#echo valley ranch

[mickimagnum]

Devin's Dude Ranch: Episode Ten

*the episode opens with a shot of Echo Valley Ranch. The sun has just set and crickets can be heard singing in the background.*

Devin, in the diary room: "Today is our second group date and I'm so excited to spend more time with my four guys tonight. They're all still here because I still want to get to know them and events like tonight are the perfect chance to do just that. I'm hoping they're going to be able to cut a little loose."

*the next shot opens with the contestants lined up. they're waiting for Devin in the backyard. she approaches and they all greet her with smiles*

Devin: "Hi guys!"

Devin (continues): "Wow, you all look so nice tonight. I can't believe I get to spend another evening with you fine gentleman."

*the contestants grin and chuckle softly*

Devin (continues): "For tonight's group date, I thought we could cut a little loose with a backyard hoedown. What do you fellas say?"

*the group cheers in reply*

Devin: "Alright then, let's party!"

*the next scene opens with Devin sitting at the bar, joined by the contestants*

*Devin sips at her glass of nectar while Albert looks on, a smile playing at the corners of his lips*

Albert: "So, how was your day," *pauses and tips his invisible cowboy hat* "darlin'?"

*Devin chuckles and shakes her head*

Devin: "It was good. Just a typical, busy day. Worked the horses. Did some nectar business. Although, I did actually have time to go for a jog this afternoon which was nice. What about yours, cowboy?"

*Albert makes a show out of pausing to ponder*

Albert: "Also busy. I hung out with these goons all day," *motions to the other contestants* "and...thought about you nonstop."

*Devin grins ear to ear*

Devin: "Is that a fact?"

Albert: "Yes. Admittedly, you're all I've been able to think about since I've gotten here."

*Devin blushes and tries to hide it behind her hand*

*After a beat, she recovers, leans forward and asks:*

Devin: "And what exactly were you thinking about?"

*Albert grins, leans closer to her, and they lock eyes*

Albert: "Well, I'd love to tell you, but I'm sure these guys don't want to here it," *glances around at the other contestants* "Why don't you come dance with me and I can tell you?"

*Devin nods as a smile breaks out across her face*

Devin: "Deal."

*the next scene opens with Albert and Devin slow dancing out on the dance floor. They are gazing at each other intensely and smiling.*

Devin: "So tell me. What thoughts have been going through that beautiful, twisted mind of yours?"

*Albert chuckles*

Albert: "Twisted?"

Devin: "You heard me."

*Devin winks at him and the pair share a laugh*

Albert: "Well. I think about that first night, and how natural it felt to have you in my arms. How right it felt. I think about your brown eyes...a lot. And your laugh. Man, I love the sound of your laugh. I think about how amazing it would be to have a life with you, from the crazy adventures we'd have to just waking up next to you every morning. But, mostly, I think about how I can get more time with you, because honestly, it feels like the air I'm breathing right now."

*The camera cuts to Devin. Her eyes are shining and she is smiling widely*

Devin: "Albert...I had no idea you felt that way. That has got to be one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me."

*Albert suddenly scoops Devin up. She wraps her arms around his shoulder and they hold intense eye contact*

Albert: "Oh, I do. Maybe I should let you in on a little secret."

Devin: "And what's that?"

Albert: "I'm f*bleep*ing crazy about you."

*Devin smiles and leans forward to kiss him.*

*The camera zooms in to Stan standing in the background watching. His face is etched in anger.*

Albert (in diary room): "What a night. I opened up to Devin about my feelings for her and I feel like it took our relationship to the next level. And she kissed me....best kiss of my life too. These other guys better watch out. I'm not leaving without my girl."

*the next scene opens with Devin and all of the contestants dancing to modern ranch music; all except Stan who can been seen drinking heavily at the bar with a dark look on his face*

Houston: "What do you mean you've never read The Grapes of Wrath?"

Devin: "Don't judge me, mister. I'm admittedly not a huge reader. I don't have time."

*Houston acts wounded*

Houston: "But you have that beautiful library upstairs!"

*Devin chuckles*

Devin: "I do. And I would love to read the books I have in it but alas."

Houston: "I think I know a solution."

*Devin looks at him puzzled*

Devin: "Now you've got me curious."

Houston: "You're too busy to read, so why don't I read to you? I'll be your living audio book. I can read some to you every night before we go to bed."

*Devin pauses a moment as a smile spreads across her face*

Devin: "I think I love this idea."

*Houston smiles back at her*

Houston: "We can start with The Grapes of Wrath. It's a classic and I think you'll love it."

Houston (in diary room): *stares at the floor for a moment before a smile begins to spread on his face. he then looks directly into the camera*

"I think I'm falling in love with Devin."

Stan (ranting to bartender): "Ya know, I don't even know why I'm here. I mean, I came to find love, but it's like competing with a pack of wolves. It's f*bleep*ing ridiculous. I'm too old for this s*bleep*."

*Stan drinks deeply from his mug of beer*

*The camera cuts to Handra and Devin, who can be seen embracing each other, both smiling deeply*

Handra: "I've missed you. Is it too early to admit that?"

*Devin chuckles*

Devin: "Never. I've missed you, too. Your presence...it calms me. You make me feel safe."

*Handra smiles down at her*

Handra: "You're always safe with me, Devin."

*She bites her lower lip and blushes. After a pause she says:*

Devin: "Wanna swing?"

*Handra grins*

*the pair can then be seen swinging, giggling, and talking indistinctly*

*After Handra and Devin get done swinging, he takes her hands and looks into her eyes*

Handra: "I just wanna say, Devin, anytime I spend time with you, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I love how genuine you are to yourself, and with others. You inspire me."

*Devin smiles*

Devin: "I love spending time with you too. I think we get along so well because you are also a really genuine person. It's a rare quality."

Handra: "That it is."

*His eyes sparkle at Devin and she can't help but keep smiling up at him*

Handra (in diary room): "Being with Devin just makes me happy. I really hope she feels the same way about me. And I want us to keep making each other happy. That's all I got to say."

*Devin sits down next to Stan and greets him with a big smile*

Devin: Hi there, stranger. You've been awfully quiet tonight. Everything alright?"

*Stan glances up at her*

Stan: "Just haven't had the energy to claw my way through the wolfpack tonight for your attention."

*Devin cocks an eyebrow at Stan*

Devin: "The wolfpack, huh?"

*Stan shrugs*

Stan: "Everyone's fighting for your attention all the time. That's what it feels like. We're wolves circling prey. You're a prize to be won." *he looks down at his drink* "It's exhausting."

*Devin studies him for a moment*

Devin: "Is it the competition that's bothering you or that you don't feel like you're getting enough time with me."

*Stan snorts*

Stan: "Hell, both, if I'm being honest."

*Devin looks slightly annoyed as she rests both hands on the bar. She takes a deep breath before speaking*

Devin: "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm doing my best to spend time with everyone. It is certainly challenging. But, this is a two-way street, Stan. You have to put in effort, too. You said you don't feel like you've gotten enough time with me, but also said you don't feel like 'clawing your way' through the others. This is, unfortunately, what we all signed up for. So, do you see my problem? I mean, which is it? Do you want to spend time with me or not? I'm going to do my part, but can I count on you to do yours? I guess that's my question."

*Stan clenches his jaw as he eyes her, choosing his next words carefully*

Stan: "I'm not sure this arrangement is for me. This whole thing is more difficult than I bargained for."

*Devin looks stunned*

Devin: "So, are you saying you want to leave?"

Stan: "I'm not sure what I'm saying."

*Stan abruptly gets up from the bar*

Stan: "I need some time to think."

*he then turns and skulks into the house, leaving a stunned Devin still sitting at the bar*

*the camera cuts to the other three contestants on the dancefloor, looking on in shock*

Handra: "Wait, is Stan leaving?"

*Stan can be seen in the bathroom, clinging to the sink while glaring into the mirror*

Stan (voiceover): "I'm so angry I want to smash everything in this room. I had no idea this was going to be this hard; seeing her with the other men. I'm not sure I can keep doing this. I'm going insane."

Devin (in diary room): "I'm so surprised at the way Stan behaved tonight. I mean, no, this is not an ideal situation for any of the contestants but it is what everyone signed up for. Yes, it's hard. But, we're all doing our best. Really, I'm disappointed in him for acting so...immaturely. If he decides to leave, I will be sad to see him go, but if he doesn't think I'm worth it, then maybe it's not worth the emotional investment. I don't know. I'm really confused righ now."

Stan (in diary room): "I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet. On one hand, I really like her and I want to see what's there between us. On the other, I'm tired of competing with these other dudes, of seeing them with her. It's too hard. I hate it. I don't know what I'm going to do..."

Albert submitted by @bakersimmer Houston submitted by @invisiblequeen Handra submitted by @bloomingkyras James "Stan" submitted by @natolesims

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[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming with me about all of this ily both <3 Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

[a3risbaby]

what we whispered in the dark [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 stardew valley : sam x afab!reader (no pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Between the sneaking around and him nearing cumming in his pants from a heated kiss, you don't feel like a pair of twenty-somethings who are three and a half seasons into their relationship. And something about that makes your heart soar. He always finds a way to make you fall in love like it's the first day all over again.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship, face-sitting, vaginal fingering (barely), cross-posted on ao3 | 1.9k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 my first x reader smut! i was going to continue, but i figured that this was a good stopping place. let me know if you liked it :)

On your first day in Pelican Town, you tried to greet everyone, introducing yourself as the new farmer taking over your grandfather's dilapidated farm. The reactions varied from the gruff Get the fuck out of my face (Shane, your favorite grouch) to the stand off-ish Oh...you're not what I was expecting (Jodi, who's warmed up a little) to the pleasant Nice. I'll see you around (Alex, one of your fastest friends).

And Sam? Sam was sweet, you realized immediately, and your impression hasn't changed since. With his bright hair and even brighter smile, he always passes you with a chipper wave, kicking off on his ever present skateboard, and you find yourself saving all of your fished-up Joja Cans just to see his face light up. Sam is sweet and kind and nice and just a little dumb and funny and currently doing a really shitty job of sneaking out of his house.

"Can you be a little quieter?" you hiss from the bushes, wincing as his knee hits the windowsill for the second time.

You're not worried about Kent. In fact, he's watching the two of you right now from his usual spot underneath the front yard tree, the smallest frown marring his features. The last time you were rushing to avoid the 2AM fine, you made a point of stopping and asking Kent for his blessing. Less because it mattered and more because he often sat here until late, and you weren't sure if you could avoid both his insomniac habits and the town's curfew.

"His mom leaves the house around ten," Kent murmurs. "Make sure to set an alarm before you get distracted with playing your video games."

"No worries, sir, I'm up by sunrise," you say, eyes not leaving your boyfriend. He's finally making his way down the makeshift rope ladder. "Can you please teach him how to sneak out properly next time?"

Over your shoulder, Kent snorts softly. "Sure."

It's been years since either of you were a teenager, but Sam breathes a youthful energy back into you, taking your hand as soon as he hits the ground and running off with one last glance at his dad. You keep up with his long strides, the wind whipping at your straw hat and clothes, and have to suppress a giggle as he nearly trips over a rock. He's really bad at this. You slip an extra glowstone ring onto his thumb.

"That's the first time I actually made it out undetected," he says, a laugh bubbling in his chest. "I need to tell Seb tomorrow."

"How does it usually go?"

"Well, I barely get out the front door—"

See? A little dumb. You bite back a silly comment, shooting him a smile that he returns instead.

The journey from his house to yours isn't far—go past Leah's cozy cabin, take a right at Marnie's expansive ranch, follow the newly laid stone path until you see the telltale stable—but it's long enough for your floating moods to sink into something akin to anticipation. At the stoop, you drop your keys once, then twice. It doesn't help that Sam's trailing his fingers along your sides, dropping kisses along your shoulders.

"You should just leave the door unlocked next time," he suggests when you finally get the key in. You barely managed to pull together the plan for tonight, and he's already talking about next time. "No one's out here this late."

"Except us."

"Except us," he echoes.

You kick your shoes off, but you're not sure where they land because Sam has you pressed against the closed door, lips moving against yours, clumsy in his haste. His hands are tight on your hips as he pulls you into him. You're tempted to lose yourself in the urgency.

"Sam, wait," you manage. He hums in acknowledgement, moving to brush his nose along your jaw. "I need to take a shower first. I've been foraging in Cindersap all day."

"You could be covered in slime goop, and I'd still find you hot," he says with so much sincerity your knees almost buckle.

"Thanks, but it's not a matter of whether or not I'm attractive." You push his shoulders squarely. He yields. "I feel gross. It'll take five, ten minutes tops. You can wait upstairs for me."

"And what if I get lost?" He raises his eyebrows. "I feel like I should follow you to the shower."

You roll your eyes. "Heel, boy. I'll be right there, okay?"

His excitement is endearing. Between the sneaking around and him nearing cumming in his pants from a heated kiss, you don't feel like a pair of twenty-somethings who are three and a half seasons into their relationship. And something about that makes your heart soar. He always finds a way to make you fall in love like it's the first day all over again. As promised, you're done washing off in seven minutes. For a second, you entertain the idea of walking into your bedroom with only a towel, just to gauge his reaction, but you throw on a tank top and shorts instead, foregoing underwear since it'll all be gone anyway.

You find him on the edge of your bed, sorting your mail into two piles on your nightstand. He looks up with a smile.

"JojaMart's having a sale on seeds," he reports. "You can use my employee discount and get a little more off."

"Yeah?" You step between his open legs and brush blond hair away from his forehead. Your beautiful, radiant boyfriend. "How much off?"

"I don't remember. Like 10%, I think?"

"Just ten?" You shimmy your shorts down an inch. He follows their journey like a hawk. "I thought it was more than that."

"Maybe it was twenty, I'm not sure."

"That's all? A shame." You push them down further, exposing your hips, and his eyes light up as he catches on.

He wets his lips and says, voice strained, "No, it was 100%. Definitely completely off."

You let him tug your shorts down, and when they pool around your ankles, you kick them off. His gaze flickers between your exposed skin and your face, impossibly reverent. He doesn't pray to Yoba like his family, but his expression, here and now, is one of a worshiper. Devoted and devout until the end of time.

He pulls you in for a kiss, mouth open to swallow your moans, and falls back onto your sheets. Your legs straddle his hips, and you whimper as he ruts his growing bulge against the apex of your legs. The material of his sweatpants drag against you—you definitely need to throw it in the laundry before he leaves.

