Page 46 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

Away from work schedules and veterinary emergencies and the chaos that seems to follow me everywhere lately.

The mailbox contains the usual assortment of bills and advertisements, but there's one piece that makes my blood run cold. An official-looking envelope with my name written in unfamiliar handwriting, no return address, and the kind of weight that suggests important documents inside.

My hands are shaking as I tear it open.

And what I find inside makes my worst fears seem optimistic in comparison.

It's a letter from Marcus Steele, an Alpha I'd hoped never to encounter again.

The same Alpha who'd thought it was appropriate to make me sleep in a tent outside when I didn't comply with his demands.

The same pack leader who'd made my life miserable for the brief time I'd tried to make things work with his group.

But that was years ago, in a different state, and I'd made sure there was no way for them to track me when I left.

So how the hell did he find me?

And why is he suddenly interested in Aunt Lil's property?

The letter is written in the kind of formal language that lawyers use when they want to sound threatening without actually making direct threats. It talks about "development opportunities" and "fair market value" and "beneficial partnerships for the community."

But underneath the corporate speak, the message is clear:

He wants my land.

And he's not planning to take no for an answer.

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the letter.

My scent is probably broadcasting my distress to anyone within a mile radius.

And I have no idea what to do with the fact that my past has apparently followed me to the one place I thought I might finally be safe.

"Why do you smell distressed and frightened as fuck?"

Callum's voice cuts through my spiraling panic like a blade.

He's approaching from the direction of the barn, tools in his hands and concern etched across his features.

His nostrils are flared, clearly reading my emotional state through scent alone.

I try to play it off, folding the letter and attempting a casual smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

"It's nothing," I say, but my voice comes out shaky and unconvincing. "Just some junk mail that surprised me."

Callum is not buying it for a second.

He drops his tools and closes the distance between us in three long strides, invading my personal space with the kind of Alpha intensity that would normally make me bristle with defensive instincts.

But right now, his presence is more comforting than threatening.

Right now, I need someone strong and capable and willing to fight for me.

He leans in close, inhaling deeply near my neck, and the growl that rumbles from his chest is pure predatory menace.

"That's not 'nothing,'" he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that means business. "You smell like fear and panic and distress. So I'm going to ask again—who do I need to kill?"

The casual way he mentions murder should probably concern me.

Instead, it makes me feel protected in a way I haven't experienced since I was young enough to believe that the people who loved me could actually keep me safe from everything.

"You don't need to kill anyone," I huff, though I can't quite suppress the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Murder is illegal, even in Saddlebrush."

He rolls his eyes at my attempt at levity, but his expression remains serious. When he holds out his hand expectantly, I know there's no point in trying to hide the letter from him.

He's going to find out anyway.

And honestly, I'm tired of carrying burdens alone.

Tired of trying to handle everything by myself when there are people willing to help.

I hand over the letter with reluctant resignation, watching his face as he reads. The transformation is immediate and alarming— his jaw clenches, his eyes narrow, and the growl that builds in his chest is so low I feel it more than hear it.

"Marcus Steele," he says the name like it tastes bad. "The same asshole who made you sleep outside?"

I nod, surprised that he remembers the details from my brief, embarrassing explanation about my dating history one night.

Of course he remembers.

These men have been paying attention to every word I've said since I returned, cataloging information, building a complete picture of everything that's happened to me during our years apart.

"I don't understand why this is happening now," I admit, wrapping my arms around myself for comfort.

"I made sure there was no way for them to track me when I left.

I changed my name, moved across the country, started over completely.

How did he find me? And why does he suddenly care about this property? "

Callum reads through the letter again, his frown deepening with each word.

"Real estate development," he says grimly. "The town's been getting pressure from outside investors who want to capitalize on our 'rural charm.' Turn Saddlebrush into some kind of boutique destination for city people who want to play at country life on the weekends."

The thought makes my stomach turn.

Because I know exactly what that means—property values skyrocketing, local families pushed out by gentrification, the tight-knit community that defines Saddlebrush scattered to the winds.

And my sanctuary, Aunt Lil's legacy, turned into condos or shopping centers or whatever other soulless development Marcus has in mind.

"We'll keep an eye on this for now," Callum says, folding the letter with careful precision. "I'll talk to Beckett's dad and a few others, see if other property owners are getting similar pressure. If this is part of a larger campaign, we need to know about it."

The 'we' in that sentence hits me harder than it should.

Because for so long, it's just been 'I' and 'me' and the lonely weight of handling everything alone.

Having someone automatically include themselves in my problems feels like a gift I'm not sure I deserve.

"I don't want to lose the ranch," I admit, the words coming out smaller than I intended.

"It's really becoming a space I can envision growing into something thriving for the community.

Something that could help animals and bring people together and honor what Aunt Lil always wanted this place to be. "

And maybe, if I'm being completely honest, something that could be our future.

A place where we could build something lasting and meaningful together.

But I'm not ready to say that part out loud yet.

Callum's expression softens at my admission, and when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture is infinitely gentle.

"We'll fight it," he says simply. "Whatever it takes, whoever we have to face, we'll protect what's yours. That's why we're in your life, Juniper. To make things as smooth as possible, to handle the shit that tries to hurt you."

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead, the contact warm and reassuring and full of unspoken promises.

"Go eat your breakfast," he says, his voice returning to its normal register. "I'll handle this. You shouldn't have to stress about assholes from your past when you're trying to build something new."

The casual way he takes responsibility, the assumption that my problems are now his problems, should probably trigger my independence reflexes.

Instead, it makes me feel cherished in a way that's both foreign and absolutely right.

Like this is how partnerships are supposed to work—not one person carrying all the weight, but two people choosing to face whatever comes together.

Or in this case, four people.

Because I know without asking that Wes and Beckett will react to this threat with the same protective fury that's radiating from Callum right now.

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than he probably realizes. "For... all of it. For caring enough to get involved, for not making me handle this alone."

His smile is soft and genuine, transforming his usually stern features into something almost boyish.

"Always," he says simply. "Now go eat before that food gets cold and Beckett lectures us both about proper nutrition."

I head back toward the house, feeling lighter despite the weight of Marcus's letter.

Because for the first time in years, I'm not facing my problems alone.

I have people who care enough to fight for me, to protect what matters to me, to stand between me and whatever threatens the life I'm trying to build.

And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to face whatever comes next.

Even if what comes next is a confrontation with the kind of Alpha who thinks he can take whatever he wants through intimidation and force.

Marcus Steele has no idea what he's up against.

Because he's not just threatening me anymore.

He's threatening us.

And that's a mistake he's going to regret.