Page 58

"Well," I say, breaking the silence. "This weekend went well."

Briggs grunts, shoving his door open and hopping down. "Get the horses. Don't want them standing in the trailer all day."

Clint’s already out, stretching his back. He watches the dark front door of the house. "She's just worked up. It was a lot." He looks at me, then at Briggs. "We handled it. That's the important thing."

"Handled it," Briggs repeats, his voice laced with something I can’t quite name. He grabs the lead rope for his gelding. "Is that what we're calling it?" He leads the horse toward the barn without another word.

“He's not wrong, you know. About the worked up part." I fall into step beside Clint as we walk toward the barn. "But what about last night?"

Clint stops walking, turning to face me. "What about it?"

"You heard her," I say quietly. "We all did." The soft sounds from her room carried through the thin motel walls.

"She was drunk," Clint murmurs. "And alone. It's natural." He starts walking again. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" I ask, but he doesn’t answer. We get the horses settled, the familiar routine of brushing them down and filling their water buckets a welcome distraction. The barn smells of hay and manure, a scent that grounds me.

Briggs works in silence on the other side of the aisle. We don’t talk about it again.

We were just doing our jobs. Protecting her, an unclaimed young omega. It was what we'd agreed to.

Denial’s a comfortable place to be.

By the time we get back to the house, the smell of pizza fills the place. Autumn is standing by the counter with her back to us. She showered. Her hair is damp, curling at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a thin tank top and a pair of short cotton shorts that leave very little to the imagination.

My breath catches in my throat.

"There's pizza in the oven," she says, not turning around. "Should be ready in a few minutes for lunch." Her voice is soft, a little rough. "I think I'm gonna go lie down for a bit. I'm tired."

She finally turns, her eyes sweeping over the three of us standing awkwardly in the entryway. Her gaze lingers on each of us for a second before moving on. She looks exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes stand out against her pale skin.

"Okay," Clint shrugs. "Thanks. That's... nice of you."

She just nods then brushes past us, heading for the stairs.

"Wait." The word comes from Briggs. It's not loud, but it stops her dead. Her hand goes to the back of a chair, fingers wrapping around the wood. I watch the way her thumb rubs against the grain, a small, nervous movement.

"What was that back there?" His voice is low. "With that guy."

She lets out a breath, her chin lifts a fraction. "I was dancing. He was an asshole. Tripp handled it." Her gaze flicks to me for just a second, and I see a quick flash of something I can't read before it's gone. "It's over."

"It's not over," Clint presses, moving further into the room. "You can't do things like that, Autumn. Poke at a hornet's nest and expect not to get stung."

Her posture tightens. "I didn't poke anything. I was having a drink. He's the one who couldn't take no for an answer." Her hands are fists at her sides now.

"And we're the ones who had to deal with the fallout," Briggs adds, his voice flat. "Can't have you starting fights in every town we roll through."

"That's not fair." The words are quiet, but they cut through the tension. She's looking right at Briggs, her eyes wide and hurt. "I didn't start anything."

Briggs flinches. Just a slight tightening around his eyes, but I see it. He opens his mouth, then shuts it. Clint steps forward, putting himself slightly between them.

"He's right. You can't put yourself in those situations." His tone is final.

Something in her face changes. The defensiveness melts away, replaced by a look of pure exhaustion. She seems to shrink, her shoulders slumping forward. "I know," she whispers, looking down at the floor. "I just... I wanted to feel normal for a minute."

The room goes quiet again. I can hear the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock on the wall. I push off the counter, moving toward the coffeepot. "Anyone else need a cup?" I ask, my voice deliberately casual.

Clint watches me, a flicker of something in his eyes. Gratitude maybe, or just annoyance that I'm breaking the tension. Autumn doesn't move, just keeps her head down. Briggs sinks into a chair, the fight draining out of him.