Page 48 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

I wake up in a large bed alone, and for a moment, I can’t remember where I am. Then it all crashes back—the river, the drowning, Ridge pulling me out, his confession, and then… oh God. Everything that happened after.

My body feels like it’s been thoroughly claimed.

The ache between my thighs is deep and satisfying, a reminder that Ridge made me come seven times.

Seven. Like he was proving some kind of point about rodeo stamina.

My inner muscles clench at the memory, and I can still feel the phantom stretch of him inside me.

But underneath the satisfaction, a different kind of heat stirs, low in my belly. Not arousal, though that’s there too, but something more primal. More urgent than it should be for pre-heat .

“No,” I whisper to the empty room, pressing my hand to my stomach. “This can’t be happening.”

My heat isn’t due for weeks. I calculated it carefully before coming here, made sure I’d have time to figure things out before dealing with that particular complication. But my body doesn’t seem to care about my calendar.

I stretch, trying to ignore the growing warmth, and roll onto Ridge’s pillow. His scent of cedar wood, cinnamon bark, and fresh mountain air wraps around me like a blanket. For a moment, it soothes the building fire in my veins, makes everything feel safe and right.

But I need to get up. Need to figure out what to do.

I shift to swing my legs out of bed, expecting to feel the sticky reminder of our activities. I glance down at the sheets, preparing to see evidence of what we did, but there’s only a small spot where we were joined. Confused, I reach between my thighs and don’t find myself in a mess.

My fingers come away only slightly damp.

“What the…” I touch my inner thighs. Clean. Completely clean, like someone took a warm cloth and carefully…

“Oh my God. He cleaned me. While I was sleeping.”

The thought of Ridge—gruff, brooding Ridge—gently cleaning me while I slept makes my heart twirl. That’s so intimate, so caring, so unlike what I expected from the damaged rodeo star who ties women to his bed.

“Get it together, Sophia,” I mutter, but my voice comes out shaky.

The heat in my belly pulses stronger, spreading through me. And I know this feeling… It’s pre-heat just before it hits hard. The warning signs that usually give me a few days to prepare, to get to a clinic or stock up on suppressants.

My stomach clenches, not with arousal but with anxiety. I’m in pre-heat, naked in an Alpha’s bed, on a ranch with three Alphas who are all my scent matches. I don’t know how to feel. Excited? Scared? Anxious?

I look around for my clothes, but they’re gone. Of course, they were soaked with river water. But there on the armchair is a neat pile of fresh clothes. A soft flannel that has to be Ridge’s, jeans that look too small to be any of theirs, and canvas sneakers.

My hands shake as I dress. The flannel smells like him, and wearing it feels too intimate, like a claim I’m not ready for. The jeans are loose but stay up. The shoes fit well enough.

I need to get out of here before anyone sees me. Need to reach the guesthouse and figure out what to do.

I crack open Ridge’s bedroom door, listening. Voices drift up from downstairs—multiple people, not just my three cowboys. Great. Company. Just what I need when I’m sneaking out after the best sex of my life while going into pre-heat.

I creep down the hallway, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. The old ranch house seems determined to announce my presence. At the bottom of the stairs, I pause again, trying to make out the voices.

Business talk. Something about horse prices and feed costs. Two voices I don’t recognize, older-sounding men, probably ranchers or suppliers. Then Walker’s laugh, low and warm. Cash making some joke.

And then, a feminine giggle that makes my blood turn to ice.

“Oh, Cash, you’re so funny!”

I know that voice. Fucking Brittany from the rodeo. The blonde who was all over Cash.

My hands grip the banister so hard my knuckles turn white. What is she doing here? Why is she in their house?

I creep closer until I can peer around the corner into the living room. What I see makes my vision go red.

Brittany is draped over Cash’s arm, wearing a dress so tiny it might as well be a belt. Her legs go on for miles, spray-tanned to perfection, and she’s tossing her platinum blonde hair while pressing her breasts against Cash’s bicep.

He’s not pushing her away.

He’s smirking, talking to one of the older men, probably Brittany’s father, now that I look closer.

They have the same sharp features, the same calculating eyes.

Walker and Ridge are right there, chatting with the other man like nothing is wrong.

Like it’s perfectly normal for Cash to have another woman hanging all over him after I slept with Ridge.

