Page 10 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

A GENTLE OFFER

~ M EADOW~

Moonlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a silver glow across Meadow's bedroom.

He sat perched on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, as the evening replayed itself in his mind. The moment Marigold had stumbled, the split second when his body had moved without thought, catching her small frame against his chest, feeling the delicate weight of her in his arms.

So light. Stunning looks, and her scent…fuck.

Meadow ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling slowly.

"Damn," he whispered to the empty room.

Her scent clung to him still even now — sweet wild honeydew and vanilla lavender, with an undercurrent of something uniquely Omega, uniquely her .

He'd caught only a fleeting trace when she'd visited the ranch earlier, but holding her close had enveloped him in it completely.

The sweetness had seeped into his skin, awakening parts of him he'd deemed dormant years ago.

He stood abruptly, pacing the worn wooden floor of his bedroom, moonlight tracking his movements. His fingers unconsciously rubbed against his thumb, as if trying to recapture the feeling of her silk blouse beneath them, the warmth of her through the delicate fabric.

"This isn't happening," he muttered, but his body betrayed him — every nerve ending alive, his Alpha senses heightened to a painful degree. He could track her through a blizzard now that her scent was imprinted in his memory.

So sweet and pure. A scent you can get lost in its aroma and never get tired.

The window creaked as a breeze pushed against it, and suddenly he was transported back, years ago, to another window, another night.

Eliza.

Her name emerged from the recesses of his mind, where he'd carefully stored it away. Meadow stopped pacing, letting the memories wash over him instead of fighting them off as he normally would.

Eliza with her autumn-red hair and laughter like wind chimes. The Omega who'd seen past his gruff exterior, who'd taught him that hands calloused from ranch work could still touch with gentleness.

"You're looking at me like I'm a wild mare that might bolt," she'd teased during their first meeting at the county fair. Her eyes had glimmered with mischief, unafraid of the Alpha everyone else gave a wide berth.

"Just trying to figure out your approach pattern," he'd replied, surprised to find himself bantering with this bold slip of an Omega who smelled of cinnamon and promise.

Meadow sat back down on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight.

He traced the quilted pattern of his bedspread, the one Eliza had helped him pick out.

"Said my place looked like a bachelor's hunting lodge," he murmured to himself, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Their courtship had been something out of an old novel — slow, deliberate, building like the changing seasons.

Meadow had never been one for grand gestures, but he'd shown his love in a thousand quiet ways: fixing the leak in her apartment ceiling at midnight, bringing her wildflowers collected during his morning rides, standing silently supportive at her father's funeral.

And she'd loved him for it, told him so with her body curved against his at night, with her fingers tracing the scars on his back, with whispered plans of their future.

"We'll have three pups," she'd said, tucked under his arm as they watched the sunset from his porch swing. "Two boys and a girl. The boys will have your eyes."

"And the girl will have your spirit," he'd added, inhaling the scent of her hair, believing with all his heart that this happiness was meant to be his.

Meadow's hands clenched into fists.

The memory of what came next tightened around his chest like barbed wire.

The call from the city hospital.

Eliza, pale against white sheets, machines beeping around her. The doctor's gentle explanation of the accident, the internal bleeding. Her trembling hand in his as she told him the truth she'd only just learned herself.

"I'm sorry, Meadow," she'd whispered, tears tracking down her face. "I was coming to tell you. I'm pregnant."

Was. Past tense. By morning, he'd lost them both — the woman he loved and the child he would never know.

Meadow stood again, moving to the window to stare out at the dark expanse of his ranch.

His sanctuary. His escape.

"Never again," he'd vowed at her graveside.

Never again would he allow himself to feel that depth of loss, that hollowing out of everything that made life worth living.

Yet here he was, his senses alive with the scent of an Omega who'd literally fallen into his arms. Marigold Everhart, with her dancer's grace despite her momentary stumble, had eyes that held more sadness than someone her age should know.

He recognized that look.

Had seen it in his own reflection every day for years after Eliza.

"It's not the same," he told himself firmly. "She needs help, not complications."