"This wet already, baby? The night's barely started," he mumbles against your lips. Under normal circumstances, the stain on his pants would embarrass you, but anticipation thrums in your veins. The hands on your waist force you to still, and it's pathetic how close you are to begging him to keep going. "As much as I love it, I'm not going to last long like this and I want to finish in you tonight. Okay?"

"Okay," you manage, "but you better keep your word."

He laughs. "I always do. Now how much of a discount do I need to promise if I want you to sit on my face?"

.

.

You're a sight that Sam can never tire of. He isn't the wordy kind of person, but if he was, he'd likely wax poetic about how beautiful you look right now. Something about how the crescent moon spills from the open window and falls over your skin like liquid silver.

Huh. That actually wasn't bad. Maybe writing lyrics for the band has made him better at this sort of thing. He settles on the pile of pillows on your bed, murmuring encouragements as you shift forward and straddle his face.

"Are you sure?" you're asking for the third time, and he has to hold back from rolling his eyes.

He tries his best to look you in the face, which is hard considering everything else tempting his gaze. Yoba, this is a perspective that he needs to get more often. "Babe," he says, trailing kisses along your thigh. "Seriously. I already said it before, but this is exactly what I want. You're stunning. Amazing. Perfect. I'd rather die between your legs than anywhere—" And the rest of his argument is lost on his tongue as you finally take a seat and Sam considers quitting his day job at JojaMart to do this forever.

He inhales the dampness of your pussy, flattens his tongue, and basks in the way you keel forward, fingers curling around the headboard to keep steady. A shaky breath from you and he sets out in earnest, one hand digging into your ass, the other skimming its way up your body until it lands on your chest. He's not the type to curse much either, but fuck, your tits are amazing. He grasps at them firmly, just how you like it, until you yank your top over your head and he can finally get a full view.

His hands move again, this time to spread you further apart as his tongue laps at your dripping cunt, and if your growing cries are any indication, he's proud to say that he's gotten good at this lately.

Can you be a little quieter? he's tempted to echo the complaint you had at his house earlier, but he holds back from teasing for two reasons. One, he actually hates it when you bite back your moans. Your volume is exactly why you can't do this at his place, and he relishes in the way your noises go straight to his dick, currently straining to be freed from his sweats. And two, truthfully, he doesn't think he can separate from you long enough to say anything.

So he expresses his pleasure with guttural groans and pants as you grind down into his face, your clit clipping his nose in a way that has you squirming in his hold. You're fucking amazing, and he hopes you know this. He feels like he doesn't tell you that enough.

"So good, a-ah, Sam, fuck...just like that. Keep goi—oh my—"

Your pace stutters when his lips finally suction around your clit, and his name becomes a breathless mantra on your tongue as he unravels you on his. You rock against his face, previous hesitation forgotten as you chase after your high.

"'m so close," you whimper, your hands kneading your chest desperately. "So, so close—Sam, please—almost there."

Without warning, he sinks a finger into you, the metal of his glowstone ring cold against your flushed folds, and it's enough to send you over the edge. A flurry of broken curses spill over as you ride it out, and Sam swears he can drown in your pussy, lapping at your orgasm until you push off of him and slide onto your back.

"You're too good at this for a newbie," you insist, voice petulant as you catch your breath.

He wants to kiss you so bad, make you taste yourself on the slick that runs down his chin, but he cleans himself up and waits beside you patiently until you tug at his hand. A sign that you're ready for him to make good on his promise.

[from-memphis-with-love]

1849 - an Elvis Presley One-Shot

Summary: It's 1849 and the height of the Oregon Trail. Pearl, an innocent and inexperienced young woman, is plucked from the prairie and into a marriage with rough and tumble rancher Elvis Presley. She's practically paralyzed with fear on her wedding night. But all is not what it seems: he is actually loving and kind with her, and, with a little gentle coaxing, she soon comes to find out the true meaning of what her husband affectionately calls his "manly duties."

Beneath a velvet sky embroidered with stars, the sweeping prairie of the Willamette Valley undulated endlessly, its breezy grasses frosted silver in the gentle moonlight, swaying like the swells of a wheat-colored sea. The air, redolent with sagebrush and wildflower nectar, whispered tales yet untold. 

A weathered log cabin, sturdy as an old oak, nestled harmoniously amid the untamed expanse. Inside, flickering candlelight danced upon the rough-hewn walls, casting writhing shadows that capered about. This humble abode was far more than a shelter; it housed two hearts newly joined in matrimony's sacred covenant. 

Upon a mattress of timber and homespun linens lay the newlyweds. The sounds of crickets and distant animals floated on the night air, a natural lullaby straight from the land itself. They reveled in the hushed serenity of their nascent life together.

A stillness Pearl finally punctured with a question. 

"Elvis?" she pouted, her reedy voice not fully her own. "You've stolen the blanket." Mistaking her complaint for invitation, Elvis sidled closer, his sturdy frame a barrier against the cool night air. He slipped his hand atop her opposite side, ensconcing her between his bare chest and muscular arm. "Might I perhaps have them back, please?"

He nuzzled nearer, his tone playful. "Chilly? Lemme warm you up, then."

Now, with mere inches between them, his radiant skin-heat seemed to flow directly into her own, quickening her heartbeat. She swallowed, her voice quavering slightly. "Do you... have a nightshirt, perhaps?"

"A night-what?" His confusion, genuine or feigned, hung in the air between them, charged with the unspoken energy of their touch.

Pearl closed her eyes, seeking refuge in inky darkness, away from the maelstrom roiling within. She wished to be anywhere but perched on the precipice of her wedding night, an apprehensive innocent bound to a man whose depths were only just beginning to unfurl before her. 

Her thoughts meandered to distant places: endless prairies beneath boundless skies, their splendor unfettered and raw. She pictured the wind's caress, laden with wildflower perfume, conveying whispers of age-old tales. How she yearned for freedom, to roam unconstrained by society's fetters!

Her heart ached for the unknown, the thrill of novel faces and locales. Perhaps in a bustling metropolis, pulsating with a mosaic of sounds, she could vanish into the crowd, shedding her naïve bride skin. Or on a lonely mountain peak, inhaling the crisp air, losing herself in nature's majesty, finding peace in its seclusion. 

No, she banished the thought, Elvis Presley never feels fear, and I'm a fool to think otherwise. 

Somehow, this realization lent her the strength to open her eyes, letting curiosity temper her fears. Yet, the echoes of a strict upbringing whispered doubts, and she might feel more at ease about it all if Elvis kept some of his clothes on—at least for the night. She broached the subject of modesty. “A nightshirt. If you have one in that chest over there, I’d appreciate you wearing it,” she ventured.

Unlike Pearl, Elvis had no such compunctions about their intimacy, nor was he concerned with modesty. His hands, calloused from the laborious toil of ranch work, possessed an innate understanding of the contours that ignited pleasure. His lips held secrets of countless stolen kisses and whispered promises. He cocked a sly smile at her request.

“Honey, you know I don’t own no nightshirt. The closest I come is wearing my long johns in the winter, and now that I got you to keep me warm, I reckon I won’t wear ‘em anymore.”

“Then what, pray tell, shall you wear?”

In one smooth motion, Elvis lifted her until she sat upright before him, noticing with some relief that his trousers remained in place. Strong fingers carded through her hair, treating the auburn strands as delicately as silk. 

"Y’know, the first time I laid eyes on you, you know I imagined you wearin’ nothin’ but your beautiful hair?”

Pearl froze, stunned by the vulnerability his words implied. To be so exposed, with only her hair for modesty, sparked an instinctual alarm...yet also fascination. Like a deer in a rife’s sight, she wrestled with the storm of fear and curiosity Elvis's revelation provoked. 

Firelight danced in his eyes, flecks of gold glittering in that captivating blue. With care, Elvis gathered her hair over her breasts. Though clothed, Pearl shivered at the suggestive act, a blush creeping up her neck. 

"Just like that," he murmured admiringly. "Sweet little rosebuds begging to be kissed. Peekin’ out to me and all."

Sitting there, Pearl felt Elvis's gaze wash over her like sunlight piercing through fog. His words stirred something deep within, blossoming warmth that spread from her cheeks down through her chest. But it didn't stop there. A swirling eddy gripped her belly, intensifying into a molten pull that sunk her deeper into this newfound swell of feeling. No one had told her a wedding night could feel like this. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing away the betrayal of her body's response. 

Noticing her blush, Elvis leaned back, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Seems I might be pushing my luck tonight," he mused, his mouth settling into a bashful grin. He caressed her cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “My God, you are so lovely.” Though his touch was gentle, she tensed. "Little Pearly, are you really that nervous?"

Pearl's heart raced, her cheeks burning with a mix of fear and longing as she took in the sight of Elvis's bare chest. The raw exposure of his skin, the dance of muscles beneath, stirred a whirlwind of emotions—curiosity, vulnerability. Fear. An evil desire she wouldn’t dare name. The way he looked stirred a terrible hunger deep within, and she couldn’t help but long for a barrier between them, a shield to temper the intensity of their connection.

With a voice touched by nerves, she mustered the courage to voice her yearning. "I would probably feel better if you put on a shirt," she ventured softly, unaware of the intoxicating effect her request had on Elvis, who looked back at her with a mix of amusement and reverence. "Are you sure you don't have one, Elvis?"

"I can do it with a shirt on, but I reckon I’ll have to take my trousers off sooner or later," he quipped, then caught himself, noting the joke wasn’t helping. "Is there anything else troubling you, darlin'?"

Pearl straightened, clearing her throat. "I’d really appreciate it if you just get on with it, please. I want to get this over with. We can talk afterward, alright?"

Elvis's smile faded, his thumb stilling on her cheek. "Ah, honey, I’m so sorry. I need a good whuppin’, that’s what I need," he said, nudging his nose against hers playfully. He twirled one of her curls around his finger, breathing in her scent. "I’m just a big ole oaf, is what I am. Here I am jokin’ my head off and you’re as nervous as a fawn. I should be making you feel good instead. Makin’ you forget what it is you’re so scared about.” 

Pearl’s eyes crossed trying to peer into his, so she let them flutter closed.

Cupping her face in his rough palms, Elvis lifted his forehead from hers, leaving a ghost of warmth behind. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. Pearl's heart fluttered at the gentle gesture, her grip tightening on his broad wrists as he guided her back onto the bed. Sinking into the mattress, she felt a mix of trepidation and trust as Elvis settled above her, forearms bracketing her shoulders.

“My wife,” he whispered, chest grazing her breasts as he bent close. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he murmured, full lips barely brushing hers in a whisper-soft caress. “I’ll make it real nice for you. Pearl, I will never intentionally hurt you. I swear it.”

“Elvis...” She parted her lips to speak, but his mouth stole the words. His breath was warm and sweet with a hint of black coffee as she sucked it in. Soft lips trailed over the contours of her mouth, leaving desire in their wake. But when his probing tongue intruded, Pearl recoiled in shock and apprehension, questioning the unfamiliar invasion. 

Pearl's world narrowed to the feel of his lips. They ignited longings within her, each touch kindling dormant desires. 

Her racing heart stumbled over itself as his tongue gently challenged her limited experience. Fingers digging into his arms, climbing to the solid assurance of his shoulders, she wondered, silently pleading, What's happening to me?

Desire, raw and unbidden, surged within her. Yet a shadow of doubt whispered too, questioning her boldness. Still, as they kissed, warmth bloomed inside her, promising pleasure, promising connection. Though separated by her thin nightgown, his touch blazed lines of fire over her skin, pulling her into a dance between longing and hesitation. 

For the first time, Pearl reveled in the forbidden delight of passionate kisses, a realm unknown to her sheltered life. The caress of his mouth on hers was a dance, each movement stirring longing she hadn't known existed. Every press and yielding response painted a portrait of contradictions—firm yet molten, unyielding yet accommodating. She prayed they would do this part of it frequently, whatever came next.

Catching her lower lip, he rolled it tenderly beneath his tongue, gently nibbling. Oh yes, she adored kissing. Their kisses grew bolder, back and forth, until his chest pressed firmly against hers. Her pounding heartbeat drowned out the owl's hoot outside. Arching against him, she dug her nails into his shoulders, overwhelmed by urgent, indescribable desire. She pressed into his rippling heat with greater intensity, seeking solace in his muscular frame.

Again, he delicately caught her lower lip between his teeth, rolling it tenderly beneath his tongue and gently nibbling on it.

Oh, yes.

She adored kissing him. Their kisses escalated until she was deaf to everything but her pounding heart. Arching into him, nails digging into his shoulders, she was overwhelmed with desire, seeking solace in his heat.

He relinquished his hold on her hair, breaking the kiss to embark on a tantalizing exploration of her face. His lips traced a path along her cheek, leaving a trail of teasing nips and touches that sent delightful shivers coursing through her body. With deliberate intent, he traveled upward, caressing her temple before retracing his path down to her eyelids.

Oh, what sensations!

His mouth against her sensitive skin was pure ecstasy. Venturing to her ear, his breath resonated as he nibbled her earlobe, flicking his tongue along the tender hollow beneath. A soft moan escaped her. Descending to her neck, his kisses made her tremble, breath hitching. She adored his skillful, desiring mouth. His presence enveloped her, intensifying the longing within, and she felt a curious pooling in her lap that startled her. Their hips pressed together, moving slowly, heightening the achingly sweet yearning in her veins. Lost in the moment, she faintly registered his trembling hands worrying the buttons of her gown, finally easing the fabric open. A gentle breeze brushed her bare breasts, sending delicious shivers down her spine - an unfamiliar yet delightful sensation.

A faint whisper of caution echoed in Pearl's mind, a remnant of scriptures urging caution against such intoxicating desire. Yet the allure was too powerful to resist. She surrendered to cascading waves of pleasure, losing herself in the intensity of their connection, exploring the passion dormant within her. The world fell away. All that mattered was the electric current drawing them closer in a dance of yearning and surrender. 

"Good Lord," he rasped, voice thick with desire. "I can’t even breathe, I want you so bad.” 

His scorching tongue blazed a path over her taut, yearning nipple. A jolting shock seized her, stealing her breath, causing her heart to falter. His mouth enveloped her with fervent intensity, sensations reverberating to her toes. Wide-eyed, she glanced down to see his flawless face nestled against her breast. Gradually he retreated, teasingly tugging her nipple, teeth capturing the pulsating bud before releasing, only to repeat the exquisite torment. 

Shock rippled through her, leaving her gasping in disbelief. Yet he drew her back into his mouth, swallowing her essence with unyielding passion. Panic gripped her and she screamed, pushing against him with all her might, cries echoing. What is happening? What unspeakable act is this? Oh mercy!

