#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 for screaming with me about all of this ily. 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 😭

[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.

[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

[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.

[vaquerobuckaroo]

I love this song so much that I get so lost in it

The moment I hear the echoey whistling and the violins I'm instantly taken back to Hennigan's Stead, to the MacFarlane Ranch, riding past Pike's Basin to get to Armadillo

I love how the echo gives the listener a feeling of being in a large empty space all alone. I always pictured standing over the cliffs of Pike's Basin looking down at the valley of Cholla Springs when I hear it

What I love about RDR1 is the sense of desolation, dreariness, and barrenness that you get from it, like you're journeying all alone in the world. It feels so gritty, so real, so raw. And the song encapsulates this loneliness so well.

[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!

[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."

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 14 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated NSFW — 4084 words. Blow job and come swallowing amid some wholesomeness. lmfao.

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Shane spent every step back toward the ranch replaying his evening with the farmer, looping specific moments over and over until he was sure they'd imprint on his soul like a fresh brand, raw and searing. 

"I love you."

Had she really said the words, or had his desperate sense of longing manifested them from thin air and embedded each syllable into his ear canal like an intangible specter? It was hard enough to reconcile his unabated self-loathing with the reality of Kristen presenting him with a bouquet. He recalled learning of the saccharine tradition among Pelican Town shortly after he and Jas had moved in with Marnie. He'd scoffed and declared it cheesy, confident that he'd never indulge in such a mortifying display. Even while he planned to purchase one at week's end, he wondered if Kristen would laugh and call him a stupid sap. 

She would never do that. Just because you despise yourself doesn't mean you get to shove those insecurities onto her , he thought as he kicked a rock in his path and watched as it skittered into the tall summer grass. 

It all seemed so surreal in a way that Shane couldn't describe. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that fairy tale romances exist. Hell, every relationship he'd witnessed or been a part of had folded like a house of cards, with the exception of one — Yana and James. If any two people truly loved one another, it was them. Jas was proof of such love, inheriting the best parts of each of them, nurturing their essence even while what remained of their physical bodies merged with the earth, unrecognizable. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

Bullshit. They shouldn't have died, and no amount of poetic blather will make it okay. They deserved better. Jas deserves better…

Recognizing the infinite void he threatened to spiral into if he kept dwelling on things he couldn't change, Shane felt the seductive pull of some invisible thread guiding him toward a path etched with his footsteps over the years. The ranch was in sight, and those footprints nearly glowed, leading from the front stoop directly toward the faded oak door of the Stardrop Saloon. How many times had his fingers curled around the iron handle and pulled that door open to the aroma of marinara sauce and melted cheese? How many times had he drowned his traitorous memories under foam that bellowed over the rim of a frosted mug? How many times had he spewed them into a bucket, a toilet, Marnie's kitchen sink, his own bed? 

You're three days completely sober, Shaney boy. You can stretch it to four. You can do whatever you put your mind to.

Her voice echoed within his skull, almost as clear as a bell. Though, Yana had never seen him at his worst. She didn't have the opportunity to find him passed out on lake docks in lonely forests in the middle of the night. She didn't have to witness him guzzling cans upon cans of Joja brand clearance beer while he sloppily played James' favorite first-person shooter alone. And she certainly didn't have the misfortune to find him neglecting her precious daughter in favor of spending nearly every evening at some small town saloon where everyone surely despised him.

Shame burned the tips of his ears as these thoughts plagued him, especially when he realized that he was glad Yana wasn't alive to discover the deadbeat he'd become. It seemed that Kristen had taken up the torch as his designated babysitter, finding him in every one of those situations and more, drunk off his ass or altogether unconscious. And he'd treated her so horribly in the beginning.  

"Who even are you? Fuck off."

"No, I don't care what your name is. Go tell it to someone who gives a shit."

"Why can't you just ignore me like everyone else?"

Anytime her shock of curly auburn hair caught in his peripheral vision, or when the tinkle of her cute giggle wormed its way to his earshot, or when he noticed her dark brown eyes boring a hole through his head as if she could read his every thought, he wanted to scream. She was nice. Too nice. He'd been convinced she'd been put up to befriending him by Marnie, or she had a fucked up savior complex, and he couldn't decide which one was more unappealing.

