Page 52 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

CASH

T he truck rumbles along the road back to the ranch, windows cracked just enough to let in the afternoon air.

The radio plays something low and country, that new Chris Stapleton song Walker’s been obsessed with lately.

I keep stealing glances at Sophia in the passenger seat as I drive, watching how the sunlight catches the red in her hair, turning it to fire.

She’s been quiet since we left the café, but it’s clear she’s still processing everything in the way she drums her fingers against her thigh. Her gaze is fixed somewhere far beyond the windshield, and she’s distracted, almost worried.

“Everything okay?” I ask, glancing at her, keeping my voice low enough to not make it sound like an interrogation.

She exhales. “Ronan,” she says finally, her voice tight.

“Rose’s grandson. He cornered me today in an alley in town.

Said I didn’t belong here or deserve the ranch.

That things were being… fixed for me to leave town soon.

” She swallows, her hands curling in her lap.

“He grabbed me by the throat. Wouldn’t let go. ”

Everything in me goes molten-hot in an instant. My hands tighten around the steering wheel until the leather creaks. Behind me, the air in the truck shifts, and Walker and Ridge both go deathly still, the kind of still that only means trouble for whoever is on the receiving end.

I keep my eyes on the road, but my jaw is locked so hard it aches. “He put his hands on you?”

Her gaze flicks to mine, and it’s the faint tremor there, the quick flash of uncertainty, that takes my fury and sharpens it into something lethal.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “And I didn’t know what he meant, about… fixing things. But I believed him when he said he could make me leave. It… scared me.”

I glance at her again and see that fear she’s trying to hide, but I notice the way she keeps her shoulders tight, her voice smaller than normal.

“Not fucking happening,” Ridge says from the back. “Not today. Not ever.”

Walker leans forward between the seats, his eyes like dark steel. “We’ll handle Ronan, gorgeous. Don’t you worry.”

“Handle?” I growl. “I’ll bury him if he so much as looks your way again.

” My free hand leaves the wheel long enough to press against her thigh, grounding her, grounding me.

“You’re ours. That means you don’t walk alone, not until this is sorted.

He comes near you again, you tell us. Immediately.

You have my word, our word, Sophia, that he’ll regret even breathing your name. ”

Her lips twitch in the smallest, weary smile. “I hate to say it, but that makes me feel better.”

“It should,” Ridge mutters. “He doesn’t know what he’s just signed up for.”

“Because it’s three on one,” Walker says. “And we don’t lose when we’re protecting what’s ours.”

She nods, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening, and for a moment, I let myself breathe, though the fury is still coiled tight inside me.

Then she shifts in her seat with a little groan. “Oh, crap, I never made it to the drugstore. I need more suppressants. I only had the one I already took and?—”

“You don’t need them,” Walker pipes in.

She turns to look at him. “Pretty sure I do, unless you want me going into full heat in the next day or two.”

“You have us,” I say. “We’re the natural remedy for your heat. That’s how it’s supposed to work—Alphas helping their Omega through it.”

“Suppressants just make it worse anyway,” Ridge explains from the back in a matter-of-fact way. “They delay the heat, build it up. When the inevitable happens, the ache and hunger are sharper, harder to control. More painful.”

Sophia exhales through her nose, the corner of her mouth pulling down. “I know. I can already feel it more this time, like my skin is too tight. Every sound, every smell… It’s just louder. If I skip them completely, I’m not sure I can keep a handle on myself.”

Ridge leans forward, bracing his forearms on the backs of our seats.

“I helped you earlier today when things got intense.” There’s a glint in his eye, dark and possessive.

“And I’ll do it again. And again. Seven times each time if that’s what it takes.

” His grin is slow and wicked, like he’s picturing it right now.

I glance between them, my brows pulling together. “Seven? What the hell am I missing here?”

Sophia’s cheeks flare crimson instantly, her gaze darting out the window. “Nothing. It’s… nothing.”

Ridge makes a sound that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a satisfied growl. “Not nothing. Our gorgeous Omega came seven times earlier.” He says it with enough pride to fuel a damn parade.

The truck lurches a little as my grip on the wheel slips, gravel pinging the undercarriage when I jerk us straight. “Wow, seven, I’m damn impressed.” Heat rushes into my chest.

Walker’s head whips toward Ridge, eyes wide. “In one session?”

“Every. Single. One. Earned,” Ridge states smugly, settling back with the air of a man who knows he’s stirred the pot good and proper.