She felt betrayed. His audacious promises were deceitful lies! He personified sinful, impure yearning. This pleasure was too good to be true. 

As Pearl's piercing screams reverberated through the air, the sound struck Elvis like a lightning bolt, jolting him from his haze. Fear and concern etched his face as he sprang up, heart pounding. Reaching out with trembling hands, he gripped her shoulders urgently, as if to anchor them both. 

"Darlin', what's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

She screamed again, scrambling away and hastily closing her gown with trembling hands, desperately trying to conceal herself - a raw, vulnerable moment, reminding them both of past wounds. 

"Leave me be! Don't you lay a hand on me! You deceived me, you lied!" she cried, anguished.

In the corner, Get Lo, the loyal hound, rose with a mournful howl as footsteps and voices neared the cabin. Fists pounded the sturdy door, causing it to tremble. 

"Boss!" Red's voice echoed. "Hey, boss!" More commotion. "Stand back! I'll kick it down if I have to!"

"No!" Elvis shouted. "It's alright, Red! Don't break down the door!" 

"Show yourself then, damn it! How do I know someone ain't holdin' a gun on ya?"

"God damnit, I'll be right there!" Elvis shot an anxious look at his bride, now wedged into the corner between the headboard and wall. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. One second and I’ll be right back, alright?" 

But she appeared more inclined to a tooth extraction than entertaining that idea. Elvis muttered an oath and went to the door, lifting the bolt and cracking it open to let Red glimpse him in the flickering candlelight. "We're alright. Weren’t nothing, Red. Just a misunderstanding, is all." 

Red's eyes blazed with desert-sun intensity. "A misunderstanding? She nearly shook the soul out of me, Elvis!" His voice held the edge of a man ready to face a nest of rattlers. "A misunderstanding?" 

Elvis bowed his head, a shadow of remorse etching across his face. "I’m sorry, Red. This is my doing, not hers." 

Red shot a knowing look and without a word, Elvis eased the door closed, his hand lingering on the bolt before it fell into place with a gentle thud. He turned slowly, his gaze drawn to the bed. 

Pearl clung to a pillow, her eyes wide pools of darkness against her pale face. Fear and disbelief swirled within those inky depths. 

"You lied!" Her shrill cry pierced the heavy air. 

Brows furrowed, Elvis sank onto the mattress. "Sweetheart, I swear I didn't deceive you. Please, tell me what I did wrong."

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her shoulders with trembling hands. "You lied! You gave me your word!" Her voice broke on the accusation.

Elvis leaned forward, elbows on knees, straining to read her face in the dim firelight. Though just minutes ago passion had flowed between them, now she recoiled from his touch. Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Why did you lie?"

Steady but tinged with desperation, his voice cut through the tense silence. "What lie?" His eyes searched hers for any glimmer of understanding. He fought to remain calm amidst the storm raging within the room. "Sweetheart, please, tell me what you believe I lied about."

Her lips twisted in bitter disbelief. "Don't play dumb. You said you conducted yourself righteously, like the brethren." She spat out a harsh laugh. "None of them would ever behave as you did. You lied, plain and simple. And I was foolish enough to believe it." 

Elvis ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "I did not lie."

"You most certainly did!" she shrieked, the words piercing the air. "You claimed to be free of impious inclinations!"

Elvis replayed his actions in his mind, struggling to pinpoint his misstep. He could only surmise he had unintentionally caused her harm. "Did I hurt your breasts when I kissed them? I didn't mean to come on too strong." 

She let out a scream, shielding her face with her hands. "Do not speak such vulgar words! I am not married to you! Do you hear me? I am not!"

"Pearl, you’re not talkin’ sense. People don’t marry and unmarry over a misunderstanding. They engage in con-ver-sa-tion," he implored, sounding out the word slowly. “We need to talk this through.”

"Well, I did not enter into a marriage. I was deceived!" 

Elvis sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. "Deceived, married...we have to talk. Please, tell me what I've done."

She persisted in hiding her face behind trembling fingers, oblivious to her gaping gown and the exposed breast it revealed. The nipple he had showered with affection remained erect, illuminated by the flickering fire. It seemed to beckon for more—a request he would gladly oblige if only she were more receptive. 

"You know perfectly well why I'm upset," she accused, voice muffled.

"No, I truly do not," he confessed. Shifting to all fours, he moved closer, examining her tender nipple. Pink and raw, it stood erect, pulsating with her quickened heartbeat. He was too rough, he concluded with regret. 

Grasping her knees, he gently unfolded her legs before straddling her thighs. Palms planted on either side, he focused on her quivering hands. "Pearl, please lower your hands and look at me." 

"No!"

"I promise I won't do it again. Alright? I'm truly sorry. From now on, you hold the reins. Whatever pleases you is exactly how I'll do things, I swear. You just have to tell me what feels nice and what doesn't." 

"Well, that certainly wasn't nice!" 

"Then, you guide me on how you want it, and I'll follow your lead." 

Pearl jerked away, a sob catching in her throat. Swirling emotions tightened her chest. "How can I trust you're not lying?" 

Elvis sighed, the sound resonating deep within his broad chest. "Have I ever lied to you?"

The faint scent of leather and tobacco enveloped her as he leaned closer. She inhaled sharply. "Yes." 

He raked a hand through his dark locks. "Sweetheart, let me show you the truth." 

His warm breath grazed her ear, evoking memories of his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. Goosebumps prickled her arms. "Was it nice at first?" His deep timbre reverberated through her.

"Yes." 

"Well then, we'll only do what feels nice. I promise." His voice was like rich honey, urging her to taste its sweetness. 

She peered at him through splayed fingers. "Do you swear it?"

His eyes smoldered like blue flames. "Honey, I don't just swear it. I'll prove it to you."

His head dipped lower, warm lips finding her breast. She jerked back with a shriek, her elbow catching his ear. 

Elvis recoiled, clutching his head. "Damn it, Pearl Marie! Now I know I didn't hurt you that time!" 

“Scoundrel!” Shame flooded her cheeks. She scrambled to escape, but her nightgown snagged beneath his knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. She balled her fists. "Don't touch me! If you do, I won't be responsible. I'll fight like you taught me and I’ll break your nose this time!" 

"Why are you fighting me?" Hurt and frustration etched his rugged features. 

She trembled, anger and confusion swirling within. "Why? You do a thing like that and you ask me why? You lied! You promised to do things proper, but you didn't!"

"A thing like what?" Elvis began to grasp the situation, though he struggled to believe he had it right. "Kissing your breast, you mean?" 

She covered her face again, trembling. "Stop saying things like that!" 

"Like what? Breast? Nipples? Titties? Yer cans?" he started to laugh. She made a keening sound. Get Lo joined in, throwing back his head and emitting a playful bark. 

"Shut up!" Elvis yelled, his frustration mounting. Get Lo continued to howl, but Pearl jumped in surprise and began holding her breath. "Not you, honey." Elvis shot a fierce glare at the howling hound. "Get Lo! I don't need you interfering none!" The hound fell silent and grumbled. 

Elvis figured he had his answer regarding the matter of the breast. He rubbed his face wearily and blinked. "Pearl, do you believe that kissing you there is ungodly?" 

She removed her hands from her face, gaping at him in astonishment. "Of course it is! You promised to do things the regular way, and you lied!"

Realization washed over him. So that’s what this was about. “Well, what is the regular way, Pearl Marie? I guess maybe I ain’t real clear on that.” 

The fire’s amber glow illuminated her face, but darkness still shrouded her eyes. She perched on the edge of the roughhewn log bed, hands folded primly in her lap. 

"You're just supposed to do your... thing!" she insisted, biting her lower lip. 

Elvis cocked his head, his brow furrowing. "My thing? What exactly is my thing?"

She shrank back against the headboard. "Just... you know. And nothing else!" Her words came out in a nervous rush.

Elvis sank back on his heels, disbelief etched on his face. "Is that what your mother told you? Honey, I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"No, there hasn't!" She sat up straight, her voice sharp. "She spelled it out plain and clear!"

Elvis's mind raced, recalling the tales he'd heard about the strict sects with their restrictive ways. The kinds of places that squeezed the lifeblood out of a man. His gaze drifted to the plain black dresses and gray undergarments piled against the wall. A hollow feeling settled in his gut. 

"Pearl Marie, are you saying the men in your church never touch a woman? They just...do it and leave it at that?"

She turned her face away, her chin quivering. "Yes. And Ma said I should just lie there and meditate, ignore the... goings-on while it happened." 

A laugh burst from Elvis's lips before he could stop it. Hazel eyes flashed accusingly at him and he threw up his hands. "Honey, I ain't laughing at you. I swear it." He struggled to compose himself, leaning back against the sturdy log footboard. Maybe he should change the subject, but he couldn't help it. Laughter shook his body until he had to clutch his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"I ain't making fun, truly," he managed between fits. "Just had a funny thought is all."

He wiped his eyes, regaining a shred of control until he pictured himself in a black suit and hat, dutifully making sterile love. That image shattered his restraint. He laughed again until his sides ached, finally going limp against the footboard. 

"Well, damn," he muttered, wondering what had set him off in the first place. Wasn't funny at all. The woman he loved wanted to recite psalms while he moved inside her. Heaven forbid he disrupt her concentration. 

"Are you finished?" she asked crisply, buttoning her dress up to her throat once more. 

Elvis looked up at her. "Reckon I am."

"Then let me take this opportunity to inform you that I don't believe we are compatible. Our marriage would be a disaster unless you abandon your sinful desires."

He sat up and met her gaze directly. "That just ain’t gonna happen. Ain’t nothin’ sinful about a man makin’ his woman feel good.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, dropping her eyes. Longing pierced his chest, for he did love her. But he wouldn't surrender his principles to appease her church's notions of marital duties. There was nothing unholy about wanting to worship every inch of her. If she believed otherwise, well, she was just as confused as the rest of them. He knew she'd be happier once he showed her the truth.

"Remember when I said we're coming at this from different angles?" he began gently. "That it might take some time to find middle ground?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, I was righter’n I thought." He gave her a tender look. "But that don't mean we ain't meant for each other. Just means we gotta compromise, both of us."

"I won't compromise my beliefs." 

"Honey, I ain’t concerned with your beliefs. It's your body I got my sights set on," he said, throwing her an innocent look, although looking harmless wasn't one of his natural talents. "We can work this out."

"How? I won't permit the things you did earlier. I won't!"

“Well, tell me something you will allow, and we’ll take it from there.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. With effort, he kept his mind off the image of himself in a suit. "What do the church men do exactly?"

She looked down at him from the side of the bed. "My mother told me that on my wedding night and every night thereafter, I should lie still on my back. She told me that my husband would come to me at night and join me in the darkness under the quilts. He would lift my gown to my hips and fulfill his manly duty swiftly. And there wasn’t much more to it than that," she gulped, her voice trembling. "And if I wished, I think of something else like prayer or meditation until he finished."

Elvis suppressed a chuckle. One stray laugh and she'd never forgive him. Instead he stroked his chin, hiding his smile. 

"Well, now, you see? We already got half of it licked. At least now I know what I can and can’t do," he said. 

Wary hazel eyes searched his face. He realized he'd shaken her world more than he’d thought. It was no laughing matter.

"So you might be willing to compromise?" Hope tinged her voice.

"Well, now..." Elvis considered swiftly."Is kissing like we did before allowed?" 

"Yes," she answered.

He stroked his chin. "Let's see if I got this right. From your collarbone down to your hips, that area's off limits."

"Correct," she nodded.

"But from your hipbones down, that's free territory?" 

"Correct," she confirmed.

"And in the area that’s mine, is there any rules?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

She appeared bewildered. "Rules?"

"Your ma told you their rules. So what do the church men do when they fulfill their duty? Tell me plain so I'm clear."

She shook her head. "She didn't say. They just... do it." She waved her hand dismissively. 

Bingo.

"So, there ain’t no rules how I do my manly business."

"Not that I know of. That’s your business. A wife does not concern herself with such matters," she responded.

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "So, I can do my business as I please?"

She hesitated, sensing a trap but unable to grasp it. In her innocence, she couldn't fathom his motive. Guilt pricked Elvis, but experience had taught him that sometimes conscience was a man's worst enemy. 

"I suppose you can," she finally answered. "It’s your business, after all."

"And you ain’t gonna protest? ‘Cept if I hurt you which I’ll try my damnest not to do." he asked. "Do I have your word? You just gonna think about scripture and let me do my thing? Let me conduct my manly duties as I see fit?”

She blinked at him warily. "You swear you won't engage in vulgar acts above my hips?"

"Honey, not unless you ask," he assured her.

"Why would I ever ask such a thing?" Incredulity filled her voice.

"Just leaving it on the table is all. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, you have my word," she replied.

Elvis suppressed a grin. "One more thing. How much time do I get?" 

She gaped at him, eyes wide. "Well, I don't know. How long does it take?"

"Well, that's the thing. Sometimes longer than others. Can I have all the time I need?" he proposed.

"I... suppose so," she hesitated. 

Elvis raised his hands. "Well, there you go. A com-pro-mise, just like you said. You promise you’re okay with this?"

She eyed the rumpled quilts where she had lain just moments before. A crease formed between her brows. Reluctantly, she nodded, though her pursed lips revealed lingering doubts. 

"I promise," she replied, sounding skeptical. "On the condition that you swear to be content with the brethren's way of conducting ourselves, forever."

Elvis lifted his right hand. "I swear on my mama's grave, I won't lay a hand or lip on you from hips to collar—'less you ask me to."

“Shall I lie back down then?”

“I reckon.” 

With a resigned sigh, she slid back onto the feather mattress. Stiff as a plank, she squeezed her eyes shut and folded her hands over her chest, bracing herself. In a small voice she called out, "Elvis?"

“Yes, darlin’?”

"Don't forget the quilts." 

In response, Elvis reached behind, his fingers brushing against the rough woven quilts. Gripping the edges, he rose to his knees and gently peeled back the layers of fabric. 

"Covered up to your chin?" he asked, his voice a tender whisper. 

She nestled into the quilts' warmth, squeezing her eyes shut as if blocking out the world around her. "Please."

Elvis tugged the quilts up to her chin and slipped underneath beside her. "I can lay my arm over you, can't I? I've done it a million times already," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"Yes. That should be fine.”

With a feather-light touch, Elvis curved his hand around her waist, fingertips pressing into her soft flesh as he drew her closer. "Come here, sweetheart. You're still scared." Propping himself up on his elbow, he gazed down at her closed eyes, placing gentle kisses on each delicate eyelid. "I'm sorry for how I acted before, for shocking you. You know I would never do it on purpose."

