Page 43 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

She lifts a brow, cocking her hip. “So, naturally, I followed up with a little blog post to teach you a lesson… and found you all about to measure yourselves like teenage boys in a locker room.”

I shrug. “You drop something that spicy online, you’re gonna start a fire. That’s just how it works.”

Sophia blinks, mock-serious. “And? The verdict?”

“Still pending,” Ridge mutters.

Cash leans in slightly, eyes gleaming. “Unless you want to be the final judge.”

Sophia bursts out laughing. That sharp, wicked sound of hers. Her grin turns downright dangerous. “Oh, I cannot wait to write the follow-up: ‘Why Men Shouldn’t Own Tape Measures.’?”

Cash circles her like a wolf scenting a challenge. “Tell you what, sugar. We’ll make it worth your while. A proper demonstration. All three of us. Line up for inspection.”

She gasps, but the sound is laced with laughter.

“Imagine the traffic to your blog,” I add, stepping closer, drawn in without even trying to resist. “ Local Omega Reviews Three Alpha Cowboys. You’d break the internet.”

“Stop it!” She laughs again, biting her lower lip, flushed and glowing from the attention. “You’re all absolutely terrible.”

“For what it’s worth,” Ridge adds, “we could always settle it another way.”

Sophia turns to him, still catching her breath. “What do you mean?”

“You could just admit you were playing us on your blog,” he says, meeting her gaze. “That post? Those comments last night? You knew we’d read it. You were waiting to see what we’d do.”

She lifts her chin, unbothered. “Guess that’s one option.”

The smile on her lips is still spirited, but something in the air shifts.

And just like that, we’re standing on a fault line.

It would be so easy to keep going with this game, teasing, circling like it means nothing.

We’re all good at it. Too good, maybe. But I can feel it, deeper than the banter, under the surface, tension pulsing like a second heartbeat.

And we’re all thinking the same thing. This thing between us? It’s not a joke.

We’re walking a tightrope, and if we don’t start grounding this in something real, it’s going to burn us.

She’s ours . We feel it. We know it. But she hasn’t said the words. Not yet. And maybe that’s what’s holding us back from crossing the line we all keep pretending isn’t there.

So, yeah. Time to stop circling .

I clear my throat, voice dropping. “Sophia. Let’s sit. We need to talk.”

Her eyes narrow, still playful. “That sounds ominous. Are we measuring something else now?”

I smirk, placing a light hand on the small of her back as I guide her toward the living room. “Just honesty.”

The others follow. Sunlight spills in through the wide windows, casting a golden wash across the couch where she settles between Ridge and Cash like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I sit across from her, on the coffee table, needing to see her face.

Every reaction. Every flicker of emotion that passes through those gorgeous, guarded eyes.

This isn’t a game anymore.

Not really.

Not for me.

“About last night,” I begin, and I see her stiffen, just slightly. Her gaze flickers to me, then away. “What I said about moving in with us, I meant every word.”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “We’ve talked about this?—”

“Hear me out,” I cut in, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, keeping my voice steady and low. “Your body is already responding to us. The scent matching?—”

Ridge clears his throat.

“All of us,” I amend, glancing at him with a dry look. “Whether certain stubborn Alphas want to admit it or not. You’re fighting something that’s natural. Something that’s meant to be.”

“Just like our Ridge here,” Cash adds, nudging her arm with playful warmth. “Pretending he doesn’t feel the pull too.”

Sophia doesn’t smile. Her arms curl tighter around herself, her legs shifting slightly where she sits between them. She’s retreating, not physically, not yet, but it’s in the way her shoulders rise, how her voice drops low.

“I’ve managed my heats alone for years,” she says quietly.

And just like that, the room shifts.

Something about the way she says it, flat, like a fact, like an apology, has my breath catching in my throat.

“Even when I was rejected during one.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Cash’s hands clench at his sides. Ridge doesn’t move, but his entire body goes rigid—too still, the kind of stillness that feels dangerous.

We knew bits of her past. Enough to piece together her pain. But not the way she says it, like it’s just another detail. Like it didn’t shatter something inside her.

“Sophia,” Ridge murmurs, and his voice is lower than I’ve ever heard it. “That should never have happened to you. ”

She tries to brush it off with a forced laugh. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I handled it.”

But her knuckles are white where she grips her thigh. Her shoulders are too square, too still. She’s holding it in like it doesn’t still echo.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Cash murmurs, the flirt gone from his voice. He turns to her fully now, hand gently settling on her knee. “No Omega should ever go through that. Especially not during her heat. That’s… that’s sacred. That’s when an Alpha should be at his most devoted.”

“It wasn’t that bad—” she starts.

