Page 31 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

FACING THE MUSIC

~CALLUM~

" Y ou should have this conversation with Juniper and stop playing this unnecessary game of suffering to protect her."

The doctor's words hang in the air like a challenge, cutting through the heavy silence that's settled over the room since my revelation about the threats.

Her tone is matter-of-fact, professional, but there's an underlying current of exasperation that suggests she's dealt with this exact scenario more times than she cares to count.

I feel my jaw clench, every Alpha instinct in my body rebelling against the suggestion.

The idea of telling Juniper about the threats, about the attempts on her life, about the decade of fear that's shaped every decision we've made— it goes against everything that's driven me to protect her.

"Then what happens if that person returns?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

The question has been haunting me since the moment we found out she was back in town, a constant undercurrent of anxiety that colors every interaction. "You know how small towns work. People talk . The word will spread that we're together again, and the threats will start all over again."

The doctor turns around to face me fully, her expression shifting from professional detachment to something more personal, more understanding.

She reaches into her medical bag and pulls out a business card, holding it out with steady fingers.

"Dr. Sarah Mitchell," she says, her voice carrying a weight of authority I hadn't noticed before. "I'm from the town over—Millfield. If whoever was sending those threats shows any signs of returning, if there's even a whisper of danger, you call me and I'll get the necessary individuals involved."

I take the card, studying the crisp white cardstock with raised lettering. It's professional, legitimate, but my skepticism must show on my face because she continues before I can voice my doubts.

"How am I supposed to trust that you can handle something like this?

" I ask, flipping the card between my fingers.

"No offense, Doc, but you're one person.

Whoever was behind those threats was smart enough to stay hidden for months, organized enough to orchestrate an attempted murder that looked like an accident.

What makes you think you can succeed where we failed? "

Her laugh is rich and genuine, filled with an amusement that catches me completely off guard.

There's something almost predatory in her smile as she crosses her arms, fixing me with a look that suggests I've just walked into a trap I didn't see coming.

"My pack consists of a detective, an FBI private investigator, a lawyer, and a secret double agent," she says, her tone casual as if she's discussing the weather rather than dropping what amounts to a tactical nuclear bomb into our conversation.

I feel my mouth fall open, words dying in my throat as I process what she's just said.

Behind me, I can hear Beckett's sharp intake of breath and Wes's low whistle of appreciation.

The list of credentials is so far beyond anything I could have imagined that my brain struggles to keep up.

A detective.

Someone with access to law enforcement resources, databases, investigative techniques that go far beyond what three small-town Alphas could ever hope to accomplish.

An FBI private investigator.

Federal resources. The kind of connections that can track down threats across state lines, dig into backgrounds that run deeper than surface-level small-town gossip.

A lawyer.

Legal protection, knowledge of the system, the ability to navigate courts and restraining orders and all the official channels that could keep Juniper safe in ways we never could.

And a secret double agent.

I don't even know what that means, but it sounds like the kind of resource that could handle threats we haven't even imagined yet.

"Holy shit," Wes breathes from somewhere behind me, his voice filled with the kind of awe usually reserved for natural disasters or religious experiences.

"That's... that's quite a pack," Beckett adds, and I can hear the wheels turning in his head as he processes the implications of what she's just revealed.

Dr. Mitchell's smirk widens at our obvious shock, clearly enjoying the effect her revelation has had.

There's something almost fond in her expression, like she's watching children discover that Santa Claus is real and he's brought exactly what they asked for.

"I know what it's like to lose a group of men who loved the shit out of me," she says, her voice softening with personal experience. "But I also know what it's like to watch them fight against the barriers placed to stop us from loving one another."

The words hold so much truth, like its cutting straight through all my carefully constructed defenses.

Because that's exactly what we've been doing, isn't it?

Fighting against barriers, real and imagined, that have kept us apart for a decade.

"Stop letting fear dictate your life," she continues, her tone gaining strength and conviction. "Start living it, because we're running on the world's clock. It's not the other way around."

Shit…

The truth of it settles into my bones like lead, heavy and undeniable. We've spent ten years letting fear make our decisions, letting hypothetical threats control our actions, letting the possibility of danger overshadow the certainty of love.

And what do we have to show for it?

A decade of misery, three broken Alphas, and an Omega who nearly died of heat stroke because she was too proud to ask for help and we were too cowardly to offer it.

Dr. Mitchell gathers her medical bag with efficient movements, preparing to leave us to deal with the wreckage of our revelations. But she pauses at what I assume is the doorway, turning back to deliver one final piece of advice.

"Make sure you give her the medicine and feed her," she says, her voice returning to its professional tone.

