Page 37 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

I'd never been one to rail against nature. The world operated by certain rules and fighting them was usually an exercise in futility. But sometimes I found myself wishing fervently that our bodies worked differently. That chemistry and pheromones and biological imperatives didn't dictate our fate.

Cooper's voice rang out again, closer this time. "Levi! Stop crunching numbers and come eat! I made meatloaf sandwiches with last night’s leftovers!"

I sighed, rubbing my temples where a headache was beginning to form. For a moment, I debated hollering at Cooper to bring my plate to the office. That wouldn’t be abnormal, I sometimes ate while I worked. I didn’t really want to see the strain in Wyatt's eyes, the manic energy in Cooper's movements, the vacant exhaustion in Wade's face, or the tight control in Boone's posture. I wasn’t in a good headspace. I didn’t want my energy to make things worse.

But we were pack. And pack meant showing up, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

I was the last one to the kitchen. Boone were eating in silence. Wyatt was staring at him. Cooper was checking something in the oven. And Wade was tipped back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. The man needed about forty-eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, not anothercatnap at the dinner table. Maybe it was time to have one of our campfire nights. Drunk Wade was a good sleeper.

I pulled out my usual chair, the legs scratching across the worn floor. Wade didn't stir. If a nuclear bomb went off right now, he'd probably sleep through it.

"Wish the idiot would take a few shots of whiskey and pass out for the night," I muttered, nodding toward Wade.

“Tried that,” Wyatt replied without looking at me, his eyes still fixed on Boone across the table. “Got him drunk as a skunk. Followed him to bed. Asshole was up two hours later wandering around the house. Boone, what the hell happened to you this morning?”

Boone was a mess. His normally immaculate braid was half-undone, with twigs and grass tangled in the strands. His clothes and face were caked with soil and sweat, and the earthy scent of his muddy, unwashed body nearly obscured his Alpha cologne. He’d been checking the fields and cattle in the pouring rain, which had now stopped.

“Slipped.” Was all Boone said before taking a large bite of sandwich.

He’d never been a big talker, but now we were lucky to get a few words out of him. Setting aside his disheveled appearance, something in the set of his shoulders told me there was more to the story than just ‘slipped’. Wyatt clearly sensed it too, his jaw tight and eyes still glued to Boone's face.

"Just rip the scab off, Boone," Wyatt said, his voice tight with impatience. "You know I'm not one for avoiding the truth."

Boone sighed heavily, setting his sandwich down and glaring at it for a heartbeat before answering. "Lost two cows. One was Larkspur poisoning. Found her with the typical signs—stiff legs, arched back. She was already gone." He rubbed a hand over his face, leaving a smear of dirt across his cheekbone. "The other might have wandered through a break in the fence on the northpasture. Tree fell down during the storm, and I fell digging out the damn plants.”

"Shit," Wyatt cursed. "That's the third one to Larkspur this season. We need to get that section of the pasture cleared."

"I’ve been digging the shit up down to the roots every time I find it,” Boone growled, slamming a fist against the table, rattling the plates. “Wish we could burn the damn stuff.”

"We could fence off that area for now," I suggested, though I knew it wasn't practical. The Larkspur kept popping up in different areas. We’d have to quarantine a large chunk of property. "Or hire extra hands to clear it properly."

"With what money?" Wyatt snapped, then immediately looked contrite. "Sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m just pissed we lost two animals."

An uncomfortable silence fell. The problem wasn't financial anymore; it was practical. Larkspur was notoriously difficult to eradicate. The delphinium species grew throughout Wyoming, its purple-blue flowers deceptively beautiful against the sagebrush backdrop. Unfortunately, it was also highly toxic to cattle. As little as 0.5% of body weight consumed could kill a cow within hours.

“Really would be easier if we could burn it,” I broke the tension, because it was suffocating me.

"Yeah, too bad there’s the pesky risk of respiratory paralysis, vomiting, and death," Cooper chimed in, coming to the table with two plates. He sat one in front of me and kept the second for himself.

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. “You like taking risks.”

“On social media ads for random shit, yes. On death by plants, no. Besides, I’m too pretty to die.” Cooper opened his sandwich and absolutely drowned the meat in ketchup.

“I feel like the chef using that much sauce isn’t a good sign,” I quipped.

“Ketchup doesn’t count.” He offered me the bottle, but I declined.

As I took my first bite, I looked at my pack mates and began to compare myself to them. Not for the first time. I’d been torturing myself a lot lately, finding ways to feel inferior.

Wyatt. Bigger than life. Always taking charge.

Wade knew more than a damn vet about animals. Hell, wildlife gravitated to him.

Boone was the land itself. So damn smart. I couldn’t wait to see what him and Coop did with the greenhouses.

Cooper… Cooper wasn’t just the boyish heart of our pack. He was brilliant too, underneath all the rain boots and rubber duck underwear.

But me? I was a glorified order clerk who ran numbers for fun. Now that we had money, my main job wasn't even stressful anymore. I made sure bills got paid on time. I tracked expenses and income. I ordered supplies from lists the others put together. Important work, sure, but hardly heroic. I was replaceable. The guys could do what I did with software on a cell phone.