Page 51 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

"I never approved that," Rafe says, because he can't help himself.

I chuckle, enjoying his perpetual need to be contrary.

"You did now."

We share a look— him glaring, me grinning —and he can't say anything without looking like an asshole.

Well, more of an asshole.

Poppy sighs dramatically, hand over her heart again.

"Thank goodness you have some sane alphas using their brains and not their dicks. Except for Rafe. He doesn't use either. Just his emotions and anger management issues."

"Fuck off," Rafe growls, but there's less heat in it than usual. Poppy has this effect on him—she's so absolutely unafraid of his grumpy alpha bullshit that he doesn't know what to do with her.

"I'm not done with my pie or giving Red my number, so no," she says primly, taking another delicate bite.

We settle into eating— or in Red's case, inhaling— our desserts. The lemon pie really is Duke's masterpiece. Tart enough to make your jaw ache, sweet enough to satisfy, with meringue so light it practically floats.

"I better go soon," Poppy announces after a few minutes. "Or else my lovely journalism partner in crime is going to start stalking this place like the stalker he is."

"That can't be healthy," Red jokes, scraping the last bit of lemon curd from her plate with surgical precision.

Poppy laughs, bright and sharp.

"Nope! But I'd rather have an alpha stalking me safely than be stuck between a love war."

The comment is clearly aimed at Rafe, and I see him frown, processing the jab. But the rest of us play naive, pretending we don't know she's referring to the Sophia situation. To the war between Rafe and Luca that cost us everything.

Poppy rises with the grace of a vintage movie star, pulling a pen from somewhere—seriously, where do women hide these things?—and writes her number on a napkin with flourishing loops.

"Call me anytime!" She slides it to Red with a wink. "I love sweets, coffee, and books! If you just need to be out of the house for a bit, don't hesitate to ask. Also, still mean it about the kickboxing hangout!"

She waves goodbye, blowing kisses at each of us— Rafe dodges his like it's a bullet —and sashays out of the diner with her heels clicking a rhythm that probably spells trouble in Morse code.

Red watches her go with a soft smile.

"I think I can get used to it here if everyone is as friendly and open."

"Honestly, most everyone is on the good side," I assure her, already imagining the chaos she and Poppy will cause together.

"Except for Luca," she notes, showing she's been paying attention despite the food coma.

"Except him," Corwin agrees with a smirk.

We finish up, the conversation flowing easily now that Poppy's whirlwind energy has passed. Rafe goes to pay the bill without a word, probably needing a moment to recover from Poppy's targeted attacks.

I lean closer to Red, who's still mourning her empty plate. "Having fun?"

She nods enthusiastically.

"I am! I'm excited to adjust to all this. It's so different from... before."

"Don't worry about the political pack stuff," I tell her, wanting to ease any concern about the new laws. "We'll handle all that bureaucracy bullshit."

"Thank you," she says softly, then grins. "And thanks for the extra dessert."

The opening is too perfect to resist.

I lean in closer, dropping my voice to that tone that makes omegas shiver.

"I might have to take you up on your offer of trying something sweeter."

The blush that explodes across her face is magnificent. Red as her namesake, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath her blouse. Her mouth opens and closes like she's forgotten how words work.

"I heard that," Shiloh says from her other side, not even trying to sound threatened.

I chuckle, not backing down.

"I didn't say you couldn't join."

Corwin groans from across the table.

"Don't go saying that or we're having a group fling."

"I won't be there," Rafe announces as he returns, shoving his wallet back in his pocket with unnecessary force.

Red shrugs, casual as anything.

"Your loss."

The look on Rafe's face—pure indignation mixed with something that might be want—is fucking priceless. He opens his mouth, probably to say something scathing, but Red's already sliding out of the booth.

She skips— actually skips —toward the door, then turns back with a grin that promises trouble.

"First one to the horse parking gets first dibs!"

The words take a second to register. First dibs on what? Her? Dessert? The right to?—

Then she's out the door, that infectious giggle floating back to us, and understanding hits all three of us at the same time.

"Fuck," Shiloh breathes.

"Did she just—" Corwin starts.

"Move!" I shout, and then we're all fighting to get out of the booth at once.

