Page 63 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

I shift to lie beside her, still clothed while she's bare and vulnerable. It should feel unbalanced, but instead it feels right.

Like I'm her guardian, her protector, allowed this closeness by grace and trust.

"The next wave will be soon," I warn her.

She nods against my shoulder.

"I know. But right now... can we just..."

"Yeah," I say, understanding. "We can just stay like this."

I want to bring her comfort and stability. For her to realize the level of peace she gives me with her sexual satisfaction. It brings out the Alpha in me that wants to protect what’s his.

And I guess I’ve missed that level of empowerment.

That pride in protecting and being there for the Omega who entrusts me to be her rock in all avenues.

She was quiet, and I knew her mind was already racing toward all the reasons this should never have happened. I shifted underneath her, just enough to rest my chin on her head, and drew slow, steady breaths, hoping she’d match me if I set the pace. Let it be easy, I willed, let it be real.

That ache I’d carried for years, the one that hollowed out my chest every time another Alpha found his mate or some Omega left town with a promise of a better life, it was gone.

Replaced by something new—pride, sharp and wild, in being the one she chose, even if just for now.

I wanted to hold this version of myself up to the light and never let it dull down again.

She made me feel like I could finally stop apologizing for what I wanted; like it was okay to want her, to want to be wanted in return.

I shifted my grip, pressing my palm low on her back, and she gave a tiny shiver but didn’t flinch away.

Her thigh fell across mine, bare skin on denim, and I thought I could spend the rest of my life cataloging each freckle and scar, each place where her skin grew sensitive or stubborn.

She reached up and brushed her fingers through my beard, thoughtful, almost scientific, and I let her.

If she wanted to dismantle me piece by piece, I’d let her have the blueprints.

"Did you mean it?" she asked, voice muffled.

I blinked, momentarily lost. "Mean what?"

"That I’m perfect," she said, not as a challenge, but with something like wonderment. Like she had never believed it, not once, and needed to hear it again before she’d let herself think it might be true.

I rolled us gently, so she was half on top of me, my arms banded around her. "You are," I said, and I kept my voice low so it wouldn’t startle her. "Even when you’re impossible. Especially then."

Her laugh vibrated through me, soft and incredulous.

She didn’t believe it yet, but she wanted to.

There was a time I would’ve tried to fix that, fill the silence with explanations and justifications.

But I was learning that sometimes the best thing I could do was hold her and let her come to her own conclusions.

I stroked her hair, smoothing back the stray flyaways, and waited. She always filled her silences eventually, and I was never in a rush.

"You know I never did this before," she said quietly, the words falling out like a confession. "Not just the… sex, but the letting go. The trusting someone else to be gentle."

I squeezed her, heart clenching.

"I know. And I promise I’ll never give you a reason to regret it again. I learnd my lesson."

She went still for a beat, then let out a long, shaky laugh. "You sound like a damn romance novel."

"Only if you’re the heroine," I said, deadpan, just to make her snort and roll her eyes.

She craned her neck to look at me, and there was a new softness in her gaze that made me feel like I’d been hit in the solar plexus. "I think I could get used to this," she admitted. "You being all… steady and reliable and soft on me."

I grinned, unable to help it.

"Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain."

Her scent is changing, sweetening with satisfaction, though the underlying heat remains.

It wraps around us both, creating a bubble separate from the outside world. From the ranch, from our roles, from all the reasons this is complicated.

“Rest, Bell,” I murmured, voice as soft as I could make it with the weight of what we’d just done pressing down on my chest. She needed time to float back to herself, to let the aftershocks mellow out before the next round tried to take her under again.

The Omega in her might be calling out for more, but I wasn’t about to let her burn out in a single afternoon.

Even if the sight of her spent and glowing made my own skin feel too tight, my own need strung out and insistent, I wanted her recharged and ready.

She hummed, limp but alive in my arms, her cheek mashed against my collarbone.

I smoothed a thumb along her shoulder, running little circles over the new constellation of goosebumps there.

