Page 63 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

I plug in the hair dryer and start working on his hair, using the comb to keep it from sticking up at weird angles. He goes completely still when I first touch his head, like he can't quite process what's happening.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks quietly, having to speak up over the dryer's noise.

"Because you're freezing and wet," I say simply, working through a particularly stubborn section. "And because you came to get me in a storm when you could have just waited it out."

"How do you know how I take my coffee?"

I concentrate on getting his part straight—he always parts it on the left, very precisely—before answering.

"I observe. You don't like others making it for you, so you always do it yourself. Two sugars, one cream, stirred counterclockwise three times. You tap the spoon on the rim twice before setting it in the sink."

He's quiet for a long moment, processing that I've been paying that much attention to his habits.

"I didn't know you noticed," he finally says.

"I notice everything," I admit, clicking off the dryer now that his hair is mostly dry and properly styled. "It's a survival skill that's hard to turn off."

He nods slowly, understanding in his eyes.

We're both observers, cataloguing details others miss, always watching for the angle, the threat, the escape route.

"We can go now," he says, standing and testing the feel of the borrowed clothes.

I nod, gathering my things—my book, my phone, the leftover coffee cake Mrs. Chen insisted I take home. I write a quick note on a napkin:

Borrowed clothes for emergency. Will bring fresh ones next week. Thank you! - Red

I leave it by the register with a twenty-dollar bill, even though I know Mrs. Chen will try to give it back.

I turn off the coffee machine, check that everything is locked properly, and head for the door where Rafe's waiting. Before I step outside, I turn to him.

"I appreciate you coming to pick me up," I say. "In this weather, with everything going on... thank you."

"It's my responsibility," he mutters, but there's something softer in his tone than usual. "Obviously."

I nod and reach for the door, but before I can open it, he gently pulls me back. His arm wraps around my waist from behind, and suddenly I'm pressed against his chest, his chin resting on top of my head.

I'm confused by the sudden display of affection—this is more touching than Rafe's initiated in the entire month I've been here. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding against my back, then lets it out slowly like he's releasing more than just air.

"Thanks, Rowenna."

Just that. Nothing more. My real name, not Red, not omega, not any of the labels everyone else uses. My actual name, said with a weight that makes it feel like he's thanking me for more than just coffee and dry clothes.

For not judging him.

For not prying.

For letting him break apart and helping him put the pieces back together without making him feel weak for needing it.

The smile that spreads across my face is involuntary, warm and genuine. This is progress—real progress, not just the grudging acceptance he's been showing but actual connection.

"Anytime, Rafe," I whisper back, and I mean it.

The storm is still raging when we step outside, but somehow it seems less threatening now. He holds the umbrella over both of us as we run to the truck, and I pretend not to notice that he makes sure I stay completely dry while his right side gets soaked again.

As we drive through the flooded streets toward home, I think about the tears on his face, the way he sobbed like the world was ending, the vulnerability of that moment. Most alphas would be mortified, would probably spend the next month avoiding me out of embarrassment.

But something tells me Rafe isn't most alphas.

The truck's heater finally kicks in, warming the cab, and Rafe reaches over to turn the radio to something classical—piano and strings that fill the silence without demanding attention. His hand hesitates for a moment near mine on the center console, then retreats to the steering wheel.

Baby steps.

We have time.

And hopefully with time, we can help each other heal from the ghosts that haunt us both.

Him from Sophia and the guilt of a love that never was, and me from years of performing for survival, of being seen as commodity rather than person.

The rain continues to fall, but inside the warm truck cab, with Rafe occasionally glancing at me like he's making sure I'm really there. I feel safer than I have in years and relaxed as well.

Safe enough to believe that this pack, this place, this life that still feels too good to be real—it's mine now.

And Rafe, despite all his ice and resistance, is starting to thaw.

The smile stays on my face as we navigate through the storm toward home, Rafe's quiet presence beside me more comforting than any words could be. He's given me something precious tonight—his trust, his vulnerability, his real self beneath all the armor.

In return, I've given him something too: the knowledge that he doesn't have to be perfect to be worthy of care.

That someone can see him at his absolute worst—sobbing in a coffee shop, destroyed by cruel words from someone who should have been family—and still choose to offer comfort instead of judgment.

As the compound comes into view through the rain, lit windows promising warmth and probably three anxious alphas waiting for our return, I reach over and briefly squeeze Rafe's hand on the steering wheel.

He doesn’t flinch at the touch, and she sees how he relaxes just slightly.

True baby steps…

It's a promise of sorts—that this moment between us won't be forgotten or dismissed in the light of day. There’s a fundamentally shifted in our dynamic, and there's no going back to the cold distance of before.

The smile on my face grows as I realize that sooner or later, Rafe will let me into his heart, and she isn’t any rush. She’s ready to be the Omega he needs in his life to remind him that he can be loved.

It makes me smile in pure content.