He wasn't sure exactly when her presence ceased to feel like nails on a chalkboard or the scrapping of a fork across porcelain, but he could acutely pinpoint the night he'd looked her directly in the eye without forcing a scowl. He'd been standing on the edge of the very lake dock his feet found themselves thudding across now, early fall, a crisp chill nipping at his calves while he chased the bottom of his fifth beer can. One remained, and he'd handed it off to the farmer when she saddled herself up beside him without so much as a word in greeting. He supposed she'd grown weary of his insults but somehow still felt compelled to approach him regardless. He supposed he was glad for that.

The booze and his meandering broody thoughts had loosened his lips, confiding things he'd never said aloud to another human being, wondering if she'd look at him in abject horror. It would have been easier that way. Most people, especially those in Pelican Town, didn't like to ponder anything deeper than a mud puddle or a teardrop overflowing a thimble. If the frustratingly adorable farmer had been so shallow, perhaps he might have drank himself into oblivion by now. Instead, she listened — actually listened — and offered nothing more than her companionship, gulping her beer as if it didn't taste like warm piss on a good day.

"A woman after my own heart."

Pathetic. Shane had hated himself the second the cliché phrase tumbled from his mouth and abandoned her shortly after, standing alone in a halo of golden light from the lantern he'd left behind so she wouldn't be stranded in the dark.

He'd dreamt about her for the first time that night. The finer details had slipped from his mind and rolled down the length of his spine in the form of cold sweat by the time he'd stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. Despite telling the farmer that his liver was begging him to stop, he'd done anything but. The bottle of cheap whiskey he'd stashed above his closet door sang to him — a siren with the sweetest lullaby, promising a moonless night devoid of light or conscious thought. He gave in, slipping into the darkness like aching joints into a warm bath. Relief… alongside her freckled face. 

Night had fully fallen by the time Shane returned to the present, standing at the edge of the lake dock, fireflies twinkling over the water, reminding him of childhood and Marnie convincing him they were tiny fairies. Even then, Shane had wondered why fairies would waste their time in the presence of a little boy when they probably had important fairy business to attend to. He was nothing. He was no one. 

Except, maybe he wasn't. The farmer somehow found worth in him, despite all he'd done to discourage it. And, no matter how hard his self-loathing tried to convince him otherwise, she cared about him. She loved him. 

Suddenly feeling light-headed, Shane swayed slightly before stepping back from the edge of the dock, certain that if he looked down, he'd topple headfirst into the lake. 

You didn't say it back. Why didn't you say it back? She said you didn't have to, but you should have. You should have said it back.

"Shit," he hissed while running a trembling hand down his face. Summer evening humidity and sweat from his walk clung to his skin, coating his dry palm. A question formed in the back of his mind, the words swirling like a tornado around him while held captive within its tranquil eye.

Do you love her?

The question had never been posed before, so he'd never explicitly ruminated on the answer, even if its certainty had existed for longer than he’d realized. It had crept up on him, slow and undetected, biding its time while sprinkling pinches of adoration here, a drop of dependence there. Until the day he found her bloody and semi-unconscious in her kitchen, terrified that if he lost her, he'd lose the last piece of him that he considered human. 

Do you love her?

Yes. He did.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, is that you?" Marnie shouted over the cacophony of upbeat bubblegum pop and Jas' voice singing along to the lyrics at the top of her lungs. 

"Yeah, Marn, it's me!" he yelled, shutting the front door and greeting her with a half-hearted wave. Her frizzy hair was tied up in a high ponytail while she stirred a pot of something steamy on the stove, seemingly unphased by the ear-splitting racket threatening to crack his skull like a ball pein hammer.

"Good! Dinner will be ready in a bit! Go fetch Jas?"

He nodded, unable to muster up the energy to yell back at her when he knew he had to step into the lion's den known as his goddaughter's bedroom. When he saw the door was closed, he winced. How much louder could it possibly be inside ?

When he tapped the dancing little girl on the shoulder to get her attention, wiggling in front of a stereo that used to belong to her father, she launched upward like a rocket, a blood-curdling scream slicing through the music.

"Uncle Shane!" she squealed when she swiveled and caught him laughing, playfully slapping him on the arm while he reached over her to turn the volume down. "You scared me!"

"Uh-huh," he said, folding his arms as he stared down at her. "Yasmeen, how many times have I told you that you'll blow the speakers if you keep turning it up that loud?"

She wrinkled her nose at the use of her real name, knowing that he meant business this time. "Okay. I'm sorry," she mumbled, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "I won't do it again. Promise."