Sophia groans, covering her face with her hands. “Why would you even?—”

“Because,” Ridge says, leaning forward again so his voice is right in her ear, “I like reminding you what we can do for you. What we will do. Every time your heat gets to be too much, we’ll be there. All of us.”

Her hands slip down to her lap, and I catch the faint, guilty smile she’s trying, and failing, to hide, and my stomach tightens. Not with jealousy. With the bone-deep need to make damn sure I’m part of the next seven.

“You know,” she says suddenly, eyes flicking to Ridge. “In that demon romance book, he had to give her seven orgasms over time. Not all at once.”

Ridge’s grin turns slow and smug, like he’s been waiting for this opening all along. “I know. That’s why I had to do one better than that demon.”

I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. “Ah, I’m caught up now. Y’all are talking about Sophia’s blog post about the demon book. I think we might need to all read this one together. You know, for… ideas.”

“Okay, challenge accepted,” Walker declares.

“Hell no,” Sophia says quickly. “This is not a competition. My body is not a scorecard.”

Her cheeks go pink, but her smile only widens, and the heaviness from earlier feels lighter.

“Everything’s a competition with us,” I add. “Last month they competed to see who could muck out stalls faster.”

“Walker cheated,” Ridge protests.

“Boys,” Sophia interrupts, but she’s fighting a smile. “Can we please not turn my orgasms into a rodeo event?”

“Too late,” I mutter, pulling up to the main house and parking the truck. “Ridge already set the bar. Seven is the number to beat now.”

“Cash!” But she’s laughing as she climbs out of the truck. “Well, I guess I have some packing to do.”

“We’ll get your room ready,” I call out. We watch her stroll toward the guesthouse, and yeah, she’s definitely adding extra sway to those hips. Knows exactly what she’s doing to us.

“Fuck,” Walker breathes, adjusting himself not so subtly.

“Seven times,” I mutter, still processing.

“The benefits of being thorough,” Ridge answers smugly.

“We need to fix her room,” Walker says suddenly, snapping us out of our trance. “Now. Before she gets back.”

We head into the house like the place is on fire. I take the stairs three at a time.

We skid to a stop in the guest doorway, nearly crashing into each other. The room is beautiful but basic—king-size bed with navy sheets, empty dresser, bare walls, hardwood floors with one simple rug.

“This won’t work,” Walker states, running his hand through his hair. “It looks like a hotel room.”

“A nice hotel,” Ridge defends.

“But still a hotel. She needs a nest. To feel like home. Comfortable. Safe.”

“Soft things,” Ridge adds. “Lots of pillows, blankets. Textures she can burrow into.”

“Snacks,” I contribute. “Easy access to food and water is crucial.”

We stand there for a moment in silence. I can practically see the gears turning in their heads.

“I’ll handle the snacks and drinks,” Walker states, already heading toward the door.

“All the soft stuff is my domain. Different textures—some smooth, some fuzzy.” Ridge is backing out of the room.

“I’ll grab some of our clothes,” I say, mostly to myself, already picturing her curled up in here surrounded by our scent.

My mind is spinning with ideas, hell, maybe too many ideas, but the second the picture forms, I’m moving.

Out the door, across the yard to the storage shed, rummaging through boxes until my fingers hit the prize.

Rose ordered it before she passed. Said it’d be perfect for reading on summer evenings. I grin, because I can see Sophia in it already, bare legs tucked under her, hair spilling over her shoulder, eyes half lidded while she loses herself in a book. Or in us .

As I’m hauling the item back upstairs, I catch voices from the spare room.

“That’s too many pillows,” Walker barks, sounding like he’s losing patience.

“There’s no such thing as too many pillows for an Omega,” Ridge fires back, his tone dead serious, like he’s quoting the goddamn Bible.

I chuckle under my breath.

“She needs to be able to actually get in the bed,” Walker argues.

“She can move them if she wants,” Ridge shoots back.

I shoulder the door open and drag my prize inside. “Quit arguing about pillows and help me with this.”

Walker’s eyes light up. “Tell me that’s a sex swing.”

“It’s a hanging chair, you pervert.”

Ridge cocks his head, already scanning the ceiling. “Could serve dual purposes.”

“It sure could. Let me go grab my tools,” Walker mutters, but he’s already heading for the hallway closet.

It takes all three of us to get the hook mounted, mostly because we keep arguing over where to put it.

“Higher,” Ridge insists, holding the chair steady while I drill. “She needs to curl up completely, tuck her feet under.”

“Lower,” Walker says. “Easier access for… reading.”

“Reading. Sure,” I mutter. “That’s definitely what you’re thinking about.”