"Why would you—" I started, my voice cracking, breaking on the words like waves against rocks.
"Because everyone needs something that's theirs." Marley's voice was quiet, serious, cutting through my protests with the precision of a well-sharpened blade. Her brown eyes held mine, steady and sure, unflinching. "Something they're good at. Something that doesn't belong to anyone else." She shrugged, the movement sharp and dismissive, like she was trying to brush off the weight of her own words. "Sewing's not much, but it's something. And you've got the hands for it."
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to process this woman who offered me things I hadn't asked for, who saw me clearly and didn't flinch away.
"I'll think about it." The words came out rough, uncertain, my throat tight with emotions I couldn't name. My hand was still on the door handle, ready to flee, but my feet wouldn't move. Something in me wanted to stay, wanted to believe this was real.
"You do that." Marley's voice was dry again, the softness tucked away behind her usual sharpness like a secret she wasn't ready to share. She turned back to her work, effectively dismissing me, her hands already reaching for another project. "Door's always open. Metaphorically speaking. I do actually lock it at night."
I left the shop with my mended shirt clutched to my chest and my mind spinning. The afternoon sun was warm on my face, the street quiet around me, but I barely noticed any of it. Someone had been kind to me. Someone I'd never met, who had no reason to care, who could have just as easily ignored the strange, ragged woman standing on her sidewalk.
She'd offered me something more. A skill. A place to come back to. A door that was always open. I walked back to the truck in a daze, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. It felt like hope, but sharper. More dangerous.
The drive back to Longhorn was a blur. I parked the truck where I'd found it, dropped my supplies in my bunk, and went to check on Bella and Hope without really thinking about what I was doing.
The stable was quiet in the late afternoon light. Bella nickered when she saw me, and Hope—taller now, steadier on her legs—came to the stall door to bump her nose against my hand.
"Hey, pretty girl." My voice came out soft, cracked, rough with emotions I couldn't quite contain. I stroked Hope's fuzzy muzzle, felt the warmth of her breath against my palm, the tickle of her whiskers. "I met someone today. A woman in town. She was... nice."
Hope blinked at me, her big eyes curious and uncomprehending.
"I know." I laughed, the sound wet and strange, somewhere between a sob and a giggle. I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing in her warm, animal smell. "I don't really understand it either."
I stood there for a long time, my forehead pressed against Hope's, breathing in the smell of hay and horse and home.
Home. The word didn't scare me quite as much as it used to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ASTER
Reid found me in the stable three days later. I was brushing Bella, working through her mane with slow, careful strokes, while Hope dozed in the corner of the stall. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold, and the air smelled like hay and horse and the approaching autumn.
I heard him before I saw him—those heavy, deliberate footsteps I was learning to recognize. My hand stilled on Bella's neck, my whole body going tense, but I didn't run. Didn't flee. Just waited, my heart pounding, as his scent washed over me.
Whiskey and woodsmoke. Leather and something darker underneath. Reid.
He stopped in the doorway of the stall, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his hands loose at his sides. He was wearing a worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and scattered with old scars. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd beenrunning his fingers through it, and the silver at his temples caught the fading light.
"Aster." His voice was low, calm, carrying that steady authority I was starting to associate with him. He didn't move closer, didn't crowd me, just stood there in the doorway with his dark eyes fixed on my face. His expression was serious but not stern, his jaw set with determination. "Can we talk?"
I set the brush down on the stall rail, my movements slow and deliberate, buying myself time. My pulse was racing, my palms sweating, every instinct screaming at me that this was it—this was the moment everything changed.
"Sure." My voice came out rougher than I intended, scraping against my throat like sandpaper. I wiped my hands on my jeans, leaving dusty streaks on the worn denim, and turned to face him fully. My chin lifted slightly, a defensive gesture I couldn't quite suppress. "What's up?"
Reid was quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark, patient eyes. I could see him choosing his words, weighing each one before he spoke. He took a breath, his broad chest expanding beneath his flannel, and then he stepped into the stall—slow, careful, giving me plenty of time to back away if I needed to.
I didn't. I held my ground, even though every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run.
"I'm not going to dance around this." His voice was direct, matter-of-fact, carrying the weight of someone who had made a decision and wasn't going to back down from it. He stopped a few feet away from me, close enough that I could see the individual threads of silver in his hair, the tiny lines around his eyes, the way his jaw was set with quiet determination. "You deserve honesty, and I'm going to give it to you."
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I wrapped my arms around myself, a protective gesture, and waited.
"The four of us—me, Nolan, Sawyer, Kol—we've been talking about forming a pack for a while now." Reid's voice was steady, unhurried, each word carefully placed like stones in a foundation. His dark eyes held mine, unwavering, his posture relaxed but alert. "We've known each other for years. Worked together, built something together. But we've been waiting." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, a muscle jumping beneath his weathered skin. "Waiting for the right person to complete it."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Could only stand there, frozen, as his words washed over me like a wave.
"We think that person is you." His voice dropped lower, softer, rough with emotion he was clearly trying to control. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made my chest ache, and his hands curled slightly at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for me. "We want to court you, Aster. Properly. All four of us. As a pack."