She turned her cheek toward his lips, savoring their tender brush against her skin. "And... I'm sorry for hurting your ear. Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," he reassured, his voice low and soothing. 

Elvis started to tenderly brush her hair away from her face, tucking back silken strands behind her ear. "You’re so beautiful it breaks my heart. Have I ever told you that?"

She lifted her lashes, a smile gracing her lips. "Oh, Elvis." She embraced his neck tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. "I apologize for all the cruel things I said."

He held her close, pressing his face against her hair that smelled of waterlilies, feeling as though he possessed all the world's riches in his arms. "It ain’t nothing, I know you didn’t mean it." She pressed her body closer to his, molding her curves against his hard contours. He couldn't help but smile, a spark of desire igniting within.

Kissing. 

Pearl's lips melded with his, sparking an electric current that coursed through every nerve. The celestial stars themselves seemed to pale in comparison to the heavenly sensation surging within her. She yearned for more, quivering in anticipation of his touch. He claimed her mouth once again, exceeding her loftiest expectations. With torturous slowness, he traced her lips, exploring their delicate curves and coaxing soft sighs from her throat. As their bodies pressed together, his chest grazing hers sent delicious shivers dancing across her skin. She dismissed the friction as accidental, though an aching need stirred within her. 

Each kiss scattered her thoughts, shattering her inhibitions. Clinging to him fiercely, she sought to draw him closer still, desperate to merge their souls. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders, stinging pain he appeared oblivious to. His lips blazed a trail down her neck, igniting an inferno beneath her skin. 

"Oh, Elvis..." she breathed, the words trailing off as emotion choked her voice. 

“What, darlin’? Am I wanderin’ too close to your collar?” 

Sensing the question hanging in the air, tears pricked her eyes. With a single word, she could end this exquisite torture. His taut muscles revealed his readiness to comply. Yet the thought of halting him brought inexplicable sorrow. Her fingertips glided over his shoulders, feeling the power coiled within him—power that belonged to her. 

She recalled his sudden embrace the night before, his body pressing down, dominating yet tender. He could have taken anything, but treated her like fragile glass. Always in control, yet somehow still hers to command.

Last night, when she'd elbowed him in the ear, he'd instinctively withdrawn, putting needed space between them. The irony was not lost on her; she had become a threat to him. But it was his tenderness that stirred her emotions, now bringing tears to her eyes. She was deeply moved by his unwavering care and protective nature. Oh, how she adored him, her heart overflowing with immeasurable love.

"Sweetheart, you're crying. Did I do something wrong?" His words were laced with concern, a genuine desire to understand and make amends. Pearl found herself unable to form a response, emotions rendering her speechless.

"Should I stop?" he asked gently, his voice conveying both worry and willingness to fulfill her wishes. 

“Oh, Elvis!” she finally managed.

His hand slid from her waist, slipping between her and the mattress, pulling her closer against his solid chest. "What's the matter, darlin'? Are you scared? I promise, I'll be gentle with you. Don't be afraid," he whispered in a soothing tone.

"I love you!" she exclaimed, clinging to him, seeking solace in his embrace. "I'm not afraid. It's just... oh, Elvis, I love you so much it hurts." 

He tensed, her words both balm and challenge to his heart. "I love you," she said again, conviction ringing in her voice. "I love you more than words can express."

A tremor rippled through his sturdy frame. His rough, calloused hand were splayed across her back, yet he treated her like the most precious treasure. Despite his strength, his touch remained gentle and caring. "Oh, darlin’," he whispered, voice quivering. "I love you too. With all that I am and all that I’ve got. But it shouldn't make you sad."

"I'm not sad! I'm happy!" she insisted.

He pressed tender kisses to her other cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Well, damn..." Frustration and bewilderment colored his tone, making her giggle uncontrollably. She felt his lips curve into a crooked grin against her skin as he continued trailing kisses along her ear. "Pearl Marie, will I ever understand you? Crying because you're happy. Darlin’, sometimes I swear you’re just plum crazy. You don’t make a lick of sense!"

She tilted her head, surrendering to his kiss, the word "lick" igniting a fervent desire for him to tease her sensitive spots with his tongue once more. As if sensing her need, he found a delectably vulnerable spot just below her ear, eliciting a soft gasp as she melted into his touch. 

"Yes, right there. Just like that. Oh, yes..." she whispered huskily. Her gown began to shift as he tugged it up, initially causing a spike of fear. But then his palm caressed her bare thigh, sending waves of pleasure washing over her.

Each touch felt like butterfly kisses, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her breath turned shallow and unsteady. With feather-light fingertips, he traced a path to the very core of her being, teasing and tantalizing her with every stroke, only to trail away and trace maddeningly sweet patterns along her knees. It was as if her very essence had turned into a molten syrup, yearning to flow and merge with his touch. The quilts shifted, and suddenly she felt the moist, silken press of his lips against her thigh. Startled, she opened her eyes wide and stiffened with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. 

"Elvis, what are you..." Her words faded to a breathless moan as his tongue flickered, tracing delicate spirals that kindled liquid heat low in her belly. 

Through the quilts, his muffled voice vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Just relax, darlin'. I'm tending to business." 

"But, I don't know if..." She clamped her knees together, but his broad shoulders gently eased them apart. 

Pearl clutched the rough-hewn headboard, pulse racing. Was he really going to...? Oh Lord, the man aimed to kiss her there. Shock paralyzed her even as exquisite sensations spread like wildfire across her skin, urging her to surrender. 

"This ain't proper," she managed, but her resolve wavered under the intoxicating caress of his lips. 

He lazily circled her inner thigh, tongue painting glistening trails that seared like summer sun on bare skin. "Hush now, you're sweeter than cherry pie." His warm breath raised gooseflesh. "Let me take care of you."

"Darlin', reckon this here's how it's done?" 

"Elvis, are you sure 'bout this? I... I can't rightly tell."

"Start meditatin’, sweetheart. This here's my territory, not yours. Got it?" 

She closed her eyes, her voice quivering. "Mediating?" she repeated, sounding mighty puzzled. Drawing nearer, he raised his shoulders, leaning in closer to her. "No need to fret, darlin'. Remember what your ma told ya. Jus' lay still and don’t pay me no nevermind." 

He continued his tantalizing journey upwards. She twitched, tightening her grip on the headboard, her gaze fixed on the heavens. 

"I'll holler when I'm done, alright?" 

Done? Pearl felt an intense longing surge through her core. Close her eyes, that's what she was supposed to do. But... oh, dear heavens. "How long will it... will it take?" she managed to inquire. 

Rough palms grasped her backside. Pearl's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips. Merciful heavens, he meant to... 

"Just as..." he trailed his tongue along her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure with every teasing lick, "just as long as it needs to, darlin'." 

The first slow lap of his tongue drew a shuddering moan. Fingers clutching the sheets, she stared skyward. This couldn't be real. But the wet heat enveloping her dispelled all doubts. 

When he found that one exquisitely sensitive spot, her body jolted as if struck by lightning. "Elvis, I can't..."

"You can, darlin'," he purred before capturing her swollen flesh. 

"E-Elvis?" she stammered, her voice vibrating as if it traveled through her vocal cords on a wild bronco.

"Darlin', this part ain't your concern. Jus' lie still and let me handle my business, ya hear?" 

"Oh God, please..." She twisted handfuls of his hair, no longer caring what was proper. 

His low chuckle vibrated through her very core. "That's my girl. That's the rule," he drawled firmly. "This here's mine to do as I please, without your fussin', right?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Well then? You lie still and quit your worryin'." 

With that declaration, he resumed his gentle lapping, causing her to arch upward uncontrollably. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped her lips. She clung to the headboard, her body rising higher and higher. "Oh my... oh my... mercy, mercy!"

“There’s a girl. Give it to me, darlin’.” 

"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed out, her hands digging into his scalp. "Oh, my God! Oh, dear heaven. Oh, pardon me! I'm meddling again." 

He chuckled again, the deep rumble shattering her thoughts as his mouth claimed her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled and flicked, sparking a blaze that raced through her veins. Digging her heels into the mattress, she arched up, surrendering completely as her hips moved with his. Muscles twitching to his rhythm, the pressure built sharper and sharper within her. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his mouth surged, fiercely pulling until she fractured with a cry, sensations bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

She was precious to him. 

Throughout his life, Elvis had longed for a woman to love and make his bride, but only now did he truly grasp the meaning. She was his salvation, a woman woven from delicate lace and sunbeams, with eyes as vast as the summer fields. She was warmth and radiance, the tender blossoms of spring. A beautiful and perfect gift. It felt as if he were discovering love for the first time. And in a way, it was. For Elvis Presley was a tough man with an untouched heart. Until now. 

This girl held his heart in her hands, capable of making it sing with joy or bleed with sorrow. With a single arch of her spine and a lift of her slender hips, she could ignite him with bliss. He adored her. Her guileless urgency and unwavering trust nearly moved him to tears. No reservations. Just pure vulnerability. And as she shattered in climax, he tasted the rhythm of her heartbeats in the sweet throbbing of her flesh. Afterward, he tenderly caressed and kissed her, soothing her delicate sensitivity, easing the ache that lingered. 

When her breaths steadied, he hovered right over her. With her eyelids drooping low and a dreamy smile on her lips, she looked up at him. "Are you done?" 

Elvis leaned in for a kiss. "Nah, sweetheart. I'm just lettin' ya catch yer breath afore we go at it again." 

Her eyes widened. "Again?" 

He grinned and shifted to lie beside her, propping himself up on one arm to get a good look at her face. How beautiful she was, basking in the afterglow of the pleasures he brought to her for the first time! 

Beneath him, she gasped as his finger delved deep into her slick heat, back arching, breasts straining against her thin nightgown. He watched each expression dance across her features - surprise, wonder, rising urgency. Teasing and pulling back, he brought her to the edge again and again. When she arched, nipple grazing his chin, he flicked it lightly. 

She cried out, quivering, "Oh yes!" 

Another deep stroke had her whimpering, begging for more. 

Grinning, he met her gaze. "Want me to show 'em some lovin'?"

"Oh, Elvis. Do it again. Please." 

Elvis lowered his head, gripping her nightgown with his teeth, and pulled it up her slender frame, exposing her bosom. 

Elvis' fingers trembled as he grasped the thin fabric of her nightgown, the white cotton soft like a wisp of cloud between his teeth. With a gentle tug, he peeled back the garment, exposing her bare breasts to the fire's amber glow. Rosy peaks puckered in the chill night air, beckoning his touch.

"Ask me nice, darlin'," he murmured, breath warm against her chest. 

Frustration flared in her eyes. Snatching a fistful of his hair, she wrenched him downward. "Just do it already!"

That sure as shootin' had "please" beat to hell. And he reckoned he had every right to tease her mercilessly before giving her what she desired. 

Elvis swept his tongue slowly around one taut nipple, tracing its shape, feeling it swell beneath the caress of his mouth. A flick of his tongue made her gasp, then he returned to circling, building anticipation. When he finally closed his lips over the bud, its softness overwhelmed him. He suckled gently and was rewarded with the honeyed taste of her skin. 

To his surprise, her body began to writhe, hips undulating, fingers twisting the sheets. The telltale pulsing against his palm revealed she was cresting that peak of ultimate pleasure. Twenty-one years without a lover's intimate touch, and now she came undone in his arms. 

He savored each tremor that wracked her slender frame, the way she arched and cried out with abandon. Elvis brought her to that precipice two more times, worshiping her with his mouth until his own need could be denied no longer.

Rising above her, he gripped her legs behind the knees and nestled against slick, molten heat. Still lost in rapture's haze, she gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, oblivious to the pain that awaited. The primal urge to plunge ahead warred with his vow to cherish her. 

"This'll hurt just once, darlin'," he whispered, hating himself. "I wish to God it weren't so." 

She blinked, her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes shimmering in the warm glow of the fire. "I understand. Just hold me close through it all," she implored softly. "With you beside me, it won't hurt as much. I won't feel afraid."

Tears blurred his vision. Elvis gathered her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength. She wrapped both arms about his neck, clinging tight. "I'm not scared anymore," she breathed against his cheek.

Though brave in word, her body tensed as he positioned himself at her entrance. In that moment, he would have given all he owned to spare her even the slightest twinge. The not knowing tormented him—how much agony she might suffer as he forged ahead. With infinite care, he nudged inside, felt her passage resist and then give way as she flinched in his embrace. The small cry that escaped her lips shredded his heart.

He buried his face in the silken veil of her hair, cursing the merciless act love demanded of him. To harm the one person who mattered most gutted his soul. 

But the cabin cocooned them in its embrace—the familiar smells of woodsmoke and pine, the fire's soothing crackle, the handcrafted furnishings whispering of shared memories. Their sanctuary through so many storms past would shelter them through this too. 

"Do it," she insisted, though her body still trembled with fear.

Panic jolted through him like lightning. "Jesus, I can't! I'm hurting you!" He started to withdraw, terrified of damaging her delicate frame. She was far smaller and tighter than any woman before. The risk of forcing himself deeper made his blood run cold. "You're too small, sweetheart," he choked out.

But before he could pull away, she lifted her hips, impaling herself upon him in one swift motion. 

Elvis' heart stopped mid-beat. He felt her tight channel give way as she took him fully inside. Fear for her clouded his mind. 

"Oh, God damn," he uttered, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. A soft, fragile laugh escaped her lips, and he felt the tension gradually dissipate from her body. With a tenderness that matched the love he held in his heart, she pressed her damp cheek against his neck. The touch of her wet skin against his sent shivers down his spine. In a hushed whisper, she reassured him, her words carrying a profound truth. "It’s all right now," she murmured. "It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought." 

Pearl gasped, her back arching off the rumpled sheets. Elvis hovered above, his elbows planted on either side of her shoulders, beads of sweat trailing down his furrowed brow. His hips rocked in a steady rhythm, eliciting soft mewls and whimpers from his wife. 

"Is this okay?" His voice was gruff, laced with restraint. Pearl's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide with desire. She nodded, breathless.

Elvis maintained his pace, relishing the slide of skin against skin. Pearl's nails raked down his back, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

"Oh!" she cried out, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. "Don't stop, please..."

Elvis complied, quickening his thrusts as Pearl's moans grew louder, more desperate. Her hips bucked to meet his, the bed frame creaking in protest. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated the air. 

Pearl's inner walls clenched around him as her climax crashed over her. The sensation tipped Elvis over the edge, his own release pulsing through him in waves. He collapsed on top of his wife, their hearts hammering against each other. 

