Page 172 of Knotting the Cowboys

I smile, genuine warmth cutting through my vigilance for a moment. "She's started on purees. Loves sweet potato, tolerates carrots, acts like green beans are poison."

"Sounds about right." Pearl's eyes crinkle with the kind of knowing that comes from raising three kids of her own. "My youngest lived on nothing but sweet potato for six months straight."

Cole appears at my elbow with a cup of coffee from the stand three stalls down, the steam curling between us like a secret. His presence settles something in me, that solid warmth that says I'm not alone, not anymore. River and Mavi flank us casually, but I recognize the formation—they're creating a perimeter without making it obvious, their protective instincts humming just beneath the surface of this peaceful morning.

That's when I see him.

Blake emerges from between the craft booths like a nightmare wearing expensive clothes, three Iron Ridge pack members trailing behind him in a V formation that screams intimidation. My body reacts before my mind catches up—muscles tensing, breath catching, that old familiar cocktail of fear and fury flooding my system. The squash in my hands creaks under my suddenly white-knuckled grip.

"Well, well." Blake's voice carries across the market with calculated volume, ensuring an audience. "If it isn't my wayward wife, playing house with her collection of strays."

Cole moves before I can blink, stepping smoothly in front of me like a wall of protective fury. But he doesn't touch Blake, doesn't give him the excuse for violence he's clearly seeking. Behind me, River's hand finds the small of my back, warm and steadying, anchoring me to the present instead of the past where Blake's voice wants to drag me.

"Harrison." Cole's voice could freeze hell. "You're violating the restraining order."

Blake's laugh is all performance, playing to the gathering crowd of market-goers who've stopped pretending to shop. "Temporary restraining order, Montgomery. And it's fifty-one feet, which I'm carefully maintaining." He pulls out his phone, makes a show of checking something. "GPS doesn't lie. Unlike some people."

"What do you want?" The words scrape past my throat before I can stop them, and I hate how small my voice sounds.

His smile sharpens, predator scenting weakness. "Just exercising my legal rights, sweetheart. See, my lawyer's filing for visitation rights to the ranch property. Marital asset, you understand. Can't have you making major decisions about our shared investment without my input."

"The ranch is mine." Each word costs me, but I force them out. "Inherited property. You have no claim."

"That's for the courts to decide." He takes a step closer, still maintaining that careful distance that keeps him technically legal while feeling like a violation. "Amazing how much money I invested in that place. Improvements, repairs, general upkeep. My lawyer has receipts."

River's hand presses harder against my back, and I realize I'm shaking. Not with fear—with rage. Because I know those receipts are fabricated, know Blake never spent a dime on the ranch except what he stole from my accounts.

"Quite the setup you've got here." Blake's gaze slides over my men like oil. "Playing omega to four alphas. Very modern. Very... opportunistic."

Austin shifts Luna higher on his chest, angling her away from Blake's line of sight. The movement is subtle but speaks volumes—even our baby isn't safe from this man's attention. Mavi's hand drifts toward his pocket, hovering over something I suspect is either a weapon or a recording device. Maybe both.

"Nothing to say?" Blake continues, voice dripping false concern. "I worry about you, Willa. Four alphas, one omega—that's a lot of pressure. A lot of competing demands. The courts might question whether you're making sound decisions about the property under such... influence."

"The only influence she was under was yours." Wendolyn's voice cuts through the tension as she emerges from her flower stall, arms crossed and chin raised. "And we all know how that turned out."

Pearl Chen-Morrison abandons her squash to flank my other side. "Got a problem with how we do things in Sweetwater Falls, Harrison? Because we protect our own here."

"Is that a threat?" Blake's eyes narrow, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty. He didn't expect community support. In Iron Ridge, omegas were isolated, left to fend for themselves.

"It's a promise." Buck Jennings appears like he materialized from the earth itself, all six feet four inches of former rodeo champion radiating menace. "You're not welcome here, boy. Best remember that."

Blake's packmates shift restlessly, clearly uncomfortable with the way the town is closing ranks. But Blake himself just smiles wider, snake-charming his way through the confrontation.

"How touching. The whole town playing protector." His gaze finds mine through the wall of bodies. "But towns don't decide custody battles. Courts do. And courts like evidence."

He pulls out a manila envelope, thick with documents. "Know what this is? Surveillance logs. Seems you've been making some interesting decisions, Willa. Leaving the baby with virtual strangers while you..." His pause is obscene with implication. "Pursue other interests. Judges frown on negligent parenting."

"You son of a—" Austin starts forward, but River catches his arm.

"He's baiting you," River murmurs, but his own control is wire-thin. I can smell the rage rolling off all four of my men, alpha pheromones thick enough to choke on.

Blake notices too, and his smile turns triumphant. "Please, by all means. Assault me in front of thirty witnesses. My lawyer would love that."

Maverick moves so fast I barely track it, intercepting Blake's hand as he reaches toward me with the envelope. Not touching, just... there. A barrier of barely controlled violence.

"Careful," Mavi says softly, and something in his tone makes Blake's packmates step back. "Accidents happen at markets. People trip. Coffee spills. Bones break."

"Are you threatening me, Cross?" But Blake's voice has lost some of its smugness.

---