“Anytime, Coordinator Wynn.”
“Sable,” she corrected, surprising both of us. “If we’re going to potentially have coffee, you should probably call me Sable.”
“Silas,” I offered back. “And for what it’s worth, I hope you do change your mind.”
She nodded once and walked away, disappearing into the hospital’s administrative entrance without looking back. I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching the space where she’d been and trying to figure out what the hell I was doing.
I was scent-sensitive. I could read people’s emotions like other people read books. I knew better than to get involved with someone who broadcast that much carefully controlled pain, because feeling her hurt on top of my own would be overwhelming.
But I also knew that sometimes the people carrying the most pain were the ones who needed someone to see them most.
And I’d seen Sable Wynn clearly. Seen past the coordinator and the competence and the carefully maintained walls. Seen the person underneath who was just as lonely and just as careful as I was.
Emma appeared from the rig, medical bag restocked and ready for the next call. “You ready to head back?”
“Yeah.” I climbed into the passenger seat, but my mind was still on cedar smoke and autumn rain, and the way Sable had said my name like she was testing it out.
“You okay?” Emma asked as she pulled out of the parking lot. “You look distracted.”
“Just thinking.”
“About the cute coordinator from this morning’s drill?”
I shot her a look. “How did you know about that?”
“Small town. Small service. Someone from fire crew mentioned you were making eyes at the emergency coordinator during the debrief.” She grinned. “So, were you?”
“I was doing my job.”
“Uh-huh. And offering her your card at the hospital was also doing your job?”
“Professional networking.”
“Right.” Emma didn’t sound convinced. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
I didn’t respond, just stared out the window at the autumn colors blurring past and tried not to think about the fact that I’d given my number to an omega who probably wouldn’t call.
But maybe, just maybe, she would.
And that possibility felt dangerous and hopeful in equal measure.
Chapter 4
Dane
The community center’s multipurpose room smelled like sweat and floor wax, familiar scents that usually centered me. Today they did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders as I watched fifteen emergency responders attempt an active shooter scenario I’d designed specifically to break their assumptions about threat response.
Sable Wynn stood at the observation station, tablet in hand, evaluating each decision with the kind of clinical precision that reminded me of after-action debriefs. She’d coordinated with the county sheriff’s department three days ago to schedule this training session for Hollow Haven’s emergency services, and I’d spent those three days trying very hard not to notice the way she moved through space with military efficiency, or how her scent cut through the room’s usual cocktail of alpha posturing and beta nervousness.
Running tactical training for rural emergency services was part of my job as county sheriff. My military background,specifically the years I’d spent training special operations teams before everything went to hell, made me the logical choice for these scenarios. Most small-town responders never got quality tactical training. I made sure they did.
Cedar smoke and autumn rain. Distinctive even through whatever suppressants she was using to mute her omega biology.
I’d noticed. Couldn’t help noticing, though I’d gotten very good at pretending I didn’t notice anything that might make me want things I’d given up the right to want three years ago.
“Team Two, your spacing is wrong,” Sable called out, her voice carrying without being raised. “You’re bunched up. One shooter with decent aim takes you all out. Spread your formation.”
The team adjusted, and I made a note on my own tablet. She was right. She was right about a lot of things, which was both professionally impressive and personally unsettling. I wasn’t used to civilians who understood tactical doctrine well enough to catch errors I’d deliberately planted in scenarios to test critical thinking.