"You'll also damage your hearing, just like —" He cut himself off, biting his tongue before the remainder of the thought could be vocalized. 

"Just like what?" she asked, her large doe-like eyes staring up at him, brimming with curiosity. 

Unsure what compelled him, he placed a hand on top of her hand and continued. "Just like your mom, kiddo. She used to listen to music so loud her ears would ring. Drove your dad nuts."

"Oh," she replied, her face drooping so suddenly that Shane mentally cursed himself for being such an idiot. But she surprised him, as she often did, by reaching up to remove his hand from her head and clasp it in hers, tiny in comparison. "Will you tell me about the music she liked sometime?

"Yeah, I will." Rapidly blinking his eyes to keep the traitorous tears at bay, he scooped her up and carried her to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of Marnie's famous spaghetti and meatballs, Jas' favorite, and the usual conversation. Shane was content to listen, mainly when Jas spoke about school and the things she'd learned that day, occasionally challenging her with questions. But the thinly veiled glances from Marnie in his direction indicated she had several questions of her own that he would be obliged to answer. Luckily, she'd kept her lips buttoned until Shane led Jas to bed for the night.

"Uncle Shane," Jas began as she snuggled under the covers and clutched her favorite teddy bear under her arm, "Aunt Marnie said you were at Miss Krissy's farm today."

"Did she?" he asked, tucking the sheets and blanket under her legs and feet, hoping his face didn't betray his unease. 

"Mmhmm," the little girl confirmed between gaping yawns. "Do you think I can visit the farm sometime? I wanna pet the kitty."

"You have lots of kitties here," Shane said, unsure why the thought of Jas romping around his girlfriend's farm put a sticky lump in his throat. Especially when he'd just agreed to move the both of them in just hours before.

"I know. But none of them are white."

"That's true," he relented, forcing himself to relax. It would be best to get Jas acclimated to the new environment sooner rather than later, right?

"So can I?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I'll tell Kriss you wanna come over soon. But now, you need to sleep," he said, smoothing her hair from her face while another vortex-like yawn overtook her, eyelids fluttering and sealed shut by the time he softly closed the door behind him.

"So —" Marnie spoke as he meandered back into the kitchen, anticipating her probing questions as if he were about to be presented in front of a firing squad. "Lewis told me someone bought a bouquet from Pierre earlier today."

"That's interesting," he replied, skirting past her to pull open the fridge and pluck a can of Joja Cola from the top shelf. Only then did he realize he'd forgotten the damn bouquet at Kristen's, discarded on the tea table by her front door. 

"Indeed, it is. He doesn't know who bought it, though. He was collecting taxes today, and Pierre's weekly sales manifest only shows quantity, which I guess makes sense. Why would he need to keep track of who buys what?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes slashing through him like lasers as she attempted to discern his inscrutable expression. The crack of the soda can as he pulled back the tab caused her to flinch and then roll her eyes.

"Pierre didn't just tell him?" he asked, almost bored as he sipped his soda and sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

"No," she replied, frustration creeping into her tone.

"That's shocking, considering how much everyone loves to shove their noses in other people's business. Guess I had the wrong idea about Pierre."

"Shane." She approached and stood directly beside him, arms still crossed and clearly incredulous by his blase attitude. "Were you really not going to tell me that you bought a bouquet for Krissy? We're family, and I want to be happy for you. Did she say yes?"

He took another deep gulp from the soda can, allowing her to flounder in uncertainty a few seconds longer before finally replying, "I didn't buy it."

"What?" Her face fell so fast it was almost comical, and Shane bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Then who?"

"She did." He wasn't disappointed when his aunt's expression morphed from sullen to confused to cautiously delighted within a second. When she opened her mouth again, he cut her off before she could ask if Kriss had bought the bouquet for someone other than him. "I said yes. Guess I got a girlfriend now."

"Well, what do you know…" Marnie said, her eyes already swimmy and red around the edges. "That girl always did have spunk." Without another word, she grasped her nephew by the shoulders and yanked him up into a rib-crushing hug, pressing her wet cheek into the hollow of his throat. "I am very happy for you, Shane," she mumbled as he awkwardly patted her on the back. He honestly hadn't expected such an emotional reaction and wondered if Marnie had doubts about his ability to function in a stable relationship. If so, he couldn't exactly blame her.

"Uh — thanks," he said when she finally released and leveled him with serious eyes.

