Page 3 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

“They were probably just processing. You know, the whole surprise-stranger-just-claimed-their-ranch thing. Not everything is about pheromones and… and shirtless dominance vibes.”

I groan and slump in my seat, staring down at my black leggings, flip-flops, and my favorite cropped tee with tiny rhinestone stars on the collar, the one I wore because it’s cute and comfortable.

There’s a smudge of dirt near the hem and a streak of kitten fur clinging to the front.

I try to brush it off like that’s somehow going to make me look more put together.

I sigh dramatically and mutter, “All I’m missing is a tiara and a nervous breakdown, and I could headline my own rodeo.”

Belle just grins. “You’re gonna fit in just fine around here.”

We drive through the countryside that belongs on a postcard—rolling hills, wildflower meadows, mountains in the distance. Belle chats about the town, pointing out landmarks and sharing gossip.

Grabbing my phone, I decide to email the lawyer and tell him I’m popping over to see him soon if he’s free. Hoping he can slot me in.

“That’s where Cash got into a bar fight with three truckers last year,” Belle continues.

“Won, too, though don’t ask me how. Ridge used to be a huge rodeo star before his accident.

And Walker, he’s got some kind of weird Dr. Dolittle thing going on.

I swear animals understand him better than people do. ”

“Good to know,” I say, turning to stare out at the ridiculously beautiful green landscape. I’ll be out of the cowboys’ hair soon enough anyway. And as gorgeous as they are, drop-dead, drive-into-a-tree gorgeous, they didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me.

“Word of advice? Those cowboys might seem like trouble, and they are, don’t get me wrong. Cash especially has a reputation for being a bit intense when something catches his interest. But they’re good men. Whatever happens with the ranch, don’t write them off too quickly.”

I snort. “Great. Intense Alphas with broody streaks. Just what every emotionally stable Omega dreams of.”

Belle smirks. “Yeah, well, stable is overrated.”

I shake my head. “I’m not here to catch feelings or collect cowboys. I came to sign paperwork and head back home to Chicago, where I have semi-control over my life.”

“Whatever you say,” Belle murmurs.

“This is going to be fine,” I say, more to myself than to her. “I’ll talk to the lawyer, we’ll sort out the sale, and I’ll be back home eating overpriced sushi and ignoring emotionally unavailable men in no time.”

And maybe, if I keep repeating it, I’ll actually believe it.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the truck bouncing gently along the road. Then Belle glances over at me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How’d you end up coming out here on your own? No pack escort or anything?” Her tone isn’t judgy, just curious. Maybe a little surprised.

I huff a small laugh. “You mean, how did an unclaimed Omega dare to breathe country air without a personal bodyguard? ”

She holds up a hand, amused. “I’m a Beta.

My stepsister is an Omega, though, so… I get it.

She’s not even allowed to go to the corner store without someone shadowing her.

Last year she snuck off with some friends to a night market two towns over, and the next morning, Dad signed her up for the mate-dating institute.

Said she couldn’t be trusted to make her own decisions. ”

“Yikes.” I wince. “That’s… harsh.” I’ve heard plenty of stories.

Some Alpha parents treat their Omega daughters like delicate glassware, terrified they’ll get scratched if they so much as look at the wrong male.

There’s this disgusting belief floating around in some circles that a tainted Omega, one who’s been out in the world, has opinions, has spent time around Alphas, somehow loses her value. That she won’t be as desirable.

Because God forbid an Omega have a life before getting claimed.

Some Alphas want them pure. Untouched. So innocent they’ve barely exchanged two words with anyone outside their family. Like that’s supposed to be a virtue.

It’s bullshit, if you ask me.

I grew up that way, sheltered, careful, constantly reminded of how a good Omega behaved. And it still landed me in a cold, loveless relationship I hated. But I stayed, because that’s what was expected. That’s what Omegas do, right? Obey. Settle. Serve .

Never again.

I refuse to live like that. And hearing about Belle’s sister, about anyone else being shoved into that mold, makes my skin crawl.

Belle shrugs. “Yeah. She’s still pissed about it. But, you know, Alpha dads and control issues.”

I nod, jawline tight. “My best friend, Meredith, was supposed to come with me on this trip. She’s a Beta too, and she was going to drag her brother along. But they had a family emergency, and I had to come settle the property stuff alone.”

