Noon hit like a hammer. I’d shoved sandwiches at him on the porch because watching him unravel was starting to feel like my new hobby.
He still hadn’t put the shirt back on. Sat there inhaling ham and cheese, oblivious to the way sunlight hit the sweat still drying on his shoulders. Or the faint manure smear on his collarbone. Or how he somehow looked less like a billionaire and more like... one of us.
"You good?" I asked, forcing my eyes to my own plate before the silence turned awkward.
"Define ‘good.’" He flexed one arm experimentally and winced. "Every muscle’s plotting revenge. Might need a forklift tomorrow."
"You did solid work this mornin’."
He froze mid-bite, eyes going wide. "For real?"
"For real. Thought you’d quit after stall one."
That grin hit again—the unfiltered one. Lit up his whole face, chased off the exhaustion. "Thanks, Winnie. Means somethin’."
I shrugged, staring out at the pasture like it held the secrets of the universe. "Don’t let it swell your head. Afternoon chores wait for no man. And they suck worse."
"Figured." He stretched, arms over his head—a long, lazy move that pulled everything tight. I focused very hard on my pickle spear.
Needed to remember: This was Beau Sterling. Trust-fund kid playing cowboy. The same scrawny twelve-year-old who’d cried over cow pies, asked if chickens laid "surprise eggs," and followed me around like I had all the answers. Gone by fall, back to Dallas penthouses and whatever rich-people problems waited there.
Not my circus. Not my shirtless monkeys.
"Break’s over," I said, standing fast. "Time to learn saddlin’."
He groaned but hauled himself up, snagging the shirt without putting it on. Trailed me to the barn, boots crunching gravel. "In Dallas, breaks are, like, an hour. With AC."
"You ain’t in Dallas, princess."
"Yeah." He paused in the barn door, squinting out at the endless fields. Voice quieter. "Noticed that."
Something hung in the air—wistful, almost. Like he’d meant more than the heat. But he shook it off, flashed a quick grin when he caught me looking, and ducked inside.
This summer was gonna test me, that was for damn sure.
Part of me—the petty, grudge-holding part—was ready for it.
The other part? The one remembering a wide-eyed kid who tried anyway?
Might even be looking forward to watching him try again.
Just a little.
BEAU
In which I learn that everything hurts
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
14H30
I guess I was wrong when I said to myself / I never would become that man from a town full of losers / But I guess that's why they call it fallin' in love"
– Garth Brooks
***
I was going to die in Oklahoma.