"When you tell Jas, be honest. She's too smart for her own good and picks up on everything anyway." The implication of that statement wasn't lost on Shane, and he shifted his eyes to the side, not particularly interested in discussing her weird "secret" relationship with Lewis.

"Yeah, Marn. I know. She's just like her mom."

The slightly uncomfortable conversation wrapped up with Marnie capturing him in another hug before she took a phone call from someone with a familiar male voice. Shane gestured that he was heading to bed, resigned to the fact that everyone in the Valley would be aware of the newest official couple in town by morning.

A text from the farmer lit up his damaged phone screen just as he switched off his bedside lamp, and a thrill shot through his body like a low jolt of electricity.

You left your bouquet here.

With a guilty sigh, he tapped out a reply, the pads of his fingers sliding over the cracks. 

I know. Sorry. You gonna break up with me?

He unconsciously held his breath; a small part of him actually worried she might have a change of heart.

No such luck. You're stuck with me for a while. I put the flowers in water so they won't die. Did you leave it so Marnie wouldn't find out?

He supposed that was a fair question. He wasn't blind to his caginess, and neither was she.

No, babe. I told Marnie. I'll tell Jas soon.

Her reply took longer than usual, and Shane found himself chewing on his thumbnail, waiting.

Good night. I love you.

A breath caught in his lungs as the words popped on screen, slightly warped by the cracks but unmistakable, confirming it hadn't been a one-off fluke.

Good night, pretty baby. See you in the morning.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Shane attempted to keep his breathing even while Kristen's tongue swirled around the head of his dick, her deep chocolate eyes staring up at him, nails digging into the back of his thigh as she anchored it for leverage. Even without the use of her other hand, she bobbed her head effortlessly, hollowing her cheeks for the perfect amount of stabilizing suction, holding him captive in many more ways than one. 

He'd arrived at 5 am and found her waiting for him outside the coop with a cup of coffee so strong it could wake the dead. Considering he hadn't had a drink since Friday, he'd felt surprisingly light on his feet. The usual deep thirst that drenched every cell in his body still made itself known, especially in the quiet moments when he was alone, and his mind wandered and dwelled on intrusive thoughts. ( What if this is all an elaborate prank? She can't really be this into you. She'll change her mind. They always do.) The burn at the back of his throat, the trembling of his hands, the cold sweat that shone on his forehead and pooled in the dip under his nose. But those troublesome symptoms and the aching thirst itself became slightly less prominent when he was with the farmer. Like now, with his cock fully lodged in the warmth of her pretty mouth.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up with his shorts and boxers around his ankles while leaning against the wall next to the front door. He'd fully intended to only give her one quick kiss after he'd tended to the hens and told her he'd return in the evening. But she was persuasive, and he quickly gave in the second her deft fingers pulled down the zipper and smuggled their way inside, whispering that she wanted to make sure he wouldn't forget her while he stocked rows and rows of shelves with imitation food products. The notion was absurd. She was constantly on his mind, lurking around every nook and cranny, having burrowed into the gray matter of his brain like a parasite he would carry for life. 

"Pretty baby…" He threaded his fingers through her unruly hair, curls wrapping around each digit, creating the illusion of crimson waves across his flesh. His stomach was beginning to tighten along with his balls. "Honey, I'm gonna come if…" He trailed off into a deep groan when she shifted below him, grasping the shaft of his cock in her hand to stroke him in time with the movements of her mouth, her tongue trailing slick pleasure in its wake. Of course, her goal was to make him come, and her quickening pace proved that assumption correct. He was dangerously close.

"Do it in my mouth," she demanded in the few seconds she released him to speak. "Come right down my throat."

"Holy fucking shit," he whined, gripping at her scalp as she laved the flat of her tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip, pulling back his foreskin to swirl her tongue again, a maneuver that made him weak in the knees. "Are you sure, babe?" She simply relaxed the back of her throat and nestled her nose in his pubic hair in response.

Never in his life had a woman willingly offered to let him come in her mouth. He'd done it once by accident when he was 18, and the girl gagged before storming out of the back seat of his car with her shirt and bra clutched to her chest. He'd heard of women enjoying such an act during bar crawls with drinking buddies but always chalked it up to male bravado, convinced they were probably making it up to win the latest dick-measuring contest. But now, here he was, a beautiful woman on her knees before him, requesting the very thing he thought was a myth.