The urge to kiss every inch of her, to map her out with lips and tongue and teeth, would have to wait.

I made a mental note of it: Juniper Bell, completely fucked out and purring in the crook of my arm, was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.

I glanced down and caught her staring at my hand where it rested on her hip. She traced the veins with her fingertip as if she was memorizing the pattern for later sabotage. Her eyelids drooped, but she fought the urge to drift off, stubborn even in exhaustion.

“If another flare hits, you’re gonna need energy,” I told her, hoping my logic would win out over her bullheaded need to push herself past every known limit. “You can nap here as long as you want. I’ll stand guard.”

She scoffed, but the sound was lazy and fond. “You’re gonna what, stand at the end of the bed with a shotgun in case any stray alphas wander by?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I replied, deadpan. “It’s not a bad look for me.”

She snorted and finally let her head loll onto my chest. Her hair smelled like fresh hay and sweat and the faintest tang of ozone, as if summer lightning had set her alight from the inside.

I wanted to bottle the scent and keep it on my workbench, open it whenever I needed a reminder that good things still happened in this world.

I felt her body start to relax, breath evening out, but her hands never went still. She toyed with the seam of my shirt, then with the hem, and then—when she must have thought I wouldn’t notice—she let her hand graze lower, a silent dare that I didn’t mind accepting.

“Bell,” I warned, “if you’re looking for a round two, you’re outta luck. I’m under strict orders from your doctor to keep you hydrated and horizontal for at least an hour.”

She laughed, a lazy, satisfied sound. “The only thing horizontal here is you, Callum Hayes.”

I grinned, letting my own tension slip away. “It’s a good look on me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in her gaze made my heart thump a little harder. There, in the quiet aftermath, I realized I could get used to this—to her teasing, to her warmth, to her stubborn refusal to ever let things get too serious for more than a minute.

Even with my own need gnawing at my ribs, I was content to just hold her and be held in return.

If this was what being an Omega’s Alpha was supposed to feel like, I’d been starving for it a long time.

I’d let her rest, and when she woke, I’d be right where she left me: her guardian, her punching bag, her idiot in shining armor.

But for now, I held her tighter. Because Juniper Bell had finally let herself rest, and I was determined to keep her safe while she did.

She let herself go boneless, her weight sinking into me like she finally believed she didn’t have to keep fighting gravity. Even when her breathing slowed and I could tell she was just on the edge of sleep, her hand never stopped its gentle explorations.

Finally, she peeked up at me with a smirk. “You know,” she said, “for all that talk about standing guard, you’re the one who looks like he’s about to fall asleep.”

I grunted, resisting the urge to shut my eyes right then and there. “Gotta stay sharp. Could be another wave, or a barn fire, or you making another run for it.”

She snickered, then pushed herself upright with a groan, only to settle back against my shoulder with even greater determination. “You’re such a dork. You know that, right?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I’m your dork. At least for today.”

She was quiet a minute, digesting that, before she tilted her chin up and pinned me with a look that was pure Juniper: fearless, playful, and already plotting her next move.

“Callum?” she said, voice lower and thicker now that some of her energy was coming back.

“Yeah?”

Her lips curled. “You realize you’re still hard, right? Kinda feels like you’re the one who needs rest and hydration.”

I nearly choked, but managed to keep my voice even.

“Occupational hazard. Besides, watching you come undone is better than anything I could do for myself.”

She pursed her lips, considering.

“Is that a dare?”

There was a time I would’ve flinched at that, pulled back before I embarrassed myself.

I used to think daring was a thing that belonged to other people—people who could afford to make a mess, people who didn’t have to clean it up after.

But something about her, the way she looked at me like I was an open field instead of a locked gate, made me want to risk it.

To let her see the part of me that wanted and wanted and never thought it was allowed to ask for more.

So I didn’t answer. I just looked at her, meeting her challenge with one of my own, and wrapped my arms a little tighter around her waist. If she needed me to be the boundary, fine.

If she wanted to see what happened when she bulldozed right through it—well, I’d built it sturdy just for the pleasure of watching her try.