As their breathing slowed, Elvis nuzzled Pearl's neck, inhaling her familiar floral scent. Her fingers lazily combed through his hair. He pressed a tender kiss to her collarbone, overcome with gratitude and awe. 

No longer was he a lonesome wanderer. Pearl had become his sanctuary, a beacon guiding him home. Elvis held his wife close as sleep overtook them. The distant howl of coyotes echoed outside their cabin, but they felt no fear in each others’ arms. Here, tangled together, they had found their own private heaven.

[whxtedreams]

Lovesick in Jackson - Preview

comming soon, a coral island, stardew valley inspired Rancher!Joel fic.

no tags yet as I'm starting to write this tomorrow but will update with tags. It's going to be fluffy! But basically Jackson is a little coastal town known for it's farmland. Characters from the last of us will be included but it's a strong AU.

or: Joel finally get's his sheep.

Sarah has passed in this fic but he has a healthy relationship with Ellie, a run away orphan who he found on his ranch stealing food and eventually takes in as family.

I'm looking at making this into a medium sized series? 10-20 chapters and well under 100k. seriously under 100k. (will probably be 100k lets be honest. I don't know when to stop)

a little thank you to @toxic-seduction for helping me brainstorm this idea and being as obsessed with coral island as I am. if this story gets sad, blame her.

little sneak peek, preview under the cut!

You stand before the front door to your grandmother's cottage, a place long forgotten and now abandoned. Cobwebs and critters are scattered all across the exterior of the house, the once meticulously maintained walls now covered in unkept vines that are slowly crawling their way up the structure. The exterior has an eerie and uninviting aura to it, as if the place has been left to become an echo of time lost to memories.

The inheritance letter hangs loosely in your hand, your fingers turning the creased paper over and over again. The words on it have been worn with time, the writing now barely legible.

At the center of the front door hangs a small piece of paper, its edges frayed and fluttering in the breeze as the rusty nail it's held to struggles to keep it in place.

Heard someone was moving back in to Rose's place, if you need a hand rebuilding, let me know. Joel Miller ps. I used to work in construction, I know what I'm doing.

You rip the note off the front door and sigh as you look back over the farm, its beauty all but fallen apart since your grandmother's absence. The farm, once a beautiful and lively space, seems almost lifeless now. The plants are all unkempt and overgrown, most of them withered and dry while others are covered in a thick layer of weeds. It's a sad sight, one that reminds you of how much time has passed since she was last here.

How long it's been since you've been here.

You look at the sprawling space, trying to figure out all the work ahead of you and feeling slightly overwhelmed by it. Maybe having an extra pair of hands around for help wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

As you look down at the note in your hand once more, you can't help but exhale. "Joel Miller," you mutter to yourself, slightly amused and even grateful knowing someone actually wants to help you rebuild this place.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you turn back around, opening the front door before you and stepping into your new life. You know that it won't be easy, but you also know that it will be worth it.

[patxhwrk]

Guys look i said id write stardew valley for sebastian but i have too much shane thoughts

he may be mentally ill but i am too

Also didnt have an jncorrect quote last night so have this instead

-ˋˏ✄— Uncoincidental

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Shane x Reader

Pronouns: they/them

"Look in the mirror say, "What's up you useless fuck?""

.navigation. // .stardew valley masterlist.

CW!!

—past alcohol addiction

Shane felt so useless, staring at his reflection in his dark bedroom. The television screen was dark and so was his reflection. His eyebags were heavier, but at lease his stubble was shaved, right?

This was pathetic, he thought.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic—

He shook off his thoughts and instinctively reached for something on his desk. His hand made contact with the cold wood and he sighed. Bringing back his hand to his face, he dragged it down as if it would wake him.

Right, he thought and scoffed. No more drinking, dumbass.

He sat on his mattress with his thoughts. Laying down on the soft plush did not help them ease. He raised both hands to his head and covered his eyes as he groaned.

Sunday mornings were so lame. It had barely been ten am but his room was still so dark. At least this was better than Joja, maybe.

Shane was left alone with his thoughts racing and running and loud and loud and if he could only drink one beer—

A knock echoed from outside his room. A knock?

He groggily and hesitantly stood up, fighting the urge to stop by the kitchen for the single beer can that was left in the fridge. Maybe he should just grab it, not let it go to waste. It was just one, and it was so close. It wouldn't be too bad if—

He opened the front door of the ranch empty handed.

"Hullo," the farmer up the hill greeted him with a bright smile. And Shane smiled back. Because he would smile for the farmer any day that he found them standing in front of him. He'll smile for them whenever they showed up to lighten his mood.

"Y/n." He smiled and his shoulders slacked. His thoughts were moved on, the beer in the fridge a past afterthought. And then he realized. "What are you doing here so early?"

They stared at him confused. "Shane. It's five in the afternoon."

Shane glanced at the outside behind them where the sun slowly set and the sky started dimming. Maybe his room was dark because it was five. "Oh."

They shook their head and heartily laughed. "Anyways, I saw the sign you posted yesterday about needing a shad for something, so I decided to get you one since I was fishing anyways. I—uh—got distracted and forgot to give it to you yesterday and—"

Shane cut them off. "Hold on, did you go fishing out in the rain without a cover? Again?"

Mouth stretching across their face in a line, they looked away. "...Maybe."

Shane couldn't stop the soft smile growing in his face, but he sighed to cover it. He knew Y/n wouldn't be able to miss it, though. "Dumbass. Get in here."

They entered the warm ranch and sighed in relief, taking a seat in the kitchen and placing the basket—one which Shane only noticed now—on the table. There was a piece of cloth covering something inside, the fish atop it. "Thanks, it's so fucking cold outside."

"It's fall, Y/n."

"I know that!"

"And you're not wearing a coat."

"...I know that."

He sighed and shook his head. How could someone be so stupid and so—

He paused his thoughts to look for the right word, glancing towards the farmer smiling down at their basket of goods.

—cute.

He blushed red and moved towards the kitchen counter to hide it from them. "Want anything? Tea, coffee?"

"Oh, no need really! I just wanted to stop by and give these to you."

They passed him the basket and he gently moved the fish somewhere else. Lifting the cloth to peek underneath, his eyes widened at the sight. The basket was filled with hot peppers, plenty good quality he assumed.

"A lot grew last summer, so I decided to save some for you," they stated with a scratch to their warming cheek. "And I thought, since it's fall, why not restock your supply?"

Shane could marry them then and there, if he was more confident in himself.

"You are a fucking deity." He grinned bright and joyous and genuine. He then shook his head. "And no, you're not going out without at least warming up. Tea or coffee? Or maybe hot cocoa?"

Y/n sighed, smiling softly at Shane's back before choosing their drink. "Thank you, Shane."

He paused. The look over his shoulder towards them and a soft smile was enough to tell Y/n that he wasn't just talking about the shad on the counter, or the peppers in the basket, or for stopping by just as his thoughts were so near to bringing him a can of beer to his hand. "I should be thanking you, y'know?"

Y/n smiled. "I know."

—PATCHWRK !

[usafphantom2]

Personal Memoir of My Years of Lockheed

Kelly began receiving all kinds of complaints and threats of lawsuits from communities claiming the Blackbird had shattered windows for miles around. A few times we announced a bogus flight plan and then sat back and watched the phony complaints pour in. But some complaints were for real. One of the guys boomed Kelly’s ranch in Santa Barbara as a joke that backfired because he knocked out Kelly’s picture window. Another of our pilots got in engine trouble over Utah and flamed out. The Blackbird had as much gliding capacity as a manhole cover, and it came barreling in over Salt Lake, just as our pilot got a restart and hit those afterburners right above the Mormon Tabernacle. There was hell to pay.”

―As time went on we were being routed over least-populated areas because of growing complaints about sonic booms. One of them came straight from Nixon. One of our airplanes boomed him while he was reading on the patio of his estate at San Clemente. He got on the horn to the chief of staff and said, “Go&%am it, you’re disturbing people.” One little community named Susanville, in California, sat right in a valley and was in the path of our return route to Beale. The sonic boom would echo off the hills and crack windows and plaster. We had the townspeople in, showed them the airplane, appealed to their patriotism, and told them the boom was “the sound of freedom.” They lapped it up.”

― Ben R. Rich, Skunk Works: A Personal Memoir of My Years of Lockheed

“the proof of our success was that the airplanes we built operated under tight secrecy for eight to ten years before the government even acknowledged their existence.”

― Ben R. Rich, Skunk Works: A Personal Memoir of My Years of Lockheed

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[12timetraveler]

Something In The Orange

Chapter 12

Summary:

The Matthews family take you and Charles to their cabin in Big Valley for a winter vacation.

Notes:

Y'all I am SO SORRY for how long this chapter has taken.

I hit some major burnout over the last few months. So much so that I've actually been put on short-term disability leave from work. I'm starting to feel a bit better and I've been able to do more writing, but I'm still pretty worn out if I'm honest.

As always, this chapter was written entirely on my phone, so any weird typos, autocorrect words, etc you can blame on my phone haha.

Anyway I hope I haven't lost all of you who've been here since the beginning.

As always below is a little preview. Read the whole chapter and the entire work (so far) on AO3

