Page 75 of Knotting the Cowboys

This is it. The moment where I could lie, could protect her dignity and my secret. Could pretend I'm just the paranoid security expert who happened to be doing rounds. But where's the fun in that?

"Long enough," I say, grinning wide enough to show teeth.

The words land like a bomb. I watch her process them, see the exact moment she realizes what I mean. Her mouth opens and closes like she's forgotten how words work, and the expression of pure mortification mixed with something that might be arousal is going to fuel my fantasies for weeks.

"I was just—" she begins, then seems to realize there's no good way to finish that sentence. Just what, indeed? Just fingering yourself to thoughts of me and my pack brothers? Just discovering what that body can do when you stop fighting it?

"Follow the leader," I interrupt, saving her from further embarrassment.For now.I turn and start down the hallway, sliding my hands into my pockets with deliberate casualness. "Security drills wait for no one, not even bosses who sleep in."

Behind me, I hear her groan—a sound of pure embarrassment that makes my cock twitch with renewed interest.

"This is going to be a long, embarrassing day," she mutters.

I let my shoulders shake with silent laughter as I lead her toward the stairs.

She has no idea how right she is.

But more importantly, she's following.

Despite the embarrassment, despite knowing I heard her, she's choosing to face this head-on.

Fierce little Omega indeed.

This is going to be more interesting than any security drill I've ever run.

The Rodeo Around Cactus Rose Ranch

~WILLA~

The protein smoothie Mavi made tastes like redemption and humiliation blended with too much banana.

I drain the last of it, the cold glass sweating against my palm as I lean against the kitchen counter, trying to process the last hour. Security drills, he'd called them. More like a masterclass in mortification wrapped in education.

He'd shown me every camera angle, every sensor, every weak point in the ranch's defenses—all while wearing that knowing smirk that said he remembered exactly what sounds I'd made this morning.

"River's in the stables," Mavi says now, washing my empty glass with practiced efficiency. "Morning routine with the horses. You should go watch." His green eyes hold mine for a beat too long. "Unless you need more time to... recover."

Heat floods my face again, but I push off the counter with as much dignity as I can muster. "I'm fine."

"Never said you weren't." He dries his hands on a dish towel, movements precise and controlled. "Just saying, River's got a gentler teaching style than mine. Might be easier on your nerves."

My nerves are shot to hell, but not for the reasons he's implying. Or maybe exactly for those reasons. The October morning had been crisp during our rounds, but I'd barely noticed the cold with Mavi's constant presence at my shoulder, his occasional touches to correct my stance or guide my attention. Professional touches. Mostly.

The walk to the stables gives me space to breathe. My boots crunch over gravel, and I focus on the physical—the slight burn in my lungs from the morning air, the way my muscles protest after crawling through tight spaces to check sensor placements. Anything to avoid thinking about how Mavi's scent clung to me during those close-quarters demonstrations, or how his rare praise made something warm unfurl in my chest.

The stable doors stand open, releasing the mingled scents of hay, horses, and something earthier—River's presence announcing itself before I even see him. I pause at the threshold, letting my eyes adjust to the softer light, and find him in the third stall down.

He moves like water around the horses, every gesture deliberate but flowing. A bay mare stands perfectly still as he runs his hands along her legs, checking for heat or swelling. His black hair catches the light filtering through high windows, and when he murmurs something to the horse, she turns her head to nuzzle his shoulder with obvious affection.

"You can come in," River says without looking up. Of course he knew I was here—these men seem to have preternatural awareness of everything happening on their ranch. "Just move slowly. Willow here is still learning to trust new people."

I step inside, the packed earth soft under my boots. The stable smells alive in a way the main house doesn't—animal warmth and fresh straw, leather and grain, life continuing its ancient rhythms. "Willow?"

"Rescue horse." River straightens, one hand still resting on the mare's neck. "Came to us about six months ago, half-starved and scared of her own shadow. She's made good progress, but..." He shrugs, the movement gentle. "Trauma leaves marks, even when the body heals."

The words hit deeper than he probably intended. I approach slowly, watching Willow's ears swivel to track my movement. She's beautiful despite the visible ribs and dull coat that speak to past neglect—a dusty brown that might shine like mahogany with proper care.

"Stop there," River instructs when I'm still several feet away. "Let her look at you first. Horses need to assess threats before they can accept friendship."

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