Page 46 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

OPERATION RODEO ROULETTE

~RED~

T he living room feels impossibly large with just the four of us in it.

I'm tucked into the corner of one of the leather couches, legs curled under me in my ridiculous cowboy socks, still nursing the remnants of my pumpkin latte.

Shiloh's sprawled next to me, close enough that our thighs touch through the fabric of my dress.

Talon's claimed the armchair across from us, sitting in it backward like a teenager who never learned proper furniture etiquette.

Corwin— I keep wanting to call him Crowne like the others do —has taken the other end of my couch, medical journal abandoned on the coffee table.

The afternoon sun slants through the windows, painting everything golden and warm, but there's an awkward energy in the air. Like we're all aware we need to have some sort of conversation but no one knows how to start.

"So," I finally say, setting down my empty mug, "where should we start with this?"

Talon immediately takes charge, and I can see why even though Rafe's technically the leader. There's something about Talon's energy that fills spaces, makes decisions happen whether they're good ones or not.

"Well, since our illustrious pack alpha is still off having his daily tantrum—" He waves dismissively toward the door Rafe escaped through, "—I say we start with formal introductions."

Shiloh's eyebrow arches skeptically.

"Formal introductions? We already know each other's names."

Talon's grin turns wicked.

"Including what we used to do and what we do now in Jack Ridge. You know, the stuff that actually matters instead of just 'Hi, I'm Shiloh, I chop wood and brood attractively.'"

I can't help but giggle at that, especially when Shiloh flips him off with casual efficiency.

"Fine," Talon says, straightening in his backward chair like he's about to give a presentation.

"I'll start. Talon Reeves, thirty years old, former underground fighter turned legitimate businessman.

" He uses air quotes around 'legitimate' that make Corwin snort.

"Used to break faces for money in warehouse basements from Detroit to Miami.

Now I run the garage in town, fix cars, motorcycles, anything with an engine really.

Also handle our... let's call them automotive special projects. "

"He means he strips stolen vehicles and rebuilds them with clean VINs," Corwin translates helpfully.

"I prefer 'automotive liberation specialist,'" Talon counters without missing a beat. "Your turn, Doc."

Corwin shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable with the attention.

"Corwin Ashford, thirty-one. Former Army medic, did three tours in Afghanistan before—" He pauses, jaw tightening.

"Before I got out. Now I run the clinic in town.

Real medical license, real patients, real boring small-town doctor stuff.

Also patch up idiots who get into bar fights and can't go to the hospital without answering inconvenient questions. "

"He's being modest," Shiloh adds. "He's the only doctor in a fifty-mile radius. Delivers babies, sets bones, treats everything from diabetes to gunshot wounds."

"Allegedly gunshot wounds," Corwin corrects carefully. "I've never seen a gunshot wound. That would be illegal to not report."

The way they all smirk tells me he's definitely seen gunshot wounds.

"My turn?" Shiloh asks, and when Talon nods, he sighs like this is physically painful.

"Shiloh Cross Granger, thirty-two. Marine and Special Operations, classified shit I can't talk about, discharged two years ago after—" He stops, rephrases.

"After I was done. Now I handle security for our operations, train our people, make sure no one we don't want finding us finds us. "

"He's our ghost," Talon explains. "Makes problems disappear, makes sure we stay disappeared, occasionally disappears people who become problems."

"Allegedly," Shiloh echoes Corwin's earlier tone.

They all look at me expectantly, and I realize it's my turn.

"Um, Rowenna Vale, but everyone calls me Red.

Twenty-four, former... entertainment specialist?

" I cringe at my own description. "Spent three years at the Crimson Roulette doing whatever kept me alive and untouched.

Before that..." I trail off, not sure how much to share about life with my father.

"Before that was just surviving a different kind of hell. "

It feels odd now that we’ve explained what we used to do until now, because I feel mine is rather pale in comparison.

"What about Rafe?" I ask, trying to deflect from my own sparse biography. "Since he's not here to introduce himself?"

The three men exchange looks that speak of long history and complicated dynamics.