Reminder: You must be logged in to an AO3 account to read my works as I've had to lock them down to protect from AI Scraping.

~~~~~~

You couldn't help but smile as you examined the three pins on your Christmas stocking. Three Christmas seasons with the Matthews family, each marked with a little pin. The silver horse-drawn sleigh from the first year. Then a little mouse sleeping next to a piece of cheese with a bow from the second year. And this year was a cowgirl boot and hat dusted in snow.

Christmas was a month ago, of course. Hosea hadn't had time to take down the stockings. Or all the lights. Or the menorah. But you were actually kind of glad about that. It was nice to see the cheerful sight, even in late January.

Going back to campus after the winter holidays this year had been awful. You tried your best to be a good student, to get excited for your classes and get right back into studying. But you found your thoughts drifting more and more to your beloved. Wondering what he was doing. Missing his sweet voice, his herbal scent, his long cock. It had been torture.

Monday was a bank holiday, meaning the high schools and the universities had a three-day weekend. So Friday afternoon you and Arthur drove up to Firwood Rise to pick up Hosea, John, and the horses to go on a little weekend trip. The plan was to go out to a cabin Hosea and Dutch shared out in Big Valley, West Elizabeth.

Aside from a couple ranches, it was still mostly wild, and even in the winter the trail rides were unforgettable. Or so Arthur said. This was your first expedition with the Matthews men out to this cabin. You'd never been to Big Valley, but it was legendary for the beautiful, natural scenery.

Charles was going to meet you at the cabin early Saturday morning, since he had a late class on Friday. His old beat-up truck was a beast when it came to snowy mountain roads, so you weren't worried. And then the lot of you would spend the weekend trail riding, maybe doing some snow sports, just having a good time.

So that's how you found yourself standing in the Matthews living room, smiling at the stockings while the others loaded up the truck. You could hear John and Arthur yelling out in the yard as John backed the truck up to the horse trailer to hitch up. Occasionally Hosea's voice would cut in if the two got too close to an argument as John insisted he could do it while Arthur was adamant he was doing it wrong. Typical of the two brothers.

You heard the truck turn off, and the driver door open. “Told you I had it covered,” John's voice echoed just loud enough that you could hear from inside. You couldn't make out Arthur's retort, but based on the way John began to snap back, only to be cut off by Hosea’s sharp scolding, you could only imagine it was more brotherly banter.

The door opened a moment later. “Those boys,” Hosea tutted, stepping into the house, looking a little irritated, cheeks rosy from the cold. His face softened when he spotted you, and he shut the door behind him, glancing out the window to make sure John and Arthur weren't near before stepping toward you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey,” you murmured, tilting your head up expectantly.

“Hi,” he whispered before granting your request for a kiss. “I've missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You nuzzled against his chest, the fabric of his jacket cold from the winter chill, but the warmth of him underneath still seeping through.

“The boys are loading up the horses and then we'll be good to go.” Hosea hummed.

“Okay,” you said, stepping back. “Before we go, I need your help with something.”

“Oh?” He asked. You jerked your head towards the stairs, gesturing for him to follow you. Once upstairs you led him to the bathroom, pulling him in and locking the door behind you.

“Dove, it'll only take a few minutes for the boys to get the horses loaded.” Hosea chuckled, immediately clocking what your intentions were.

“Five horses. It'll take them at least ten minutes right? Probably more.” You mumbled, guiding him backwards until he was pinned between you and the sink.

“Something like that,” he sighed as your hands settled on his waist. “The horses are all pretty good at loading.”

“That's enough time for what I have planned.”

[wordspinning]

Chapter 50: Un Día a la Vez

“Joel.” There’s a warning in Tommy’s voice, a sort of desperate, empty threat that only a man who sees the end from the beginning and knows he has no way out is willing to make. The echo of decades of broken promises crescendos in the still air, roaring like a cataract, sweeping through the canyon, and Joel feels the bank start to crumble, widening the gulf between them– He forges out into the surge, standing against the current. “They’re ours, Tommy. All three of ‘em. I swear.” “You promise me you’ll take ‘em somewhere safe?” Tommy presses, voice wavering, and Joel drags air into his lungs, thick as mud. “You raise him, Joel, he’ll need somebody lookin’ after him– And you make sure Maria–” “Tommy, enough—“ Joel softens in earnest now, dropping his voice low. “I will, if it comes to that–  What is this? You got somethin’ you ain’t telling me?” Tommy scoffs, wounded and hollow. “No. I just— I don’t really see myself coming back from the next fight.”

header creds:

@lauramakabresku | @omenalehto | @lauramakabresku river view valley ranch hbo | seeking our someday | @perennialdoll247

[astarab1aze]

➥ Æfre and the City of Love

Located in northeastern Myrrdin, nestled in the valley Duchy of Æfre that always seems struck with spring- and summertime life and color, enchanting and bright.

Lufian gets its name from its tourism industry, local customs, and wholehearted welcoming of nightfolk in direct opposition to the Crown - the City of Love, dedicated to love in all its forms from agape to eros, storge to philautia. Their cultural norms are similar to Myrrdin's on the whole, but do not exclude nightfolk by any means, built by nightfolk who have a great love for the country in which it resides, though not for the laws forced upon them. The Eternal Duchess, V'haidra Vortigern, an elf of Nilmyrion, rules over Lufian and Æfre with her husband, Duke Artem Vortigern, and together they challenge the King's rule - establishing Æfre as a symbol of hope for nightfolk within Myrrdin as well as displacing members of the Upper Houses in terms of power. This vie for political power has cemented a certain level of warning into Myrrdinian forces, as Lufian nightfolk are not afraid to use their magic despite their outwardly friendly and welcoming disposition. Quite an upset among the Upper Houses, and especially in the capital, though neither the Duchess nor the Duke give a damn.

As Lufian is themed around romance and other forms of love, there are many, many things a couple or group could do and see that would set the mood perfectly.

It is surrounded by little streams, rivers, and ponds that are perfect for boating, fishing, casting lanterns, swimming, and otherwise romantic outings;

Fairytale forestry with warm cottage getaways hidden within, the famous Morningstar Bridge crossing the widest river on which a romantic tradition was born - wishes cast in ribbons tied to ornate iron archways and kisses shared with a lover;

Taverns, inns, and a brothel or two primed for even the most specific couples in mind, wide ranges of imported and local wines and live entertainment from music to stage plays;

Grand festivals that last days to celebrate the seven forms of love - eros, agape, philia, mania, ludus, pragma, storge, and philautia - elegant but also loose, full of games, feasting, drinking, dancing, and merryment, with ribbons, lanterns, masks, costumes, magical displays and fireworks;

Jewellers armed with intricately-made, meaningful, enchanted, beautiful, and even simple rings perfect for a promise, or a proposal;

V'haidra's Museum of Art, the largest collection of art in the known world, open until late hours, string and wind music echoing through its opulent halls - perfect for dates;

Greenspaces of cut grass, shade trees, and flowerbeds where children can play, shifters and weres can run, without fear of persecution or threat of violence, incidentally also perfect for picnics;

Trails to run horses, farmlands, vineyards, ranches, archery ranges, an amphitheater, a school and library, a cathedral dedicated to elven, human, and shifter gods, rich and bountiful - perfect to set roots or begin a new love of any kind, be it a romance, a family, or a friendship that can withstand the test of time.

Vampires are excluded from those allowed to enter the city unless they are either Strigani diplomats or accompanied by someone willing to feed them, provably; They cannot have experienced frenzy ever in their lifetime, though how anyone is able to tell is anyone's guess (that is, they can't).

On its surface, Lufian seems a peaceful place and how they manage this is by compulsory military service. Duchess V'haidra does not take her position lightly, though she is a fair and ultimately rather generous noble, valuing her people's happiness to in turn recieve their loyalty - when a person's needs are met and they are given the opportunity to freely seek happiness, they are more likely to answer her call to action. This clashes with the King's incompetence and often heavyhanded methods of dealing with his subjects, but therein lies the problem: He views them as subjects as opposed to people, and all are unhappy, cruel, and needlessly confrontational, bitter and entitled, breaking into factions upon factions - Æfre included where that's concerned. The quality of life under her rule, even in so small a duchy, far surpasses most of Myrrdin, and for this, her people are loyal to her, willing to lay their lives down for her and fight alongside her on the battlefield, train with her in the yards - yes, she spends much time among them. Trusting them as they trust her, cultivating a new standard of living and the will to protect that way of life. For over a hundred years, she's taken great care of Æfre, slowly spreading its territory outward into the Dragon's Tail and toward the Dife Frèt, urging for more for her people, access to materials, fishing, mining, settling, farming, anything they could need. Putting them first to ensure the protection of their lands and her power.

Duchess V'haidra lives in Lufian, in the old elfhen palace, Phar Nal'len, it was built around. Much of the architecture is sweeping, curved and sharp at points, intricately carved and well-maintained whitestone, any damage caused by time repaired with repurposed whitestone and steel reinforcement, grand banners of green, white, and silver fluttering in the wind, her crest of a seven-pointed star and stylized flame in its center everywhere, green terracotta rooftops, planters for shade and fruit trees and pots of Petta blossom, moonflower, and flowering shrubs, whitestone fountains, terraced gardens- Lufian as a whole is a beautiful city, often decorated with colorful flags, magic lights, flowers, and the costume shop is always open. Its people are almost always in a state of preparation for their seven most prominent holidays, and take great pride in their work, even folk from the villages nearby and outside of Æfre prepare and visit with their offerings in tow.

Æfre is not only known for Lufian, but also for its celare, of which are the hardiest, most enduring, and fastest in all of Myrrdin, boasting lean, powerful muscles and high intelligence. Trained to understand hundreds of words, be able to tell the difference between emotions and expressions, know when to fight and when to run, what is and is not acceptable to hunt, among other things. Æfrean celare can run at roughly 80mph at full speed, well above the standard for most other celare.

It seems like a fairytale dream, and it is. It's one of the safest places in Myrrdin, let alone the entire western half of the continent. Its citizens are armed, well-trained, and willing to fight to the death to protect what they have. Although, that isn't to say there isn't darkness within it, within Lufian. Love can be lost as easily as it's gained, and it's never to be taken for granted, lest one be cursed, doomed to die- Crimes of passion, adultery, and murder happen more often than one might think, and individual vampires slip in all the time, those who would trespass against them all. There are some who would even say the Duchess is a weak ruler, too focused on the small picture to see the bigger one, questioning her rule - those people are free to have their opinions, but only insofar as they don't cause harm. Otherwise, they'll be killed and swiftly. She is just, but she doesn't have much time for third or fourth chances - much to do, many people to delegate and care for. Don't cause her any problems, she won't even hold you prisoner.

[mickimagnum]

Devin's Dude Ranch - Contestant Announcement

I am excited to announce the 5 contestants that will be competing for Devin's heart during her upcoming bachelorette challenge!

Handra Diaz - @bloomingkyras

Houston Bloom - @invisiblequeen

James Stanford - @natolesims

Albert Robins - @bakersimmer

Milo Penn - @belsasim

These cowboys will move into Devin's ranch house and vie for her heart over 5 6 weeks in the hopes of being the last man standing. The winner will have to survive weekly challenges, group dates, public opinion, and four heart-wrenching eliminations. Most importantly, they will have to forge a connection with Devin that proves they're "the one"!

Stay tuned! Devin's Dude Ranch begins Monday, December 4th!

[shefanispeculator]

Gwen Stefani was hard at work on the Oklahoma ranch she shares with Blake Shelton in images shared on Monday.

Stefani, 54, who reunited with No Doubt for the first time in nine years at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, was on a mission to sew some flower seeds in a series of videos shared in her Instagram Stories.

The Purple Irises singer and Shelton were riding in the golf cart style vehicle they use to zip around their ranch as Stefani explained, 'We've got about five seconds to plant some zinnias, you call them "zin-ee-as"'  we call them "zeen-ee-as."  We made the up ourselves,' she told the camera.

The couple were trying to beat the rain which was coming their way. 

Shelton, 47, who seemed intent on driving, seemed hesitant to speak on camera at the same time,  and received a little coaching from his wife who said, 'C'mon Blake, we're trying to engage with the humans. Engage.'

'We've got five minutes worth of zinnias to plant,' he said, echoing her words. 

'Did you see Blake's new glasses?' the It's My Life artist asked, laughing at her husband's response as he made a goofy face for the camera.

When the couple arrived at the barn where they store their machinery, the God's Country singer started up the rototill while Stefani went to the back of the machine to talk about the seeds she wanted to plant. 

'I bought these giant California mix, five thousand,' she explained while bending to pick up another packet.  'These are really cute, Lilliput zinnia mix,  semi-dwarf collection. Typically we wouldn't want shorter, but they're very cute, she explained.

Even on the farm, the GXVE by Gwen founder managed to remain fashionable.

She wore full face makeup with thick lashes and a neutral lip with her blond hair in a high bun.

She wore a long red and black plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves over matching plaid pants and a black T-shirt.

The fashionista wore knee high boots covered with light denim. 

'You got to slow down, you got to slow your life down,' the Home singer advised.  'A simple kind of life?' the rocker quipped, referring to one of her biggest hits.  'Yes,' answered Shelton.

At last they arrived at their destination. 'Here it is, the field we're going to conquer,' Stefani explained showing a plot of prepared land near a body of water. 

'We're going to destroy this field with flowers,' she revealed. 

After their work on the farm, the devoted pair attended their niece Ryan Intrieri's cheer competition, and shared photos they took with the young athlete.

[jedipoodoo]

Love Knows No Season (Sergeant Hunter x OC, Wild West AU)

@queenquazar @dilpickledd @the-shadow-of-atlantis @themaridenstationchronicles @allwhoponder

Word Count: 5066 (H O W ? ? ?) Notes: Hypothermia, sickfic(ish), pining but they're too obtuse to realize that the other is pining too. Crosshair 110% says "y'all" y'all are just cowards.

Saachi was quite surprised to find the Sheriff was at the door when Missus Secura asked her to answer it. She was quite embarrassed that she hadn't put more effort into making sure her hair was brushed, but it had snowed heavily the night before and she wasn't expecting any of the ranch hands to show up.

"Is everything alright, sir?" She asked.

Sheriff Hunter floundered for a moment, "Is that how you greet everyone?" He asked.

"It's the badge, Hunt," Echo gave Hunter a meaningful nudge as he wheeled himself around his brother and into the house.

Hunter glanced down at the lapel of his dark overcoat, with the golden star pinned just over his heart, and quickly took it off, shoving it in his coat pocket.

"Well come on in! Don't let all the heat out!" Mister Secura chuckled good-naturedly, and Saachi stepped out of the way to let Echo and Hunter into the kitchen

"Echo, Sheriff, this is a pleasant surprise," Missus Secura smiled, offering them the plate of cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven.

"Didn't mean to interrupt anythin', ma'am," Echo nodded, and gratefully accepted the pastry, "We just wanted to invite Yulia and Saachi to come skating with us this morning."

"That sounds wonderful," Yulia gasped and took Saachi's hand. Despite standing over the stove for the past hour, her fingers were still freezing, "Have you ever been skating before?"

"No, I-I don't believe I have," Saachi tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"No need to worry," Echo gave Hunter's arm a solid whack, "Hunter can teach you plenty!"

"Would it just be the four of you, then?" Missus Secura asked, mindful as always.

"No ma'am," Echo sat up straight, "the rest of our brothers will be there too. We're teaching Megan how to skate today as well."

Saachi and Hunter on their own would be an appropriate pair to chaperone Yulia and Echo as they pursued their courtship, but no one would question the integrity of the local doctor in addition to the Sheriff's vow of honor.

"Come on, let's go get ready!" Yulia, still grasping Saachi's hand, pulled her from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. It was like she knew her parents were going to day yes. Saachi's father and stepmother back home would have required several more rounds of interrogation before possibly considering Saachi being around four men all day, even if they were more friends than strangers.

