Page 91 of Knotting the Cowboys

"And Austin Bishop," Patty sighs dramatically, "sunshine in human form. The baby of the group but somehow also their emotional center. He's the one who makes sure they eat, sleep, remember to laugh. Without him, those three would work themselves into early graves trying to out-protect each other."

"How do you know all this?" I ask, genuinely amazed at her insight. "This isn't just observation. This is..."

"Intimate knowledge?" Patty grins, unrepentant. "Five years of watching, documenting, occasionally sending Austin cookies when he looks too thin. They fascinate me—four Alphas who chose each other, who built something beautiful despite this town's best efforts to box them into traditional roles. And now..." Her gaze sharpens on me. "Now they've found you."

The weight of her stare makes me shift uncomfortably, hyperaware again of my body's state.

"I'm just their boss. The ranch owner. It's a business arrangement."

Patty's laugh this time is knowing, almost pitying.

"Oh honey. You're sitting here alone because being near them right now would probably set your heat off like a firework, aren't you? That's not a business arrangement. That's biology recognizing what your heart's too scared to admit."

She leans back in her chair, pen resuming its restless movement.

"I've watched those men for years. Seen them with other Omegas who came and went. But the way they look at you? The way they moved at yesterday's supply run, unconsciouslykeeping you at their center? That's not obligation. That's inevitability."

My hands shake slightly as I reach for my latte, needing something to do besides process the truth in her words.

Patty watches with those too-knowing eyes, cataloging my reaction like she's already writing tomorrow's column in her head.

"They're treating me like I'm poison," I admit, the words bitter as old coffee. "Because of the heat. The medical restrictions."

"Oh, the good old days," Patty says casually, and my head snaps up.

"You're an Omega?" I don't know why I'm surprised—maybe because she carries herself with such confident authority.

"Guilty as charged. Though I prefer 'investigative journalist who happens to have a uterus that occasionally makes questionable decisions.'" She winks, and suddenly I understand her insight better. She's not just observing from the outside—she knows what it's like to navigate this world with our biology.

"The protection thing," she continues, voice gentler now, "it's not about thinking you're poison. It's about control. Those four have dealt with enough heartbreak to know what happens when control slips. When want overrides sense. They're not avoiding you because they don't care—they're avoiding you because they care too much to risk hurting you."

"Heartbreak?" The word tastes like copper in my mouth, sharp with the fear of history repeating. "Is that... is Luna connected to whatever happened?"

Patty's pen stills completely for the first time since she sat down.

She studies me with those journalist eyes, and I can see her weighing words, measuring how much truth to dispense. Thesilence stretches like taffy in the heat, and I resist the urge to fidget under her scrutiny.

"That beautiful baby," she finally says, voice soft with something that might be reverence, "is both connected and separate from their past. Luna's not the heartbreak—she's the healing." Her pen starts moving again, sketching what looks like stars on her notebook. "But it's not my place to tell that tale. What I will say is that little babe is a fallen star that fell in that pack's life when they needed it the most or they would have lost the beautiful foundation they have together."

The poetry of it makes my chest tight. I think of Luna's heterochromatic eyes, the way she seems to see more than any baby should, how her mere presence can shift the energy of a room. A fallen star indeed—something celestial and unexpected, arriving precisely when needed.

"They were going to split up," I murmur, remembering yesterday's careful admission. "Before she came to them."

"Sometimes," Patty says carefully, "love isn't enough. Sometimes you need purpose beyond each other, something that demands you be better than your pain. Luna gave them that. Made them remember why they chose each other in the first place."

She leans forward then, close enough that I can smell her subtle Omega scent—vanilla and newsprint, stories and sweetness.Her eyes fix on mine with intensity that makes my breath catch.

"Now they may have finally found the final piece in their puzzle." Her gaze doesn't waver, holding mine with the weight of prophecy. "The thing about puzzles is, you don't always know a piece is missing until it clicks into place. Then suddenly, the whole picture makes sense."

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I'm about to ask what she means—demand she stop talking in riddles and justtell me what everyone seems to know but me—when a familiar voice cuts through the morning air.

"Willa?"

I turn to see River standing on the sidewalk, holding the lead ropes of two horses like this is perfectly normal for downtown Sweetwater Falls.

The morning sun backlights him, turning his black hair to dark silk, and even from here I can see the careful control in how he holds himself. Not too close, maintaining that professional distance we've all been desperately clinging to for the past twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes.

"River," I breathe, and hate how his name comes out like a prayer.

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