“It’s complicated,” she says. “The ranch... the sabotage... the money. The heat. It’s all hitting at once.”
“We can handle the ranch,” Knox says. “We’re fixing the fences. We’re securing the perimeter. No one is getting in that we don’t want in.”
“And we can handle the money,” I add. “We have the fundraiser cash. Knox has his check. We’ll get the bills paid.”
“And the heat?” she says. “What happens then?”
“We take care of you,” Rhett says. “That’s what we do. We take care of what is ours.”
Saramaria’s head snaps up. “Yours?” She looks at me. “You said... you would keep me safe. Not that I’m yours.”
“Same thing,” I say. I don’t flinch. “You are ours to take care of, Saramaria. All of you. Even the parts you’re scared of.”
Knox steps up. “We aren’t leaving you. I’m not going to Louisiana. We aren’t running away. We are staying right here.”
“We want to help,” Rhett adds. “Whatever you need. If you need space, we’ll give you space. If you need touch, we’ll give you touch. But we aren’t leaving you alone.”
Saramaria stares at us. Her eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears.
“You’re sure?” she asks. “This isn’t just because of the biology? Because if it’s just because I’m an Omega in heat, then... I don’t want that. I don’t want to be used.”
“It’s not about biology,” Knox says. “It’s about you. It’s about the woman who burned the barn down because she was angry. The woman who tried to save a dog in a storm. The woman who saved the ranch.”
“I love you,” I say. The words are simple, but they carry the weight of the world. “I have loved you since you were a wild kid riding bareback through the mud. And I’m not going to stop loving you just because things get complicated.”
Saramaria lets out a breath that sounds like a sob.
“Be sure,” she whispers. “Please. Be sure. Because if you break me... I won’t come back from that.”
“I’m sure,” I say.
“Me too,” Knox says.
“I’m sure,” Rhett says.
Saramaria nods. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Take me home.”
I help her off the table. She wobbles slightly. I steady her.
I look at the guys.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk her out to the truck. The rain is still falling, but it feels lighter now. The weight of the decision—the decision to stay, to commit, to be her pack—sits on my shoulders.
But as we drive toward the ranch, with her asleep in the passenger seat, I know the hard part is just beginning.
We have to get through the heat. We have to navigate the urges, the instincts, the potential for disaster.
But looking at her, I know one thing.
She’s ours. And we’ll burn down the world before we let anything hurt her.
Saramaria
When we pull up to the main house, the yard is empty. Usually, at this time of day, Miller and his crew would be sawing lumber or shouting across the yard. Now, there’s nothing. Just the mud, the rain, and the silent outline of the barn.