My rational brain tries to intervene, reminding me that there must be an explanation.

But the pre-heat is making everything worse.

Every emotion is amplified, turned up to eleven.

The jealousy that floods through me is volcanic, mixing with the heat already burning in my veins until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

My heartbeat pounds so loud in my ears that I can barely make out their words. Something about land development. Investment opportunities. Brittany’s father mentioning his connections in Dallas.

Then another wave of pre-heat pain slices through my abdomen, sharp enough that I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping. I wrap my arms around my middle, doubling over slightly.

That’s when Brittany’s giggle cuts through again, crystal clear.

“Oh, Cash, I knew you were a sweetheart! And I have our seats ready for us at the auction next week. Front row for the bull riding exhibition. You always wanted to see Dakota Jones ride, didn’t you?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Cash to shut her down. To tell her he’s not interested. To mention that he has a scent match, an Omega who needs him.

“That’s tempting,” he says instead.

Tempting .

The word slams into me. Here I am, going into pre-heat, needing my Alphas, and he’s calling another woman tempting?

The room spins. My chest feels like it’s actually on fire, not from heat but from rage. Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to march in there and rip her off my Alpha. But I can’t. Because maybe he’s not really mine. Maybe none of them are.

Just like Nolan never really was.

The thought sends me spiraling. They got what they wanted—Ridge had his fun, proved his point about being the biggest, claimed me thoroughly—and now they’re moving on to business.

Once they get the ranch situation sorted, they’ll find a way to push me out.

They’ll take what Rose left me and leave me with nothing.

Just like Nolan would have, if he’d lived.

I glance back at the group. They’re all absorbed in conversation, Brittany now showing Cash something on her phone while her father talks to Ridge about property values. None of them notice me watching.

I dart across the doorway while they’re distracted, practically diving for the front door. My hands shake as I turn the handle as quietly as possible. The door opens with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot to my paranoid ears, but no one calls out.

Then I’m outside, and I run.

My feet pound against the dirt path to the guesthouse, kicking up dust. Tears blur my vision, making me stumble.

I feel so stupid. So naive. I let Ridge in, let him see me vulnerable, let him claim me, and for what?

So he could clean me up like a responsibility and leave me alone while Cash entertains other women?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I chant with each step.

The rational part of my brain tries to argue that Ridge was probably letting me sleep, that Cash is probably just being polite to business associates, that there’s probably a reasonable explanation. But that voice is drowned out by the roar of hurt and heat.

I burst into the guesthouse to find Chonkarella and the kittens waiting by the door, meowing plaintively.

“I know, I know,” I sob, dropping to my knees to pet them. “I’m late with breakfast. I’m a terrible cat mother on top of everything else.”

My hands quiver so badly I can barely open the cat food. I spill half of it on the floor, but the cats don’t seem to mind, descending on it like they haven’t eaten in days instead of just since yesterday.

“At least you guys want me around,” I tell them as Chonkarella purrs against my leg. “Even if it’s just for the food.”

One of the kittens climbs up my leg with those tiny claws, and I grab him in my arms while sliding down to sit on the kitchen floor with them. The little one starts kneading its claws into my thigh.

“Ow, buddy. I’m already in enough pain.”

But I don’t push him away. I sit there for a moment, surrounded by purring cats, trying to get myself under control. The pre-heat is getting worse, making my skin feel too tight, too hot. I need to do something. Need to think.

My nest. I’ll go to my nest, surround myself with comfort things, and figure out a plan.

I stand on shaky legs and head to the library, to my sanctuary. The suspended bamboo chair is piled with soft blankets and pillows, my little tables nearby holding chocolate and biscuits from Cookie’s care package. This is my space, my safe place where?—

Yet, all I can see is green.

Jealous, venomous green coloring everything. Brittany’s manicured nails on Cash’s arm. Her perfect smile. Her father’s money and connections. Everything I’m not and never will be.

The first pillow flies before I even realize I’ve grabbed it. It hits the wall with an unsatisfying thump.

“Not enough,” I growl, snatching another. This one I tear at, but the fabric is too strong. “Why won’t you rip?”

I throw it anyway, then reach for the blankets from the chair, yanking them free with violent jerks. The chair swings wildly on its chain, creaking in protest.