"Rafe Moretti," Talon finally says. "Thirty-three, our pack alpha whether he likes it or not. Used to run the family business in Chicago?—"

"Mob," Corwin interjects helpfully.

"—until shit went sideways. Now he's our CEO, handles the legitimate businesses, the investments, keeps us rich and legally untouchable. He's the reason we could drop a hundred million on you without blinking."

"He's also the reason we had to leave Chicago," Shiloh adds quietly. "But that's his story to tell."

I nod, filing that information away for later processing.

"Well, you all probably know everything about me already. From before rescuing me, I mean."

Shiloh's lips quirk.

"Your lingerie kickboxing routine wasn't exactly in the intelligence briefing."

I laugh, remembering that performance that feels like a lifetime ago despite being less than a week.

"I do love kickboxing, but I don't have any official training. There was this male omega at the gym near the casino—Malrik, went by Mal. He taught me basics, helped me learn to defend myself." My smile fades. "He stopped coming to the gym about six months ago. Never found out what happened to him."

They all nod with understanding that speaks of experience with people who just disappear.

"What do you like to do?" Corwin asks, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Besides boxing and apparently stealing dogs?"

Duke, hearing himself referenced, lifts his head from where he's been napping by the fireplace, tail thumping once before he goes back to sleep.

"That's the thing," I admit, pulling my knees up to my chest. "I have no clue actually. I was thinking about it when I woke up, and I realized I don't really know what I'm good at. What I like. Three years of just surviving doesn't leave much room for hobbies."

I take a breath, steeling myself for the next part. "I need to get a job though. Figure out what I can contribute?—"

All three alphas turn to stare at me like I've just suggested selling my organs on the black market.

"What?" I ask, defensive under their collective shock.

"Why would you want a job?" Talon asks slowly, like he's explaining something to a child.

"Omegas don't need to work," Corwin adds, equally baffled.

I frown, not understanding their confusion.

"But I can't just loaf here for free. I have to help too. Contribute something."

"You're our responsibility," Shiloh says firmly. "We work. You don't need to."

"Then what will I do all day?" The question comes out smaller than intended, genuinely lost.

"Anything you want," Talon says like it's obvious.

"Okay... maybe I can cook? Learn to help with meals?"

"We have chefs," Corwin says gently. "Three of them, actually. They rotate schedules."

"Then cleaning?—"

"Full housekeeping staff," Talon interrupts. "Plus groundskeepers for the property, stable hands for the horses, mechanics for the vehicles. We gave them all a week off so you could adjust without strangers around, but cooking and cleaning are definitely off the table."

I'm genuinely confused now, a bit of panic creeping in.

"Then what do I do? If I don't work, don't cook, don't clean... what's my purpose here?"

They exchange looks that I can't quite read before Talon leans forward, grinning.

"You exist," he says simply.

"I don't know how to do that." The admission comes out embarrassingly honest. "I've never just... existed. There's always been something required of me. Some performance, some task, some way to earn my keep."

"Jesus," Shiloh mutters, and his hand finds my knee, squeezing gently.

They're all looking at me with expressions that might be pity or sadness or anger, but not at me—at the situation, at what my life has been.

"Okay," Corwin says slowly, thoughtfully. "How about this? You explore Jack Ridge. Get to know the town, the people. Try things you've never done before, figure out what you like and don't like. No pressure, no requirements, just... discovery."

"Is it really that easy?" I ask, skeptical. "To just start this new adventure without consequences?"

"With us, with a proper pack, it's supposed to feel as effortless as it can be," Talon says, and for once he's completely serious. "We'd love for you to experience that. What it's like to just be, without constantly calculating the cost."

A smile tugs at my lips despite my uncertainty.

I can handle that. Discovering what I like and don’t like…easy enough. Simple. Not complicated or risky.

"Okay, but I really don't know how to do anything. Like, I'd love to learn to cook even if we have chefs. And maybe drive? I know the basics from watching, but I've never actually done it."

"What else?" Corwin prompts gently.

"I like reading," I admit. "But I don't really know what I actually like to read. The casino had a few romance novels girls left behind, some true crime paperbacks, but nothing... substantial. And obviously, I love boxing and working out, but again, nothing formal. Just survival stuff."