"Kristen," he croaked, brushing his fingers across her forehead. "Look at me." Her dark eyes rolled upward to lock with his, even while maintaining a steady rhythm with her hand and mouth, captivating him. "Fuck yeah, you're gonna make me come. You're so beautiful." The praise poured from his lips like sweet wine, effortless. Every minute he spent with her, the less he second-guessed himself. She made him feel powerful and wanted and desired. Like a heady drug that dulled his anxiety while somehow heightening his self-confidence to levels unheard of, and he was quickly becoming irrevocably addicted.

She hummed in appreciation, switching up her technique, taking his cock deeper, nudging the back of her throat in preparation while Shane clutched the curls at the crown of her head. His stomach tightened, and his thighs quivered, forcing him to lean heavily on the wall, hoping his knees wouldn't give out. 

"Shit, babe — are you ready?" His gasps seemed to echo within the darkened living room, even as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains at his left. It suddenly occurred to him that anyone could glace through the crack at the right angle and catch him receiving the blowjob of a fucking lifetime. The somewhat perverse thought helped tip him over the edge, intense pleasure ripping through him on a wave of euphoria that softened his tense muscles, threatening to spill him to the floor while his cock pulsed against the back of his girlfriend's eager throat.

"Mmm," she hummed once she'd swallowed and clumsily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Guess I don't need breakfast now."

He weakly snorted in response as he watched her stand and walk toward the kitchen for a glass of water she'd left sitting on the counter.

"I dunno if I'll ever get used to the shit you say," he remarked, pulling up his boxers and shorts. Once his belt was buckled, he slipped his phone from his pocket to check the time. 

"Told you I wouldn't make you late," she said, approaching him with a seductive sway to her hips. When she was close enough, he didn't hesitate to tug her in for a parting kiss, emotion swelling in his chest that he still felt hesitant to speak aloud.

"I won't doubt you again." He was slowly drifting back to earth but didn't feel the usual weight that rode his shoulders like an unwanted phantom, tethered to him since childhood. "Hey, um —" He faltered, uncertain if this was the right time. When she regarded him with a questioning smile, he shouldered on. "Jas wants to come over. You think Saturday is a good day?"

"Yeah, that's perfect!"

Her enthusiasm — how her face instantly lit up, causing her eyes to sparkle in a stray sliver of sunlight — melted the anxiety seizing his lungs, and he exhaled, relieved.

She captured him in another kiss, much more passionate than he'd expected, before shoving him out the front door. Seconds later, he heard her ancient record player roar to life, Frank Sinatra flying him to the moon, even if it was just a Joja Mart.

[thelensofyashunews]

CAGE THE ELEPHANT’S NEW ALBUM, 'NEON PILL,' OUT NOW VIA RCA RECORDS

Today, Cage The Elephant, the GRAMMY® Award winning rock band release Neon Pill, their 6th studio album. Neon Pill finds the Kentucky-bred six piece—brothers Matthew Shultz [vocals] and Brad Shultz [guitar], Daniel Tichenor [bass], Jared Champion [drums], Nick Bockrath [lead guitar], and Matthan Minster [guitar, keys, backing vocals]— forging new musical ground, while maintaining their uncompromising creativity and wildly cathartic performances. “To me, Neon Pill is the first record where we were consistently uninfluenced, and I mean that in a positive way,” observes Matthew. “Everything is undoubtedly expressed through having settled into finding our own voice. We’ve always drawn inspiration from artists we love, and at times we’ve even emulated some of them to a certain degree. With this album, having gone through so much, life had almost forced us into becoming more and more comfortable with ourselves. We weren’t reaching for much outside of the pure experience of self expression, and simultaneously not necessarily settling either. We just found a uniqueness in simply existing.”

  Rolling Stone spoke with lead singer Matthew Shultz about the new album and upcoming tour and say the new music “sounds like a rich and matured version of Cage the Elephant.” Read the full interview here. The band also recently returned to Jimmy Kimmel Live! to perform the world debut of their song “Rainbow.”

The band recently shared “Metaverse,” the latest single off Neon Pill, which follows recent singles from the new album including “Good Time,” “Out Loud” and “Neon Pill,” which scored the band their 11th #1 song on Billboard’s Alternative Chart.

