But the atmosphere inside is off. Tense. Usually, the feed store is a place of easy camaraderie, farmers talking about crops and prices.
I’m walking toward the counter to place my order when I hear the shouting.
“This is a joke! A complete witch hunt!”
The voice is loud, aggressive. It comes from the aisle near the stacking equipment. I turn.
An Alpha I don’t recognize is standing over Clara Mae. He’s younger than me, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in expensive rodeo gear that looks like it’s never seen a day of work. He’s red-faced, his hands slamming onto the counter.
“He was the head of the RRC!” the guy yells, spit flying from his lips. “Jack Dalton built this circuit. And you expect me to believe he threw it all away for some piece of?—”
“Watch your mouth,” Clara Mae says, sounding dangerous. She doesn’t back down an inch. She stands her ground behind the high counter, her eyes flashing.
“It’s the truth!” the guy shouts. “Everyone knows it. She was in heat. They were alone. What did he think was going to happen? You can’t dangle meat in front of a lion and then shoot it for eating.”
I freeze. The casual cruelty of his words makes my blood boil. It’s the same garbage I’ve been hearing whispers of, but hearing it shouted in Clara Mae’s face makes it real. It makes it vile.
“Get out,” Clara Mae says, pointing a finger at the door. “I don’t serve trash. Get off my property.”
“Or what?” The guy laughs, a harsh, ugly sound. He leans over the counter, invading her space. “You’ll call the sheriff?Please. Half the town agrees with me. She knew what she was doing. She probably wanted it. Omegas always?—”
I move before I think. I don’t plan it. I don’t weigh the consequences. I just see red.
I cross the space between us in three long strides. I grab the guy by the shoulder of his expensive jacket and spin him around.
“Hey!” he sputters, eyes wide with shock.
My fist connects with his jaw. The impact is solid, a sickening crunch that vibrates all the way up my arm to my shoulder.
The guy staggers back, tripping over his own boots and crashing into a display of salt licks. They tumble to the floor with a series of loud crashes. He hits the ground hard, hand clutching his face. Blood wells between his fingers.
The store goes silent. Dust motes dance in the sunbeams streaming through the high windows.
“Get up,” I spit out.
The guy looks up at me, fear and rage warring in his eyes. He touches his jaw gingerly, wincing. “You broke my jaw!”
“I’ll break more than that if you ever speak to a woman like that again,” I tell him. I stand over him, my hands clenched at my sides. I’m shaking with the effort not to hit him again.
He scrambles backward, crab-walking away from me until his back hits the shelves. He stares at me, his chest heaving. Then a nasty, knowing smirk twists his lips, despite the blood.
“This isn’t about her,” he spits, gesturing vaguely toward the door, toward Willa, toward the town. “This isn’t about some honor code. You’re just being territorial.”
I frown. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he sneers, climbing slowly to his feet. He keeps his distance, his eyes darting around the room looking for an exit. “Everyone knows. You and your buddies. The three of you, squatting up at that old Cruz ranch. You’re not protecting the town. You’re protecting your investment.”
“My investment?” I take a step toward him, and he flinches.
“Yeah,” he says, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “I heard the rumors. You’re all fucking her. The lawyer. The Omega heiress. That’s why you’re so touchy. That’s why you punched me. Because I threatened your pussy supply.”
The words hang in the air, disgusting and absurd.
“We aren’t—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Save it,” he says, backing toward the door. “Three Alphas, one Omega. It’s a classic arrangement. Just don’t pretend you’re heroes. You’re just a pack of dogs guarding your bone.”
He turns and runs out the door, stumbling slightly as he hits the gravel.