They're all nodding, and I can see Talon's brain working, that manic energy focusing into something productive.

"Operation Rodeo Roulette," he announces suddenly.

I laugh at the ridiculous name.

"Why are you naming this mission like that?"

His grin widens.

"Because learning new things is exactly like both those games.

Rodeo—you're getting on something unknown, trying to hold on for eight seconds, seeing if you can master it or if it'll throw you off.

Either way, you learn something about yourself.

And roulette?" He spreads his hands. "You place your bets on what interests you—red or black, odd or even—spin the wheel and see where the ball lands.

Sometimes you win big and find a passion.

Sometimes you lose and learn what you don't like.

You embrace the gamble of chance and opportunity, but every spin teaches you something. "

"Plus," Corwin adds with a smile, "both involve a certain amount of luck and risk-taking. Perfect metaphor for trying new things."

"And," Shiloh says, his thumb rubbing circles on my knee, "both can be fun as hell if you're not worried about the stakes."

"So we'll take you around town," Talon continues, warming to his theme.

"Introduce you to people, places, activities.

You try everything that catches your eye.

Pottery class at the community center? Sure.

Horseback riding? Why not. Book club at the book cafe club?

Absolutely. We'll be your... adventure guides. "

"You'll also get to learn about each of us," Corwin adds. "What we love about this place, why we stayed, what makes Jack Ridge home instead of just a hiding spot."

The excitement building in my chest is unexpected but welcome.

"Like a structured exploration plan?"

"Exactly," Talon beams. "Structure without requirement. Plans without obligation. You can quit anything you don't like, pursue anything you do."

"And once you figure out what you enjoy," Corwin says carefully, "we can start contributing to your nest."

I pout, lower lip pushing out in confusion.

"What's that?"

All three men freeze, staring at me with identical expressions of shock.

"You've never had a nest?" Shiloh asks, voice strained.

"No, never. I've heard about them from time to time—girls at the casino would mention them—but I don't really understand what they are."

They exchange looks that seem to communicate entire conversations in seconds.

"A nest is..." Corwin starts, then stops, seeming to search for words. "It's an omega's personal space. Sacred space. Usually a bedroom or corner of a room that you make completely yours. Filled with soft things, comforting things, items that smell like your pack."

"It's where omegas go to feel safe," Talon adds. "Especially during heats or when stressed. It's supposed to be this instinctive thing—gathering blankets, pillows, clothes that smell like your alphas."

"Some omegas are very particular about their nests," Shiloh says. "Only certain textures, certain colors, specific arrangements. It's deeply personal."

"Oh." I process this information, trying to imagine having enough belongings to create such a space. "I've never had enough... stuff. Or a space that was really mine. The casino room was shared, and before that..." I shrug. "Before that, staying in one place too long wasn't safe."

The anger that flashes across all three faces simultaneously is actually a bit frightening.

"There are quite a few omegas in town," Corwin says, voice carefully controlled. "You can talk to them too, get their perspectives on nesting, on being an omega in a pack, on... everything really."

"Fair warning though," Shiloh says with a slight smirk, "they might not be the smartest bunch. Or the nicest. Small-town dynamics and all that."

I smirk right back.

"Not to worry. I usually attract at least one chill omega who's not a complete bitch. It's like a superpower, finding the one decent person in a room full of assholes."

They all laugh at that, the tension breaking.

"Well then," Corwin says, standing and stretching, "that's the plan. Should we head to town? Give you a preview of what you're in for?"

I squeal —actually squeal like a teenager —bouncing on the couch.

"Yes! Are we taking an old car or something?"

The three men exchange looks, and there's mischief in them that makes my stomach flip with anticipation.

Corwin extends his hand to me, and there's something almost formal about the gesture.

When I take it, he pulls me to my feet with gentle strength, but doesn't let go. Instead, he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends unexpected heat through me.

"Even better," he says, and his hazel eyes hold promises of adventure.

The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows catches the gold flecks in them, making them almost amber.

"As long as you promise to hold on tight."