Page 53 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

The smirk that spreads across his face is pure masculine satisfaction.

"Most people think I'm pretty shy and closed off, which leads to people wondering how I fit the dynamic of the group.

" He shifts me slightly on his lap, and I can feel evidence that he wasn't joking about potential hard-ons.

"But I'm a lot more assertive than I project.

It's a good playing card, letting people underestimate you. "

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender despite the heat in his eyes.

"If you ever feel overwhelmed, just find me. If I'm not home and I'm at the clinic, call me. I'll always answer."

"But you might be with patients?—"

He cuts me off with a shake of his head.

"At the end of the day, you're our omega. Our world. Our priority. Everything else is on standby when it comes to you."

The confidence in his words, the certainty that I matter that much, makes my chest tight with emotion I'm not ready to examine.

"For fake cowboys," I say, deflecting with humor, "you guys sure are romantic."

His smile grows, eyebrow arching in amusement.

"Who said we were fake?"

I pout, tilting my head in confusion.

"What do you mean? Isn't the whole cowboy thing a facade? Part of your cover here?"

His laugh is rich and genuine, the kind that makes his whole body shake and, consequently, makes me bounce slightly on his lap.

"Actually, no. We're all from smaller towns across America.

Real ranch towns with real ranches." He grins at my obvious shock.

"In fact, Talon and Rafe have known each other since childhood.

They were best friends with Luca, and all their family lines own ranches.

Generations of cattle and horses and all that Americana you probably think we're faking. "

My jaw literally drops.

"WHAT?" I practically shriek. "It's not a gimmick? Like, you're not just playing cowboys under the radar?"

He shakes his head, still grinning at my reaction.

"No, little cherry. We're actually legit. Born and raised on ranches, taking care of animals both tame and wild, living in towns where everyone knows everyone and your business is everybody's business."

He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable with me still perched on his lap like I belong there.

"We all eventually decided there was more out there.

At least enough to get out and see where our paths would lead.

How we all got into our different lines of 'work'—" he uses air quotes, "—is more of the mystery than the cowboy thing.

But yeah, we're legit. I can rope a calf, brand cattle, break a horse if needed.

Though I prefer healing to breaking these days. "

I'm completely stunned.

This whole time I thought the cowboy aesthetic was just convenient cover, a way to blend into this remote town.

But they're actual cowboys who became... what? Mob doctor, underground fighter, military special ops, and whatever Rafe's mob prince background entails?

"That's..." I trail off, trying to process. "That's actually weirder than if you were faking it."

He laughs again, and I realize I love making him laugh.

He's usually so controlled, so careful for the instaces I’ve observed him, but when he laughs it's like seeing behind a curtain to the real person.

"Where does that leave Sophia then?" I ask, the question tumbling out before I can stop it. "Was she from your world too? Another ranch girl or...?"

The laughter fades, replaced by something more complicated. He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him weighing his words.

"Do you really want to know?" His voice is careful now, the doctor voice he probably uses to deliver difficult diagnoses.

I think about it seriously.

Do I want to know about the ghost that haunts this pack? The woman whose death clearly broke something fundamental between them? The name Luca threw around like a weapon?

I'm here now. Part of this, whether we're all ready for it or not.

And I'd rather know the truth than constantly wonder what landmines I'm stepping around.

"Yes," I say firmly. "I want to understand."

He sighs, his hand still on my waist, thumb still making those absent circles that are definitely not helping my concentration.

"Sophia was... complicated." He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully. "She wasn't from our world, not originally. She was from Chicago, met Rafe at some charity function his family was hosting. Upper-class omega from a 'good' family—the kind that still believed in traditional omega roles."

"Traditional how?"

"Silent, submissive, decorative," he lists off, and there's distaste in his voice.

"She'd been raised to be the perfect omega wife—could host dinner parties, knew which fork to use, never spoke unless spoken to in mixed company.

Her family saw Rafe as a perfect match. Powerful family, good bloodlines, enough money to keep her in the style she was accustomed to. "

"But that's not what Rafe wanted?"

"It's what he thought he wanted," Corwin corrects looking deep in thought. "Or maybe what he thought he deserved. After everything with his family's business, the violence, the things he'd done... I think part of him thought someone pure and perfect like Sophia would somehow balance the scales."

He shifts slightly, and I can feel the tension in his body as he talks about this.

"The problem was, Sophia fell for the idea of being mated to a dangerous man more than she fell for Rafe himself.

Or any of us, really. She liked the thrill of it at first—the danger, the mystery, the way other omegas looked at her with envy because she'd landed not just one alpha but a whole pack. "

Like yearning to have those mob book boyfriends and thinking you won the lottery in real life…

"But?"

"But living with danger and living with the idea of danger are very different things.

" His voice goes darker. "When she realized we weren't playing at being dangerous, when she saw what we actually were capable of.

.. it scared her. She started pulling back, spending more time with other omegas in the city, comparing her life to theirs. "

I nod slowly, starting to piece together the tragedy.

"She met this other omega," Corwin continues, "someone who made her realize she didn't have to stay if she wasn't happy. That omega helped her see that what she felt wasn't love but obligation and fear dressed up as attraction."

"So she tried to leave?"

"She did leave," he corrects. "Packed her things one day while we were all out, left a note saying she couldn't do it anymore. That was when things got complicated."

He pauses, taking a sip of his latte, and I wait patiently for him to continue.

