The fantasy dissolves as my grandfather calls my name from the study. I shake my head, clearing away the dangerous thoughts. This isn’t that life. This is Muddy Creek, where some things never change.
Or so I think.
The heavy oak door of my grandfather’s study groans as I push it open. The room smells of leather and old paper, a scent I’ve associated with power and judgment my entire life. Dark wood paneling covers the walls, interrupted only by a massive window that looks out over the ranch I’ve always loved but may never truly call mine. His mahogany desk sits center stage, cluttered with papers and ledgers.
My eyes land on the silver-framed photograph on the corner of his desk—my parents on their wedding day. Mom has a huge smile on her face, her red hair like fire against her white dress, her brown eyes crinkling with joy. My dad, a Beta my grandfather was never fond of, has his eyes fixed on Mom like she was his entire world.
I got my green eyes from him. People say I got his sense of humor too, though there’s not much to laugh about these days.
“Sit,” my grandfather says, not looking up from the papers he’s signing.
I sink into the leather chair opposite his desk, the cool material sticking to my bare legs. My cutoffs and tank top feel completely out of place in this formal room, but that’s probably his point.
“I’ve been thinking about the future of this ranch,” he begins, finally setting down his pen. “About securing the Cruz legacy.”
Here we go. Another lecture about how an Omega can’t run a ranch, how I need to find a proper pack, how my value lies in what I can provide to others.
“The Henderson twins have expressed interest in a formal arrangement,” he continues, his fingers steepled on the desk. “They’re a respectable Alpha family, well-established in the community.”
I blink. “The Henderson brothers? Those fossils?
My grandfather frowns. “They’re barely forty.”
“Still fossils,” I huff.
My grandfather sits up. He can barely hide his annoyance as he says, “You’re just as stubborn asher.” I know theherin question.
He has been very vocal about his disdain over his daughter marrying the farmhand. As it turns out, my mother had fallen in love with my father, who accidentally got her pregnant atsixteen. My grandfather had been furious but the two tied the knot anyway.
He never really accepted their union but at least he never kicked them out.
Last year, my parents got into a tractor accident. My father was driving. Mom died on the spot. My father was in a coma and died two days after.
My grandfather was pissed. According to him, if my mother had chosen right, she would still be alive.
I try not to take his sentiment as a dig at me. If my mother had chosen “right,” I wouldn’t exist.
I swallow the lump in my throat. It hurts to feel unwanted. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.
“I can’t marry them,” I say instead.
My grandfather ignores me. “They’ve been looking for an Omega to join their pack. Someone who can help with their daughter and assist with their new ranch operation in Texas.”
My stomach twists. I’ve seen them around the ranch the last few months—two imposing Alphas who watch me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. I thought they were just business associates of my grandfather, not potential... husbands.
“Texas?” I repeat, my voice coming out higher than I’d like. “You want to send me to Texas to be some kid’s nanny and stepmom?”
“It’s a good match, Saramaria. They’ll provide for you, protect you?—”
“Protect me?” I shoot to my feet. “Is this the 1800s? Are you selling me off to the highest bidder?”
“Sit down and be respectful,” my grandfather snaps, his face flushing.
“I’m eighteen! I’m not some broodmare to be traded for land connections!”
“I’m getting old,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “I’m going to be selling this place anyway. Where would that leave you? Alone, with no means of support?”
“I could run this ranch!” I insist, my hands clenched into fists. “You know I could!”
