Page 58 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Cole?" Her voice breaks through the haze of want, uncertain but not afraid. Never afraid, not my fierce little Omega who faced down half the town's prejudices without flinching.

I force my eyes to hers, knowing she can see everything—the hunger, the barely leashed control, the Alpha need to claim and possess and protect. Her pupils dilate in response, black swallowing gold, and her lips part on a shaky exhale that might as well be permission for all the control it leaves me with.

She sees me.

Not the careful rancher, not the controlled foreman who keeps everyone safe and fed and functioning. She sees the man underneath who wants her with an intensity that should terrify us both.

And instead of running, instead of using that sharp tongue to put me in my place, she holds my gaze with a courage that makes me want to howl at the moon.

This is what I realized in town, watching her move through spaces like she's always belonged there.

She's nothing like the flashy Omegas who used to throw themselves at us during our firefighting days—all obvious assets and calculated submission, performing their designation like it's a role to be played. Willa's different. Humble without being weak, strong without needing to prove it.

She adapts without losing herself, finding her place in our world through determination rather than manipulation.

The way she handled Luna last night, calling Austin for help without shame.

The way she stood up for Wendolyn at the hardware store, protective instincts flaring over a woman she'd just met. The way she's slowly learning the ranch's rhythms, asking questions and absorbing information like she's planning to stay.

Like she's planning to make this home.

Preparing to stay with us…permanently.

To be OUR Omega…one that fits right in.

That fits just right as the final piece in our oddly mixed puzzle.

I want that.

Want her to stay, to let us show her what pack is supposed to be.

Want to wake up to her scent in the house, to teach her how to ride River's horses, to watch her confidence grow until that fierce dominant Omega I glimpsed in town becomes her default setting. Want it all with a desperation that should embarrass me but doesn't.

Our eyes stay locked, the air between us charged with possibility and promise and all the things we're not saying.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slams—probably Mavi finishing his rounds. Reality intrudes, reminding me that we're sitting in view of anyone who cares to look, that dinner's waiting, that I'm supposed to be the responsible one.

But for one more moment, I let myself look at her.

Let myself imagine a future where this tension finds its resolution, where the careful distance I maintain crumbles entirely. Where I get to find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells, if her skin marks as easily as I imagine, if she makesthose little whimpering sounds when she comes that have haunted my dreams since the day we pulled her from the fire.

Soon.

The word is a promise to myself, to her, to the inevitability building between us.

Soon, but not tonight.

Tonight we'll have dinner with our family, and I'll pretend my control isn't hanging by a thread. Tomorrow we'll work the ranch, and I'll teach her about the horses without backing her against a stall door.

But soon—very soon—I'm going to stop pretending this is just obligation or proximity or shared trauma. I’m going to boldly act and give up on denying myself what I whole heartily need.

I'm going to kiss her like I've been dying to since the moment she stood in our kitchen, defiant and damaged and absolutely perfect.

And God help us both, but I don't think she'll stop me.

"We should go in." Willa's voice cracks slightly on the words, breaking the spell that holds us frozen. "They're waiting for us."

The words are logical, responsible, everything we should be thinking.

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