I left them there, two statues locked in a silent battle I’m not sure either of them knows how to win. I’m still iffy about leaving them alone, but the feed wouldn’t buy itself.
As I drive, my mind drifts, snagging on a memory I usually keep buried under layers of spreadsheets and fence repair schedules.
I think about Tex, about the fierce way he defended Sedona this morning. He’s always been the charmer, the golden boy, but his feelings for her run deeper than the dimpled grins and easy flirtation he shows the world.
I remember years ago, before she left, I was looking for an old pair of gloves in his room. I found a shoebox tucked under his bed, a treasure trove of rodeo programs and ticket stubs.
Inside, nestled between a faded photo of our parents and a dried-out four-leaf clover, was a school yearbook picture of Sedona. It was from her sophomore year, her red hair a wild halo, a shy, freckled smile gracing her lips.
I never told him I saw it. It felt too private.
I wonder if he still has it. I wonder if that crush is still there, buried under years of distance and disappointment.
But then my own secret rises up, a bitter tide in my throat.
Tex’s crush is innocent, a boyish infatuation.
Mine… mine is a sin. A wound that has never, ever healed.
I remember that afternoon so clearly it could have been yesterday. They were in the thick of wedding planning, the whole town buzzing with it.
I was in the loft repairing a harness. Lila Hartwell was there, flirting, and I was weak and restless. One thing led to another, a stupid, meaningless tumble in the loose hay of a far stall.
And then Sedona appeared.
I heard her footsteps stop abruptly, followed by a sharp, choked sound that wasn’t a gasp, wasn’t a sob, but something in between. The sound of a world breaking.
I looked up from where I was, with Lila pinned against the rough wood of the barn wall, my jeans shoved down, my body moving on pure, mindless instinct. And I saw her.
She’d come to the barn looking for Billy, a wedding catalog in her hand and a genuine, unburdened smile on her face.
And there she was, standing frozen, her face pale as milk, her eyes wide and fixed on us. She’d dropped the catalog. Its glossy pages scattered in the dust around her boots.
I should have stopped. I should have been ashamed, horrified.
But I didn’t. A dark, possessive part of me, a part I hated even as it surged forward, took over.
I looked her right in the eye. I kept moving, my gaze locked on hers, watching her, claiming the moment even as I destroyed everything.
And her reaction… it wasn’t what I expected.
There was shock, of course. Her mouth fell open slightly.
But then her teeth sank into her lower lip, biting down hard. Her eyes, wide and dark, held something that wasn’t just pain or horror. It was something else, something complicated and dangerous.
And then the scent hit me. It was sudden, a thick, intoxicating wave of honeysuckle and warm cedarwood that cut through the dusty smell of the barn. It was her scent, but amplified, potent.
It was the scent of an Omega in the throes of a powerful, conflicting emotion. A scent I could feel in my bones, in my blood.
Lila, distracted and lost in her own world, noticed nothing.
But I felt it. I smelled it. And it was the most erotic, most terrifying thing I had ever experienced.
When I finally finished, my body shuddering, she was gone.
I found her later behind the clinic, sitting on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest. She just stared at the horizon with hollow, vacant eyes.
I sat with her for hours, not saying a word, just being there. We never talked about what she saw. We never talked about it at all.
