Page 71 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

"So if you want to counter our offer of ten million, feel free," he says with the kind of calm confidence that comes from holding all the cards. "I've got a few billion to spare as the heir of the Carter Empire, and I'm perfectly willing to take this to court if necessary."

The silence that follows his declaration is profound and complete, as if the entire town is holding its breath while Marcus processes the complete reversal of his strategic position.

His face cycles through disbelief, rage, and something that looks like genuine fear as he realizes he's been outmaneuvered by people he dismissed as irrelevant.

For a moment, I think he might actually try to escalate further, might attempt some kind of desperate counterattack against opponents who've just revealed resources he can't match.

But then Sarah Mitchell steps forward, and her expression suggests that whatever she's about to announce will end this confrontation permanently.

"Mr. Steele," she says, her voice carrying the kind of official authority that immediately draws attention, "you won't be able to place any offers at all."

Her statement hangs in the air like a sword suspended over his head, and I can see him struggling to understand what she means.

"As of today," she continues, "new federal regulations have gone into effect regarding large-scale property investments and development projects. Any pack-based business venture over one million dollars must include a bonded Omega in the decision-making structure."

She pauses to let the implications sink in before delivering what's clearly the killing blow.

"Our research confirms that Marcus Steele is currently Omegaless, which means any business ventures or property investments he attempts to make are legally invalid under the new regulations."

The revelation hits Marcus like a physical assault, and I watch his face drain of color as he realizes that his entire development strategy has just been rendered impossible through regulatory changes he apparently didn't see coming.

"That's impossible," he stammers, his voice cracking with desperation. "I've been working on these deals for months. You can't just change the rules?—"

"The rules have been changed," one of the uniformed men interrupts, stepping forward with the kind of calm authority that suggests law enforcement background. "And continued attempts to conduct invalid business operations constitute fraud."

"Furthermore," Sarah adds with obvious satisfaction, "your behavior here today—including public threats, intimidation of community members, and disturbing the peace—provides grounds for immediate arrest."

Marcus's expression shifts from desperation to genuine panic as he realizes the full scope of his predicament. But when he opens his mouth to argue, the police officer raises a hand to stop him.

"Marcus Steele," the officer announces in the formal tone used for official procedures, "you're under arrest for disturbing the peace, making terroristic threats, and attempted fraud. You have the right to remain silent..."

"This is ridiculous!" Marcus shouts, his voice breaking with frustrated rage. "I haven't done anything illegal! I'm a legitimate businessman conducting legal negotiations!"

"You made public threats against community members and attempted to conduct business transactions you're not legally authorized to complete," the officer responds calmly as he approaches with handcuffs. "That constitutes criminal behavior in this jurisdiction."

Marcus tries to back away, but the other uniformed officials move to block his escape routes with practiced efficiency. His attempts at resistance are brief and futile, overwhelmed by people who clearly have experience handling uncooperative suspects.

"This isn't over!" he screams as they secure the handcuffs and begin escorting him toward a waiting vehicle. "I have lawyers! I have connections! You can't treat me like some common criminal!"

"You can call your lawyers from the station," the officer replies with professional detachment. "Where you'll be enjoying a lovely cell with a few other rowdy Alphas who also don't care about fancy titles and status."

As they drag him away, still shouting threats and protests, the tension that's been holding the entire square frozen finally breaks like a snapped wire. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, people embracing each other with the kind of relief that comes from narrowly avoiding disaster.

"Juniper!" someone shouts from the crowd. "Your pack should be the new town council! You've got the youth and the vision this place needs!"

The suggestion is quickly taken up by other voices, and I find myself at the center of a growing chorus of support for something I never considered or wanted.

"That's an excellent idea," Thomas Ford announces, his voice carrying over the crowd with obvious approval. "I'm getting old, as are most of my fellow council members. It's time for new leadership with fresh perspectives."

"Callum's father and Wes's father would agree," Sarah Mitchell adds with a smile. "We've been discussing the need for generational transition in local leadership, and this seems like the perfect opportunity."

The weight of their expectations settles over me like a mantle I'm not sure I'm ready to wear.

