by Beau Brown
Maybe it’s something in the water…
Sweet Water, Texas—population 1378—possesses one of the highest percentages of Alphas and Omegas in the entire United States of America. Maybe it is something in the water, but boys get pregnant here. A lot. And regular folks have just kind of gotten used to it.
One night’s innocent mistake leaves Omega Alex Orlov unclaimed, unwed and very, very pregnant. He leaves college in disgrace and flees straight home to the safety of Sweet Water, Texas. Alex knows his two very liberal and progressive dads are going to be disappointed and hurt by his careless behavior, but he’s shocked and stunned by their angry insistence that he either give up his unborn baby or get out.
He chooses to get—and winds up straight in the arms of his very first boyhood crush, Sheriff Ross McClintock.
Ross tells himself he’s just as disgusted as Alex’s fathers that the golden boy whose flirtatious invitations he resolutely refused for so long should have recklessly thrown away his bright future. But something about Alex slips under his guard.
Before long, Ross is thinking of committing some reckless behavior of his own!
This is a sweet and sexy, contemporary, non-shifter love story with mpreg and a HEA ending. Though part of the Omegas of Sweet Water, Texas, this standalone story does not need to be read as part of the series.
The Sheriff Surrenders
The Omegas of Sweet Water, Texas (Book 1)
E.E. Wilde
Chapter One
At half past midnight, the radio on Sheriff Ross McClintock’s SUV console crackled into life.
“Sheriff?” Deputy Sheriff Delores Garcia asked into the darkness. They did not stand on formalities here in Sweet Water, Texas. With a population slightly over one thousand, they didn’t need to. Maybe everybody in Sweet Water didn’t know your name, but they could make a educated guess as to who you were.
“Yep,” Ross answered, eyes on the empty highway ahead. He was just about to turn off onto the dirt road leading home. It had been a long day. His eyes were scratchy with weariness and for the last hour he had been dreaming of that Salisbury steak Hungry-Man dinner waiting in his freezer. Technically he was off the clock. Except, when you were the duly elected sheriff, you were never really off the clock.
“You home yet?”
“What have you got, D.?” Ross was resigned.
“A stranded motorist on North Cut Road. Mrs. Hardy called it in a few minutes ago. She said she was on her way back from bingo when she spotted a car parked on the side of the road, and a young male, pregnant, with his head under the hood. She slowed to ask if he needed help. She says she didn’t want to stop at this hour because, pregnant or not, he’s still a man.”
“Did he say he needed help?”
“He said it was under control, but Mrs. Hardy says she kept watching in her rearview, and last she saw, he had got back in his car and didn’t seem to be going anywhere.”
Ross sighed. “He probably called the Auto Club.”
“Maybe,” Delores said doubtfully.
“Did Mrs. Hardy recognize him?”
“That’s the thing. She didn’t. She said she thought he wasn’t from around here.”
Granted, Mrs. Hardy was blind as a bat even with her glasses, which she rarely bothered with while driving, since “she only needed them for reading.”
“Okay,” Ross said. “I’ll check on him. Out.” He hung up the radio and pulled a U-turn, heading back toward North Cut Road.
It didn’t take him long to locate the small blue compact parked beside a corn field, towering black stalks silhouetted against the enormous orange moon. He could see the hood of the car was up and that someone sat inside the vehicle.
Ross gave a whoop of the siren and pulled in behind the disabled vehicle. The shape of the person inside the vehicle seemed to jump in alarm—turning to peer out the window.
Ross automatically radioed in the vehicle license plate, and unsnapped the flap on his holster. A warm summer rain peppered down as he got out of the SUV and started toward the compact. The night air smelled of damp dust and car exhaust.
The driver door of the compact swung open.
“Stay inside your vehicle,” Ross called, hand going to his weapon. You could never be too careful. Four years with the Texas Rangers and ten years as a small town sheriff had taught him that.
