Page 134 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

I watched at him as we moved—not bothering to hide the way I was studying him—and he very pointedly did not meet my eyes. Even when Wade dropped his hand and a fat raindrop chose that exact moment to fall on his forehead and trace down into his eye, he continued to focus ahead. He just blinked rapidly, driving away the unwanted moisture.

If he thought he could win me over by giving me his hat or acting too macho to wipe away rain on his face, then he was… probably right.Damn him and damn my Omega impulses.These stupid men were already thawing my heart. How the hell was I going to hold out until Eros emailed?

I pushed the brim of Wade’s hat slightly up so I could see where we were walking. My head was much smaller than his, so it slipped back down again almost immediately. Using both hands, I gathered my hair and twirled it into a makeshift bun, then shoved the knotted strands into the back of the hat to take up the extra space. This time when I tilted the brim, it stayed in place.

“Sorry it’s big,” Wade said, eyes still trained ahead.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, “Thank you. I should have said that already.” My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, demure and sweet.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied.

I wanted to ask if he was only being nice because his Alpha nature wanted me to stay, but it was an unfair question. If I’d learned anything since touching down in Wyoming and meetingthese men, it was that biological instincts are impossibly woven into everything—they’re the real driving force behind our feelings and thoughts and needs of the body. I was as stubborn and determined as a person could be. Yet, when faced with my scent matches, all my convictions seem to melt. They were little more than ice cubes left out on a hot day.

We walked in silence, crossing over both grass and gravel patches, our footsteps crunching in rhythm. Every now and then, the uneven ground reminded me that I had broken blisters and scrapes all over my feet. But I distracted myself with the sights, sounds, and smells of Sagebrush.

The air was so different here than in Seattle. Richer. Cleaner. Dancing with notes of soil, wildflowers, and animal musk. No pollution. No tobacco smoke. No urine from alleyways. There were more cars than creatures back home. It was all waste, worry, and hurry.

Despite everything, I found myself breathing deeper than I had in months.

The rain stopped, the clouds on a break, and I slicked my palms down each arm to drive away lingering dampness.

The pregnant cow was in a pasture about a quarter mile from the house, standing on the opposite side of a wooden fence that looked hand built. She was massive—black and white spotted, with an udder so swollen I wondered how she could walk. Wade approached the barrier with easy confidence, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue. Surprisingly agile, he hopped the fence in one fluid motion, moving towards the cow as he spoke sweetly.

"Hey there, Dolly," he murmured, running his hands along her flank with practiced familiarity. "How are you feeling today, mama?"

I hung back on the other side of the fence. The cow looked calm, but I knew absolutely nothing about livestock.Wouldit get angry if I approached it? Would it charge me? Do cows charge? Maybe I was thinking about bulls and how you shouldn’t wear red.

"You can come closer, you know," Wade called, gesturing me forward. "Dolly’s gentle as a lamb. Been with us since she was a calf."

I hesitated, eyeing the massive creature. She had to weigh at least a thousand pounds, with hooves that could easily crush my toes if she decided to shift her weight. In the city, my closest encounter with farm animals had been petting zoos at festivals. This cow could probably trample me without breaking stride. I don’t know why my thoughts kept going to a dark place—that these men could subdue me easily, if they tried; that this animal could crush me without wasting extra effort. Though, unlike the men—where my ‘dark’ imaginings also drifted into delicious territory—the cow only gave ‘stomp me to death’ vibes.

Still, something about Wade's easy manner with her was oddly compelling. It almost made me trust him, and the animal, enough to climb over.

“I'll stay here, thanks,” I eventually said, deciding to err on the side of caution.

“No pressure.” Wade shrugged, returning his attention to Dolly. His large hands moved with surprising delicacy along her swollen belly, pressing gently in different spots. The cow seemed completely unbothered, occasionally swishing her tail or turning her head to observe what he was doing.

"She's close," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Maybe another week." He turned his head enough to smile warmly at me. “I try to be at every birth on the property. It’s messy but I can’t even describe how beautiful. The newborns bond with me easier too.”

“That’s very John Hammond of you,” I replied off hand.

“What?” He cocked his head now, smile faltering.

“The dinosaur movie,” I said stupidly. “Jurassic Alphas?”

“Ah,” he nodded. “That one where they clone raptors using frogs.”

“Right,” I nodded. “Raptors and frogs.”

Wow, could I be any dumber?

He turned his attention back to the soon-to-be mama.

I watched, fascinated, as he continued his gentle assessment. There was something mesmerizing about seeing Wade’s huge, calloused hands move with such care. These were the same thick, long fingers that had cleaned my wounds last night. He was obviously strong, but there was something about an Alpha who could temper his strength into something soft and kind. I wondered what else he could do with those hands…

“This might hurt a little, just bear with me.”

Wade positioned the compact folding knife’s tip at the edge of the blister. He pressed carefully, making a minor incision to drain the one blister that hadn’t been popped by the loose boots on my walk of shame back to the ranch. He used a damp cotton ball to empty the vesicle.