But his Alpha instincts weren't listening to reason.

They recognized something in Marigold — something wounded but resilient that called to the protector in him.

That made him crave to be the Alpha in her life and submit to whatever need she required to keep those beautiful serene eyes sparkling with excitement and pure joy.

Meadow pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

Tomorrow she would come to the ranch. He would be professional, and kind but distant. He would help her find healing with his horses, as he himself had done.

And he would ignore the way his heart had thundered when she'd looked up at him from the circle of his arms, green eyes wide with surprise and another emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge — something that had mirrored his own unexpected reaction.

"Just business," he said aloud, his breath fogging the glass. "Nothing more."

But even as he spoke the words, Meadow knew they tasted like a lie.

A growl rumbles in his chest, unbidden and primal.

Meadow paces the length of his bedroom, five steps one way, five steps back, like a caged predator. The scent of her — sunshine-warming wildflowers, with an undercurrent of something wounded yet sweet honey lavender vanilla mix — won't leave him.

"This is ridiculous," he mutters, running fingers through his hair for the tenth time. "I barely know her."

But his Alpha nature doesn't care about such rational distinctions.

It recognizes an Omega in need, one whose pain calls to something deep inside him. The protective urge mingles dangerously with attraction, forming a potent combination that has his skin feeling too tight, and his breathing too shallow.

He stops at the window, staring out at the vast expanse of his ranch bathed in moonlight. The horses are shadowy figures in the paddocks, peaceful in their nighttime routine.

Usually, just looking at them centers him.

Tonight, nothing helps.

"She's been hurt," he reminds himself firmly. "The last thing she needs is some Alpha getting all territorial around her."

He thinks of how fragile she'd looked in that moment of stumbling, yet how quickly she'd composed herself — the dancer's discipline evident in every movement.

Sure, he was already hearing about the rumors going around in town with the new young woman’s arrival.

Some said she had to be a dancer from somewhere, a few of the elders being prestigious performers in their lives before coming to retire in Willowbend, exhausted with the life of “show biz” and “flashing lights”.

I could tell from the way she moved almost gracefully doing the most basic movements while keeping her back straight as if on duty to spring into another move gave it away, but I wasn’t going to pry in her business.

No matter my immense curiosity to know more…about her.

There had been wariness in her eyes when she'd realized an Alpha had caught her, a momentary flash of fear quickly masked by cool politeness.

Some other Alpha had taught her that caution, or maybe that mistakes in the public eye result in consequences...

The thought makes his jaw clench.

Meadow walks to his dresser, picks up his watch, and sets it down again. Nervous energy crackles through him, making ordinary objects seem strange in his hands. He can't settle, can't quiet the battling instincts — to protect, to claim, to comfort, to possess.

"Enough," he growls, louder this time.

He strides toward the bathroom, yanking his t-shirt over his head as he goes. A shower.

Cold water. That's what he needs to clear his head.

The bathroom light flickers on, harsh against the white tile. Meadow avoids his reflection, not wanting to see the intensity he knows is there in his eyes. He turns the shower to nearly scalding — cold won't cut it tonight — and steps under the spray.

Water pounds against his shoulders, streaming down his back. Steam rises around him, fogging the glass door. He braces both hands against the tile wall, head bowed, letting the heat work into tense muscles.

"She's just another person who needs help with the horses," he says, the words lost beneath the drumming water. "Like any other client."

But the lie doesn't stand up to scrutiny even in his own mind.

No other client has ever made his Alpha instincts surge like this, protective and possessive in equal measure. No other client has made him want to build walls around them both, shutting out everything that might cause harm.

No one since Eliza had made him want to defy all the rules, pin them against the wall, and kiss them breathless until they were pinned by his sculpted frame and given no option of escaping what he wished to foreplay from his spiraling mind.

Meadow closes his eyes, trying to focus on the water, on the present moment, on anything but emerald eyes and the lingering scent of wildflowers.

The shower was supposed to wash away this restlessness, but instead, the cascading water only seemed to intensify his awareness of his own body, and his own needs.

"She deserves peace," he whispers. "Not complications."