Page 72 of Knot my First Rodeo

I straighten too fast, adjusting the basket against my hip, drop the eggs in it and head back outside into the cooler air.

Across the field, movement catches my eye.

I stop. “Oh.”

The bull is mounted behind one of the cows, completely unbothered, and apparently has zero respect for personal privacy.

“Well,” I mutter. “That feels unnecessary.”

I don’t look away right away, because unfortunately, my brain decides this is a great moment to betray me.

Sex.

I’ve never actually had it. The closest I’ve gotten involved Peter fumbling around under my shirt in the backseat of his truck like he was trying to solve a puzzle with no instructions. At the time, I thought him getting embarrassingly worked up over barely anything was flattering.

Now? Honestly, I feel kind of pathetic, especially after catching him with somebody else.

My nose wrinkles.

I have no idea how he managed to impress anybody with whatever the hell that performance was supposed to be, but thankfully that disaster stopped being my problem before things got more serious.

Unfortunately, that leaves me painfully inexperienced while currently living with three older alphas who somehow keep getting hotter the more I know them.

Clint with those caramel eyes and broad shoulders, always hovering just enough to be annoying while somehow making me feel safer at the same time. Tripp grinning like trouble every time he opens his mouth, green eyes bright and entirely too observant whenever he thinks I’m upset.

And Briggs, my stomach flips again.

“Autumn! Where’d ya go, babe?” Clint’s voice cuts through my spiral, close enough that I jump slightly before realizing I wandered farther than I meant to.

“In here!” I call back, ducking back inside the chicken barn to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

The barn door creaks open a second later, and Clint ducks inside, shoulders filling most of the doorway.

“Damn,” he says, stopping short. “Did you bring a snack out here with you? Smells like almonds and black cherries in here.”

My stomach drops.

He smiles faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Reminds me of these bars my grandma used to make.”

Then he looks at me and stops. Something shifts in his expression fast enough that my pulse stumbles.

That’s my scent, and if he can smell it this clearly⁠—

Shit.

“That’s me,” I say quietly.

His brows pull together for half a second before he steps closer, slow enough that I should probably move.

“You smell…” He exhales once through his nose, jaw shifting slightly before he looks away, like he’s annoyed with himself. “Stronger.”

My back brushes the chicken wire before I realize I’ve stepped backward.

“Clint.”

His gaze flicks back to mine.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower this time. “You’ve been off for days.”