Pumpkin patch pack, p.12
Pumpkin Patch Pack, page 12
“Your turn,” Theo prompts him, poking his leg with a marshmallow roasting stick. “Deepest, darkest secret time.”
Liam gives him a look that would be intimidating if not for the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “You know my secrets,” he says.
“Not all of them,” Theo counters. “And Emma doesn’t know any of them.”
Something passes between them, one of those silent communications I’ve noticed. Liam glances at me, then back at the fire. The tension in his shoulders returns, and my omega instinctively responds, wanting to soothe whatever pain is causing that rigid posture.
“I had another pack once, when I was younger,” he begins, his voice low and rough. “When we found an omega mate, we were sure we would only grow closer as a pack. But her manipulations began almost immediately; she would start arguments between pack mates by intentionally stirring the pot, play with our emotions by being hot and cold all the time, especially if anyone else was watching. Her stories and embellishments went so far as to cause major rifts between us, and when I started to catch on, I tried to warn the others. She really didn’t like that and convinced my other packmates that I was the one who was the problem. And when it came down to it, she made them choose her or me. And well… here I am.”
My heart constricts painfully at his words—the betrayal, the rejection he must have felt.
“I didn’t think I’d find another pack,” he says. “After what happened with the last one, I figured I was better off alone. Safer.”
The admission carries echoes of my own experience—the decision that isolation is preferable to the risk of being hurt again. I move before I think better of it and find myself climbing Liam’s lap and curling up against him. I feel his breathing stutter as he wraps his arms around me, and I begin a soft purr. I’ve never purred for an alpha before, and something tells me this is his first experience with it, too.
“What changed?” I ask softly, my voice barely audible over the crackling fire.
His eyes meet mine, his face flickering in the firelight, steady and unguarded. “Found my true pack.”
My omega responds with a surge of warmth that floods my entire body, a recognition of truth that bypasses all my carefully constructed defenses. These beautiful, complex, genuine men are mine.
I nuzzle deeper into Liam’s chest.
“Pack bonds are rare,” Rowan says, his tone thoughtful. “Most people never experience them. They go through life with family bonds, friendships, and romantic relationships, all valuable and meaningful, but different from what happens when a true pack forms.”
I’m suddenly nervous, my free hand fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I’m sure they can all hear it.
“Pack bonds, especially scent-matched ones, are deeper. More instinctive. It’s not just emotional or physical attraction. It’s recognition on a fundamental level—like your body and instincts recognize something in the other person that complements who you are.” He continues.
“It’s about balance,” Theo adds, his eyes finding mine with an intensity that belies his casual tone. “Different strengths, different needs, coming together to create something stronger than any individual could be alone.”
My body thrums with awareness of all three of them—warm and secure in Liam’s lap with his arms around me. Their scent intensifies; the combination is intoxicating.
“Our pack works because we choose each other, every day,” Rowan continues, his voice deepening. “Because we see each other fully and still want to be connected.”
“What Rowan’s trying to say in his roundabout way,” Theo interjects, his tone lighter but his eyes serious, “is that we were not actively seeking an omega to complete some biological checklist. But now we’ve found someone who fits. If she’ll have us.”
My cheeks burn, and I’m grateful for the firelight that hopefully hides my blush. But there’s no hiding the way my scent shifts, sweetening with desire, deepening with emotion. All three men notice; I can see it in the dilation of their pupils, the subtle flaring of nostrils, the way they each lean closer to me.
The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility. My mind races with caution—reminding me of past betrayals, of reasons to guard my heart—but my body, my omega, knows with bone-deep certainty that this is right—that these men are safe, and they are mine, as I am theirs.
“Yes,” I whisper. My voice grows stronger as I continue, “I’ll have you.”
The words hang between us, and I watch as they register on each man’s face; Theo’s breaking into a brilliant smile, Rowan’s eyes darkening with intensity, Liam’s arms tightening around me.
My omega instincts howl with triumph, rightness, and the recognition of finding home somewhere so unexpected, these three men who somehow complete me in ways I never knew I needed.
23
Rowan
My hands are covered in pumpkin guts, and I’ve never been happier.
Emma sits across from me, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, utterly unaware of what she does to me.
We’re seated at one of the picnic tables, newspapers spread beneath our pumpkins, carving tools scattered between us.
“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” Emma says, looking up. There’s a smudge of pumpkin on her cheek that I’m dying to wipe away. “My mom wasn’t big on holiday traditions.”
“Well, you’re at Harvest Home Farm now. We take our pumpkin carving very seriously.” I gesture to my half-finished creation, an intricate design of twisted vines and leaves that I’ve been perfecting over the years.
Emma leans forward to examine it, and her apple pie scent washes over me, making my head swim. “Show-off,” she teases.
“What are you making?” I ask, trying to peek at her pumpkin.
She covers it protectively with her hands. “No peeking! It’s a surprise.”