But when I look around at the faces surrounding me—people who've just watched us stand up to impossible odds and win, people who clearly believe we represent something worth following—I feel a sense of responsibility that goes beyond personal comfort.

"What do you think?" Callum asks quietly, moving to stand beside me with the kind of steady presence that makes difficult decisions seem manageable.

I look at him, then at Wes and Beckett, seeing the same question reflected in their eyes. This isn't just about me—it's about all of us, about the future we want to build together and the community we want to serve.

"I think," I say slowly, "that if this community trusts us to represent their interests, we should honor that trust."

Callum nods and steps forward, addressing the crowd with the kind of natural authority that suggests he was born for leadership roles.

"We'll happily accept the offer," he announces, his voice carrying to every corner of the square. "And we promise to serve this community with the same dedication and care that you've shown in supporting us today."

The cheer that erupts from the crowd is deafening, filled with genuine joy and relief and hope for a future that suddenly seems bright with possibilities.

People surge forward to congratulate us, to shake hands and offer support and share in the collective victory that's just been achieved.

As I'm swept up in the celebration, embraced by neighbors and friends and people who've chosen to trust us with their community's future, I feel something settle into place that goes deeper than gratitude or satisfaction.

Piper comes squealing over, and I notice a group of men watching from a far, the variety in their rugged looks make me wonder if they’re also from Saddlebridge and we just haven’t been introduced yet.

Piper was the first to reach me, barreling through the crowd like a missile of pure emotion.

She broke through the wall of well-wishers with a squeal, her hair wild and eyes rimmed with the shine of near tears.

She flung her arms around me, nearly knocking the wind from my chest as she hugged me with the kind of reckless force that only true relief could summon.

I staggered back half a step but caught her, both of us laughing as we clung to each other like survivors of some ridiculous, wonderful disaster—which, in a way, we absolutely were.

"Did you see his face?" Piper gasped, half laughing and half sobbing into my shoulder. "He actually thought—oh my god, Junebug, you did it. You actually did it!"

"No, we all did it." I squeezed her tighter, marveling at how different this moment felt compared to every other time I'd tried to stand up for myself.

There was no cold isolation, no sense of being the only one left holding the line.

Not with Piper here, and not with my pack gathering behind me, their presence a steady pressure against my back.

Beckett was next, nearly lifting Piper and me both off the ground in a three-person bear hug that smushed my cheek painfully against his jacket. "Never doubted you for a second," he rumbled, voice suspiciously thick. "Well, maybe a second. Or two. But damn, that was legendary, Juniper."

Callum just rested his hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding, his eyes flicking between me and Wes as if checking to make sure we were both really still standing. He didn't need to say anything; the pride and affection in his gaze were enough.

Wes, for his part, hung back a moment, letting the rest of us take the brunt of the public congratulations.

It occurred to me that in spite of his brashness and financial pyrotechnics, he was still the same kid who'd preferred to work with his hands, who'd rather muck out stalls or stitch up a goat than take credit for a win.

When I finally broke out of the group hug and caught his eye, he just tipped his imaginary hat and gave me the softest, stupidest smile I'd ever seen, like this was all he'd ever wanted for me.

“Thank you,” I mouth to him as he gives me a loving look.

“Always, Junebug,” he mouths right back.

I hugged Piper again, and she squeezed me so hard that my ribs protested, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Around us, the celebration was taking on a life of its own—people from every corner of Saddlebrush laughing, shouting, some even openly weeping as the shock gave way to real, roaring joy.

The old guard was shaking hands with the new, boundaries blurring and reforming around a shared future none of them could have predicted even a month ago.

For the first time since I'd set foot back in Saddlebrush, I felt the absolute certainty that we were exactly where we belonged, doing exactly what we were meant to do, with exactly the right people standing beside us.

And at the center of it all, surrounded by three Alphas who've just publicly declared their intention to bond with me and a town that's chosen to trust us with their future, I finally understand what home really means.

It's not just a place you come from—it's a place you choose to build, with people you choose to stand with, fighting for things you choose to believe in.

In the end, all of this, is exactly what I choose.

Saddlebrush Ridge is truly my forever home.