The Fett boys, however, were no strangers. Saachi had been staying with the Securas in Pabu Creek for the last five months, traveling around Marauder Valley helping any women in need of a midwife or any kind of medical care. In doing so, she'd gotten to know Pabu Creek's Doctor Tech, Yulia's sweetheart Echo, and their brothers quite well. Not to mention their little sister, Megan. Megan was well-versed in medicine, and had helped Saachi and Yulia once or twice. Sheriff Hunter had also escorted them all over the valley, and helped them out of a sticky situation more times than Saachi would care to admit.

"Here, wear this," Yulia handed Saachi a fluffy red scarf.

"What, why?" Saachi wrapped it around her neck anyway, she needed the warmth.

"It matches the one the Sheriff was wearing. Plus, it's a good color on you," Yulia winked.

Saachi hushed her quickly, "He could hear you!" Yulia just laughed all the louder, and brushed Saachi's hair, pulling it back into a smooth bun that could easily fit under a bonnet.

Saachi rolled her eyes. Yulia's attempts at playing matchmaker were getting more and more overt, and Saachi didn't know what to do about it. It had been six months. If the sheriff was going to make a move on her, he would have done so by now. But Saachi didn't mind, not one bit. She was happy simply to spend time with Yulia and the others.

They came back downstairs, bundled tightly. and Yulia took their thicker bonnets from the coat pegs to tie below their chin.

Saachi fumbled with the strings for a moment, trying not to tie her mittens in a knot.

"Let me," The sheriff offered. He took the strings from her hands, tying them in a secure knot just below her chin.

"Thank you, Sher- Hunter." Saachi corrected herself.

"Anytime," Sheriff Hunter held out his arm to her, escorting her down the stairs of the Secura's porch to the sleigh he and Echo had ridden in. The two horses, Havoc and Maudie, waited patiently, delicately pawing at the snow as Hunter helped Echo down the stairs in his wheelchair.

Havoc was a dark gray stallion, with gruff neighs and whinnies. Maudie was a mare with soft yellow fur and mane, and she kept blinking at the brightness of the sun reflected on the bright white snow.

Hunter and Yulia helped Echo into the back of the sleigh with some blankets, and hung his wheelchair off the back of the sleigh. Hunter slipped into the front bench next to Saachi. With a click of his teeth, he urged the horses forward, and theytook off at a brisk trot down the road towards the Fett Family Ranch.

Saachi watched the snow around them, watching it sparkle in the morning sun against a clear blue sky.

"No one ever talks about how bright the snow is. Just how it's always cold, and wet," Saachi spoke quietly, trying not to interrupt Yulia and Echo's conversation. They were adults, they could talk about whatever they wanted.

Hunter grunted, and Saachi thought that would be the end of their conversation as the sleigh hissed across the top of the icy drifts.

"Sometimes it takes seein' something for yourself to see the beauty in it," He said.

Saachi felt the inner urge to keep the conversation going, but she had no idea of what to say next.

"What's your home like?"

"What, the ranch?"

"No no, not your house here, but, you said once that your family came from the Maori islands, right?"

Hunter nodded. "Rotura. New Zealand."

"When I came to America, we stopped in Auckland on the way over. It was pretty small."

"Auckland is not New Zealand," Hunter shook his head, "That's the British New Zealand."

"Right," Saachi gave a deep exhale, watching her breath frost on the crisp air with the awkwardness.

Fortunately, the Fett Home came into view as they rounded a copse of naked trees. Wrecker was outside, chopping wood, and little Megan was helping him, hollaring and waving as the sleigh came up the hill.

"Wrecker, what's she doing out without her coat on?" Hunter sighed and climbed out of the sleigh. But before he went over to give Megan a little push back inside, he offered Saachi a hand out from under the blankets and furs that cushioned the seats.

Wrecker shrugged, and tossed some more logs on the wood pile, "She seemed fine! She was having fun making the snowballs." He pointed to the piled next to the front door.

"She's a kid, Wrecker, she'll get sick faster than we will," Echo explained patiently. Wrecker helped him out of the sleigh and into his wheelchair, helping him through the tracks left by his chair from earlier in the morning.

"How are you going to skate with us, Echo?" Saachi asked, walking alongside Echo's chair.

A loud clattering from the barn, followed by a prolonged moo from the cow, Lulabelle, answered her question. Tech stumbled out, carrying another big, bulky chair in his arms.

"I believe this one will suit our needs rather well!" He proudly announced, holding it up as high as he could with the bulky shape.

Megan threw open the door to the house, now wrapped up in a long, woolen overcoat, with a scarf, gloves, and a thick bonnet like Saachi's and Yulia's.

"Who's ready for ice skating!" She whooped and grabbed Saachi's hand, taking off at a sprint down the hill from the house to the lake.

Omega skid to a stop at the lake's edge, and Saachi nearly crashed into her, both of them studying the ice in great detail.

"So how do we do it?" Omega asked, gasping for breath.

Saachi shook her head, "I don't know."

Still holding Saachi's hand for good luck, Megan stretched out her booted foot, placing it solidly on the ice. Nothing happened. Megan leaned forward, placing her second foot on the ice with it. She gave a little bounce to see if something would happen, and her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed on her rear.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Saachi watched Crosshair, the last and most aloof of the brothers, approach with two pairs of shoes with blades attached to the bottom.

"I think this will make it more fun for y'all."

"What's that?" Megan groaned, pushing herself back on her feet and rubbing her bum.

Crosshair waved the smaller pair of skates at her, and Saachi noticed a third pair slung over his shoulders, "This, kid, is the 'skate' in 'ice skate'."

Saachi helped Megan off the ice again, and Crosshair showed them how to lace up the skates as Wrecker and Tech helped Echo down the hill with his new chair.

The seat was the same wicker frame as Echo's wheelchair, but instead of the wheels, the framework beneath the seat was attached to two handles, much like the brake in a railroad engine, so that Echo could steer the ice skates at the bottom of the framework.

Yulia laced up her own pair of skates and was the first one on the ice after Echo. While he figured out the mechanics of his new chair, Yulia took Megan's hands and led her out on the ice. Megan's feet almost slipped out from under her, but Yulia kept a firm hold on her, showing her how to position her feet and keep her balance.

"Where's Hunter?" Saachi glanced around, but couldn't see the Sheriff who had brought them there.

"He's puttin' the horses in the barn to stay warm," Crosshair winked at her, "You're welcome to wait for 'im if you want 'im to show ya a few moves..."

Saachi's face flushed with warmth from her chin to the tip of her nose, despite the cold. Did everyone know that she was sweet on the Sheriff?

"Wrecker! Can you show me how to skate?"

"Me?" Wrecker was momentarily confused, but it was quickly replaced with a grin as big as the Grand Canyon, "Sure thing!"

Keeping her hand on Wrecker's arm, Saachi carefully pulled herself to her feet. She could balance a sword on her fingertip, she could balance her body on a single blade. She placed her feet on the ice just as Yulia had told Omega, and let Wrecker lead her across the ice.

Her legs wobbled a bit, “How do you move on these?” she asked. 

“Like this!” Wrecker shot forward, yanking Saachi with him. Saachi squealed and hung on to Wrecker’s arm for dear life as she was dragged across the ice with him, her feet flying out from under her as she tried to get a semblance of balance.

Yulia laughed as Wrecker skated past with Saachi and tow. She was skating lazily, using Echo’s chair like a cane to keep her balance. Saachi caught a glimpse of Crosshair’s smirk and turned to shoot a rude comment in his direction, only for her grip to slip from Wrecker’s arm and send her tumbling face first into a thick leather jacket.

Hunter caught her under the elbows, holding her steady until she got her feet under her. Wrecker didn’t seem the least bit apologetic for his shenanigans.

"Thanks, Wreck," Hunter said, his voice low and his eyes never leaving Saachi's, "I got it from here.”

Wrecker laughed, “If you say so, boss!” He skated over to Megan, much more gracefully than one would expect of a man his girth.

Hunter took Saachi’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. His arms weren’t as big as Wrecker’s, but they were firm and warm, and it kept her hand tucked up against his warm chest. Saachi tried to place her second hand there for a more secure grip, but Hunter gently pushed it away.

“You’ll need that to keep your balance. Here,” He gave a little push with his skates, and he almost pulled away from Saachi before she pulled herself after him.

“Start with smaller strokes, it’s easier to keep yourself from fallin’ over. Watch me,” He pointed down at their feet. Though his feet moved almost diagonally as they pushed against the ice, his body kept moving in a straight line. Saachi matched her steps to his, slowly but surely gliding across the ice. Now she was starting to see why this was enjoyable. 

Hunter led Saachi around the perimeter of the lake, helping her get accustomed to the movement and letting her find her balance.

“You know how to dance, right?”

Saachi blinked up at him, “Do you?” She demanded.

Hunter chuckled and spun himself in front of Saachi. Still holding her hand, he was skating backward as he led her in a lazy Figure Eight.

“C’mon now, you didn’t think we’re that uncultured out here did ya?”

Well, the Secura’s did host a dance from time to time,but Saachi couldn’t think of a time she’d seen the Sheriff dancing at one.

Before she could come up with a witty retort, Hunter gently pulled her in closer, holding her hand in his and placing his free hand on her waist. Saachi fell into dance position easily, and without missing a beat Hunter glided through the waltz steps– one, two, three, one two three –and spun Saachi under his arm.

Like any upper-crust lady who’d been taught how to dance, Saachi anticipated the move, lifting her right foot just above the ice, and rising to the tip of the blade of her skates. She wobbled on such a small area, but Hunter held her firmly, and kept her from falling.

Saachi landed with her back against Hunter’s chest, both his hands clutched in her, and the others applauded their show.

“Well done,” Hunter whispered in her ear. Unable to do anything but giggle childishly, Saachi gave a curtsy to her dance partner.

Megan laughed, more than confident enough in her own abilities as she skated by, grinning at Saachi and Hunter, like she knew something that they didn’t.

The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, and everyone paused for a moment. When no one reported any injuries, they all relaxed, but Megan stayed frozen.

It turned out Saachi was warmed by more than just the movement required for skating. The ice was getting thinner, creating a spider-web of cracks beneath Megan's feet.

"Help me," She whimpered.

"Wrecker, you and Echo get off the ice," Hunter said. Everyone began talking at once, Wrecker protesting trying to say that he could help, Yulia trying to make her way over to Echo, Crosshair skating towards Megan as fast as he could, and Tech drawing closer as he tried to tell Megan how she should avoid falling through the ice.

"Everyone shut up and stop moving!" Hunter barked. His voice sent the birds scrambling away in the trees.

"Wrecker, you're too heavy. We need as many of us off the ice as possible."

Wrecker and Yulia helped Echo get his chair off the ice, and slowly Tech made his way to the edge of the lake.

“You too Cross,” Hunter said. Crosshair tried to move closer to where Omega was, but he was still halfway across the lake, and Saachi and Hunter were already closer to Megan. Finally, he gave up, and joined the others on the snow.

"Yulia, get us a stick or something!" Hunter waved a hand at the woods. Yulia stumbled through the snow, growing slushier with each passing second, and Crosshair was right being her, trying to find a stick the perfect length to reach Megan.

"Just stay right there, Megs, it's gonna be okay," Saachi smiled at her, trying to ease Megan's racing nerves as well as her own.

"Spread out your body weight, Megan, it will keep the ice from cracking faster!" Tech said.

Megan was balanced precariously already. The more she stared at her feet, the faster the cracks seemed to appear.

"Here!" Wrecker passed a stick as tall as Crosshair to Hunter. Hunter tossed it over to Saachi who held the stick out to Megan.

"Grab on, kid," He nodded urgently. Saachi held on to the other end of the thick stick, providing a counterbalance for Megan's weight and lifting her off the ice just slightly.

"Now what?" Saachi asked.

Hunter scrambled for a bit, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"We've got to swing her over to the edge of the lake, or at least off the weak part of the ice,"

Saachi nodded, wondering if she had the strength to do that on her own. She and Hunter were both too scared to move, any movement could make the ice crack faster and send them all into the frozen water below.

Strength, she almost certainly had. She'd picked up Megan and stacks upon stacks of encyclopedias at the library dozens of times before. It was her balance that was in question.

Saachi's breath frosted in the air, clouding her glasses as she gathered her strength. As best she could, Saachi swung the stick like a cricket bat, launching Megan at the lakes edge. She let go of the stick in the process, stumbling forwards and landing on her hands and knees.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as Tech caught Megan under her arms, helping her to her feet.

Saachi braced her hands on the ice to stand up, only to realize that this patch of ice was much darker than the rest.

She fell face-first into the freezing water without a chance to gasp for air.

"Saachi!" She heard everyone screaming her name, but all she could see was the dark water around her. She tried not to scream and lose what precious air she had left, kicking and searching for the surface as her fingers began to grow numb and the cold stabbed at her skin.

A stick jabbed her in the stomach and she grabbed it on instinct, trying to push away the offending object, but instead it tugged her upward, into the biting wind.

Saachi gasped for breath. By some miracle her glasses were still on her face, though her thrashing had pushed them down the tip of her nose. She could make out a clump of blurry shapes with Hunter's orange coat and the red knit hat and scarf Omega had made him. He was crawling towards her on his belly, across the ice, a death grip on the stick they'd used to save Megan.

"Take my hand!" He yelled. Megan and the others were also yelling, asking if Saachi was okay or what they could do to help.

Hunter shoved his hand in Saachi's face so she wouldn't miss it. Her fingers fumbled, unable to quite bend around his hand in a firm grip. Hunter gave a small tug, pulling her a bit farther out of the ice, allowing him to grip her wrist tightly.

"Wrecker! Grab my feet!" Hunter called over his shoulder.

Wrecker cautiously made his way across the ice, only stepping on the solid white parts as before he leaned forward, grabbing Hunter by the ankles.

The ice held beneath Saachi as the biting cold became slightly less cold as she was carefully pulled out of the hole in the ice.

"Good, good, keep going!" Hunter said, though the encouragement didn't feel directed at anyone in particular. Saachi reached for him with her free hand, digging her fingers into the leather of his coat as best she could. As her fingers slipped, Hunter seized her other wrist.

"Hang on, sweetheart, just a bit farther," He gasped, glancing over his shoulder. Wrecker had reached the lake's edge, giving Hunter the confidence he needed to move a bit more freely and pulled Saachi closer, wrapping her up in his coat and placing his had on her head. The laces of her bonnet still hung around her throat, like an icy necklace, and her waves had slipped from her bun, freezing against her bare skin.

"I'm getting her inside," Hunter was on his feet before Wrecker could offer to carry Saachi, following their footprints back to the door of the cabin.

Saachi blinked her eyes, trying to get rid of the icicles that were starting to form on her eyelashes.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hunter said. It was almost the same tone that he used with the horses when they were acting up, but this sounded much more worried.

"Don't fall asleep on me, keep your eyes opened," He urged. His warm breath fanned across her face. It was a pathetic breeze compared to the snowfall, but it kept Saachi's nose from freezing.

Hunter kicked open the door and set Saachi in the rocking chair closest to the fireplace. The fireplace itself was down to the embers

"Karking hells-!" a mixture of all his sibling's names poised at the tip of his tongue, but he settled for growling instead. He tossed three logs on the embers, only to snuff out what was left of them.

He cursed again and grabbed the matches from the mantle. He tried once, twice, three times before the flame caught, and he pressed it up against the wood.

The fire spread slowly, too slowly for Hunter's liking. He yanked the blanket off of Megan's trundle bed and went to wrap it around Saachi, only to realize that she was still shivering in her wet clothes.

Yulia finally caught up.

"Do you have any spare clothes she could use? We need to get her things dried off."

Hunter climbed up the ladder to the loft, tossing down another blanket and his nightgown, thick linen for the cold months.

Yulia drew the curtain that gave Megan's little bed some privacy as the others made their way inside.

"Which one of you was dumb enough to let the fire go out in the middle of winter!?" Hunter snapped.

Tech huffed, offended, "Well, you are the one who said we should always be careful to put out a fire before leaving it unattended."

Megan giggled as Hunter floundered like a fish out of water.

"Hey Hunter, you still have your skates on." Wrecker pointed out.

"How'd you make it up the hill like that?" Echo murmured what Saachi was thinking.

Yulia helped Saachi peel her frozen things off her body, rubbing her hands against her arms and legs every so often.

"You alright?" Yulia asked, "That was a bit of a shock."

Saachi shook her head and pulled on the nightgown, "Und-d-ders-t-tatment of th-the cent-t-ury."

Saachi was quickly settled in the rocking chair in front of the fire and wrapped up in a pile of blankets. Echo and Tech escorted Yulia back to the Secura’s farm so she could grab some of Saachi’s things and explain that they needed to stay with the Fetts until Saachi was better, and Crosshair and Wrecker were seeing to the cows and the other animals on the ranch.

