Page 49 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

“Stupid nest!” I kick at the pile of blankets on the floor. “Stupid Alpha pheromones making me nest in the first place!”

The side table goes next. I sweep my arm across it, sending chocolate bars and cookies flying. They scatter across the floor with satisfying crashes and thuds.

“Tempting,” I spit, getting the books from the shelves and hurling them. “She’s TEMPTING, while I’m dying here!”

I’m full-on ugly-crying now. Then I take another pillow, this one finally giving way under my assault. Feathers explode everywhere, floating through the air like snow. I sneeze, which makes me cry harder because even my own destruction is turning against me.

“Can’t even destroy things properly,” I sob, kicking at the feathers. They just flutter away, some sticking to my tear-wet face. “Pathetic. No wonder Nolan didn’t want me. No wonder they don’t really need me either.”

A kitten appears in the doorway, surveying the destruction with typical cat judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him, sinking to the floor among the chaos. “You’d lose it too if you saw some perfect blonde draped all over your Alpha.”

He meows and picks his way through the debris to curl up in my lap again.

“Okay.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Phone. Need my phone and an action plan.”

I stand, stepping carefully around the mess, and head to the living room. My handbag is where I left it this morning, before the river, before Ridge, before everything went to hell.

In my desperation, I grab it too roughly. The whole thing tips over, contents spilling across the floor.

“Perfect!” I cry out, fresh tears flooding my eyes. “Just perfect! Could this day get any worse?”

My lipstick rolls under the couch. Receipts flutter like moths. Change scatters in every direction, coins spinning across the hardwood. A tampon escapes and rolls away.

The heat cramp that follows my rhetorical question nearly brings me to my knees. It’s like my uterus is trying to claw its way out of my body.

“Okay, okay,” I gasp, dropping to the floor to gather my things. “Message received, universe. Things can definitely get worse.”

I’m roughly shoving items back into my bag when my fingers close around a small plastic container. My heart stops.

I pull it out, hardly daring to hope. One pill rattles inside. One single suppressant, probably from my last heat months ago.

“Oh my God.” I clutch it like a lifeline. “Universe, I take it back. You don’t completely hate me.”

I immediately swallow the pill dry, nearly choking in my haste. Then I remember what they taught me at the heat clinic. Cold showers. Lots of them. The pill should kick in within half an hour, and the cold water will help manage my symptoms until then .

I stumble to the bathroom, stripping off Ridge’s flannel. It smells so much like him that it makes my heart ache. I throw it in the corner.

The shower is freezing. I gasp as the cold water hits my overheated skin, but I force myself to stand under it. Let it numb everything, the heat, the pain, the image of Brittany’s perfect body pressed against Cash.

I stay under the spray until my teeth chatter and my lips probably turn blue. When I finally emerge, I feel marginally more human. The suppressant is starting to work, pushing back the worst of the pre-heat symptoms. My thoughts are clearer, less clouded by hormones and rage.

But I need more suppressants. One pill won’t last long, and I can’t risk being caught without them. The drugstore in town should have the over-the-counter ones for pre-heat. They’re not as strong as the prescription pills, but they’ll help.

I dress quickly in my own clothes—can’t wear Ridge’s shirt, not now—and head outside. A ranch hand is loading feed into a truck nearby. Jake? Jay? Something with a J .

“Hey!” I call out, trying to sound normal and not like my world is imploding. “Any chance you could give me a ride to town? Please? You don’t need to stay. I’ll get a ride back.”

He looks uncertain, glancing toward the main house. “I don’t know, miss. The bosses might?— ”

“Please.” I know I sound desperate, but I am desperate. “It’s an emergency. Female emergency.”

His face goes red, and he nods quickly. “Oh. Oh! Yeah, sure. Of course.”

The ride to town is torture. He tries to make small talk at first, but I can barely string two words together.

I stare out the window, watching the ranch disappear behind us, trying not to think about what Cash and Brittany might be doing now.

