I just laugh and shove the clipboard back into Eli’s hands, giving him a mock salute. “Later, Eli. And if you see my asshole boss, tell him I’ll be late because I’m too busy getting drunk… and folding my laundry.”
I clip the radio back onto the rack and shoulder my kit. I’ll need to restock in the morning before checking in. It’s been a couple of days since I checked in with the clinic, and I’m sure the doc will want to hear how it’s been going.
Every muscle in my body is screaming for my couch, whiskey, a hot bath, and about twelve hours of sleep. The arena grounds are finally quiet, most of the crew having packed up and left an hour ago.
Even the die-hard fans have cleared out, leaving nothing but empty beer cans and the lingering scent of dust and animal shit. There are a few big trucks tucked over by the arena animal entrance. Probably tomorrow’s riders are doing last-minute checks.
My car sits alone under one of the security lights, looking as tired as I feel. I slide into the driver’s seat and turn the key.
Nothing.
“Come on,” I mutter, trying again. The engine turns over weakly, then dies with a pathetic wheeze. “Don’t do this to me. Not tonight.”
I lean back against the headrest and start counting.
One. Two. Three.
It’s something my therapist taught me back in college—count to twenty when you feel like the world is closing in. Give your nervous system time to reset.
Four. Five. Six.
Through my windshield, the Wyoming sky stretches, endless and dark, scattered with more stars than I’d forgotten existed. In California, the sky always felt smaller somehow. Contained.Here, it goes on forever, like you could drive straight up into all that darkness and never find the end.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
What the actual fuck happened today?
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
This morning feels like a lifetime ago. This morning, I was Dr. Willa James, a competent veterinary intern with a clear plan for the day. Nothing complicated for this Omega.
Now I’m sitting in my broken-ass car, trying not to think about ice-blue eyes and devastating smiles and the way my Omega is all kinds of jittery after not one but two Alphas decided to run headlong into my world.
I think the universe missed my “no cowboys” memo.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Beau McCrae.
My skin tightens when I remember how good he smelled. I used to fall asleep staring at his poster on my bedroom wall—teenage me convinced no other ass could ever look that good in Wranglers. The man who fueled more late-night fantasies than I’d ever admit out loud.
I knew he had to be a fucking amazing. You don’t take home two world championships if you’re not. But he was… Christ. He thoroughly dismantled and destroyed everything I thought I knew about Alpha pheromones.
I’ve never been that close to forgetting myself and letting my designation take over. My Omega brain wanted nothing more than to climb him and ride until I couldn’t see straight. Until I was drenched in slick and his scent. Until I smelled like him for a week.
Just recalling how big his hands felt on my elbow makes my pulse stutter… and even with my blockers, my scent spikes hot in the cramped little space of my car. I clench my thighs and swallow a moan at the sudden pulse between my thighs.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
Closing my eyes, I try desperately to wrestle myself back under the tight control I’ve lived in for years. But Beau’s face melts into Charlie’s.
The boy who used to patch up my scraped knees and sneak me extra cookies from his mom’s jar. The boy who gave me my very first kiss on his tailgate, searing itself in my memory.
Except he’s not a boy anymore.
The man I saw in the barn tonight was all broad shoulders, strength, and power. His callused hands, every inch of him carved out of work and grit. No mistaking him for anything but an Alpha. His eyes seemed to strip away every lie and story I’ve wrapped around myself since I left.
The way he looked at me… I’d surprised him, that much was clear.