Megan, having been assured that it wasn’t her fault that Saachi had fallen through the ice, was asleep on Saachi’s lap, since Saachi was using her blankets. Hunter poured some water from the kettle into a bucket for Saachi’s feet, and used the rest to make some tea.

“Thank you,” Saachi whispered.

“Nothing like Indian tea, to be sure,” He joked, “But it’ll warm ya up.”

Saachi smiled up at him, and he quickly glanced away to hide his own smile.

“What was that for?” She asked, trying not to jostle Megan.

“Nothin’,” Hunter waved it off and sat on Megan’s bed with his own cup of tea.

Saachi wasn’t sure she wanted to take the man at his word. He had run up the hill in skates to get her to safety, and the water in the bucket was already warm before he added more.

If she wanted to find out if the Sheriff was sweet on her, like Yulia and Crosshair insisted, it was now or never.

“Sheriff, are you trying to court me?”

Hunter was quiet for a moment, then a chuckle echoed in his tin cup, “Have been for the last six months, but I was beginnin’ to think you weren’t interested.”

“Not interested?” Saachi asked.

He shrugged and set his cup aside. His winter things were hanging up to dry, leaving him in his suspenders and the work shirt that hugged his toned muscles from years of riding and hard work. He took Megan from Saachi’s arms and placed the girl in her bed with a blanket from one of their brothers.

“I thought you were trying to let me down easy, all polite and stuff.”

“Let you down, for what?”

“Well, escortin’ you to the carriage and walkin’ you around the town, makin’ sure you had the things you needed for your work, tryin’ to invite you to all the dances and stuff that Echo takes Yulia to, things like that.”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair and tucked the blankets around Megan a little tighter so she wouldn’t shiver in her sleep, “Maybe I wasn’t bein’ bold enough, like Cross said. But Wrecker said he thought I was doin’ good.” He sat on the floor next to Saachi’s chair and added another log to the fire.

"I thought you were just being nice! All the men back east do those things for women all the time."

"And you never thought they were flirtin' with ya?"

Saachi felt a heat in her cheeks that wasn't from the fire and laughed lamely, "Well, not really."

“Don’t worry,” Hunter tucked one of her curls into her braid, brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb as he did so, “I still think you’re smart.”

Saachi glared up at him, her nose scrunching in a way that made him chuckle, the opposite of her intended effect.

Hunter pushed himself up onto one knee so that he could rest both his hands on the arm of the chair, next to where Saachi clutched her cooling cup of tea.

“Miss Saachi, I would be honored if you let me court you properly. Once you’re all better that is.”

Saachi felt the warmth from her cheeks soaking into every muscle in her body, almost as if she’d never fallen into the freezing water.

“I’d be honored, Sheriff Hunter.”

He smiled, sitting back on the floor. “I promise, once the snow starts to melt, I’m gonna pick you the most colorful bundle of wildflowers you ever saw.”

“Now that’s a high bar to reach, Sheriff,” Saachi teased, “I’ve yet to see any wildflowers on the Western Frontier that can match the lotuses of India.”

“Oh really?”

Saachi chuckled, "Tell me about your New Zealand, and I'll tell you about my India."

Hunter smiled wistfully. “Well, one of my oldest memories is of rotten eggs.”

“Rotten eggs?” This was not nearly as romantic as Saachi thought it would be.

Hunter laughed, letting his head roll back as he stretched out his legs, “Rotura is built on an old volcano. The sulfur and gasses eek out, and make the city smell worse than the British do.”

Saachi slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laughter. The British had left their fair share of trash all over Saachi’s beloved home too.

“At least most of the British don’t want to settle there because of the smell, and those who are born there are used to it.

“And it’s not all bad. There’s lakes everywhere, more than I knew how to count as a kid. And the hot springs too, like Yosemite.” 

“Did you ever visit them?”

“All the time.” Hunter pulled one leg to his chest, resting his arm on his knee, “I definitely miss them during the winter months.”

“I could use a hot spring myself,” Saachi said, “During the monsoon season, it never stops raining, but it never got this cold.”

“So you’re a good swimmer, then?”

Saachi gave Hunter a glare as playful as the twinkle in his eye. “I’m good at swimming when I’ve not been taken by surprise. And the floods in India don’t chill you to the bone like the snow does here.”

“Fair enough.”

“I much prefer the summer, when the mangoes ripen and you can sit in the branches and eat your full without moving an inch.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hunter said.

Saachi looked into his eyes. The heat from the fire dried out her eyes, but Hunter’s bright brown eyes carried that same glow of warmth without the searing pain. She wanted more of that warmth, of that glow.

He almost seemed to be getting closer, or at least he would have, if the door hadn’t been thrown open with a chilling gust of wind as Yulia burst in, Echo and Tech in tow.

Yulia froze in the doorway, noting Megan asleep on the bed, and Saachi and Hunter leaning conspicuously towards each other.

“Are we interrupting anything?” She asked, a musical lilt in her voice.

“Nope.”

“No ma’am.” Saachi and Hunter both insisted.

“Well good,” Tech pushed past Yulia with Echo’s chair, “Because Missus Secura sent us home with enough stew that even Wrecker should go to bed full.”

“Well that’s good,” Hunter said, trying not to sound embarrassed.

Echo and Yulia were not as easily deterred, and both of them watched Saachi and Hunter with knowing looks. 

Saachi refused to dignify their teasing, and bent over her tea, which had gone cold.

“Here, let me get that for ya,” Hunter offered before she could even ask. 

His finger brushed against hers as he slipped the cup from her hand, and Saachi’s heartbeat stuttered in her chest.

So this was what it felt like to be courted by the Sheriff.

[heartlandians]

Christmas in August, part 1/5

Newlyweds Shane and Chloe have just added a new extension to the Bartlett-Fleming-Morris family, but when it seems the couple won't be able to make it "home for the holidays", Tim comes up with an idea to make their first extended family Christmas happen.

Characters: Shane, Chloe, Tim, Miranda, Jack, Lisa, Amy, Lyndy, Lou, Katie, Nathan, (Paul).

A/N: Set around the time of the season 17 finale.

****

The sun was setting behind the treeline on a late August evening and it lit up the silhouettes of the wild herd of horses that were grazing not too far away from the wedding that had taken place where Amy's plot of land laid.

Most of the guests had already left, but not before sharing their praises about how wonderful "the avenue" had been and saying how they had never seen a wedding as beautiful as this.

The only ones lingering where the core family. Even Chloe's parents had returned to Calgary where they had a rented apartment for few days. They were planning to join the happy couple when they'd go and explore the area in just two days.

The newlyweds, Shane and Chloe, had been pleasantly surprised just how well the wedding had gone after all the pitfalls they had had to endure before Amy and Lou had come up with this solution to use this location for the celebration.

The place had been ideal with its scenery and the living backdrop of wild horses minding their business behind them. The playing of the violin and the cello had been a nice touch as well, but now that the artists had packed their instruments and left, the family could hear the birds chirping and the distant whinnying echoing in the valley.

It was a perfect way for the family to wind down after the wedding.

Chloe stood next to Shane, admiring the view and wearing his suit jacket over her bare shoulders, sipping the last of the champagne while the chairs were being folded and decorations were taken down behind them.

Jessica took a quick snapshot of the relaxed moment, hoping to capture something real. When she examined the results on the screen of her camera, it was easy to see that with this couple capturing their love came easy.

"Should we go and give them a hand?" Miranda, the mother of the groom, asked from Lou, pointing toward the crew that had rented the chairs and the wedding arc.

Lou shook her head, holding a bottle of champagne on one hand and her glass on the other.

"I asked, but they said they were fine", Lou replied. "More champagne?" she then offered, seeing there was still something left in the bottle.

"Don't mind if I do", Miranda said with a smile.

Not too far away, Amy was pushing Lyndy in the swing, taking turns with Jack, Lisa and Katie. The girl couldn't get enough of it.

Meanwhile, Tim stepped closer to the newlyweds.

"I don't think I said it yet, but welcome to the family, Chloe", Tim said, coming in to give his new daughter-in-law a hug. "Officially."

"Thank you, Tim", Chloe replied, hugging him back, careful not to drop Shane's jacket.

Shane watched them hug, feeling very happy in this moment.

"So, now that your plans about London have changed..." Tim began talking when they leaned backwards, "I would like to invite you over for Christmas. -- We can make that happen, can't we, Lou?" he looked over his shoulder, toward his older daughter.

Thankfully Lou had picked that up and continued the plan.

"Oh, absolutely. I can make the arrangements. It would be fun to have us all together for the first time like this", Lou joined her dad's idea, putting away the empty champagne bottle.

"Exactly", Tim nodded. "I mean, Chloe, you really want to see the Dude Ranch during the winter too."

Shane and Chloe both smiled politely - thankful for the invite - as she returned to him, but it seemed like something was holding them back.

"Well, actually", Shane began, loving how excited his dad was about the whole thing, but feeling the awkwardness of having to decline the offer. "We are going to be spending our Christmas and New Year's in China, with Chloe's extended family. I haven't really had a chance to meet them properly and--"

"--we're going to have this tea ceremony and a banquet over there as well", Chloe stepped in to help Shane explain.

"Oh..." Tim said, smiling, but the twinkle in his eyes dimming. "So... you'll be gone for... how long?"

"The whole of December and the first week of January as well", Shane explained. "You know, since we're going there, we might as well stay for a while."

"I'm just glad we've both been able to make it work with our jobs", Chloe added. "I know it wasn't exactly ideal for me to go in with the offer from Philly and say "I can start in January", but... I think they really want me, so..."

"Right, right", Tim kept repeating as he nodded. "So, are the holidays a big thing there...?" he wondered, not really knowing much about the culture, but figured it was about time to change that.

"Actually, not really. It's more like a commercial thing, say, like Valentine's Day, almost. But..." Chloe began to explain, but then laughed a little bit, wondering if maybe Shane's side of the family wasn't able to understand the next bit.

However, now that she gave it some thought, they had been very helpful with making sure that her culture would be presented in the wedding ceremony along Shane's.

Especially Lou who had made a list of things Chloe had wanted to incorporate to the wedding, and she really had delivered them all.

So maybe they were going to be understanding of this, too.

"My grandmother has consulted a fortune teller", she finally said. "So the timing of our visit is really important."

"A fortune teller...?" Jessica asked, curiously, beating Tim to the punch.

"Yes. About the timing for the tea ceremony and the banquet. It's about bringing success to our marriage", Chloe explained further.

Tim nodded, even though he had never heard about it, he could understand why these type of traditions were important to people. He had his own traditions too, after all, some of them very spiritual.

Miranda followed the look on everyone's faces, reveling in the fact that she knew all about it already.

"Oh yes, Shane even had to let them know his birthday details, zodiac sign and everything", she then shared, recalling Shane coming to her to ask about the details he wasn't aware of.

While Shane's birth had not been the perfect memory at the time, as she had been alone in a hospital room, trying to bear the cramps and the contractions while nurses and midwives had been prepping her for what was about to come.

All Miranda had wanted back then had been someone there to support her through the labor, but it had just been her and the hospital staff and just like that, a new chapter in her life had begun.

Now, looking at what a fine young man Shane had turned into, all those memories felt distant in the light of the pride she was beaming with now.

"That's really interesting", Tim said - and meant it too. It was his disappointment about the plan not coming to fruition that made it seem like he was just saying that to sound polite.

"Well, maybe we could make this happen next Christmas then", Lou suggested.

It was a bummer her brother and his new wife couldn't make it over this Christmas, but there were other years now that they were reunited again in a more meaningful way.

After all, she could understand how important meeting Chloe's extended family probably was for Shane. Even though her first time meeting Peter's parents had not been perfect, it had still been an important milestone in their history as a couple.

"You know, if we give you the heads up now, we might actually make this happen then", Lou added.

Chloe nodded along.

"Sure, that sounds fun", she said and looked like she was already excited about the idea. "I'd love to see your traditions and Heartland and the Dude Ranch during winter!"

"It's like a winter wonderland, honestly", Shane knew from experience. "Even though it gets bitterly cold, it's beautiful."

"I believe it", Chloe said, letting her hand rest on Shane's chest as they were standing side by side.

Her eyes drifted toward the two bands on her left ring finger and she couldn't help but smile, slowly realizing how it was all official now. The diamond is her engagement ring probably sparkled just as brightly as the fresh snow during Alberta winter.

"I'm just so glad I was able to show you this place - these people - and get married here. It means so much to me", Shane said to Chloe, getting lost in their own little bubble for a while.

"Me too. I know you tried to paint the picture of it all, but you really didn't do all of it justice. I don't know if anyone can..." Chloe said, sighing out of an awe. "There is one thing I feel like was missing, though... Someone I've heard endless stories about."

"Oh yeah? Who's that?" Shane asked, wondering who was not here.

Ty, of course, Shane thought, but Chloe knew that he had passed away few years ago, so him missing the wedding wasn't surprise in that way.

"Didn't you say you had a horse?" Chloe teased. "I guess now that I know how to ride, it would have been cute to go and have a ride together with your very own horse, my cowboy..."

"Oh, Pal!" Shane let out a laugh. "Yeah... I did have a horse. He might not be around anymore, but I'm sure we can still go for a trail ride tomorrow. -- Right, dad?" he checked.

Tim was in his own little world too, thinking back to those times when Shane had still been a little kid - learning how to be a true cowboy - and now the only thing reminding Tim of that was the belt buckle Shane had decided to wear with his suit.

"Dad...?" Shane repeated.

Tim's attention was now back to his son as he lift up his head. "Yeah?"

"We can still go for one last ride tomorrow, can't we? This time Chloe can join us", Shane said.

"Yeah. Of course. Absolutely", Tim assured them, smiling.

The laughter behind them, coming from the swing, had gone quiet a little while ago, but no one had taken notice yet, not before Amy walked over with Lyndy in her arms.

The young girl looked fatigued and pale.

"Lou, can you feel Lyndy's head?" Amy requested.

Lou turned to feel her niece's forehead, seeing the worry on her sister's face already.

"She's burning up", Lou confirmed Amy's suspicions.

"That's what I thought", Amy said, worrying over her daughter. "I'm going to have to cut this after celebration short, but before we go, I just wanted to say that the ceremony was absolutely beautiful and you looked amazing on Powder, Chloe", she added, rubbing Lyndy's back gently.

"Thanks", Chloe said, feeling both honored and worried over Lyndy. It was impressive how quickly she had gotten attached to this family already. "I had the best teacher."

"You're a good student", Amy praised with a smile.

"Is Lyndy gonna be okay?" Chloe had to ask before they'd leave.

"Yeah, I'm sure she will be. She probably just needs rest. Might be a sun stroke, or something", Amy suspected as they had been outside almost the whole day. "I'll ask Grandpa and Lisa to give us a ride back home. -- I'll see you before you leave", she continued, giving Shane a meaningful look, letting her brother know that she didn't want him to leave before they had said their goodbyes.

"Feel better soon, Lyndy", Shane said, gently stroking Lyndy's head. "And see you later, sis", he added to Amy, making sure he'd hold her to it.

"Maybe it's time to wrap things up for us as well", Lou figured, fishing Katie under her arm when her daughter walked back from the swing as well.

"Probably best for all of us", Shane said.

They still had their wedding night ahead of them, even though right now he felt exhausted from all the nerves that had not released until he had seen Chloe ride down the aisle on Powder.

"We'll give you guys a ride", Miranda said, finishing her champagne. "I'll go find Paul. He had to take a phone call", she added, rolling her eyes.

Everyone started collecting their things, making sure they'd leave the place as they had found it.

"I'll see you tomorrow, son", Tim wanted to say and gave Shane's shoulder a light squeeze.

Shane smiled. "Yeah. Can't wait for that trail ride."

[rxdhairxdsirxns]

HEART OF A BEAST || closed for @general-kalani

----- AS if Eden's Gate wasn't a dangerous enough presence in Hope County, now there was a literal monster having a rage fit in the forest very near to Taryn's ranch.

And the horrible part was... the monster was Taryn, and it was unclear if even a single soul knew that.

Terrible sounds echoed through the hills and valleys as roars and growls were ripped from the beast's throat, metal groaning and screeching as she hauled a sunken semi from a nearby lake and hauled it like a shot put towards a rocky cliff.

A familiar scent was caught on the wind, making her pause, huffing and snarling as she turned to face the much smaller figure.

"You shouldn't have come here."