Page 18 of Alpha's Claim

Chapter

Eight

BRIAR

The garden was hers. Or at least, that’s how it felt now. Over the past few days, Briar had worked her way through the tangled weeds, restoring life to the long-neglected space. Each time she pulled a stubborn root from the soil or pruned an overgrown vine, the heaviness inside her started to lessen, at least a little bit. This had become more than just tending a garden—it had become a way to ground herself, to gain back and begin stitching together the pieces of her soul.

Briar swiped a forearm across her brow, brushing away the sweat and dirt. The sun beat down, warming her skin, but she didn’t mind. The sun had brought out the freckles in her skin. Even with her floppy gardening hat, a sprinkling of freckles now raced across her cheekbones and nose. The small stone fountain in the center of the garden was scrubbed clean now, dry but ready to hold water again. The overgrown trellises were starting to look tidy, and the raised beds, which she’d thought were hopeless at first, were on their way to being fertile again. It did help that she had aged and seasoned manure with which to enrich the soil, and Colt had assigned one of the hands to repair the water supply for the fountain and to the irrigation system she had uncovered.

This place mattered. It mattered to her, and it had mattered to Colt’s mother, a woman she’d never met but somehow felt connected to. Briar liked the idea of honoring her in some small way. Maybe a little plaque or marker—something simple but meaningful to show that her garden had been loved, both then and now.

She knelt down beside one of the raised beds, pulling weeds from the soft soil, and lost herself in the rhythm of the work. The cat—her constant shadow—stretched lazily on the edge of the bed, watching her with sleepy eyes. A quiet hum of contentment buzzed under her skin.

And that’s when she heard it: the distinctive, dry rattle of a snake. The sound sent a cold shiver down Briar’s spine. Slowly, she stilled her hands, her heart hammering in her chest as she listened to the ominousch-ch-ch-chnoise. She knew that sound—it was a warning. A deadly one.

She turned her head slowly, scanning the area with deliberate caution. There it was—a rattlesnake coiled at the edge of the bed, its sleek body shimmering in the sunlight, muscles taut and ready to strike.

Panic bubbled up inside her, but Briar forced it down. No sudden movements. She knew better than to give it a reason to attack. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the snake hissed, its rattle shaking harder, the tight coil of its body promising violence.

Instinct told her to move—to run. But another instinct, deeper and older, whispered a different suggestion.

Briar eased back slowly on her heels, drawing in a careful breath. And then, without thinking, she began to hum—a soft, soothing melody that seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside her. The sound vibrated through her chest, low and steady, as if the song had always been there, waiting for a moment like this.

The snake’s rattle faltered.

Briar kept humming, her voice gentle and unthreatening. The snake tilted its head slightly, almost as if it were listening, although she knew that was impossible as snakes had no ears. Nevertheless, its tense coils were loosening inch by inch. And then, as if deciding it had no quarrel with her after all, the rattlesnake uncurled its long body and slithered away, disappearing into the tall grass beyond the garden.

Briar sat frozen, her heart still hammering, as the reality of what had just happened sank in. Slowly, she released a shaky breath, her hands trembling. She’d sent it on its way, just like that… just like…magic. The realization settled over her slowly, both terrifying and exhilarating. She had done something—something impossible. Realization dawned that it hadn’t been the first time.

The flowers that seemed to bloom brighter under her care, the way the animals gravitated toward her, even the way the cat had followed her like an old friend—it was all connected. A thread of magic, subtle but undeniable, ran through her veins.

She sat back on her heels, a mix of wonder and fear swirling inside her. Magic wasn’t something she had ever consciously pursued or understood. But it was there, woven into her being, waiting patiently for her to remember.

And now that she had, there was no going back.

Briar exhaled slowly, wiping her hands on her jeans to steady herself. The fear she’d felt moments ago faded, replaced by a strange elation. Whatever this power was, it was hers. And for the first time since she’d awakened here at Copper Canyon ranch, she didn’t feel entirely powerless.

A slow, tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The idea of magic—of having power—both scared and thrilled her. So she now knew she had magic. Could she control it? If not, could she learn?

The barn cat returned cautiously, emerging from the underbrush and rubbing against her side as if nothing had happened. Briar laughed softly, scratching the cat behind the ears.

“Well,” she murmured to the cat, her voice light with amusement, “looks like we’re going to be just fine.”

She stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes and adjusting the brim of her hat. The garden stretched before her, full of potential—and now, full of possibility.

Whatever this magic was, she wasn’t going to run from it. Had she done so in the past? Had it come upon her suddenly and frightened her? No, that didn’t feel right. Perhaps it had frightened those around her. That made more sense given that unrelenting feeling of being hunted.

As she returned to her work, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm light over the garden—her garden—and the quiet, hidden power growing within her.

As the afternoon began to lengthen the shadows and evening began to settle over Copper Canyon Ranch, Briar found herself restless. The idea of sitting across from Colt at dinner, feeling his steady gaze on her and the hum of attraction that buzzed whenever he was near, felt overwhelming. Not tonight. Not when her mind was already swirling with too many questions and strange, half-formed memories.

When she entered the house through the kitchen door, Etta called to remind her about supper, Briar offered an apologetic smile and feigned exhaustion.

“If it’s all right, I think I’d like to skip tonight,” Briar said, doing her best to sound genuinely worn out. “I just need some rest.”

Etta studied her with a keen, knowing gaze, but didn’t press the issue. “All right, sweetheart,” the housekeeper said kindly. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find us. If youdon’t come down, I’ll have a tray sent up for you.” Etta raised her hand to ward off the argument. “You need to eat. You’re working so hard out in the garden, and Colt said you weren’t to miss meals.”

Briar grinned. “He’s kind of bossy.”