"So what's this town like?" I asked, tearing my eyes away to look out the window. "Besides having one bar."
"Pawhuska? Small. Real small. About 3,500 people, everyone knows everyone, gossip spreads faster than wildfire." She glanced at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Fair warning: people are gonna stare. You're already the talk of the town."
"How? I've been here one day."
"Exactly. The Sterling heir shows up at Jameson Ranch? That's news. Add in that you're young, single, and from Dallas, and you might as well be a celebrity sighting." She turned onto a wider road. "Just... don't let it get to you. Small town folk can be weird about outsiders, but they mean well. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"There's always a few assholes. Every town's got 'em. But most people are nice. Nosy as hell, but nice."
We drove through increasingly populated areas—still rural by Dallas standards, but with more houses, more cars, actual streetlights. Then we hit what was clearly "downtown"—a main street lined with old brick buildings, mom-and-pop shops, a diner with a buzzing neon sign, a bar (the infamous Rusty Spur, I assumed), and a general store.
And people. Lots of people. And every single one of them turned to look as we drove by.
"Jesus," I muttered, sliding down in my seat. "Are they always like this?"
"New person's exciting. Especially when that person is you." She pulled into a parking lot in front of a sprawling store with a sign that readMurdoch's Ranch & Home Supply. "Alright, Sterling. Ready to become a real cowboy?"
"I don't think clothes make the cowboy."
"No, but they help. Come on."
I followed her inside, and immediately felt like I’d stepped onto a different planet. The store was massive—rows and rows of everything from feed to fencing to actual saddles hanging on the walls. It smelled like leather and new denim and something vaguely animal-related. Everywhere I looked, there were people in boots and hats who definitely belonged here more than I did.
"Winnie Jameson!" A woman behind the counter lit up like a Christmas tree. "Haven't seen you in a week, girl!"
"Hey, Marie. Just here to stock up." Winnie gestured at me with her thumb. "This is Beau. He's helpin' out at the ranch this summer, needs some proper work clothes."
Marie's eyes went wide as saucers. "So you're the Sterling boy everyone's talkin' about."
"That’s me," I said, flashing my best charming smile and probably landing on awkward.
"Well, welcome to Pawhuska, honey. Let's get you sorted out." She came around the counter, all business, and started sizing me up with her eyes like she was measuring livestock. "You're a tall one. Probably a large in most shirts, 34/36 in jeans?"
"34/34, actually."
"Even better. Come on, let's start with the basics."
For the next forty-five minutes, Marie and Winnie treated me like a Ken doll. They pulled shirts and jeans and belts from racks while I stood there feeling like a very confused mannequin.
"Try these," Winnie said, handing me a stack of pearl-snap shirts in various colors—blues, greens, a red one, some plaid patterns.
"Pearl snaps?"
"It's a cowboy thing. Trust me, you'll like 'em. Plus they look good."
I took the stack to the fitting room (which was literally just a corner with a curtain) and tried on the first one—a dark blue with white snaps. It fit perfectly, snug across the shoulders and chest but not tight, and when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
I looked... like I belonged here. Or at least, like I was trying to.
"Let me see," Winnie called from outside.
I stepped out, and her eyebrows shot up. Her gaze did a slow sweep that made my skin prickle. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, that works."
"Works?"
"You look good. Like an actual ranch hand instead of a Dallas boy playin' dress-up." She walked around me, assessing the fit. "Get that one. And try the green one too."