  Cage The Elephant’s 47-date North American US tour, produced by Live Nation, will kick off on June 20 in Salt Lake City with shows in cities including Seattle, Vancouver, Los Angeles, Chicago, Toronto and New York City (full dates below), with support from Young The Giant & Bakar on most dates.  Tickets and VIP available for all dates are on sale now here.  

On Monday, May 6, iHeartMedia hosted the iHeartRadio Album Release Party with Cage the Elephant in celebration of the new album Neon Pill. The show will broadcast across iHeartRadio Alternative Stations nationwide on May 20 at 8 p.m. local time and in VR on Meta Horizon Worlds at 8 p.m. ET/ 5 p.m. PT. 

  From their humble beginnings in Bowling Green, Kentucky, Cage The Elephant have gone on to become one of the generation’s premier rock bands. They have earned dozens of Gold, Platinum, and Multiplatinum certifications, tallied over 5 billion streams, and notched eleven #1 records on Alternative Radio and 5 #1 records on Triple A Radio. Their previous two albums Tell Me I’m Pretty [2015] and Social Cues [2019] garnered consecutive Best Rock Album GRAMMY® Awards. They are maybe most celebrated for their live show. The stage is their home turf, where they are most comfortable, and their performances, ecstatic and unchained, as well as cathartic and soul bearing are what Neon Pill achieves in documenting.    Neon Pill, produced by John Hill,materialized during sessions at Sonic Ranch in El Paso, Electric Lady in New York, Sound Emporium in Nashville, Echo Mountain in North Carolina, and at Hill’s own studio in Los Angeles, and alchemized a season of tragedy and turbulence into the twelve tracks on their sixth full-length album. Nine months into the pandemic, Matthew and Brad lost their father. The band weathered the back-to-back deaths of friends, while Matthew experience depression and a mental breakdown, culminating in hospitalization. Coming out on the other side, he learned quite a bit about himself, and gained a whole lot of strength and wisdom. Neon Pill came to life in the eye of the storm. 

  Cage The Elephant Tour Dates  June 15 – Manchester, TN at Bonnaroo   June 20 – West Valley City, UT at Utah First Credit Union Amphitheatre^  

June 22 – Seattle, WA at Climate Pledge Arena^ 

June 23 – Ridgefield, WA at RV Inn Style Resorts Amphitheater^ 

June 24 – Bend, OR at Hayden Homes Amphitheater^ 

June 26 – Vancouver, BC at Rogers Arena^ 

June 28 – Edmonton, AB at Rogers Place^ 

June 30 – Spokane, WA at BECU Live at Northern Quest^ 

July 2 – San Francisco, CA at Bill Graham Civic Auditorium* 

July 3 – Santa Barbara, CA at Santa Barbara Bowl^~ 

July 5 – Phoenix, AZ at Talking Stick Resort Amphitheatre^ 

July 6 – San Diego, CA at Viejas Arena^ 

July 7 – Los Angeles, CA at Kia Forum^ 

July 9 – Albuquerque, NM at Isleta Amphitheater^ 

July 11 – Austin, TX at Moody Center^ 

July 12 – Houston, TX at  The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion presented by Huntsman^ 

July 13 – Fort Worth, TX at Dickies Arena^ 

July 15 – Rogers, AR at Walmart AMP^ 

Aug 2 – Alpharetta, GA at Ameris Bank Amphitheatre* 

Aug 3 – Raleigh, NC at Coastal Credit Union Music Park at Walnut Creek^ 

Aug 4 – Charlotte, NC at PNC Music Pavilion* 

Aug 7 – Noblesville, IN at Ruoff Music Center^ 

Aug 8 – Madison, WI at Breese Stevens Field^ 

Aug 10 – Winnipeg, MB at Canada Life Centre^ 

Aug 12 – Minneapolis, MN at Target Center^ 

Aug 14 – Chicago, IL at Credit Union 1 Arena at UIC^ 

Aug 16 – Grand Rapids, MI at Van Andel Arena^ 

Aug 18 – Saratoga Springs, NY at Broadview Stage at SPAC^ 

Aug 19 – Bridgeport, CT at Hartford HealthCare Amphitheater^ 

Aug 21 – Gilford, NH at BankNH Pavilion^ 

Aug 22 – Mansfield, MA at Xfinity Center* 

Aug 24 – Holmdel, NJ at PNC Bank Arts Center^ 

Aug 26 – Montreal, QC at Centre Bell^ 

Aug 27 – Toronto, ON at Budweiser Stage^ 

Aug 29 – Burgettstown, PA at The Pavilion at Star Lake^ 

Aug 30 – Cincinnati, OH at Riverbend Music Center^ 

Sept 5 – New York, NY at Madison Square Garden^ 

Sept 6 – Philadelphia, PA at TD Pavilion at the Mann^ 

Sept 7 – Lewiston, NY at Artpark Mainstage Theater^ 

Sept 9 – Cleveland, OH at Blossom Music Center^ 

Sept 10 – Detroit, MI at Pine Knob Music Theatre^ 

Sept 12 – St. Louis, MO at Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre^ 