“Stop.” The growl escapes me before I can catch it. “Stop minimizing what he did to you.”

Her eyes snap to mine, wide with surprise.

“You deserved better,” I say, slower now, gentler but no less firm. “You deserved an Alpha who saw you for what you are. Who worshipped you. Who made you feel safe. Protected. Who stayed .”

She’s quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t the first time he rejected me. Just the last.”

My chest aches with the need to pull her into my arms. To protect, to soothe, to erase every cruel second that bastard carved into her. If he weren’t already six feet under, I’d find a way to make him hurt. Slowly. Quietly. Permanently.

But right now? That doesn’t matter.

She does.

“You’ve been so strong for so long, Sophia,” Ridge says quietly, and it’s the tenderness in his voice that nearly undoes me. Not the rough edge, not the grit. Just the gentle way he says her name like it matters. Like she matters. Like he’s finally gotten over his damn brooding.

His hand finds hers. Large, calloused, careful. He doesn’t grip; he cradles. Like she’s something fragile.

“There’s nothing weak about letting your guard down,” he continues. “Nothing wrong with letting someone else carry the weight now.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. But her fingers curl into his.

Cash shifts beside them, slower than usual, all that easy charm stripped back to something steady. Intentional. He places his hand over both of theirs, anchoring the moment with quiet strength.

“Let us carry the load for you,” he says. “So you don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine if you don’t want to. So you never feel forgotten again. Never feel less than the absolute treasure you are.”

Her breath hitches.

And just like that, the cracks show.

Her jaw trembles first. Then her lips press tight like she’s trying to fight it, but her eyes betray her. Glimmering, glassy, one blink away from shattering.

And then… she does.

A single tear slips free, trailing slowly down her cheek.

I feel it like a punch .

Because this isn’t a woman trying to manipulate or perform. She’s been carrying too much for too long and doesn’t remember what it feels like to be held.

I rise from the coffee table and kneel in front of her, one hand resting on her knee, grounding her. We’ve surrounded her without planning to, like instinct. Like gravity.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” I tell her. “Let us be the walls around you. So nothing ever hurts you again.”

A soft sob breaks from her lips. Then another. No gasping, no theatrics. Just silent tears falling one after the other, her entire body folding in as if she’s finally safe enough to unravel.

Cash moves first, pulling her gently against his chest, arms wrapping around her like she’s precious. Ridge leans in from her other side, pressing his forehead to her temple, hand still wrapped tightly in hers.

I stay where I am, on my knees in front of her, both hands now holding her legs as if to remind her that I’m here too. We all are. We’re not going anywhere.

And she fits, so perfectly, in the center of us. Like she was carved from the space between us. Like every inch of her was meant to be held like this.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers eventually, hiccuping through the tears. “I don’t usually get like this. It’s… embarrassing.”

Ridge shakes his head, lips near her hairline. “You don’t have to apologize for being human. ”

Cash rubs slow circles into her back. “You’ve been holding too much. This was bound to spill.”

“You don’t need to pretend around us,” I add. “We’ll figure it out. All of us. Together.”

She nods, but her shoulders tense—just a little. That subtle pullback. Her body trying to rebuild walls even as we hold her.

We’ve pushed her hard. Too fast. She let go for a moment, but she’s clearly afraid of what it means to stay open.

I gently squeeze her knee. “Hey,” I say, voice quiet. “It’s okay. We’re not rushing anything. We’re not going anywhere. You take all the time you need.”

Her eyes lift, red-rimmed and cautious, and I offer her the softest smile I can.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Sophia. And it’s yours.”

She pulls back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her breath still trembles on the exhale, but there’s clarity in her expression now. Calm after the storm.

“You guys…” Her voice cracks, and she clears it, but she doesn’t retreat this time. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever… had that. Not like this. Not from anyone.”

Ridge squeezes her hand, silent and steady beside her. Cash rubs her back, waiting without pushing. I don’t speak. I just hold her gaze, grounding her.

“I don’t know what to do with it yet,” she admits, voice soft. “I want to be here. I want to try. But right now, I just… I need a little space to breathe. To sort out what’s mine and what’s fear talking.”

“No pressure,” I say gently. “Take all the time you need.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Cash adds.

Sophia smiles—small, but real. “I know.”

She stands slowly. Her legs brush mine as she rises, and she pauses, glancing down at all three of us like she’s seeing us fully for the first time.

“I just need some time,” she says, voice steadier now. “Before this turns into something even bigger than it already is.”

She walks to the door, and just before stepping out, she looks back.

“Thank you for not making me feel weak for needing someone.”

And then she slips outside, the door closing softly, leaving behind silence that hums with possibility.