Page 170 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

I slid into what had become my usual spot at the table between Boone and Levi. Wade and Wyatt always sat with theirbacks to the window, and Cooper almost always found a reason to vacate his seat for me when I showed up. I wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just pulled another chair into the kitchen. I’d spied a few folding ones in a closet while trying to find conditioner last night. My hair felt ridiculously dry. Ghost’s was softer.

How these men kept their hair so glossy and long without decent products was beyond me.

“Sleep okay?” I asked tentatively, needing to break whatever tension had suddenly entered the chat.

No one looked directly at me. Wade stared fixedly at his half-eaten breakfast, fork suspended midway to his mouth. Boone sat unnaturally still, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his shirt. Levi worried a pencil with two hands, the poor thing bending unnaturally, quickly on the verge of snapping. Cooper stirred his coffee repeatedly, as if it were cream he was trying to whip into stiff, white peaks. It was Wyatt who finally responded, taking the lead. Though he seemed reluctant to, as if answering me was a task he’d rather not be saddled with.

“Slept just fine.” Wyatt pushed away from the table and stood up. “I need more caffeine.”

The bags under his eyes and his brute tone betrayed the easy lie. He hadn’t slept, not a wink I bet. I peered at all of them. Each Alpha looked like death warmed up this morning.

My eyes went back to Wyatt, who brushed past Cooper to set his mug on the island. When he grabbed the percolator, he gave it a slight shake, making the contents swirling inside. He tipped it, funnel directed over his empty mug. Initially, a steady stream released, but quickly it slowed to a trickle. Wyatt tipped the carafe further, nearly holding the thing upside down, his expression darkening as he realized how much was left.

“If you take the last of the fucking coffee, make more,” he growled.

I’d never heard him so angry.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my pulse quickened.

“Sorry, sorry,” Cooper muttered quickly. “I was distracted.”

I looked down at my mug, realizing that I’d been the one to take the last of the coffee, though technically Cooper poured it. I stood up, closing the distance to Wyatt quickly. I lifted the mug with both hands towards him. “It was my fault, Wyatt. Take mine.”

His face went slack as his forest eyes met mine. He didn’t say anything.

I wanted to ask him why he was so upset. I wanted to know why they were all acting so off. But, like other times since landing in Wyoming, I didn’t want the answer to those questions. That’s something you should never do—ask questions when you don’t want them answered. It’s a recipe for disaster.

“It’s really okay. I’m not that tired,” I insisted.

When Wyatt didn’t move a muscle, I took one hand from my cup and reached for one of his. I meant to lift it and fold his fingers around my offering, but he jolted back away from me like my touch was an electric shock.

God, why did that hurt so much?

Why was I suddenly back at Imperial, sitting in Madoff’s office, having my heart ripped out?

"Nelly." His voice cracked on my name, and the sound of it hit me like a physical blow.

I lowered my mug too quickly, coffee sloshing over the rim and onto my fingers. The burn barely registered. "What's happening?" I whispered, unable to hold the question in any longer. "What did I do wrong?"

The five of them exchanged glances, their eyes wordlessly speaking a language I couldn't understand. That simple exchange reminded me, keenly, that I wasn’t part of this pack. These men had been together forever, some of them their entirelives, and I’d only been here a week. Maybe they’d finally realized that Id didn’t belong. That would be fucking ironic. Because I was finally realizing that maybe Idid.

Every moment they didn’t answer me, I spiraled further.

“I don't understand,” I breathed out, putting the mug down on the counter, ignoring the sting from the scald marks. I gripped the counter’s edge, closing my eyes and trying to remember every detail of yesterday. That must be when I screwed up. But… how?

We’d all been in the living room, talking about the hot houses and the way Cooper and Boone had finally won the battle to, not shift, but split operations between cattle and crops.

Cooper was talking, arms waving through the air, carried by his boyish enthusiasm. “The sugar beets are doing great, but once we’ve tested out the new seeds, we’ll decide which to test in the new fields.”

“That land’s going to be great. I sent off for a soil analysis, but it’s dark and rich.” This from Boone, who was sitting lazily on the sofa, tree trunk legs crossed at the ankles, with one of his muscled arms slung around Levi’s narrower shoulders.

“I know some still don’t fully agree,” Cooper shot a look at Wyatt, “but diversifying our operations is going to help in the long run. We’ll always have a fall back.”

“And this is what you guys went to school for?” I asked, watching every detail of Cooper’s face as it shifted while he spoke. Cheeks pinking, eyes widening, lips parting. There was something intoxicating about a person who had this kind of passion.

“Sort of,” Cooper shrugged, noncommittally. “Boone was sustainable food with a focus on Bioenergy. I was Environmental Horticulture.”

“Ornamental,” Wyatt butted in, “Let’s be real clear here and let Nelly know that you studied growing shit for decoration.”