Page 89 of Knotting the Cowboys

Twenty-three hours down. Twenty-five to go.

The café bustles with morning activity—ranchers grabbing coffee before heading to their fields, shop owners preparing for the day, a cluster of older women at the corner table who've been dissecting everyone's business since I sat down thirty minutes ago. Their voices carry despite their attempts at discretion.

"—that's her, Cole's new Omega?—"

"—heard she inherited the whole ranch?—"

"—living with all four of them, can you imagine?—"

I take a long sip of my latte, fighting the urge to smirk at their failed attempts at subtlety.

Cole's Omega.

As if I'm already branded, already claimed, already slotted into the neat little box this town has prepared for me. Part of me bristles at the assumption.

Another part—the part that remembers Cole's hands gripping my chair hard enough to make wood creak, the hunger in his storm-gray eyes when Wendolyn spelled out exactly what we couldn't do—that part preens like a cat in sunshine.

The sun beats down harder, and I shift in my metal chair, trying to find a position that doesn't make me so aware of my body.

Everything feels swollen, sensitive, ready. The cotton of my jeans rubs against my inner thighs with each movement, and I have to bite back a whimper that would definitely give the gossip circle new material.

This is why I fled the ranch at dawn, leaving a note on the kitchen counter like a coward. The house had been thick with their scents—pine and leather, metal and storm, earth and sunshine, clean linen and care.

Every breath I took made my body clench with need, made my throat tight with want I couldn't act on. Austin had been upwith Luna, humming softly as he changed her diaper, and just the sight of his gentle hands had made me ache in ways that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with longing for that tenderness turned my way.

So I ran.

Sort of…

Borrowed the ranch truck and drove into town like the hounds of hell were chasing me, which wasn't entirely inaccurate given how Maverick's security instincts probably had him tracking the vehicle before I even hit the main road.

Another drop of condensation rolls down my glass, and I track its path with my finger, trying to ground myself in the simple sensation.

The town moves around me in its morning rhythm, and I notice something that makes my chest tight with unexpected emotion. I'm not the only Omega out and about, unchaperoned and unafraid.

There's Wendolyn across the street, striding into the fire station with her copper hair catching the light, her turnout gear slung over one shoulder like she's carrying the weight of the world and making it look easy.

Two blocks down, I can see the police station where Chief Martinez supposedly rules with an iron fist wrapped in legal precedent.

And somewhere in this town, Dr. Sylvie is probably already at her clinic, revolutionizing Omega healthcare one patient at a time.

We're changing things.

The thought hits me with unexpected force. Not through grand gestures or violent upheaval, but through simple presence. Through refusing to hide, to cower, to accept that our biology makes us less than.

Through owning businesses and enforcing laws and saving lives and yes, inheriting ranches from grandfathers who saw our worth when the rest of the world didn't.

The heat makes my head swim slightly, or maybe that's the hormones. I press the glass to my forehead, letting the cold shock through me.

My body is a livewire of sensation, every brush of air against exposed skin making me hyperaware of how empty I feel. How much I want to be filled, claimed, marked in ways that would scandalize the church ladies at their corner table.

But it's more than physical need. It's the emotional ache that catches me off guard—the longing for River's quiet presence, Austin's gentle touch, Maverick's protective intensity, Cole's steady authority. For the first time in my life, I want a pack not because I'm supposed to, not because society expects it, but because these specific men have shown me what it could be. What we could be, if I'm brave enough to let it happen.

Twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes. Not that I'm counting.

The whispers continue around me, and I catch fragments that make my spine straighten with something between pride and defiance. They're not just talking about me as Cole's potential Omega. They're talking about the ranch, about female ownership, about the way the power dynamics in Sweetwater Falls seem to be shifting with each passing day.

"—never seen anything like it?—"

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