A sneaker clad foot and long, jean-covered leg was hastily withdrawn to the safety of the compact. The door closed again.
By then Ross had picked up the other man’s scent. Omega, for sure. The pregnancy was probably for real then, not a ruse to stop unwary motorists—this backroad would be the wrong place for that stunt anyway.
He reached the driver’s door and gazed down at a pale oval of face and lank, dark hair. The driver was wearing some kind of bulky overcoat. Or maybe the bulk was all him. He was clearly very pregnant. He smelled…odd. Pregnant, yes, but it was not the usual disarming scent—the scent that made even the toughest of alphas feel instinctively protective toward an expecting omega. This odor made Ross think of withered things. Dried grass, dead leaves, burned wood. Not good. Maybe there was a problem with the baby.
The omega was also unclaimed.
Great. A heavily pregnant, unclaimed omega wandering around in the middle of the night—and in the middle of nowhere. In the old days, he’d have been jailed, convicted of crimes against moral decency, and sentenced to a few months on an omega farm. There were times when Ross thought that wasn’t such a bad idea. The old omega farms were really just work camps, but they kept the omegas safe and out of trouble, giving them a roof over their heads and food for their bellies—and their pups’ bellies.
But in these enlightened days, omegas had, in theory, all the rights and privileges of any other citizen, and you could not throw a man in jail for being stupid enough to get pregnant while still unclaimed, however much he deserved it.
“License, please,” Ross said automatically. “What seems to be the trouble, sir?”
The omega made no move to get his license. He continued to stare up at Ross as though he was a mirage. In the dark interior of the car, his eyes were just a shine. The other glimmer seemed to be his teeth—as if his mouth was hanging open in astonishment.
The hair rose on the back of Ross’s neck, though he wasn’t sure why.
The omega gulped out faintly, “Sheriff McClintock?”
“That’s right.” Ross peered more closely at the driver. “Do I—? Who are you?”
The omega’s arms went automatically around his belly. “It’s me. It’s Alex. Alex Orlov.”
“Alex?”
Ross felt a ripple of shock that was almost horror. Alex Orlov? The golden boy? The gifted only child of two omega civil rights icons was this knocked-up, unclaimed omega sitting here in a broken-down car? No way.
Except…
How had this happened? Where the hell was Orlov going? How was it that Ross knew nothing of this situation until now?
“What are you doing out here?” Ross demanded.
“My car broke down.”
“But—”
“I thought it was the battery, but now I think it’s the alternator.”
“But…I mean…”
Ross had a sudden memory of Alex at seventeen. All long legs, tumbled chestnut hair, and big blue eyes. Appealing coltish and alarmingly flirtatious. Why don’t you marry me, Sheriff M.? I’d make you a good husband!
Not wild, Ross would have said back then. High spirited. Romantic minded. Like a lot of omegas at that age. Though Alex was prettier and flirtier than most.
And not much different at twenty-one either.
I can’t wait forever, McClintock. You ever going to settle d
own? Make an honest man of me?
That last was a joke because there was no more honest, straight-forward kid than young Alex.
Jesus Christ. What the hell had happened?
“I thought you were at college,” Ross said. “I thought you were majoring in political science or law or something like that?”
“I had to quit.” Alex nodded at the elephant in the room—well, just about. That was one heck of a baby bump. “I stayed in as long as I could. But once I started to show… It turns out Title IX only protects female pregnant students from discrimination. Male pregnant students are still considered too much of a distraction on campus and in the classroom.”
“Something tells me you know a couple of gentlemen who’d be more than happy to take that to court for you.”
“Yeah. Well.” Alex looked away. Ross couldn’t see his face, but there was a tired slump to his shoulders. Suddenly he looked defeated, deflated.
“All right.” Ross was still trying to wrap his mind around this. “Hop in my car and I’ll run you home.”
