Page 27 of Secret Heart
Then I carefully lay three drops of the liquid on my wrist and run it along both sides of my neck. Vanilla fills my nostrils and pours down my lungs. The pain slowly ebbs, my skin feeling less like it’s been shrink-wrapped onto my bones. I lean over the sink, resting my head on my arm, and take long, gulping breaths. When I’m moderately positive I’m not going to end up a mess on the floor, I step under the too-hot spray of the shower, angling my body so the vanilla doesn’t wash away from my neck.
Chapter Fifteen
TRISTON
The touch-starvation morphs over the next few days, becoming a burning restlessness that no amount of hard labor around the ranch can manage to dampen. My scent’s constantly holding the sour edge, intense enough I’ve started religiously wearing my scent blockers again, even when it’s only me and the other Beta farmhands.Especiallywhen I’m helping Scott or Lynn with something around their house.
My stomach cramps as Scott sets the last of the bags on the counter.
“Thanks for the help,” he says, adjusting his glasses as he smiles.
I unload the various food and household items from the bags already on the counter, keeping my hands busy. I’m going to need to do something about this itching under my palms and between my shoulder blades, and I’ve sworn off the bottle of pheromones stashed under the bathroom sink again.
“Of course.” I plaster a smile on my face, just like I did for various public events the last two years. “Thanks for letting me stay here the next couple weeks.”
He waves me off, his smile wide enough his eyes crinkle. He looks like Ethan when he does that, even though the rest of their coloring is polar opposite. His blond hair and blue eyes didn’t pass down to either of his kids.
I swallow down that entire line of thinking and focus on the groceries. While I’m cleaning up the bags, Scott quietly starts a new pot of coffee and pulls down a travel mug before setting a nondescript white mug beside it. I pull the trash even though it’s not quite full and breathe in the midmorning air as I step onto the back porch, crossing the small bit of yard that separates the house from the large dumpster. By the time I slide the patio door closed and lean against the counter, slowly sipping a bit of water, Scott’s perched on one of the island stools, the town’s newspaper spread along the white stone, the simple mug of coffee in one hand. The travel mug is gone.
He must have taken it out to the other side of the house to where Lynn’s working on her beehives.
I busy myself with making a bit of late breakfast. The front door opens, and then Emily’s voice echoes down the short hallway that blocks the view of the kitchen.
“Mom? We’re here.”
My stomach clenches, and I breathe through the sudden, overwhelming need to beg her to touch me. Just a brush of her hand against mine, her nose under my ear so her true scent lingers where I’ve contented to only have a flimsy replacement. I’ve not gotten the craving stuffed down when Emily and Brielle both step around the corner.
Brielle’s arm is looped through a bulky, black infant car seat, the sunshade pulled down low enough the baby isn’t visible at all. Her eyes are tired and her movements are stilted, but that sadness she’d had the last summer I was here is gone. Instead, she has a happy contentment about her I haven’t really seen from an Omega since Kayla. Not that I’ve been around anybonded Omegas since then. Maybe it’s something that happens with the bonding, maybe some of the instincts quiet so not everything makes you unsettled.
I’d take that right about now.
Fuck, I can’t think that with the touch-starvation pulsing in my stomach like those pre-heat cramps that laid me out before I went on the suppressors.
“Oh, hi Dad.”
Penny’s perched on her hip, her head resting on her shoulder, making her lips pout. Her hair is down, showing the soft curls that are identical to mine. Instead of a dress, she’s wearing a set of pink shorts and a black long sleeve shirt with a butterfly outlined in white. She has that dog plush Beau had mentioned on Saturday in one arm. She twists in Emily’s hold when she sees me. A smile brightens her face, and then she’s squirming against Emily.
“I thought Mom was watching Penny,” Emily says.
“She’s working on the garden and bees. We’ll go hang out with her once you gals are gone.”
Scott smiles as Emily carefully sets the baby on the ground, holding her waist until Penny takes a couple steps toward the kitchen.
“Well, good morning, pretty girl.”
She giggles and waves. The moment Emily’s hands fall away, Penny’s shuffling across the room toward Scott’s open arms.
A hot ball of emotion clogs my throat that I’m in no headspace to sort through. I drop my gaze back to the toaster, begging it to go faster so I can hide in my room while someone else gets to know my daughter in a way I can’t. Not until I somehow manage to talk to Emily about how much contact she’ll let me have. Beau had said I’m welcome over for her birthday and party, but that’s leagues different than getting to be with her on a random Tuesday morning.
Small hands tap my leg, pulling me from the morose thoughts.
“Up,” Penny says, just as clearly as she did in the barn last week.
My eyes snap to Emily, the blood dropping from my face. Her throat moves as she swallows. She tucks her hands into her pockets as she nods, though she doesn’t offer any kind of smile.
As soon as I have Penny in my arms, she rests her head on my shoulder, her dog wedged between us, her grip on it stronger than I’d expected. On instinct, I kiss the crown of her head. She giggles and curls harder into me. I can’t help but look back at Emily. Brielle’s focused on her, too, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion or maybe worry.
“This should be all of her things,” Emily says, her voice cracking. “She normally naps around noon.”
