Page 6 of Knotting the Firefighters

Well, rented, but close enough.

And in ten minutes by tractor, I can be at Cactus Rose Ranch where I'll be spending the next few months playing temporary forewoman while Willa and her pack take their desperately needed vacation.

Nobody in town knows she's pregnant.

Smart girl, keeping that secret close.

Small towns feast on that kind of gossip, picking apart every detail until there's nothing left but bones and speculation. She deserves to have this moment, this new beginning, without Sweetwater Falls dissecting every symptom and craving.

Besides, I need this.

Need the distraction of dawn feedings and fence repairs, need the rhythm of ranch work that my body still remembers from childhood. Need something to focus on besides the fact that the investigation into the fire is "ongoing"—police speak for "we're not going to do shit about it."

They'll get away with it.

Gregory and his pack will walk free, maybe pay a fine if the insurance company pushes hard enough. Attempted murder reduced to vandalism, if anything at all. That's how it workswhen you're an Omega going up against an established pack. Justice is a luxury reserved for those with the right designation.

I could leave. Pack up these forty-seven mugs, the vintage wardrobe, all the stuff back at the cafe, give up on the pursuit of cozy bookshops and amazing smelling coffee vibes, and head back to the city where at least the discrimination is more subtle. Find another department willing to take a chance on an Omega fire chief, pretend the past six months never happened…

Who am I kidding?

There's nothing for me anywhere.

No pack, no family, no future that doesn't taste like ash?—

Arms circle around my waist from behind, and my entire body goes rigid for exactly two heartbeats before that scent hits me. Pine and bourbon and woodsmoke, wrapping around me like a promise of safety that my body believes even when my mind knows better.

"Called your name three times, Wendy," Calder murmurs against my ear, his breath warm enough to make me shiver. "Had to resort to physical contact. You know how I hate having to touch you."

The lie is so blatant I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. His hands are already spreading across my stomach, fingers tracing the bow of my apron like he's memorizing the texture.

Calder Hayes had never hated touching me a day in his life.

He would have died before admitting it, but he was starved for contact, just as much as I was desperate to believe there was such a thing as safe hands.He didn’t just hug from behind. He enveloped. Palms wide, strong enough to lift a hay bale one-handed, curling slow and gentle around my waist like I was made of porcelain or spun sugar instead of muscle and bone.

His thumb feathered along the edge of my apron’s bow, not tugging loose but massaging the knot like he was coaxing a spell into it—one that might have had the power to keep me here, inthis moment, instead of drifting off into the memory of sirens and shattering glass.

“Liar,” I breathed, leaning back until the top of my head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

the house was all quiet, save for the fridge’s humming and the faint ticking of the wall clock. But Calder radiated heat, and I soaked it up like a cat in a patch of sunlight, savoring every second I was allowed to pretend I belonged to someone.

He hummed, deep and unhurried.

“Lying would be saying I’m not obsessed with the way you smell like vanilla and burnt sugar,” he countered, voice so quiet it felt like another kind of embrace. “Or that I don’t want you melting in my arms every morning before the coffee’s even brewed.”

God, the man was shameless.

And I was weak from it.

He nuzzled the curve where neck met shoulder, his nose buried in the tumble of my hair. The sensation should have set me on edge—a year ago, any Alpha getting this close would have gotten a fist to the solar plexus—but with Calder, it was just… familiar.Dangerous, yes, but familiar. Safe by degrees.

Sometimes I thought if he wasn’t careful, I’d end up addicted to him the same way I was addicted to scouring thrift stores for the perfect dress or collecting battered mugs from weird corners of the country.

I tried to play it cool, keep the mood light and teasing, but my body wasn’t interested in games. My breath hitched and he caught it, of course, the bastard. I could feel the grin against my skin, sharp and self-satisfied.

"Sorry," I manage, taking a deep breath that does nothing to slow my suddenly racing heart. "Lost in thought."

"Dangerous territory, that." His lips brush against my neck, barely a touch but enough to send goosebumps racing down my spine. "Lucky for you, I specialize in distractions."