potatoes flying in an impressive radius.

The spell breaks as everyone scrambles for damage control, but the warmth remains, settling into my bones like a promise.

This is pack. This is family. Finally…this is home.

And I'll be damned if I let anyone take it away.

The migration from dining room to kitchen happens without anyone discussing it, like we're all responding to some inaudible signal that says 'time to clean up.'

River starts clearing plates while Austin wrestles Luna out of her high chair, both of them covered in enough food to constitute a second meal. Mavi's already at the sink, filling it with hot soapy water that sends steam curling toward the ceiling.

Cole brings in the turkey platter, what's left of the bird looking well-loved and picked over.

"You wash, I'll dry?" River suggests to Mavi, who nods and hands him a dish towel.

"I'll handle leftovers," Cole announces, already pulling storage containers from the cabinet. "This stuffing is not going to waste."

"Bath time for the princess," Austin declares, holding Luna at arm's length. She's managed to get gravy in her hair, a feat of physics I can't quite comprehend. "This requires professional intervention."

"Use the good shampoo," I call after him as he heads for the stairs. "The tear-free stuff that smells like lavender."

"On it," he calls back, Luna's happy shrieks echoing through the house.

I find myself at the second sink, the one usually reserved for vegetable washing, filling it with fresh hot water. My hands move automatically—rinse, wash, rinse again—muscle memory from years of being the one who cleaned up after pack meals. But this is different.

This is voluntary, shared, without the weight of expectation or the threat of punishment if something isn't done to specification.

"That was incredible," River says, accepting a clean plate from Mavi. "Seriously, Willa. I haven't had a meal like that since my grandmother was alive."

"You have a grandmother?" The question slips out before I can stop it. We've all been so focused on the present, on surviving each day and building something together, that the past rarely comes up.

"Had," River corrects gently. "She passed when I was fifteen. But she could cook like nobody's business. Used to say the way to hold a pack together was through their stomachs."

"Smart woman," Cole adds, carefully portioning turkey into containers. "Food is love in action."

The simple statement hits harder than it should.Food as love.Not as obligation or another checkbox on the endless list of omega duties, but as an expression of care.

My hands still in the soapy water as the thought settles.

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