The playfulness in her voice does something to my chest, squeezing it tight. It’s been three days since our bonfire, three days since she said those simple, world-changing words: “I’ll have you.” Three days of cautious touches, lingering glances, and the maddening dance of wanting to rush forward while knowing we must move slowly.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” I say, returning to my carving with exaggerated focus. “But fair warning, Theo will demand a full viewing and detailed critique of everyone’s pumpkins. He takes Halloween judging very seriously.”
Emma laughs, the sound like music. “Of course he does. Let me guess, Liam carves the same design every year?”
“A circle,” I confirm with a grin. “And it is done in under 5 minutes so that he can get back to work.”
“And Theo’s is elaborate and completely over the top?”
“Last year, it was a detailed recreation of the farmhouse. Took him six hours and three pumpkins.”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You three are so different.”
“Complementary,” I correct gently.
A blush creeps up her neck at the reminder, and her scent sweetens, making my alpha instincts stand at attention. I force myself to focus on the pumpkin, not on how her sweater slips off one shoulder or how her teeth worry at her bottom lip when thinking.
We work in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the scrape of knives against pumpkin flesh and the distant noises of the farm: Theo singing off-key, the animals in their pens, and the rustle of leaves in the autumn breeze.
“Ouch!” Emma suddenly jerks her hand back, dropping her knife.
I’m around the table instantly, taking her hand in mine. “Let me see.”
A small cut crosses her finger, beading with blood. It’s minor, but seeing her hurt sends my protective instincts into overdrive.
“It’s nothing,” she says, trying to pull her hand away. “Just clumsy.”
“Let me help.” I keep my voice gentle as I lead her to the barn just behind us and the sink in the corner where we wash up after farm chores. The water runs clear over her finger, washing away the blood to reveal a shallow slice.
“First aid kit?” she asks, looking around.
“Don’t need one.” Before I overthink it, I bring her finger to my mouth and gently run my tongue over the cut.
Emma gasps as she watches me. I hold her gaze, unable to look away as I taste the copper of her blood mixed with the sweetness of pumpkin on her skin.
Her breathing quickens, and I can smell her arousal blooming, sweet and heady in the air between us. I slowly lower her hand, but don’t let go.
“This works better than any antiseptic.”
“Does it now?” she whispers, her eyes fixed on mine.
I nod, suddenly unable to form words. We’re standing close, her body almost pressed against mine, her scent filling my lungs with every breath.
“Thank you,” she says softly, but makes no move to step away.
I should back up.
Give her space.
Remember all my promises to take this slowly, to let her set the pace. But then her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, directly over my pounding heart, and rational thought abandons me.
“Emma…”
“Yes?” Her voice is barely audible, her eyes dropping to my mouth.
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
Her lips part slightly, and she nods. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I lean down, slowly closing the distance between us, and she rises on her tiptoes to meet me halfway.
The first brush of her lips against mine is gentle. But when she sighs into my mouth, something breaks loose inside me. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me as the kiss deepens. She tastes like the apple cider we were drinking earlier, sweet and lightly spiced, and I’m instantly addicted.
Her hands slide up my chest to tangle in my hair, and I groan at the gentle tug of her fingers. I back her against the wall, lifting her without breaking the kiss. She makes a slight, needy sound that nearly shatters my control, her legs parting to allow me closer.
The kiss turns hungry, desperate, as weeks of tension finally find release. My hands span her waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she arches into the touch.
“Whoop, whoop!” Theo’s voice cheers from the open barn doors, followed by enthusiastic clapping.
Emma breaks the kiss with a startled laugh, burying her face in my neck. I turn to see Theo standing in the doorway, grinning.
“Don’t mind me,” he says, making no move to leave. “Carry on. Liam and I have a bet about who gets to kiss her next.”
“Theo,” I growl in warning, but I’m not irritated. I’m too happy, too drunk on Emma’s taste and scent to be annoyed.
Emma lifts her head, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from my kiss. “You two have a bet?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
Theo shrugs, unrepentant. “Liam says you’ll kiss him next because you already kissed him once. I say you’ll pick me because I’m irresistible and make the best pies.”
Emma laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest where she’s still pressed against me. “Maybe I’ll keep you both in suspense,” she teases.
“Cruel omega,” Theo clutches his heart dramatically. “Well, I’ll leave you to your pumpkins. And your… other activities.” He winks and backs away, but not before giving me a thumbs up that makes Emma giggle.
When he’s gone, I press my forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. “Sorry about that. Subtlety isn’t his strong suit.”
“I like that about him,” she says, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that makes me want to purr. “He’s honest. Uncomplicated.”
“And I’m not?” I tease, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“You,” she says, looking back at me with those beautiful eyes, “are a man who carves intricate patterns into pumpkins and licks my wounds. You contain multitudes, Alpha Rowan.”
