Page 4 of Wild Omegas (Wild Skies Ranch Omegaverse #1)

Brooks

Josie goes back to the house after the ranch tour.

I have half a mind to follow her but anytime one of us even attempts to do something that vaguely resembles helping her, we receive a glare and a hand wave.

It’d probably be far more effective if she wasn’t limping with every step or biting her lip from the pain.

I wonder if she realizes how much of an open book she is. Or maybe that’s just my ex-cop instincts going off.

Still, I return to my sheep to finish work for the day and wonder the entire time where the hell this omega has been all my life.

Even Luke, who knew her before, somehow lost track of her.

At least until she roared down the road in the loudest Camry I’ve ever heard in my life.

I genuinely had no idea they could even get that loud.

I smile thinking about it and her equally roaring entrance into our lives on this quiet little ranch.

But every time I think of her eyes, I see layers of walls put up with stark reinforcements.

I’ve seen that look on countless criminals and victims throughout my years on the force.

It’s not the main reason I left and retreated to Wild Skies Ranch, but it certainly wasn’t not in play. My last case was…

A vicious chill rips through me as I climb the stairs to the front door of the main house. I have to let it go, what happened. But saying you’re moving on and escaping from law enforcement and actually escaping from the eyes of victims you couldn’t save are two very different endeavors.

Spoiler: One is far easier than the other.

I peel off my boots and hang my Stetson along with my work jacket on the hooks at the front door before heading upstairs for a much-needed shower.

Only once I’m dirt-free and presentable do I wander downstairs to the living wing of the house to see what my packmates might have in mind for dinner.

Usually it’s something grilled—steak and veggies, burgers and fries.

Something quick, easy, and filling. I do smell steak, but it’s certainly not being grilled.

I round the corner to the kitchen and stop frozen in my tracks. Josie stands at the stove cooking with two burners and the oven on one good leg because the other is sporting frozen peas around the ankle.

“What are you doing ?”

The words are out past my lips before I can even think of stopping them. It’s not my place to judge but she’s here under our sort-of watch, has already injured herself, and is now definitely not resting.

Josie jolts when I speak and then inhales sharply.

She turns to me. “Cooking dinner, obviously.” Then she must see some of my more brazen thoughts on my face because she lifts a spoon at me.

“I know, I know. I should be resting. But I didn’t trust you all to make dinner and figured I owed you all for having to come to my rescue on day one. ”

Her words are grateful but there’s a tone there doesn’t fit in. Hard, like a forced disinterest. Another instinct I’ve seen a hundred times.

“We can cook.” I make my way to the fridge for a beer only to discover she’s rearranged the entire thing with all the groceries she purchased on her way here and stored in the huge cooler we brought into the house for her.

Vegetables, meat, baking supplies, oils, other basics fill the fridge and the surrounding counter.

I grab the one beer bottle I see poking out between broccoli and cauliflower heads. “So can you, apparently.”

Josie clicks her tongue. “Understatement.” Then she frowns and tilts her head. “Well, really I’m more of a baker. But I’m all right at cooking too.”

I crack open the beer and take a sip. “A baker? Is that what you do professionally?”

Josie goes back to stirring whatever delicious-smelling food is in the pot closest to her. It doesn’t escape me that she’s moving with stiffened motions not attributed to her twisted ankle. “I did. Might still go back to it one day. But Wild Skies is my focus for now.”

I sip my beer again. “It’s a great focus. Your grandparents and theirs really built something special here.”

Josie brushes a lock of her long brown hair behind one ear and then turns back to me. “How long have you worked here?”

“A few years,” I answer. “I’ve only met your grandparents a handful of times, but they’re good people.”

She nods with a smile. “They are. And what did you do before Wild Skies?”

And that’s where I usually stop with women and offer some other kind of answer. Half the time women love to know I was a cop because they’re into uniforms or the idea of an honorable man, but the truth of what I experienced was not so much of either of those things.

“I worked in law enforcement.” I sip my beer again. “But I’ve always loved animals. Had several huge shepherds growing up, the loveliest dogs you’ve ever seen. Thought I might as well give sheep-herding a go.”

The corner of her lips quirks up into a smile. “And is herding dozens of bleating sheep that much less stressful than chasing shoplifters?”

If only those omega traffickers had been sheep instead.

I chuckle lightly. “Something like that.”

Josie’s smile slips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore, and she turns back around to stir the pot again. “What kind of law enforcement were you in?”

“I was a detective.” At least she hasn’t run yet like some women do.

Maybe she will now. Although maybe that’s an unfair assessment.

But it has to have gone through her mind to check up on the alphas she’ll be staying with as an omega.

No matter how we decide to slice this, unless she’s on suppressants, she’ll be in heat eventually. And how that is handled…

Hell, Brooks. Getting ahead of yourself much?

“How does a detective end up working on cars and other farming machines?” she asks without turning back around.

I spend too long studying her posture. Long enough to realize she’s purposely looking away from me.

“I’ve always enjoyed working on cars. Farming equipment wasn’t that big a change.

Honestly, my work here at Wild Skies has been far more rewarding than I ever would have suspected, and I’m happy to have a home here on top of it. ”

Josie finally turns back to face me, and when she does, it’s with a carefully crafted expression that looks intentional.

Like she’s trying to present herself in a certain way.

Which some might say is a leap, but I don’t do leaps.

Not without evidence. And all the evidence I’ve seen from Josie is that she came here on a whim from some professional baking job to live at her grandparents’ ranch which she very clearly didn’t think anyone else was living at.

Working at, sure. This place is always staffed.

But it’s obvious Josie thought she’d be living here alone.

That she wanted to be alone.

And, sure, maybe her reaction to the knowledge she’s not alone here is simply disappointment at that reality, or nerves because we’re not just alphas but because we’re men . But it might also be something more.

Josie turns back to the stove long enough to pull the pot from the burner and set it on a trivet. She does the same with the other pot and then pulls vegetables, potatoes, and steaks from the oven.

It all smells absolutely divine, and it signals the end of my time to softly question Josie.

She’s absolutely hiding something. But who am I to press further?

We’re all hiding something. I just hope she lets us help her out.

That ankle won’t heal quickly, least of all if she’s pushing it by standing for so long—even with frozen peas keeping it snug.

She needs rest and probably a solid lesson or two on how her childhood ranch functions.

Something tells me a big city girl like her has no idea what ranch life is even like.

But she can cook. This I learn after Carson and Luke appear, also washed up, just in time for dinner as if the scent of her meal itself drew them in without being called.

We have a breezy conversation over dinner and then Josie presents red velvet cupcakes for dessert.

Cupcakes. When the hell did she make those?

“I don’t know,” Carson says as he leans back, clearly indicating a would-be bloated stomach that does not exist on a man that muscular. “I could get used to this.”

Luke nods his agreement with a grin lighting up his eyes and a mouthful of cupcake keeping his words at bay.

I also agree. But will we get a chance to get used to this?

As if she heard my thoughts, Josie says, “Well, don’t,” while laughing, giving the impression of sarcasm.

I can’t unsee the layers of walls in this omega’s bright hazel eyes.

My gut twists and I just know… I just know.