I don’t add Because I need the money. Because one of my freelance social media clients just ghosted me, and another pushed their campaign back a month. But I grit my teeth and keep going. “Didn’t really have the luxury of waiting around.”

Belle is quiet for a second, then offers a half smile. “Well, look at it this way: If you’re staying anywhere near those three cowboys, no one’s going to question whether you’ve got protection.”

“I’m not staying,” I say quickly, too quickly.

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it. “Right. Of course not.”

We drive the rest of the way with light chatter about the town, where to get the best coffee, the fact that everyone knows everyone’s business, and how the mayor’s cat has more Instagram followers than the actual town account.

Eventually, Belle pulls to a stop in front of a brick building with Hartwell & Associates etched on a brass plaque.

“Good luck,” she calls out, putting the truck in park.

“Thanks.” I open the door, then glance back with a smirk. “And best of luck with your cowboy calendar.”

Belle grins. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got abs.”

I laugh, shutting the door and making my way toward the lawyer’s building.

I step into the reception area, greeted by the scent of old leather and lemon polish. A woman behind the desk looks up from her computer with a polite smile.

“Hi,” I say, brushing kitten fur off my shirt.

At that exact moment, a side door opens and an older man steps into view—late sixties, gray hair neatly combed, wire-framed glasses, crisp shirt tucked into perfectly pressed slacks. He moves to a side cabinet, searching for a file.

I glance back down at the receptionist, saying, “I’m Sophia Hollis. I emailed earlier about meeting with Mr. Hartwell to discuss an urgent matter.”

She stares around to the older man, who is now turning his attention to me.

Recognition flashes across his face. “Ah, Ms. Hollis, yes, I was just reviewing that file. You’re right on time.”

He gestures toward the side door in reception. “Come on back. I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

I follow him into a warm, wood-paneled office lined with legal books and framed photos.

“Please, have a seat,” he says, settling behind his desk. “Can I offer you some water? Coffee?”

“I’m good, thank you.” I sink into a chair. “Mr. Hartwell, I’m hoping we can make this quick. I’ve already met the current tenants of the ranch from my inheritance, and they’re interested in buying. I am happy to sell the ranch to them immediately. So if we could just?—”

“Ah.” The corners of his mouth curve down, and my stomach sinks. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.”

He pulls out a thick folder and adjusts his glasses. “Mrs. Martinez was very specific in her will. The inheritance comes with conditions.”

“It does?” My voice comes out higher than intended.

“The person who inherits the place must live on the ranch premises for three months before he or she can claim full ownership or authorize any sale.”

The world tilts. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Three months’ residency, Ms. Hollis. The will was originally written for her grandson, but upon his passing and your designation as his beneficiary, the terms transfer to you.”

“Three months?” I stand up so fast the chair rolls backward. “I have to live there? With cowboys who are already unsure about me?”

He leans back in his chair. “I’m afraid so. If you choose not to fulfill the residency requirement, the ranch defaults to the next of kin, a Mr. Ronan Blackwood, as per Rose’s will conditions.”

“This has to be a joke.” I sit on the edge of the seat because I need the money from this ranch to survive.

Not want… need .

I have less than five hundred dollars to my name.

My job as a social media freelancer sounds great on paper, but after rent, utilities, groceries, and the endless stream of bills I keep shoving to the bottom of a drawer, I’m barely staying afloat.

One emergency, like, say, a bull wrecking my rental car and me needing to pay the excess, and everything starts to unravel.

This ranch… it’s the first good thing to land in my lap in a while. A chance to breathe. Maybe even get ahead for once instead of clawing just to stay even. I didn’t plan for it, and I sure as hell didn’t expect it, but when I saw that will, I thought, Finally, something breaks in my favor .

And now this?

Three months, stuck in a place I don’t belong, surrounded by strangers who look at me like I just stole their future.

I press my palms to my thighs, trying to ground myself, but all I feel is that tight coil of panic under my ribs. I can’t afford to lose this chance. I won’t.

“I understand this is unexpected?—”

“Is there any way around it?” I ask weakly.

“I’m afraid not. Mrs. Martinez was quite clear. She believed the ranch needed someone who would truly understand it before making any decisions about its future.”

Three months in Montana with three Alphas, a bull named Brutus who has it out for me, and I have no idea if this small town even has a heat clinic.

What could possibly go wrong?