Page 50 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

SWEET CHAOS AND NEW LAWS

~TALON~

P oppy plants herself in front of our table like she owns the entire diner, one hand extended toward Red with nails painted the exact shade of her lipstick.

"Poppy O’Donald Sinclair," she announces with the confidence of someone who's never met a room she couldn't command. "Obviously the favorite omega around town. Ask anyone."

Duke's laughter booms from behind her as he approaches with a tray of desserts.

"Favorite troublemaker, more like." But there's fondness in it as he sets down the lemon pies—one for each of us, plus an extra. "Figured Poppy would invite herself to the party, so might as well give her a treat. On the house."

Poppy squeals, actually squeals like a teenager getting concert tickets, and throws her arms around Duke's substantial frame.

"You're clearly one of the Universe's favorites! That's why you're always in the best health!"

Duke chuckles, his weathered face crinkling with genuine affection as he produces a chair from a nearby table.

"Sure, sweetheart. Nothing to do with you terrorizing me into eating vegetables."

Rafe groans as Poppy pulls the chair right up to our booth, wedging herself between the table edge and creating chaos with her mere presence.

"No one invited you."

"Obviously," she says, flipping her platinum-and-teal hair over her shoulder.

"I invited myself. With the news of the universal omega changes, I have to be one with the outdoors and investigate how people feel.

" She pauses dramatically, hand over her heart.

"As a journalist, real estate agent, and blog writer influencer, it only makes sense. "

Rafe's eye twitches—a sure sign he's about to say something that'll start a war.

"Real estate my ass. Your blog barely gets views, and I thought the news office that hired you fired you the same day."

"That was discrimination, obviously!" Poppy's voice rises to a pitch that makes dogs three blocks away perk up their ears. "If I was an omega with a pack, they would have had no choice but to accept my enthusiasm for delivering the best gossip, I mean, news, this city could ever dream of!"

She jabs her fork in Rafe's direction, a cherry from the pie balanced precariously on the tines.

"They're lucky I'm on vacation here in Jackknife Ridge or else I'd be ruining their whole organization from the ground up. Scammers, the lot of them."

I glance at Red, catching the excitement twinkling in her garnet eyes as she watches this force of nature that is Poppy Sinclair. And fuck, I can already tell—they're going to be friends. Best friends, probably.

The kind that get into trouble together and drag everyone else along for the ride.

The thought sends a chill down my spine because this is exactly what happened with Sophia.

She'd found a friend, another omega who understood her, and it had made her realize how much she didn't fit with us.

How much we were failing her. That friendship had been the beginning of the end, the catalyst that?—

No. This is different. Red is different.

I force myself to focus on the present, where Shiloh's casually draping his arm along Red's shoulders.

She relaxes into him unconsciously, but her attention is already captured by the dessert in front of her.

The way her eyes light up at the sight of the lemon pie, pupils actually dilating like she's looking at porn instead of pastry, tells me we're about to lose her to food coma number two.

"So what's the buzz about these omega law changes?" Shiloh asks, his thumb rubbing absent circles on Red's shoulder.

Red's already diving into her pie with the same single-minded focus she'd had with the sandwich. Fork precisely cutting through the meringue, getting the perfect ratio of filling to crust to topping in each bite. She makes a small sound of pleasure that has me shifting in my seat.

Poppy straightens, clearly delighted to have an audience for her gossip—sorry, news.

"A mandatory law went into effect yesterday. All packs now have to have an omega associated with them or they're cut off. Completely. No government services, no tax benefits, no legal recognition as a pack."

The words land like a bomb.

We all exchange glances—this is what had Rafe running to town, what he'd been trying to tell us about before Red distracted everyone with her sandwich worship.

"Thirty days," Poppy continues, cutting into her own pie with precise movements that match her manicured appearance. "That's all the time packs have to initiate the bond legally. File the paperwork, prove cohabitation, demonstrate genuine pack dynamics."

My mind races through the implications.

We're not necessarily worried—we have Red now, and she seems content enough. The scent match with Shiloh alone would satisfy most requirements. But it doesn't mean we're off the hook entirely. T here's paperwork, medical exams, probably interviews. The government loves its bureaucracy.

