Page 124 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

“Just leave it,” Levi muttered, closing the ledger around the busted pen. “This is the backup anyways.” He picked up his own mug, transferring ink from his hands onto it, and stood up abruptly. He all but stomped to the sink to rinse the mug and scrub his hands.

“Have a seat, Nell.” Cooper, still holding a large wad of ink-stained towels, pulled out a vacant chair. He was obviously forcing his smile; it didn’t reach his navy eyes.

“I told you not to call me Nell,” I grumbled.

“Did you tell me that?” He cocked his head to one side, pretending to think. “I’ll try to remember that. You just remember your strength,” he reminded me, and had the absolute balls to wink afterwards.

“Shut up,” I said, exasperated.

“I will, if you eat,” he insisted.

“The food won’t bite, Nelly. Neither will we.” This from Wade.

“Until you want us too,” Cooper added quickly.

“Coop, pretty sure she told you to shut up.” Wyatt’s voice cut through the room, causing everyone to fall silent.

I tossed him a grateful look, before realizing what I was doing. I had no reason to be grateful to his macho ass. I wouldn’t be here, having to deal with any of them, if they hadn’t made a deal with Eros.

Still, I took the chair Cooper offered and sat down. As soon as I did, taking the pressure off my feet made pulses pound in each sole. But I didn’t show it. I refused to let them know last night’s failure was still giving me grief. Cooper tried to push my chair in, but I batted his hands away. Though my feet were screaming at me, I lifted and scooted closer by myself. I may not be as big and strong as them but working the pole had given me respectable upper body definition. I could move a damn chair myself. I could do a lot of things my own damn self…

Though, escaping Sagebrush Ranch wasn’t one of those things.

"Coffee?" Cooper asked, moving away from me and towards a large percolator on the counter. "Or the fresh squeezed orange juice?"

"Coffee," I managed, my voice sounding rough even to my own ears. Being even closer to the men at the table was making their smell nearly overwhelming.

“Cream and sugar?”

“No,” I said it sharply, trying to push through the way my vision wanted to blur as my head felt increasingly floatier. I needed it black, bitter enough to cut through the fog of Alpha pheromones.

No one spoke as Cooper poured me a mug and walked it back toward me. No one spoke as he retraced his steps, grabbed the plate he’d finished prepping and brought that to the table too. I looked at it, half expecting a mountain of bacon and steak and all the heavy farm stuff cowboys ate. Instead, I found two pieces of toast topped with scrambled eggs. Herbs dotted the dark,sunflower yellow. Beside that were odd looking berries, like tiny red watermelons with light veins. I picked one up, studying it.

“Gooseberries,” Wyatt explained without me needing to ask. “Found a patch this morning.”

“Found them and didn’t have gloves,” Cooper chided.

I glanced at Wyatt’s hands, which were covered in angry red dots. He looked down too, his gaze unchanged. “They’re prickly things.”

“Why would you pick them without gloves then?” I said rolling one of the berries around in my hand.

“Cooper said you liked to eat fruit,” he admitted, meeting my eyes. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t act embarrassed. He held my gaze without an ounce of remorse for causing himself pain, or for admitting he’d done it for me.

“Oh,” my mouth dropped, I didn’t know how to respond to that.

Wade lifted an arm and clamped his brother on the shoulder. “We’ll get more groceries soon. Until then, take gloves with you just in case you see another good patch.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” Wyatt brushed off the advice, and Wade’s hand.

“You said the same thing last time the bull nearly gutted you,” Levi remarked dryly. I looked for him, finding him now standing near the back door cleaning his glasses.

I felt like I should thank Wyatt for hurting himself getting something I’d not really asked for. But I also didn’t want to thank any of them for anything. In the end, I chose politeness. Because that’s what my grandmother would have told me to do.

“Thank you, Wyatt.” I didn’t smile. The words were all I would willingly give him.

When he looked at me though, his cheeks lifting as his mouth spread into the most achingly genuine smile below the mustache, I found myself smiling too. I pushed the gooseberrybetween my lips and bit down. It burst in my mouth, the juice sweet and slightly tart.

“Do you like it?” He asked slowly, voice steady.