Planning their date to the auction? Laughing at how easy it was to distract the poor city Omega while they make their real deals?

“You okay, miss?” the ranch hand asks as we pull up to Front Street.

“Fine,” I lie, already opening the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

“You sure you don’t need?—”

“I’m good. Thanks!”

I practically bolt from the truck, heading for the drugstore. My head stays down, eyes on the sidewalk, focusing on holding myself together until I’m out of sight.

My shoulder crashes into someone rounding the corner, jolting me into the glass of a storefront.

“Watch where you’re—” The words die in my throat.

The man in front of me is maybe five-eight, with black hair combed back in a style better suited to a boardroom than Front Street.

His suit is sharp, tailored, the kind of expensive that doesn’t get dirt on it.

Gray eyes study me with a cold curiosity, as if he’s deciding whether I’m worth his time.

Then his mouth twists. “If it isn’t the gold-digging whore.”

The insult snags me mid-breath. My stomach tightens. “Excuse me?”

His hand shoots out, gripping my upper arm with a pressure that warns me not to pull away. “You know exactly who I am.”

“I don’t,” I snap, trying to twist free.

Before I can step back, he drags me into the narrow alley between the drugstore and the hardware shop. My shoulder slams into rough brick, the chill seeping through my jacket.

He leans in close, whiskey heavy on his breath. “Ronan Blackwood. Rose’s actual grandson. Her blood.”

The name is familiar immediately. The lawyer told me he’d tried to contest the will.

I glance toward the street. No one’s looking. No help.

“Let go of me.” I keep my voice steady, but my pulse is pounding.

His lips curve into something almost amused. “That ranch isn’t yours. It’s mine. I’m family. You’re just some desperate Omega that an Alpha tossed aside.”

Anger burns away a sliver of fear. I lift my chin. “If Rose wanted you to have it, she would’ve left it to you. She didn’t. Probably because she knew exactly what kind of man you are. The kind who?—”

His hand clamps around my throat. My breath stops. My nails dig into his wrist, but he’s stronger than he looks. The brick at my back feels like it’s pressing in on me, the edges of my vision going dim.

“Don’t worry,” he hisses. “Things are going to be fixed soon. Then you can get out of my town. You and that rancid scent stinking up the place.”

He actually gags, like the idea of my pre-heat body disgusts him. His grip loosens just enough for me to move.

I don’t think. I drive my knee into his groin.

He curses and his hold breaks.

I run. Air scorches my throat as I gulp it in, boots hammering the pavement. His voice follows me down the street, sharp and furious, but I don’t look back. I just keep moving, searching for anywhere, anyone, that might be safe.

There, the real estate office. A painted sign swings in the breeze. Sweetwater Creek Realty . June’s family business.

I burst through the door, bell chiming frantically, and immediately lock it behind me.

“Sophia?” June looks up from her desk, and I can see she’s been crying. Mascara smudged, eyes red. But her own problems vanish the second she sees me. “Honey, what happened? ”

I stand there shaking, hand at my throat, trying to find words.

“Sophia, are you hurt? You’re crying and—is that a hand mark on your throat?”

That’s all it takes. I break down completely, ugly-sobbing as I collapse into the vintage chair across from her desk. The office smells like vanilla candles and old paper, comfortable and safe, but I can’t stop shaking.

“Breathe,” June says, rushing around the desk. “Just breathe. What happened?”

“You first,” I manage, gesturing at her tear-stained face, trying to regain my own composure. “You’ve been crying too.”

“Just my parents being assholes.” She waves dismissively.

“They called to lecture me again about selling the agency and moving to Dallas. That someone like me should get a job with my cousin’s investment firm and work in an office.

Because, apparently, preserving the town’s history and helping people find homes isn’t important enough. ”

“That’s awful,” I say, momentarily distracted from my own drama.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. But you, Sophia, what the hell happened?”

The whole story pours out in a jumbled mess. I start with waking up in Ridge’s bed, the pre-heat beginning, seeing Cash with Brittany.