Alex turned back to him. “I’m not on my way home.” He drew a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, I’m not welcome there anymore.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Alex’s voice held a note of defiance. “I’m not welcome in my own parents’ home.”
No. That could not be right. This unplanned, unclaimed pregnancy would be a blow for any parent, and the fathers of Alex Orlov had rightfully held mighty high expectations for their son, but they were also two of the biggest bleeding-heart Liberals in the entire great state of Texas, let alone MacLennan County. It was impossible to believe they’d turn their only child out—especially in his delicate condition—no matter how disappointed they were.
“Then where were you headed?”
Alex shrugged. “Waco. Maybe Austin. Somewhere I can get a job to support us.”
Us?
Oh. Right. Him and the baby.
Crazy. This whole situation was crazy. Ross couldn’t seem to think beyond the fact that this funny, smart, beautiful kid had somehow managed to fuck up his entire life.
Not a kid though. He had to be twenty-three by now. Most omegas were married by his age and starting their families. Old enough to know better, for sure.
Where the hell was the alpha who had got him into this state? Even if he didn’t want to claim Alex—which was hard to believe—why wasn’t he shouldering his share of responsibility for this mess?
“I tried calling Nance’s Garage, but they don’t open until tomorrow morning,” Alex was saying.
“That’s right. They close at ten.” Ross thought it over. Alex could phone one of the larger garages in Waco. There was bound to be places with twenty-four-hour emergency roadside service. No need to give up so easy. Unless he didn’t have money to pay for a tow? The Orlovs were comfortably off. Both of Alex’s fathers were lawyers. But clearly there had been some family rift. Maybe they’d revoked his credit cards or cut off his allowance or something.
Either way, Ross couldn’t leave him stranded on the roadside. He said reluctantly, “Okay. Tell you what. You can spend the night at my place and tomorrow we’ll arrange for your car to get towed to Nance’s. Do you have a suitcase? Some kind of bag?”
Alex looked up, his face lighting with relief and gratitude that shone even in the dark. “Is that—are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Thank you. I was going to sleep in my car, but—”
“Come on.” Ross opened the door.
He had to help Alex climb out of the car, help him walk along the slippery roadside in the warm rain to his SUV, help him inside. It gave him a strange feeling to put his arm around Alex. To smell the rain in his hair and feel his warmth against Ross’s body. Alex was breathing heavily at just this amount of exertion, and Ross wondered how close he was to his due date. Not far, judging by his size and lack of mobility.
Ross swore inwardly. This was the last thing he needed.
The old Alex had been a chatty, lively kid. Clever. Funny. Good company. This Alex said almost nothing on the short drive back to Ross’s farmhouse. Of course, he was probably exhausted. Ross had a vague idea pregnant people were always exhausted. And clearly something catastrophic had happened at Alex’s parents’ home that evening, which would no doubt occupy his thoughts—and tire him out more.
They bumped down the dirt road to the 1800s farmhouse Ross had called home for the last two decades. It was a big, rambling two-story place with a wraparound porch kept cool and shady by a couple of acres of tall pecan trees.
They parked in the gravel circle in front of the house.
“You still live here?” Alex smiled, gazing up at the shutter framed windows and gingerbread trim.
“Yep.”
“That’s great. I used to…”
“Used to what?”
Alex shook his head. He opened the car door and got out. Ross grabbed Alex’s bag and followed him, critically observing. That walk was more of a waddle. Endearing if you cared about the person. If it was your omega carrying your baby, you’d find it kind of touching maybe. But Alex was not his omega and the only thing Ross felt for him now was disappointment and disgust, probably akin to what Alex’s parents felt.
How could you do this? You’re not stupid. You’re not uneducated. You’re sure as hell not a child.
When they reached the long, wide steps leading to the front porch, he put an arm around Alex’s wide shoulders and helped him up the stairs. Once again, he was disconcerted by the feel of Alex beneath his arm, his troubling scent.