"And make sure you go at HER pace, because you already screwed up once thinking you were doing her a favor using your terms. It's time for her to have the ball in her court and play this game by her rules. "

The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving the three of us alone with the weight of everything that's been said.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken thoughts and the kind of tension that comes from having your entire worldview shifted in the span of a single conversation.

"What now?" Beckett asks finally, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of the question we're all thinking.

Wes sighs, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might be relief.

"Well, we might as well confront the elephant in the room," he says, and there's a note of determination in his voice that wasn't there before.

He turns slightly, addressing the couch where Juniper's been lying unconscious for the past few hours.

"Junebug," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You're awake, aren't you?"

The words hit me like ice water, and I freeze completely.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid as the implications of what he's just said sink in.

She's been awake.

She's been listening.

She heard everything —the doctor's lecture about wasted time and biological clocks, my admission about the threats, the revelation about the attempted murder that she doesn't remember.

She knows.

Slowly, like a man walking to his execution, I turn to look over my shoulder at the couch where she's been lying.

Juniper's eyes are open.

They're unfocused at first, squinting against the light as she adjusts to consciousness, but there's no mistaking the awareness in them. She looks exhausted, drained by the heat stroke and whatever emotional toll the last few hours have taken, but she's most definitely awake.

And angry.

The fury in her eyes is unmistakable, burning with the kind of intensity that could level buildings or stop hearts.

It's the anger of someone who's just discovered that the people she trusted most in the world have been lying to her for a decade. It's the rage of someone who's realized that her entire understanding of the most painful experience of her life has been built on a foundation of deception.

Fuck.

My heart is racing, hammering against my ribs with enough force that I'm surprised it doesn't echo through the room. I don't know what to say, don't know how to begin explaining or apologizing or justifying the choices we made when we were barely more than boys ourselves.

I'm good at a lot of things. I can rebuild an engine from scratch, wrestle a spooked horse into submission, fix almost anything with moving parts. But confrontation? Emotional honesty? Laying my heart bare and trusting someone else not to destroy it?

I suck at that.

Not because I'm frightened— well, not exactly.

It's not physical fear that makes my palms sweat and my throat close up.

It's the terror of vulnerability, of saying the wrong thing, of finally speaking the truth I've been carrying for ten years only to watch it destroy whatever chance we might have had.

I'm better with actions than words, better with showing than telling.

But right now, in this moment, words are all I have.

I turn to face her fully as she struggles to sit up on the couch, her movements slow and careful as she fights against the lingering effects of the heat stroke.

Without hesitation, Beckett moves to her side, his hands gentle as he helps support her back, arranging pillows behind her so she can sit comfortably.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice soft with concern. "Are you okay to sit up? Do you need to lie back down?"

She nods once, a sharp movement that suggests she's operating on pure determination rather than actual strength.

Her eyes never leave mine, and I can feel the weight of her stare like a physical force.

"I'll get you some water," Wes says, already moving toward the kitchen. His voice carries a note of forced cheerfulness that doesn't quite hide his nervousness. "And since you're awake, you should have some of your meds too."

"The meds need to be taken with food," Beckett adds, glancing between Juniper and me as if he's trying to gauge the temperature of the room. "I'll grab you something to eat. Nothing heavy, just enough to keep your stomach settled."

And then they're both gone, disappearing into the kitchen with the kind of tactical retreat that suggests they know exactly how explosive this conversation is about to become.

They're giving us space, privacy, the chance to have the confrontation that's been building for a decade.

Which leaves me standing in the middle of her living room, staring at the woman I've loved since I was old enough to understand what love meant, trying to find words for truths I've never spoken aloud.

Juniper watches me with those storm-gray eyes, and I can see everything in them— the hurt, the anger, the confusion, the exhaustion.

But underneath it all, there's something else. Something that might be hope, if I'm not imagining it. Something that suggests this conversation might not end with her throwing us out and never speaking to us again.

There's nothing to say and yet so much to say.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of everything we've never discussed, everything we've avoided, everything we've been too scared or too proud or too stupid to address.

I know this is the moment where I have to man up, where I have to find the courage to do what I should have done ten years ago.

I have to stop hiding behind noble intentions and protective instincts and the fear of saying the wrong thing.

I have to tell her the truth.

All of it.

Even the parts that make me look like a coward, even the parts that reveal how badly we miscalculated, even the parts that prove we've been carrying this burden alone when we should have trusted her enough to share it.

Maybe I'm like every other Alpha— too proud, too scared, too convinced that I know what's best for everyone around me. Doc could be right about us being indecisive and cowardly and wasteful of the precious time we've been given.

But right now, in this moment, with Juniper's eyes boring into mine and the truth finally out in the open, I don't have the luxury of fear anymore.

I have to face the music.