“That bitch,” June interrupts. “She’s been trying to get her claws into those cowboys since they arrived. Her daddy wants to buy their land for some development deal.”

“Well, they all looked pretty chummy,” I say bitterly.

“Men are idiots,” June says firmly. “But I doubt your boys are interested. I’ve seen the way they look at you.”

“Yeah, well, it felt pretty real when she was draped all over him and nobody cared.” I continue with the story, about destroying my nest, finding the suppressant, and then Ronan.

“He grabbed me,” I explain, touching my throat where I can still feel his fingers. “Said things were being fixed soon. That I’d be leaving town.”

“That bastard!” June’s face goes red with anger. “I’m calling the sheriff right now?—”

“No!” I grab her hand. “Please. I can’t deal with that right now. And what if it makes things worse? What if he comes after me again?”

“Then I’m calling your cowboys. They’ll handle him?—”

“Hell no!” The words come out louder than intended. “I can’t see them right now. Not after… I just can’t.”

June stares at me for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. Okay. But we’re reporting this eventually. Ronan is bad news. Always has been. Rose cut him off for good reason.” She grabs tissues from the box on her desk, pressing them into my hands. “ And no way Cash would be walking away from you.”

“You really think he isn’t interested in Brittany?”

“Whatever you think you saw, or didn’t see, it’s probably not what your brain is telling you,” June says. “Those three are crazy about you. I can feel it. And I’m an expert in these things.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about what I saw; it’s just… the way it felt.”

“Mm-hmm.” She gives me a look. “You’re spiraling. And you just got manhandled by a jackass. We’re not doing the spiral thing today.”

“I’m trying not to,” I protest, even though I kind of am. “I just?—”

“Soph, Ronan didn’t just talk. He grabbed you. That’s not small. You’re allowed to be shaken.”

The memory flashes hard and fast. “I just need to get my suppressants and make it through my pre-heat. I can deal with him later.”

She stands and grabs her handbag. “Right, we’ll go to the drugstore, but we’re also heading to the café. You need hot chocolate and the largest slice of chocolate cake I can find. Maybe the whole cake. And I’ll help you eat it, because I’m selfless like that.”

I laugh, loving how at ease she makes me feel.

“No arguments. Chocolate first, plotting revenge later. The drugstore will still be there in an hour.” She loops her arm through mine. “And if your boys happen to walk in while you’re mid-bite, you get to make them grovel in front of everyone. Which, frankly, is a public service.”

A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. “That does sound… satisfying.”

“See? My plans are flawless.” She starts toward the door, then pauses to check the street through the glass. “Coast is clear. No creeps around here.”

“Thanks,” I say, my voice catching a little. “For… all of this.”

She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Please. Who else is going to make sure you survive murderous relatives and questionable Alpha behavior?” She squeezes my arm.

“That’s what friends are for,” I say.

We reach the café, and June holds the door open for me. The familiar scent of coffee and warm sugar draws me indoors, and my stomach growls in protest at being ignored all morning.

“Corner booth,” June directs.

We slide into the worn vinyl seat of the circular booth, and before the waitress even makes it over, June fixes me with a look.

“You’ve been reacting to everything, Soph.

Inheriting the ranch, the three Alphas, now Ronan and Brittany.

You’ve been playing defense since the day you got here.

How about, just for once, you start playing offense?

Take control before someone else does it for you. ”

Her words settle in my chest, heavier than I expect. She’s right. I’ve been letting things happen to me, letting other people dictate the pace, the choices, the outcome.

“I still… I still want them,” I admit quietly. “They’re my scent matches. That hasn’t changed. But I can’t just… let myself be swept along anymore. I need to be sure. I need to know where I stand, and they need to show me.”

“That’s the spirit,” June says, raising her fork like it’s a glass of champagne. “To taking control.”

I tap mine against hers. “To taking control.”

And for the first time all day, I feel a flicker of steadiness under my ribs. With a friend like June in my corner, I might just be okay.

Even if it means I’ll have to murder a few more pillows along the way.