“Thanks,” Alex puffed, as they reached the top. He was shaking a little though the night, despite the rain, was not that cold.
Ross hastily let go of him, unlocked the door and let them inside the house.
The house was cold, colder than the summer night, and felt empty. Well, Ross was rarely home to do more than grab a meal and sleep. Occasionally, very occasionally, he enjoyed a beer and a nap in the hammock out back. It was a nice old house though. Lots of windows and wooden floors. Two fireplaces. A kitchen big enough for a mess hall.
One of these days he was going to buy a dog and some fishing poles and see how the other half lived. Or at least how they spent their weekends.
Ross dropped his hat on the half-moon table and hung up his rain poncho. “I’ll put your bag in the guest room. It’s at the end of the hallway off the dining room,” he said. He risked another look at Alex. He didn’t want to stare, but he was both fascinated and horrified.
What had happened to that adorable kid?
This was pregnancy at its most unappealing. Limp, brown hair around a white, puffy face. Alex’s eyes were red rimmed, his nose red. His belly protruded from his unbuttoned coat. It was a huge, swollen thing, not completely covered by the baggy black sweatshirt. Ross could just glimpse thin cords of blue veins outlining the bulge—that looked painful—and higher up, the distinct outline of…breasts. Small, but definite, breasts. Yeah, that had to hurt.
Not a turn on, let’s put it that way. But Ross had never been one of those guys eager to start a family, eager to see his mate start popping out babies. He always figured it would happen when the time was right. But at forty-eight, the time still didn’t seem quite right.
Plus no one had ever caught his fancy. No one of the right age anyway, and now—why the hell was he even thinking like this?
“I have to pee,” Alex announced.
“Same hallway. First door to your left.” Ross pointed at the dining room, and Alex departed hastily.
Ross followed more slowly, passing the bathroom where it sounded like every tap had been turned to full blast. He turned on the light to the guest room and left Alex’s bag on the wooden chair near the door. The room was tidy, the bed was unmade. Ross got clean sheets from the linen cupboard. They smelled a little musty, but were likely preferable to sleeping in a car all night. He left the sheets folded on the foot of the four-poster bed and returned to
the kitchen.
He opened his Hungry-Man dinner and put it on a cookie tray on the oven’s middle rack. That was the secret to cooking these things. The microwave was faster, but it zapped the flavor right out of the food. Plus, according to NPR, which was the only “unofficial” channel Ross’s SUV radio could pick up, eating from microwaved plastic caused cancer.
He was pouring himself his last—and well-deserved—bottle of Bourbon Barrel Aged Hellfighter when the floorboard outside the kitchen creaked.
“You hungry?” Ross asked, without turning. “I could heat up a fried chicken frozen dinner for you.”
He could feel the shudder from across the room.
“Thanks,” Alex said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long night.”
Ross did turn then. He studied his wan houseguest. “That’s a good idea. Things will look brighter in the morning.”
Alex nodded, briefly meeting his eyes. His own were too bright. “Sure.”
Ross sighed. “Look, it’s none of my business, but running away never solved anything. I think if you could sit down with your parents and talk this thing out—”
Alex laughed. It was a strange, bitter laugh, and it shut Ross up.
“I know you mean well,” Alex said. “But you don’t know what you’re talking about, Ross.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was calling Ross by his first name, but he did not sound like the kid Ross had known for all those years. He sounded like a weary adult trying to be patient in the face of extreme and idiotic provocation. It was startling. Weirdly, Ross’s face warmed as if he’d been told off by a peer.
“I didn’t drop a bombshell on them tonight, if that’s what you think,” Alex said. “I’ve been living at home for the past two months. It’s just that tonight everything came to a head. Until tonight, they believed I might change my mind about keeping the baby. And I let them think that I was considering it because…I wasn’t sure myself. Or told myself I wasn’t. But I’m not going to give this baby up. Not now. Not ever. She’s mine and I’m keeping her.”