Shiloh's got the advantage of being on the outside, but I'm faster, vaulting over the back of the seat.

Corwin tries to go under the table which is ambitious but ultimately unsuccessful.

We hit the door at the same time, all three of us trying to squeeze through at once like some kind of alpha Three Stooges routine.

"Move your fat ass!" I grunt at Shiloh.

"That's my foot!" Corwin yelps.

"Both of you are slow as shit!" Shiloh growls.

We explode out onto the street in a tangle of limbs, probably looking absolutely ridiculous to anyone watching. But all I can focus on is Red, already halfway to where we hitched the horses, her laughter echoing off the storefronts.

She's running in those boots we found for her, the ones that actually fit, her hair streaming behind her like a banner. The late afternoon sun catches the red in it, turning it to flame. She looks back once, catches us basically wrestling each other to get ahead, and laughs even harder.

"Cheaters!" she calls out. "You're supposed to run, not fight!"

But we're alphas, and everything's a fight when the prize is worth it.

I break free first, my underground fighting experience finally good for something besides bar brawls. My longer legs eat up the distance, boots slapping against the packed dirt of Main Street.

"Not fair!" Corwin protests from behind me. "You've got like six inches on me!"

"Life's not fair!" I call back, but then Shiloh's passing me on the right, that military training making him efficient even in a foot race.

Red's almost at the horses now, Luna and the others looking up with mild interest at all the commotion. She spins around, walking backward, watching us with glee.

"Come on, slowpokes! My grandmother could move faster than?—"

She trips.

Of course she does, walking backward in boots she's not used to. But instead of falling, she turns it into some kind of gymnastic roll that would be impressive if it wasn't so fucking adorable. She pops back up, dirt on her cream blouse, hat askew, grinning like a maniac.

Shiloh reaches her first by maybe half a second. I'm right behind him, with Corwin bringing up the rear but not by much. We're all breathing hard, probably looking absolutely ridiculous—three grown alphas who just sprinted down Main Street like kids racing for the last piece of candy.

"I win," Shiloh pants.

"Bullshit," I argue. "I was right there?—"

"Boys," Red interrupts, and we all turn to look at her. She's standing there with her hands on her hips, dirt smudged on her cheek, looking absolutely delighted with herself. "You all lost."

"What?" we say in unison.

She points to Luna, where Duke—the dog, not the restaurant owner—sits in the saddle, tail wagging proudly.

"Duke got here first, which means you guys are all disqualified in getting my speciality whipped cream, aka the one in the fridge you guys used on the pancakes this morning" she announces. "So technically, he gets first dibs."

The dog barks, like he knows exactly what's going on and approves of this chaos.

She was taunting us this whole time when she was referring to the whip cream…in the fridge.

It’s both realistic and yet the most prosperous shit they’ve heard, especially when they’re just a bunch of horny Alphas smitten for this new Omega in their lives that seem to light up their world.

We all stare for a moment, then Shiloh starts laughing.

Real, genuine laughter that transforms his whole face. Then Corwin joins in, and I can't help myself either.

"You hustled us," I accuse, but I'm grinning.

"I don't know what you mean," she says innocently, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief. "I just said first one to the horses. Never specified it had to be human."

From behind us, Rafe's voice carries on the wind.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

We turn to see him standing in the diner doorway, looking absolutely disgusted with our antics. But there's something else there too—a crack in his cold facade, like maybe he wishes he'd run too.

"Come on, Mr. Grumpy!" Red calls out. "We're going home!"

Home.

The word settles over us all, warming something in my chest. Not the compound, not the house, not the property.

Home. Because that's what it's becoming with her suddenly apart of it, warming our

I look at Red—dirt-smudged, victorious, absolutely radiant in her joy—and think about what Poppy said. About the new laws, about packs needing omegas, about legitimacy and bonds and bureaucracy.

None of that matters. Not really.

What matters is this: a woman who challenges us, makes us laugh, makes us run down Main Street like idiots just for the possibility of...fridge whipped cream. First dibs on a kiss? A date? The right to sit next to her on the ride home?

It doesn't matter what the prize was supposed to be.

The real prize is her—chaos, giggles, and food-worship and all.

Talk about first impressions on our little cherry omega.