"Rafe went after her. Not to force her back, but to talk. To understand. Luca went with him—they were still best friends then, both convinced they could fix this if they just explained better, loved her harder, gave her more of whatever she needed."

"But that wasn't the problem." I can envision it all now in my mind, the dynamic and the Omega stuck in the middle of it all, convinced her fairytale that she’d envision wasn’t like the written fiction she obsessed with.

"No," he agrees. "The problem was she didn't love them. Either of them. Any of us really.She'd tried to force herself to feel something that wasn't there, and the pressure of pretending broke her."

His hand tightens slightly on my waist, an unconscious gesture.

"They found her at a hotel in the city. The argument got heated. Not violent," he adds quickly, "none of us would ever—but emotional. Luca and Rafe started fighting with each other, each blaming the other for her wanting to leave. Sophia tried to intervene, to get them to stop, and..."

He trails off, and I can fill in the blanks.

"She took something?" I say softly. "The overdose."

"We don't know if it was intentional or if she just wanted to escape the situation temporarily. But yeah, she took something. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital."

The weight of the story settles over us like a shroud. I can picture it too clearly—two alphas destroyed by grief and guilt, a friendship shattered, a pack left broken by a loss that might have been prevented if anyone had just listened instead of trying to fix.

"Rafe blames himself," I say, not a question.

"They both do. Rafe thinks if he'd just let her go, she'd still be alive. Luca thinks if he hadn't gone with Rafe, the argument wouldn't have escalated. The truth is, Sophia was broken before she ever met them. Her family had broken her, society had ruined her, and we were just the final straw."

I absorb all of this, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle piece I'm trying to fit into the larger picture.

"Is that why you're all here? In Jackknife Ridge?"

"Partly. After Sophia died, the friendship between Rafe and Luca turned into something ugly.

They went to war—not just personally but professionally.

Their families' businesses started targeting each other.

People got hurt. Eventually, we realized if we stayed, someone else was going to die.

So we left. Came here where we could disappear, start over. "

"But Luca followed."

"About six months later, yeah. Claims he has legitimate business interests in the area, but we all know he's here because he can't let it go.

Can't let Rafe go. The competition, maybe it became an addiction.

They're like two wounded animals, circling each other, neither able to finish the fight nor walk away from it. "

I process all of this, the weight of their history, the tragedy that shaped them.

It explains so much—Rafe's hostility, the careful way they all treat me like I might break or disappear, the tension whenever Sophia's name comes up.

"I'm not her," I say quietly. “Nothing like her I assume.”

"No," Corwin agrees immediately. "You're nothing like her, thank goodness."

"But Rafe?—"

"Rafe's scared," he interrupts gently. "He's terrified that history will repeat itself. That we'll break you like we broke her, or that you'll realize we're too damaged and leave. Or worse, that you'll stay out of obligation and slowly die inside like she did."

I think about Rafe's coldness, his anger, the way he watches me like I'm a bomb about to go off.

"He's trying to push me away."

"Probably. He figures if he makes you hate him now, it'll hurt less when you inevitably leave." Corwin's hand comes up to cup my cheek, turning my face toward his. "But you're not going to leave, are you?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication.

Am I going to leave?

Three days ago, I might have said yes, that this was just temporary until I figured out my next move.

But now...

Now I've tasted Shiloh's kisses and Talon's laughter. I've felt Corwin's steadiness and even glimpsed what might be pain behind Rafe's ice. I've found a friend in Poppy and a home that's starting to feel like it might actually be mine.

I’m experiencing life like I’m on a brand new journey, versus being stuck in a cage, repeating the same cycle as time ticks away into an endless blissful of anxiety and uncertainty.

"No," I say, surprised by my own certainty. "I'm not going to leave."

His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, and there's something soft in his eyes.

"Good. Because I don't think we'd survive losing another omega,” he quietly confesses and add, “Especially not you."

The moment stretches between us, heavy with potential, and I think he might kiss me. Part of me wants him to, wants to know if all the alphas in this pack kiss differently, if they all taste like home in their own way.

But then Duke— the dog —comes barreling around the corner, muddy and triumphant with what looks like a dead squirrel in his mouth. He drops it at our feet like a prize, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles.

"Oh my god, Duke, no!" I shriek, but I'm laughing. "That's disgusting!"

Corwin laughs too, the tension breaking.

"Welcome to ranch life, city girl. Dead animals are considered gifts."

"That's horrible!"

"That's nature."

Duke barks, clearly proud of himself, and I can't help but reach down to pet him, carefully avoiding the squirrel situation.

"You're lucky you're cute," I tell him, and he licks my hand in response.

I settle back against Corwin's chest, feeling more grounded than I have all day.

The overwhelm from earlier seems manageable now, the pile of purchases waiting inside just things rather than monuments to my inability to function.

"Thank you," I say softly. "For telling me about Sophia. For understanding my emotions and comforting me."

His arms tighten around me slightly.

"Anything for you, Red. We mean that."

I nod, believing him, and wonder what other secrets this pack is hiding.

What other wounds need healing versus what stories need telling.

The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange that would look fake if I wasn't seeing them myself. The pumpkin spice latte is cool now, but I don't care.

I'm warm and safe and slowly starting to understand the complicated dynamics of these men who've claimed me.

I nod and wonder if I'll learn the lore of the Lucky Ace pack.