Hope was for people who had somewhere to belong.
And I was just a stray.
CHAPTER TWO
ASTER
The alarm on my phone went off at four-thirty, and I was awake before the first chime finished.
I'd barely slept. Every creak of the bunkhouse, every footstep outside, every shift from my roommates in their bunks had jerked me back to consciousness. Old habits. The kind you develop when sleeping too deeply can get you killed.
My roommates were still out cold—three Beta women whose names I hadn't bothered to learn yet. They'd come in late last night, talking and laughing, and had barely glanced at me in my bunk before passing out. Fine by me. The less attention, the better.
I pulled on my worn jeans and a flannel shirt that had seen better days, laced up my boots, and slipped out of the room before any of them stirred. The hallway was dark and quiet, the bunkhouse still sleeping. Good. I liked it better when no one was around.
Outside, the sky was just starting to lighten at the edges, stars fading into the gray-blue of pre-dawn. The air was cool, carryingthe smell of dew and grass and that ever-present Alpha scent that seemed to hang over the whole ranch. I breathed through my mouth and headed for the main building.
The cook—I still didn't know her name—was already up, moving around the kitchen with the efficiency of someone who'd been doing this for decades. She was a stout woman with strong arms and gray-streaked hair pulled back in a tight bun, her apron already dusted with flour. She took one look at me standing in the doorway and jerked her chin toward a pot of coffee on the counter.
"Biscuits in ten minutes." Her voice was gruff, no-nonsense, but not unkind. She didn't stop kneading the dough in front of her, her hands working with practiced ease. "Grab some coffee. You look like death warmed over."
"Thanks." I wasn't sure if I meant for the coffee or the compliment. I poured myself a mug and wrapped my hands around it, letting the warmth seep into my fingers while I waited.
The biscuits were good. Better than good—fluffy and buttery, with honey on the side. I ate two of them standing at the counter, washing them down with black coffee, and was out the door before any of the other workers showed up.
Hank was already in the yard, clipboard in hand, his iron-gray hair catching the first light of dawn. He looked me over with those sharp blue eyes, his weathered face giving nothing away, and gave a short nod.
"Stables today." He didn't waste time on pleasantries, just checked something off on his clipboard with a pencil stub. "Mucking stalls, laying fresh hay. Danny'll show you where everything is." He jerked his chin toward a younger man approaching from the direction of the barn—Beta, early twenties, with shaggy brown hair and a friendly face that seemed incapable of anything but a smile. The same one I'd seen in the dining hall last night, playing cards in the corner. "You gotquestions, ask him. Don't bother the horses unless you know what you're doing."
"Got it." I didn't have questions. I'd mucked plenty of stalls in my life. It was simple work—hard on the back, easy on the brain. Exactly what I needed.
Danny led me to the stables, his long legs eating up the ground while I hurried to keep pace. He chattered the whole way, his hands moving as he talked, gesturing toward various buildings and paddocks.
"So the bay mare in stall three, she's a sweetheart, loves apples if you've got any. But the gray gelding at the end? Total jerk. Bit me twice last month." He laughed like this was funny rather than painful, shaking his head so his shaggy hair flopped into his eyes. "Oh, and there's a vet coming by later to check on one of the pregnant mares. He's cool, don't worry. Real quiet guy."
I let his words wash over me without really listening, too focused on cataloging my surroundings. The stable was a long, low building with a peaked roof, set apart from the main barn. It smelled like hay and horse and leather—clean, familiar, nothing that set off alarm bells.
"Pitchforks are in the supply room, wheelbarrows too." Danny pointed toward a door at the far end, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he had too much energy to stand still. "Start with the empty stalls on the left, work your way down. I'll be around if you need anything." He flashed me a grin, wide and genuine and completely oblivious to my discomfort. "Welcome to Longhorn, by the way. You'll like it here. Everyone does."
I doubted that, but I didn't say so. Just nodded and headed for the supply room.
The work was exactly what I expected—mindless, physical, exhausting in a good way. I fell into a rhythm quickly: muck out the old bedding, scrub the floor, lay fresh hay, move to the nextstall. Repeat. My shoulders ached and my back protested, but it felt good to be doing something useful. Something that didn't require me to think or talk or pretend to be something I wasn't.
The horses watched me as I worked, their big dark eyes curious but not alarmed. A few of them nickered softly when I passed their stalls, ears pricking forward with interest. I didn't touch them—Hank had said not to bother them unless I knew what I was doing, and I didn't want to give anyone a reason to send me packing on my first day.
By mid-morning, I'd worked my way through half the stalls. My arms were trembling and sweat was dripping down my back, but I kept going. Stop moving and the world catches up with you.
That's when I heard the voice. It was soft, barely more than a murmur, coming from somewhere deeper in the stable. A man's voice, low and gentle, speaking in a tone that made something in my chest go tight.
"Easy, girl. Easy. I know it hurts. Just let me take a look, okay? There you go. Good girl."
I should have ignored it. Should have kept my head down and my mouth shut and minded my own business. But something about that voice pulled at me, made me set down my pitchfork and move toward the sound before I could think better of it.
The stall at the far end of the stable was larger than the others, and the door was open. I stopped a few feet away, keeping to the shadows, and looked inside. The horse was a mare, chestnut coat gleaming even in the dim light, her belly swollen with pregnancy. She was lying on her side in the hay, her breathing labored, her eyes rolling with pain or fear or both. And crouched beside her, one hand resting gently on her neck, was a man I'd never seen before.
Alpha.
The scent hit me like a wave, and I went rigid, every muscle in my body locking up. But it wasn't like the other Alpha scents on the ranch—heavy and dominant and demanding. This one was different. Lighter. Cleaner. Like eucalyptus and honey, with something warm underneath. The smell of healing. The smell of safety.
