“You think I’m doing something illegal?” I asked.
He dropped the pebble, then shrugged. “No, but you know how it is. Last time an omega squatted on a property, the county got sued.”
I laughed, sharp. “Jojo’s not a squatter. He’s got a job, a bed, and more sense than anyone I’ve met in Montana.”
He smiled, genuine this time. “Just making sure the situation is… appropriate.” He made the word sound like a threat, or maybe a blessing.
I wanted to punch him, or shake his hand.
Hard to tell.
“Anything else?” I said, the old edge in my voice.
He stepped closer, not quite within arm’s reach, but enough that I could see the freckle on his nose. “You got him living in the main house?”
I stared him down. “Yeah.”
He took a breath, then let it out slow. “Just a worker?”
I didn’t answer.
Calloway waited, then scanned the porch again. The screen door slammed open and Jojo stepped out, blinking in the daylight. He was wearing one of my old t-shirts, sleeves cut off, hanging almost to his knees. His hair stuck out in three directions, and there was a purple mark on his neck, dark and perfect.
He looked at me, then at the sheriff, eyes wary, but not scared.
Calloway took in the scene, then gave me the smallest nod I’d ever seen. “Looks like you’re taking care of him,” he said, voice low. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
I felt my whole body unclench, but didn’t let it show.
Jojo came down the steps, bare feet leaving wet prints on the wood. “Is everything okay?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.
I grunted. “Just talking shop.”
Calloway turned to Jojo, his face softer. “You settling in all right, Joseph?”
Jojo glanced at me, then nodded. “It’s better here than anywhere else I’ve been.”
The sheriff tipped his hat. “Glad to hear it. Don’t let him work you too hard.”
He looked at me, and in his eyes was a warning—don’t screw this up.
He started for the car, then stopped. “One more thing,” he called over his shoulder.
I waited.
“Your neighbor Victor Hargrove’s been asking around about your property. Says he wants to make you an offer.”
I stiffened. “Not interested.”
“He doesn’t take rejection well,” Calloway said. “Just so you know.”
He climbed into the cruiser, fired up the engine, and backed down the drive, gravel crunching under the tires. For a long minute, I watched the dust trail fade into the trees.
I didn’t see the cruiser turn onto the county road, but I heard it—the low grind of tires, the way the gravel sang when the speed kicked up. The dust hung in the air, gold in the morning light.
Jojo came up beside me, quiet as a shadow. His scent hit first: vanilla and old shirts and something new, sweet and raw, that made my head go light. He stood close enough that our arms brushed, the heat of him bleeding right through the sleeve.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched the road, then the barn, then me. His eyes were soft and dark, still half-lidded with sleep.