Sept 13 – Des Moines, IA at Wells Fargo Arena^ 

Sept 14 – Kansas City, MO at Starlight Theatre^ 

Sept 16 – Omaha, NE at CHI Health Center Omaha^ 

Sept 18 – Denver, CO at Red Rocks Amphitheatre* 

Sept 19 – Colorado Springs, CO at Sunset Amphitheatre  Sept 27 – Ocean City, MD at Oceans Calling Festival  ^with Young The Giant and Bakar 

* with Bakar 

~Non-Live Nation Date 

[wordspinning]

Chapter 53

They work in silence for the next thirty minutes, pulling six silver-skinned trout from beneath the ice. Joel hands her one, already dead or most of the way there from exhaustion, but its eyes still gleam clear and mercurial in the pale light. It’s been a long time since she’s had to fight any aversion to handling a dead animal, so it catches her off guard when her stomach lurches, and she quickly hands the trout to Miguel, sinking her teeth deep into her lip. She feels a little heat rise in her cheeks when the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile, and he turns away from her to gut it. Ellie fixes her gaze on the lake shore, attempting to quell the reverberant surges of nausea with slow breaths. 

Much to her chagrin, It’s a losing battle. Saliva pools thickly under her tongue, and each breath is heavy in her lungs as she tries to hold off long enough to get off the ice. Finally, Joel packs up the gear, and by the time they reach solid ground, her jaw is aching from keeping it clenched, and Joel and Miguel’s voices are both muffled by the ringing in her ears. Fighting the sudden, childish urge to cry, she turns abruptly to Joel.

“I gotta pee,” she says, attempting to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice and salvage some shred of dignity before she pukes last night’s dinner at his feet.

“Can you wait until we’re back?” he asks, and she shakes her head vehemently, already tasting the bile in the back of her throat. 

He presses his lips in a thin line, scanning the treeline behind her warily, but finally, mercifully, he nods. “Stay close ,” he emphasizes.

She nearly bolts for the trees, adrenaline already surging in her veins. She hates the feeling of being sick, and the thrum of anxiety in her chest does nothing to help quell the nausea as she forces herself to slow down, to maintain an awareness of her surroundings.

It’s quiet all around, not even a breeze to stir the branches. She steps carefully through the underbrush and the snow which obscures it, pushing deeper into the umbra of the forest. 

Normally, she would only go a few paces in, but Miguel and Joel are lingering close to the treeline, backs turned, and she doesn’t want them to hear. She blinks back a wash of tears in earnest now, born not of discomfort in particular, but some heady mixture of exhaustion and dismay. Hopefully this is just something she ate, and not truly the price she’s forced to pay for a modicum of exertion. Either way, she better get it out of her system now, because there’s no way Joel’s gonna let this one slide if he finds out. She takes half a second more to scan her surroundings as the inevitable looms, and then she doubles over and empties her stomach in wrenching heaves.

She hangs her head, wincing at the way the muscles beneath her ribs spasm and ache. It doesn’t hurt like something’s wrong, she’s pretty sure, but it still hurts . Setting her shoulder against the narrow trunk of an aspen, she waits for her treacherous stomach to decide if it’s done, and braces against a wave of dizziness that catches her broadside.

“Ellie?” Joel’s voice sounds distant beneath the rising hum.

“I’m fine,” she calls out hoarsely. Totally fucking fine.

She lifts her head, blinking as the world comes back into focus around her, only to lock eyes with the ravening gaze of an infected.

Her gun is up and leveled before the scream that tears from her lungs has a chance to echo in the still air. She’s aware of Joel and Miguel’s voices rising, the sound of them charging through the brush. Her finger tightens around the trigger, but she does not pull. She doesn’t know why she hesitates, except that—

It makes no move towards her. In fact, the runner raises its hands, slowly, as if in surrender. 

&&&

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