He squeezed my wrist. “You’re coming with me today. I need supplies, and you need to get used to people looking at you.”
My stomach lurched, half nerves and half excitement. I’d spent most of my life invisible. The idea of being seen—even as someone’s omega—was terrifying. But with Rawley, I felt like I could handle it.
Maybe even wanted it.
“What if they stare?” I asked, voice small.
He shrugged. “Let them. That’s the point.”
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to flatten the wild bits. “What if they don’t like it?”
He snorted. “Fuck ‘em. They’re not the ones coming home with me.”
I laughed, and the fear lost some of its bite.
He stood, clearing the table, then clapped me on the shoulder. “Finish your coffee. We roll out in ten.”
I watched him go, the way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt. I felt the mark on my neck throb, not with pain, but with something closer to pride.
I finished my coffee, savoring the bitter warmth, then stood to wash my mug. The baby chicks were awake, peeping loud from their box by the stove. I scattered some feed for them, then checked the notebook where I’d started tracking their growth.
It was stupid, probably, but I liked having a record. Proof that I’d made something grow. That I was more than a stray or a screw-up.
Rawley came back, arms full of paperwork and a battered canvas tote. “Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, pulling on my boots.
He stepped close, then dipped his head to brush his lips against my ear. “You look good,” he said. “Like you belong here.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just followed him out into the cold morning air, the warmth of his words still burning in my chest.
The truck was already idling, exhaust pluming in the frosty air. He opened the passenger door for me, then waited until I was buckled before getting in himself.
As we pulled out onto the dirt road, I caught my reflection in the side mirror—the claim mark dark on my neck, hair a mess, eyes bright with something I’d never seen before.
I looked like someone who mattered.
I looked like I belonged to someone.
As the ranch faded behind us, I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn’t running away from anything.
I was heading straight for it.
The drive into Black Butte was all two-lane blacktop and frozen furrows, the world outside gone hard and colorless under a heavy Montana sky. Every mile, Rawley drummed the wheel with his thumbs, humming under his breath, glancing over at me like he expected me to vanish.
I could feel the claim mark throbbing on my neck. Even with the collar pulled up, the skin felt hot and exposed. I kept twisting the hem of my sleeve, nervous, until Rawley reached over and stilled my hand with his.
“Don’t fidget,” he said, but his voice was kind.
“I’m not,” I lied.
He squeezed my fingers, then let go to turn into the hardware store parking lot. The Emporium sat at the edge of town, its windows crowded with buckets, hoses, and a painted sign that read,“If We Don’t Have It, You Don’t Need It.”
Rawley cut the engine and turned to me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, even though my stomach was a swirl of dread and anticipation.
He got out, circled around, and opened my door. It was stupid, but it made my heart jump every time he did it. Like I was somebody worth waiting for.