"It's sending everyone into a frenzy," Poppy says around a mouthful of pie, somehow making even that look elegant. "Especially because it includes business owners and any establishments that heavily benefit from exploiting omegas."

That gets everyone's attention.

Even Red pauses mid-bite, though she's already demolished half her pie in the time it's taken Poppy to eat two bites.

"Elaborate," Corwin says, his medical mind already categorizing information.

Poppy bobs her head enthusiastically, making her victory rolls bounce.

"I just came back from Vegas this morning. Quick flight to investigate the Strip, and honey, it is chaos. This isn't a joke or stunt—government law enforcement is already locking owners out of their businesses until they can establish an omega in their pack that's legit."

I watch Red's face at the mention of Vegas. She's already finished her first pie— when did that happen? —and is staring at the empty plate with genuine sadness. Like someone just told her Christmas was canceled.

The pout she's sporting is so fucking cute I can't help myself.

I slide my untouched pie across to her, trying to be subtle about it.

The way her face transforms —from tragedy to pure joy in half a second —makes my chest do something stupid. She beams at me with such genuine happiness over a simple dessert that I want to buy her every pie in Montana.

Then her attention shifts back to Poppy, and there's something careful in her expression.

"What about the entertainment industries? You know, the ones that thrive off... uh, dancers, performers, circuses?"

She's thinking about the Crimson Roulette. About Marnay. Not in a concerned way—there's no fondness there—but more calculating. Wondering if her past is about to come knocking.

"Oh, they're fucked," Poppy says cheerfully.

"Getting shut down completely until those owners can prove they have an omega.

And they have even stricter rules apparently—has to be a genuine pack bond, not just some paper arrangement.

The omega has to live with them, share their space, be part of their actual life. "

She pauses dramatically, fork poised in the air.

"But I haven't gathered all the tea there yet. My sources in Vegas are being surprisingly tight-lipped. Almost like someone powerful is very interested in keeping certain information contained."

The table goes quiet, everyone processing the implications. Red's already halfway through my pie, apparently having decided stress-eating is a valid response to legal complications.

Poppy claps her hands suddenly, making everyone jump.

"Now! I need an official introduction because seeing as you guys obviously have an omega in your midst and didn't know about the rule update means she's here willingly!"

She points her fork at me accusingly.

"Also noted that Talon shared his dessert, which he never does because he has a big-ass sweet tooth. Sweeter than Rafe's, obviously."

"I don't even like sweets," Rafe protests, which is such a blatant lie that everyone at the table turns to stare at him.

"Sure," Poppy drawls, rolling her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out. "That's why you have a hidden stash of those fancy Swiss chocolates in your office. The ones you think no one knows about."

Rafe's face does something complicated— part outrage, part embarrassment, part murderous intent —but before he can respond, Red speaks up.

"I'm Red," she says, licking lemon filling off her fork in a way that's definitely not intentional but is definitely doing things to my blood pressure. "I just came from Nevada as a... uh... kickboxing... dancer... in the circus."

The delivery is so hilariously bad that I can't help but smirk at her.

She catches my look and shrugs, completely unrepentant.

"Hey, you guys paid good money to see me perform my kickboxing number."

Poppy squeals so loud that Duke looks over from behind the counter with concern.

"I've always wanted to learn kickboxing! My partner at the journalism department actually teaches and stuff, but he's such a softie."

She groans, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"I'll have to deal with him later. But he actually has a training gym facility further in town that's opening up. You should all come by when you're settled!"

"That sounds amazing!" Red's enthusiasm is genuine, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of a real gym, proper training.

"If you need girl time, I'm just a text away," Poppy says, then pauses. "Even though the phone service is shit here. Seriously, it's like the town exists in some weird dead zone where technology goes to die."

"I'd love that," Red admits, and there's something vulnerable in her voice. "I don't really have many omega friends. Actually, I don't have a phone either."

Poppy gasps like Red just admitted to murder.

Her perfectly lined eyes turn to each of us in turn, judgment radiating from every pore.

"We'll have one for her by tomorrow," Corwin says quickly, recognizing a Poppy Tirade when he sees one coming.