I capture her mouth again, unable to resist, and she responds with equal hunger. This time when we part, we’re both breathing hard.
“We should probably finish those pumpkins,” I say reluctantly, though my body screams to carry her straight to my bed.
Emma nods, her legs wobble, and the knowledge that I affected her that strongly fills me with feral satisfaction.
“Pumpkins first,” she agrees, straightening her sweater. “Then maybe we can discuss this bet between Liam and Theo.”
“Oh?” I say as we return to the picnic table.
She picks up her carving knife with a mischievous smile. “I think I might need to thoroughly compare before deciding who wins.”
The implication sends heat straight to my groin. “And where do I fit into this experiment?”
Emma looks up at me through her lashes, her scent rich with promise. “You, Alpha, have set a very high standard.”
I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years. “I aim to please.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She returns to her pumpkin, but her scent remains warm and sweet, filled with contentment and arousal.
As I pick up my own knife, I find myself thinking that of all the autumn harvests I’ve experienced on this farm, this one is most definitely the sweetest yet.
24
Emma
It’s a beautiful Sunday, and I’m kneeling to photograph a particularly photogenic display of multi-colored pumpkins when—
“Emma? Emma! Oh my God, it is you!”
I turn slowly, heart pounding, to face Jessica.
She looks exactly as I remember: polished, put-together, and confident, like someone who knows her place in the world.
“Jessica,” I acknowledge, trying to keep my voice steady. “What a surprise.”
“I thought that was you!” she exclaims, looking me up and down with barely concealed curiosity. “What on earth are you doing here? Everyone thought you’d moved overseas after… well, you know.”
The implied reference to my disastrous departure from the agency hangs between us. I force a smile. “Just working—social media management for the farm.”
“I saw the farm’s Instagram and just knew it had to be you behind those gorgeous photos,” Jessica says, pulling me in for a hug. “That aesthetic and those filters are unmistakable. Nobody does it like you do.”
I shift uncomfortably. “You drove three hours just to check if it was me?”
Jessica’s expression softens. “I was worried about you, Em. You disappeared without a word. No calls, no texts. After everything with Marcus…” She lowers her voice, glancing around. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
There’s concern in her voice, but I don’t buy it. Jessica and I were more friendly colleagues back at the agency than friends. Yet here she is, having tracked me down based on Instagram aesthetics.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, though my heart still races. “Better than fine, actually. I love it here.”
She looks surprised, and I can practically see the thoughts forming behind her eyes.
Social media for a farm? After being on track to become a senior account executive at one of the city’s top agencies? What a fall from grace.
“How… rustic,” she says finally. “Very different from Ashcroft Media.”
I nod, already looking for an escape route. “It suits me. Listen, I need to get back to work—”
“Wait,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice drops, taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Does Marcus know you’re here? He’s been looking for you, you know. Says you two have ‘unfinished business.’”
“I have nothing to say to Marcus,” I manage, my voice harder than before. “And my whereabouts are none of his concern.”
Jessica’s expression shifts, a calculating look replacing her faux friendliness. “He’d be very interested to know where you’ve landed, especially since you left him looking like the villain in everyone’s eyes. Do you know what it did to his reputation when you disappeared? The rumors that started?”
“Whatever rumors circulated were likely closer to the truth than the story he told,” I say, anger beginning to override my fear. “He attacked me, Jessica. He tried to force a bond. Sell my heat for investors, and that’s beside everything else.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “He says it was a misunderstanding. That you led him on, made him think you wanted the bond, then panicked and ran.” Her eyes narrow. “He’s been worried about you, Emma. Concerned.”
Marcus isn’t concerned; he’s furious. An alpha like him, used to getting what he wants, doesn’t take rejection well—especially not such public rejection.
“I need to go,” I say firmly, stepping back. “Enjoy your visit to the farm.”
“I think Marcus would really like to know you’re here,” she continues, her tone making it clear this is a threat. “Working at a little farm in the middle of nowhere. Hiding.” She smiles, the expression not reaching her eyes. “He always said you were wasting your potential, suppressing your true nature. Looks like he was right.”
I want to see him destroyed.
The thought blazes through me with surprising clarity and force, cutting through my fear. I stand straighter, drawing strength from the declaration I’ve just made.
“You can tell Marcus whatever you want,” I say. “I’m not afraid of him anymore.”
Jessica’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise in surprise. “Really? That’s not the impression I’m getting from your face right now.” Her gaze drifts past me toward the main house. “This place is quaint. Marcus would find it interesting that you’ve gone so… rural.”
“Time for you to leave,” I say, stepping toward her rather than away. “I have nothing to say to you or to Marcus.”
“Actually, he’ll be thrilled to hear I found you,” she continues, pulling out her phone. “He’s been absolutely obsessed; he even hired private investigators. Did you know that? It’s not personal,” she continues. “But Marcus is offering a generous reward for anyone who finds you, and I really need a new car.”
