Page 41 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

But I can’t. God, I want to. If I stay, I know exactly where this ends.

The fireplace still crackles low, casting gold across skin and shadows.

If I give in, if I so much as brush against Ridge, I’ll cave.

And we’ll end up tangled on this rug, my clothes gone, their mouths on me, and I’m not sure I’d ever recover.

And worse?

I’m starting to worry. My body’s been heating steadily since arriving at the ranch, the slow kind of build that always comes just before the crash.

My next heat isn’t due for weeks, but something’s wrong.

Or right. That’s the terrifying part. Because if it happens here, without warning, without meds, without a clinic? With them ?

I might not survive it.

So I smile, sweet and sinful, and say, “Walker.”

He perks up like he just won a prize. “Yeah?”

My heart pounds. “Walk me home.”

A pulse of stunned silence. Then? —

“ That’s your dare?” Cash looks personally offended. “Boo.”

“Cop-out,” Ridge mutters, but his voice is hoarse.

Walker is already standing, eyes dark with understanding. “You got it.”

I laugh like it’s no big deal, but it is. I clutch that illusion of control with both hands as I head for the door, every step screaming with want. Behind me, I feel their eyes, hear the soft disappointment they don’t even try to hide.

They wanted more.

So did I.

But tonight, restraint wins.

Just barely.

Walker walks me to the door, the others staying behind in the soft glow of the living room. I glance back at them once before stepping out onto the porch, then turn and offer a small, warm smile.

“Good night, boys.”

They smile and say their good nights, then I’m out before I change my mind.

Walker lingers beside me as we head down the path toward the guesthouse.

We don’t talk at first, the gravel crunching underfoot the only sound.

It’s a beautiful night, cooler now, the stars scattered across the sky like secrets waiting to be told.

And beside me, Walker strolls like a shadow, steady and unshakable.

“It was amazing having you with us tonight,” he says eventually, voice softer than the breeze. “You brought the house to life.”

I bite my lip, unsure how to respond. “It felt… right. Being there.”

He glances sideways. “Then why do you sound so uncertain?”

“Because the more right it feels, the more terrifying it becomes,” I admit. “Like I’m slipping too far into something I can’t undo.”

Walker stops walking and faces me. “Then don’t undo it.”

I look away, heart hammering. “That almost sounded like a proposition.”

He doesn’t smile as I glance his way. “We want you closer, Sophia. The guesthouse is nice, sure. But it’s too far from us.”

“I like my space,” I say, though the words sound thinner than I meant them to.

“You’d still have it. Your own room. Your own quiet. But you’d be near if you needed us.” His tone gentles. “Ridge said you’ve been… nesting.”

My eyes narrow. “It’s not a nest. It’s a highly organized comfort zone.”

He chuckles. “It sounds like a nest. A gorgeous, soft, perfectly you nest. But if you go into heat out here alone…”

I hesitate, the warning in his voice threading straight through me. He’s not wrong .

“I’m not due anytime soon, so don’t worry,” I say, softer now. “But… I’ll think about it.”

Walker doesn’t push. Just steps in closer, the air between us going tight. “We’re patient, Sophia. But you’re our scent match. And when your heat hits for real, you won’t want to be out here alone. You’ll need us.”

His voice is low. And I hate having this discussion like my heat dictates my life.

My breath catches, heart stuttering. I know I should step back, say good night, make it easier. But I don’t. Not yet.

He leans in, brushing his knuckles down my arm in a touch so gentle it undoes me. My skin prickles, heat blooming deep and low. His fingers trail to my wrist and linger there, his eyes fixed on mine like he’s waiting for a sign, a permission, a crack in my restraint.

I give it to him.

The space between us vanishes as our mouths crash together, all heat and hunger and tension that’s been building since the moment we met.

His hands cup my face, tilting me up as his lips move over mine, soft at first, then deeper, rougher, like he’s starving.

I melt into him, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, wanting more, needing everything.

The world blurs. There’s only the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine, the low sound he makes when I whimper against his mouth.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. Shaky. My lips are swollen, my heart pounding, my whole body aching with need. I want to drag him inside, lock the door, and never let go.

But he’s already stepping back, eyes dark with something dangerous. Something barely held in check.

“Sleep well, gorgeous,” he murmurs.

And then he turns, striding off into the dark and leaving me trembling in the doorway, still tasting him on my lips.

Inside the guesthouse, the soft mewling chorus of ginger cats greets me. Chonkarella winds around my legs, purring like an idling engine, while the two kittens leap between couch cushions. One knocks over a throw pillow. The other skitters across the floor, chasing dust motes only he can see.

I feed them, then retreat to the small library nook, my sanctuary, and sink into the hanging chair suspended from the ceiling. The cocoon of blankets and pillows welcomes me.

I still taste Walker.

My lips tingle, my skin thrums where he touched me, and the memory of his mouth on mine unravels my carefully built restraint. It would’ve been so easy to ask him in. Too easy. The heat between us had flared so fast, so hot, that I’m still reeling.

And it’s not just him. It’s all three of them. I keep thinking what it would be like if I stayed with them tonight.

If I gave in .

If I stopped pretending I wasn’t already theirs.

But instead, I’m here, tucked away in my not-a-nest like a coward. Because if I go to them now… I might not come back.

And part of me doesn’t want to; part of me is terrified of how it might end.

So, I pull my laptop into my lap, staring at the blank screen.

The evening plays over and over in my head, the way they moved around me like I already belonged.

And then I remember the sleep conversation. The pointed questions. The smug looks.

I groan, covering my face. They read the blog.

Dirty dogs.

Well… two can play that game.

I grin, flex my fingers, and start typing.

C onfessions of a City Omega

Does Size Really Matter?

Dearest Diary,

Let’s address the python in the pants, shall we?

I’ve been blessed (cursed?) with three specimens of prime Alpha real estate. And while they’re all impressive in their own ways, one of them is packing some SERIOUS heat. Like, how-do-you-find-pants-that-fit level of impressive.

I’ve been dreaming about it. Wondering how it would feel in my hands. My mouth. Other places that would make this blog for adults only.

But what about the others? Should I feel guilty for comparing? Is it wrong that I spent time sneaking glances at certain areas for research purposes?

The thing is, they each bring something different to the table (or bed, hypothetically speaking).

One has technique that could probably make me come from kissing alone.

Another has stamina that suggests he’d keep going until I begged for mercy.

And the third? Well, let’s just say he’s got the equipment to reach places I didn’t know existed.

Tonight’s Omega Wisdom: Size matters less than enthusiasm. Less than caring about your partner’s pleasure. Less than taking the time to learn what makes them fall apart.

But when you find someone with size AND skill AND the desire to worship you like a goddess? That’s when you spend time wondering if your legs will ever stop shaking.

Had dinner with certain someones tonight. Played games that revealed way too much. Remembered what it’s like to be wanted just for being myself.

So maybe what really matters isn’t what’s in their pants, but what’s in their hearts.

Maybe the real treasure is finding Alphas who take down photos that hurt you without being asked.

Who cook feasts just to find out what you like.

Who build sanctuaries for broken things and see beauty where others see damage .

(But also, seriously, HOW does one like that find jeans that fit?)

City Omega out. (Still comparing. Still curious. Still absolutely shameless about it.)

I hit publish with a wicked grin, scooping up the nearest kitten, who then purrs against my chest.

Game on, cowboys. Game absolutely on.