The thought made me want to scream. Made me want to run until my legs gave out, until I found another bus to another town, until I was far enough away that I could pretend none of this had ever happened.
Footsteps on gravel. I tensed, ready to run again, but the scent that reached me wasn't Reid or Nolan.
Sun-baked grass. Dust. Wind. Something wild and free.
Sawyer.
He came around the corner of the shed and stopped when he saw me, those pale blue eyes taking in my hunched posture, my tear-streaked face, the way I was pressed against the wall like I was trying to disappear into it. His expression didn't change—still that same calm, watchful intensity—but something in his posture shifted, became less threatening.
He didn't come closer. Just stood there, maybe ten feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. His auburn hair gleamed copper in the morning light, and his pale eyes reflected the sky.
"You okay?" His voice was rough, low, the words stripped down to their essentials. No softness, no gentleness—just a straightforward question that demanded a straightforward answer. His head tilted slightly, waiting.
"Fine." The word came out automatic, defensive, the same lie I'd been telling for years. I wiped at my face with the back of myhand, hating that he'd seen me like this. Hating that any of them had seen me like this.
Sawyer's pale eyes narrowed slightly, a crease forming between his brows, but he didn't call me out on the obvious lie. Just nodded once, a short jerk of his chin that seemed to accept my answer without believing it. He leaned back against the opposite wall of the shed, putting as much distance between us as the small space allowed, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
"First foaling's rough." He said it matter-of-factly, his voice still that low gravel rumble, his pale eyes fixed on the horizon now instead of on me. He was giving me space even while he stayed—letting me look at him without the pressure of being looked at in return. "Thought Bella was going to die, my first time. Couldn't stop shaking for an hour after."
I stared at him, surprised by the admission. He didn't seem like the type to share something like that. Didn't seem like the type to share anything at all. He seemed like the kind of man who kept everything locked up tight, who let his actions speak instead of his words.
"How long have you worked here?" The question came out before I could stop it, rough and uncertain, surprising us both. Sawyer's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. The movement softened the hard planes of his face, made him look almost approachable. His pale eyes slid back to me, assessing, weighing.
"Five years, give or take." His voice was unhurried, his posture relaxed against the shed wall. His arms stayed crossed, but there was no tension in his shoulders, no coiled readiness for violence. Just a man having a conversation. "Started as a day laborer. Reid gave me a permanent spot after the first season." He paused, his jaw working slightly, like he was decidingwhether to say more. "Didn't ask questions. Just gave me a chance."
Something in his voice made me think he understood more than he was saying. That maybe he'd shown up at this ranch the same way I had—desperate, running, with nowhere else to go and nothing to lose.
"He does that." My voice came out softer than I intended, rough with emotion I didn't want to feel. "Give chances."
"Yeah." Sawyer's pale eyes held mine, and something flickered in their depths—recognition, maybe, or understanding. The look of someone who'd been where I was and come out the other side. "He does."
We stood there in silence for a long moment, the morning sun warming the air between us. Somewhere in the distance, a cow lowed. Closer, a bird sang from the roof of the barn. It should have been uncomfortable—two strangers with nothing to say to each other. But somehow it wasn't. Somehow it felt like enough, just standing here, not having to explain or justify or defend.
"Nolan's going to want to check on the foal again soon." Sawyer pushed off from the wall, his movements unhurried, efficient. His boots crunched on the gravel as he straightened, rolling his broad shoulders. "Reid'll be looking for you to make sure you're okay." He paused, those pale blue eyes meeting mine one more time, sharp and knowing. "You don't have to go back in if you're not ready. But they're going to worry."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My throat was too tight, too full of things I didn't know how to say. Sawyer gave me one more of those short, sharp nods, a gesture that seemed to carry more weight than it should, and then he was gone. He walked back toward the stable with long, easy strides, his auburn hair catching the light until he disappeared around the corner of the barn.
I stood there for another few minutes, my back against the cold metal wall, my heart slowly settling into something like a normal rhythm. Three Alphas now. Three Alphas who gave me space instead of crowding, who worried about me instead of demanding, who looked at me like I was something worth being careful with.
Reid with his calm authority and his patient dark eyes.
Nolan with his gentle hands and his quiet promises.
And now Sawyer, with his rough voice and his silent understanding.
I didn't know what to do with any of it. Didn't know how to fit these men into my understanding of the world, into the rules I'd built my survival around.
As I pushed off from the wall and made my way slowly back toward the stable, I found that I wanted to find out…and that terrified me more than anything else.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASTER
I named the filly Hope.
It wasn't official—Reid would give her a proper name for the registry, something fancy with Longhorn in the title—but in my head, she was Hope. Because that's what she felt like every time I looked at her, wobbling around on those impossibly long legs, butting her head against Bella's side for milk. Hope. The thing I'd spent nine years trying not to feel.
A week had passed since the foaling, and I'd fallen into a new rhythm. Morning chores, then stable time with Bella and Hope, then whatever Hank assigned me for the afternoon. The other workers had started nodding at me in the hallways, acknowledging my presence without pushing for conversation. Sarah brought me lunch in the stable most days, setting the food beside me with that same quiet smile that never demanded anything in return.
