Page 30 of Knotting the Cowboys

Perfectly rounded, firm in a way that speaks of regular exercise. Not just cardio either—there's muscle definition in her thighs, a hint of strength in her shoulders.She takes care of herself, maintains her body with purpose rather than vanity.

"The tomatoes are still producing," she says, wonder coloring her voice as she peers through the garden fence. "In October?"

"Austin rigged up cold frames," I manage, grateful for the distraction from my inappropriate cataloging of her assets. "Extended the season by a good six weeks."

She turns back to me, and I swear the full force of her attention hits with the freight-train subtlety of a bull moose in rut. The conversation around us blurs to static; my skin prickles,heat flooding my neck and radiating downward in a way that's embarrassingly primal, my cock swelling against the confine of my jeans. She isn't doing it on purpose—there’s a sort of startled innocence in the way her gaze lands on mine, as though she’s not used to being seen, much less admired, and she’s not sure yet whether to run or try to stare me down.

And holy hell, I want her.

Not just the body, though that's a miracle in denim and old tee shirts, curves begging for strong hands. I want her laugh—rare as it is, sharp and unguarded as a hawk’s call.I want to know what makes her scowl, what stories she’d tell after the lights go out and the world shrinks down to just two breathing bodies under a warm quilt.

My body registers all of this in less than a heartbeat, reacting like the last wolf on earth who’s just caught the scent of his mate.

She doesn’t flinch away, not even when she catches how ravenous my eyes must look.

Instead, she tilts her chin and meets me head-on, challenge and curiosity warring in her expression. The tiniest muscle flexes in her jaw.

It's supposed to be her homecoming, and if I’m not careful, I’ll turn it into something else—something that responds to instinct instead of etiquette.

I drag my thoughts back to safe ground, but my mouth goes dry as she keeps looking, and I realize she’s waiting for a response not just to her question, but to her existence. To the simple, devastating fact of her. She’s too close, the wind catching the whisper of vanilla and that strange, elusive spice that is nothing like any Omega I’ve known.

I’m rock hard now, legs rooted in place, and it takes everything in me not to step closer and bury my nose in the curve of her neck.

Those extraordinary eyes study my face like she's trying to memorize it, or maybe remember it from smoke-filled nightmares. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips—an unconscious gesture that sends heat straight to my groin.

Fuck. This is exactly what I can't do. She barely knows us. Knows me…tame it, Cole.

She's William's granddaughter, traumatized and vulnerable, processing the shock of learning we're the ones who saved her.

The last thing she needs is another Alpha viewing her as something to claim.But my instincts don't care about logic or propriety.Every breath brings her scent deeper into my lungs, and my body responds with single-minded purpose.

Mine. To protect, provide, and claim.

I force myself to step back, putting professional distance between us. But she follows, moving closer to point at the greenhouse, and her breast brushes my arm. The contact is brief, accidental, but electricity shoots through me like I've grabbed a live wire. Her breath catches—she felt it too—and for a moment we're frozen, caught in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"Cole?" River's voice breaks the spell, carefully neutral, but I hear the warning underneath.He knows. They all know.We've worked together long enough that they can read my body language like a book, and right now every line of me is screaming possession.

"We should check the barn," I say, voice rougher than intended. "New hay delivery came yesterday."

As we walk, I catch the others exchanging glances. Mavi's eyes narrow slightly, assessing threats like always, but this time I think he's evaluating me as the potential danger. Austin shifts Luna to his other hip, creating subtle distance between the baby and my barely leashed tension.

Only River maintains his usual calm, though his presence beside Willa feels more deliberate now—a buffer between her and my increasing loss of control.

She belongs here.

The certainty hits me as I watch her trail fingers along the fence posts, testing their sturdiness with unconscious expertise. This isn't just William's granddaughter visiting an inheritance—this is someone coming home. Every gesture, every delighted discovery, every moment of wonder at what we've built and maintained, tells me she's meant to be here.

With us. With me.

The thought should terrify me. We've built something good here, the four of us and Luna.

Complicated and unconventional, but it works.

Adding anyone new, especially an unmated Omega we're all connected to through trauma and obligation, could destroy the balance we've found.

But as Willa laughs at something Austin says, the sound bright despite her damaged throat, all I can think is how right she looks here.

How her presence fills spaces I didn't know were empty. How my hands itch to touch her, not just with desire but with the bone-deep need to ensure she's real, safe, ours.

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