The old farmhouse came into view and my heart clenched at the sight. It definitely was going to be a fixer upper. As I approached I could see the peeling paint, and the porch looked like it might not even support a pumpkin, let alone a person. But growing up in the orchard during the summer taught me that I could do anything I put my mind to. I wasn't just a city girl moving to the country, who didn't know how to wield a hammer. This was my place now, and I couldn't wait to make it home again.
Parking in front of the farmhouse, I left my bags in the car, first wanting to assess the situation. When I had told Riley that I wasn’t sure what time I was getting in, he graciously let me know he’d leave a key for me in the pot on the porch.
As I maneuvered the wooden stairs that could use more than a little TLC, and the flood lights came on, I quickly realized a problem. There wasn’t just one pot gracing the entrance way of the farmhouse, there were dozens, all shapes and sizes with plants that had all seen way better days.
Not being one to give up, I quickly went to work, checking the ones closest to the door first, looking in the beds of the planters and underneath.
“Shit!” I yelled, as the largest pot tipped sideways in my hands, crashing noisily across the porch, the terra cotta shattering everywhere.
Thankfully, I had my suede boots on, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t scared me half to death. I peeled off my sweater, using it to protect my hands as I cleared the largest pieces out of the way so that I could access the door again.
I thumped my head against the door in exasperation, only for the blasted thing to give way and actually open on its own.
“Well, fuck me,” I sighed, hoping against hope that this wasn’t an omen for things to come.
“Put your hands up where I can see them!” A voice shouted from behind me.
I turned around quickly at the demand only to get blinded by some kind of mega-watt flashlight a second later, spots forming in my vision as I held up my forearm to block the light.
“You think you can lower that thing before you burn out my retinas, please?” I asked, half alarmed and half amused.
“Trespassing is a federal crime,” the voice said again, this time moving the beam down and off to the side. I still couldn’t see him, but his voice grew louder, the sound of his steps as he approached letting me know he was coming closer. From the protective growl I knew right away he was an alpha. Which meant this could go either way. My heart pounded but I kept on a mask of calm, not wanting to seem suspicious since he already clearly didn’t trust me.
A few moments later his scent hit me, reminding me of the crisp ocean air and warm wood. Now there was no doubting he was an alpha, and fuck me if he didn’t smell delicious like a breath of fresh air.
“I’m well aware, sir,” I said diplomatically, knowing I needed to diffuse the situation before it escalated even further. “I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here. If you’d just let me explain, we can clear all this up--”
“Hands behind your back, ma’am. Have you also been damaging property as well as breaking and entering?”
He seemed to want to get control of the situation quickly, and I couldn’t deny this looked bad, so I obliged him, putting my wrists behind my back. This alpha was clearly on alert but I had to remind myself he was also protecting his town. I was a strange woman trying to get into what they thought was an abandoned farmhouse, at night.
When I said that omegas were treated equal now, I meant it. We could own our own business and live the lives we pleased, choosing to have a pack or not, but that also meant we weren’t coddled and were upheld to the same expectations as everyone else. Including consequences to our actions, even if he was way off base with this one.
He pocketed the flashlight as he went for his cuffs, my vision returning back enough to see his strong jaw and features silhouetted on the flood lights that hung from the corners of the shabby roof awning.
“As much as I love handcuffs, this wasn’t exactly the welcome wagon I was expecting,” I said with a sigh as the first link of cool metal touched my wrist, trying to ignore the way his scent wasdoingthings for me.
“I don’t know where you’re coming from ma’am, but here in Holiday Hollow we take care of our own. What we have here is special, and I won’t have anyone trying to make an easy mark of us just because of our hospitality,” he said, his voice still firm, but not unkind. My annoyance level was rising every second he wasn’t listening to me but there wasn’t much I could do yet.
Thankfully the sweet smell of apples clung to the air from the orchard around me and tempered my mood just a bit more as I tried to understand how the situation looked from his side of things.
“I admire you for that,” I said, responding to his statement. “Holiday Hollow deserves the very best, so I can’t hold that against you. I meant to arrive while the sun was still up and Riley was still around, but I got caught up and couldn’t find the blasted key.”
I felt him freeze behind my back, and I was all too aware that the coarse pads of his fingers still touched my other wrist, the other handcuff almost fully in place. He breathed deeply again, dragging my scent through his nose.
My words seemed to trickle through his skull as I praised my grandma once again for teaching me to kill them with kindness. After we sorted this whole mess out I really just wanted to crash and then wake up to a glorious pumpkin spice latte and start this whole new chapter of my life on the right foot. I wasn’t going to let this little misunderstanding get in my way.
“Riley?” he asked, suspicion still coloring his voice. This wasn’t an alpha who trusted easily, that much was obvious.
“Yep!” I confirmed, nodding my head. “Riley Ortiz, orchard hand extraordinaire who's been holding down the place for me since grandpa Cedarwick passed. I’d have been here months ago, but I couldn’t bail on the internship I’d committed to.”
“Who exactly did you say you were?”
“I didn’t, and you didn’t exactly ask or let me tell you,” I said with a grin, turning to look back at him over my shoulder. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Sheriff Halston, Sheriff Hunter Halston,” he offered, a challenging glint in his eye.
Oh, this man had trouble written all over him. Now that I could fully see him, thick brown hair messed to the side with looks that would stop weaker hearts, it appeared Holiday Hollow made treats in the form of men as well. And when you added in his scent, I knew he’d be hard to ignore.