The other workers left me alone, mostly. A few of them had tried to make conversation those first couple of days—the Beta women I shared a room with, a couple of the younger hands who seemed to think the new girl might be lonely. I'd answered in monosyllables until they got the hint. Now they just nodded when they saw me and went about their business, which was exactly how I liked it.
The only problem was the vet.
Nolan. I hadn't seen him since that first morning in the stable, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. About those green eyes, patient and knowing. About the way he'd stayed crouched in the hay, making himself small, non-threatening. About that scent—eucalyptus and honey—that had wrapped around me like a blanket I didn't ask for and couldn't shake off.
I'd been avoiding the stable ever since. Hank had me on fence repair and cattle work, which suited me fine. The further I stayed from that building, from the memory of gentle hands and a low voice murmuring easy, easy, the better.
But today, Hank had other plans.
"Stables." Hank didn't look up from his clipboard when he said it, his iron-gray hair damp with dew, his weathered face impassive as always. The pencil in his hand moved across the paper, checking off tasks with quick, efficient strokes. His broad shoulders were set in that way that said the decision had already been made. "Bella's getting close to foaling. Someone needs to keep an eye on her, make sure she's comfortable. You're on mare watch until further notice."
My stomach dropped.
"I thought Danny—" I started, but the words died in my throat when Hank's head came up.
"Danny's got his hands full with the new colts." Hank's sharp blue eyes met mine, and something in his expression said he knew exactly what he was doing. His jaw was set beneath the gray stubble, his posture unyielding—a man who'd made a decision and wasn't interested in discussing it. He tucked the pencil behind his ear and crossed his thick arms over his chest. "You'll be fine. Just sit with her, keep her calm, come get someone if anything looks wrong."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I'd rather dig post holes in the blazing sun than spend hours in that stable with the ghostof Nolan's scent clinging to the walls. But I didn't argue with Hank. I didn't argue with anyone. I just nodded and headed for the stable, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
The stable was quiet when I arrived, the horses still drowsy in the early morning light. Dust motes floated in the shafts of sunlight that slanted through the high windows, and the air smelled like hay and leather and the warm musk of animals. Familiar smells. Safe smells.
I made my way to the large stall at the far end—Bella's stall—and let myself in, settling onto a hay bale in the corner where I could watch without crowding her. The straw crunched beneath me, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, making myself small.
Bella lifted her head when I entered, her big brown eyes soft and curious. Her belly was enormous now, straining against her sides, and she moved with the careful slowness of something carrying precious cargo. When she saw I wasn't a threat, she lowered her head again and went back to her hay, her tail swishing lazily.
I sat there in the quiet, watching her breathe, and tried not to think about the last time I'd been in this stall. Tried not to remember green eyes and gentle hands and a scent that had made something in my chest crack open.
An hour passed. Then two. Bella dozed and ate and shifted her weight, and I sat in my corner and watched and tried to pretend I was anywhere else. The stable creaked and settled around me, the sounds of the ranch drifting in from outside—distant voices, the clang of equipment, the lowing of cattle.
That's when I felt it.
Alpha.
The scent hit me before I heard the footsteps—different from Nolan's, heavier, darker. Whiskey and leather and woodsmoke, rolling through the stable like a storm front. My whole body went rigid, every nerve ending screaming danger, and I was onmy feet before I could think, my back pressed against the stall wall, my eyes fixed on the doorway.
The man who appeared there was tall. That was the first thing I noticed—how much space he took up, how the doorframe seemed to shrink around him. Broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of build that came from decades of hard work. His hair was black, pure black, with silver threading through at the temples, and his face was weathered and strong-jawed, all hard angles and sun-worn skin. He wore a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms, worn jeans, boots that had seen years of use.
It was his eyes that made my breath catch. Dark brown, nearly black, steady and calm and seeing everything. They found me in my corner immediately, and I watched him take in my defensive posture, my clenched fists, the way I was coiled to run. He didn't come any closer. Just stood in the doorway, hands loose at his sides, making no move to enter the stall. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture open, everything about him deliberately non-threatening despite the power that radiated from him like heat from a fire.
"You must be Aster." His voice was low and deep, rumbling up from somewhere in that broad chest, the kind of voice that could calm a storm or start one. He said my name slowly, carefully, like it mattered, like he'd been turning it over in his mind before this moment. His dark eyes stayed steady on mine, patient and unhurried, his weight shifting slightly as he settled more comfortably against the doorframe. "I'm Reid. I own the ranch."
The owner. The Alpha whose scent was soaked into every inch of this land, whose presence I'd been skirting around for three days. I'd known I'd have to meet him eventually—I just hadn't expected it to be now, here, when I was already off-balance from being back in this stable.
"Hank told me he hired someone new." Reid still hadn't moved from the doorway, hadn't tried to crowd me. He leaned one shoulder against the worn wood of the frame, crossing his arms loosely over his broad chest, the fabric of his flannel stretching across his shoulders. But his dark eyes were sharp beneath heavy brows, watching me with the same careful attention Nolan had shown—reading me, assessing me, giving me time. "Wanted to introduce myself. See how you're settling in."
I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and his scent was everywhere, filling my lungs with every breath. Whiskey and warmth. The smell of something solid, something permanent.
Something dangerous.
Reid seemed to read my silence, my tension, and he didn't push. Just stayed where he was, leaning against that doorframe like he had nowhere else to be. Like he could wait there all day if that's what it took.
"Bella's looking good." His gaze shifted to the mare, who had lifted her head at the sound of his voice, her ears pricking forward with recognition. Reid's expression softened when he looked at her, the hard line of his jaw easing, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. His voice dropped lower, warmer, and I watched the way his whole body seemed to relax as he looked at the horse he clearly loved. "She's been through this before. She'll be fine."
I still didn't say anything. Couldn't. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, to fight, to bare my teeth and make myself as big and threatening as possible. But I couldn't move. Could barely breathe with that scent pressing down on me, filling every corner of the stall.
Reid's eyes came back to me, and something flickered in their depths. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition. The look ofsomeone who'd seen scared things before and knew better than to corner them. His brow furrowed slightly, a crease forming between his dark eyes, and his arms uncrossed slowly, hands dropping to his sides with palms open, visible—deliberate in a way that told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He said it quietly, his voice dropping even lower, gentler, barely above a murmur. The words came out slow and certain, like he was stating a simple fact—like the sky was blue, like water was wet, like hurting me was something that would never occur to him. His dark eyes held mine without wavering, without demanding, just steady and calm. "No one on this ranch is going to hurt you. You're safe here."
