Page 24 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

"What happened?" he asks, ignoring my sarcasm. "What happened that made you three chickens push her away to the point where she actually left?"

The question I've been avoiding for ten years.

The conversation we've never had, not fully, not honestly.

I sit down on the stool across from him, suddenly feeling every one of my twenty-eight years. The kitchen smells like sugar and butter and all the comfort foods I've been stress-making, but underneath it all is the lingering scent of regret.

How do I explain something I'm not sure I understand myself?

"It's complicated, Dad."

He leans back, crossing his arms in that patient way that means he's settling in for the long haul.

"Life is complicated, son. But without it being so damn tribulating, you're never going to grow and learn that relationships are precious pieces of a puzzle.

" His voice takes on that philosophical tone he gets when he's dispensing life advice.

"You lose one piece, and guess what? It can never be completed, can it? "

I shake my head, thinking about the way we used to fit together— me, Callum, Wes, and Juniper.

Four corners of something that felt inevitable, natural, like we were meant to orbit each other for the rest of our lives.

Until we fucked it up so badly she ran.

Dad stands, moving around the work table until he's close enough to pat my shoulder. His hand is warm and steady, grounding me in the moment.

"Stop stress-baking and make an effort to start over."

"Start over?" I frown, looking up at him. "What do you mean by start over? We can't just pretend the last ten years didn't happen."

"I'm not talking about pretending anything didn't happen.

" He squeezes my shoulder, then moves to lean against the counter.

"I'm talking about accepting that you're not going to be able to fix what broke back then.

You were teenagers, Beckett. There's nothing wrong with that—teenagers are supposed to make mistakes.

But now you're adults, and you have to explore who you are now. "

The idea settles in my chest like a seed, foreign but potentially hopeful.

"You've all changed, whether you want to admit it or not," he continues. "So it's time to explore the new you—both as individuals and as a pack, with your sweetpea in the center of it all."

I think about it, turning the concept over in my mind.

It makes sense, in that terrifying way that good advice often does.

We're not the same people we were at eighteen.

I'm not the same fumbling kid who couldn't figure out how to tell a girl he loved her without making it weird.

Callum's not the same angry young man who thought pushing people away was the same as protecting them.

Wes isn't the same class clown who used humor to deflect every serious conversation.

And Juniper... Juniper's not the same wild, fearless girl who thought she could take on the world with nothing but determination and a bad attitude.

"It makes sense," I admit, but even as I say it, I feel a tightness in my chest. "But it feels... nerve-wracking. What if we're not the people she needs anymore? What if too much has changed?"

Dad's smile is gentle, understanding.

"You're not looking for perfection, son.

You're building a foundation for a new beginning that's going to require trust, dates, and opportunities to apologize and grow.

" He pauses, letting that sink in. "She needs to realize that you all still love her—not the her from the past, because that girl's gone, but the woman she is now. "

The woman she is now.

Stubborn and defensive and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her.

Carrying scars I can't see but can feel in the careful way she holds herself, the walls she's built, the way she flinches from touch like she's forgotten how good it can feel to be wanted.

"How?" I ask, and I hate how lost I sound. "How do we do that when she pushes us away at every turn? When she looks at us like we're the enemy?"

"Take it slow," he says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Invite her on dates. Do stuff she wants to do. Help her around the sanctuary, even if she's stubborn about it."

He leans forward, fixing me with that intense stare that means he's about to say something important.

"Do you think she wants to fix that place all by her lonesome?

No. Doesn't matter if she's stubborn—an Omega, a woman, shouldn't be doing such hard labor.

That's not what they were born to do, and even if they're capable, it doesn't make it right.

That's why you're here, Beckett. That's why all of you are here. "

The protective instinct flares in my chest, hot and immediate.

The thought of Juniper struggling with broken fences and structural repairs, trying to manage everything on her own because she's too proud or too hurt to ask for help... it makes my hands clench into fists.

"But I'm better with my hands in the bakery than I am with labor," I protest, gesturing around the flour-covered kitchen. "This is what I know. Mixing, measuring, creating things that make people happy. I'm not Callum with his engine expertise or Wes with his veterinary skills. I make pastries."

Dad laughs, rich and warm, the sound filling the kitchen.

"Your mother told me the same thing when we first got together.

Said she was better with books than with ranch work, better in the classroom than in the barn.

" His expression turns fond, nostalgic. "That's why we've been married for twenty-five years, son.

Because the best partnerships aren't about being identical—they're about complementing each other.

Your gentleness, your patience, your ability to create comfort and beauty. .. that's exactly what she needs."

"Ew, Dad," I groan, making a face. "I don't need to hear about your marital wisdom right now."

He laughs again, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Speaking of which, Wes should be back from his delivery run any time now, and I got Callum to pick up some fixing supplies from the hardware store." He stands, brushing flour off his shirt with casual movements. "Time to go fix your girl's sanctuary and her heart."

My girl.

The possessive hits me square in the chest, and for a moment, I can barely breathe around the want.

The idea of Juniper as ours—not in the controlling, dominating way that some Alphas claim Omegas, but in the cherishing, protecting, worshipping way that feels right down to my bones.

"Dad—"

"No arguing," he says firmly, but there's warmth in his voice. "Clean up this kitchen, put on some work clothes, and go be the man I raised you to be. That girl needs you, whether she wants to admit it or not."

He heads for the back door, then pauses, looking back at me with something like pride in his expression.

"And Beckett? For what it's worth, I think you three are exactly the people she needs. You just have to give her time to remember why she fell for you in the first place."

The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the scent of sugar and possibility.

I look around the kitchen—at the successful pies cooling on their racks, at the disaster of a wedding cake that somehow looks more fixable than it did an hour ago, at the evidence of my emotional breakdown scattered across every surface.

Dad's right.

I can't bake my way out of this mess. Can't create enough comfort food to fill the Juniper-shaped hole in my life. I certainly can't hide behind flour and butter and the safe, predictable world of recipes that always turn out right if you follow the instructions.

Real life doesn't come with instructions.

Real love doesn't follow recipes.

But if I'm brave enough to try, I can help build something new.

Something better than what we had before, stronger because it's been tested by time and distance and the kind of heartbreak that either destroys you or teaches you what really matters.

I start cleaning up the kitchen, movements efficient and purposeful.

The wedding cake can wait—the Hendersons won't pick it up until Thursday, and I'll have time to fix the structural issues when I'm not operating on emotion and insufficient sleep.

Right now, I have more important things to do.

Like figuring out how to win back the only woman I've ever loved, one carefully constructed moment at a time.

Time to stop stress-baking and start living.

The thought terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure, but as I hang up my apron and reach for my work clothes, I can feel something shifting inside me.

Something that feels suspiciously like hope.

Here goes nothing.