14H30
"The best way to keep a secret is to have two people who care more about each other than the truth."
– Unknown
***
Three weeks in, and I no longer flinched at the smell of horse manure.
This was either significant character development or a sign that my olfactory nerves had simply given up and died. Either way, Winnie would probably beat my ass with a riding crop if I complained about it again, so I’d learned to keep my mouth shut and breathe through my nose like a functional adult. (Which was, frankly, surprising even to myself.)
The expensive sandalwood soap I’d brought from Dallas? Completely overpowered byeau de ranch. I smelled like hay, sweat, and something vaguely horse-adjacent that no amount of showering could fully eliminate. My father would be horrified. Z would probably laugh himself sick.
But the weird thing? I was kind of okay with it.
People in town actually greeted me now. Not with the suspicious once-overs and whispered conversations from week one, but with actual "Hey, Beau!" and "How’s it goin'?" like I was a person instead of a curiosity. Earl at the feed store knew my coffee order (black, two sugars, to mask the taste of the burnt pot). Donna at the Rusty Spur saved me a seat when I wanted to nurse a beer and take the edge off the day. Even Mrs. Henderson had stopped calling me "that Sterling boy" and started calling me "Winnie’s friend," which felt like a promotion I wasn't entirely sure I deserved.
It was kind of nice, feeling like I almost belonged somewhere.
The imposter syndrome was still there—hovering in the background, reminding me I was a city boy playing cowboy in a costume—but at least the work was keeping me in shape. My gym gains were intact, possibly even improved by hauling feed sacks, and I could lift hay bales without wanting to die. Progress.
I still hadn't found my favorite hat, though. The black Stetson I’d lost in the meadow was gone for good, likely serving as a luxury condo for field mice. I hadn't brought myself to buy a new one because it felt like a betrayal. I was probably being dramatic, but drama was my baseline.
"Beau? You got a minute?"
I looked up from mucking Daisy’s stall to find Pops standing in the barn doorway. The afternoon sun backlit him, casting a long shadow, but even from here I could see his posture was off. He was leaning heavily on the door frame, his weight shifted entirely to his left leg. When he moved to step inside, I caught the tiniest wince tightening the corner of his eye—a flicker of pain he smoothed away instantly.
"Yeah, sure. What’s up?"
He glanced around the yard first, checking that Winnie wasn't within earshot. She was out in the south pasture fixing fence, probably a good twenty minutes away. I swear we had to repair a new section of fence every single day. I didn't know which horse kept running into it, but I was starting to suspect they were doing it on purpose just to mess with me.
"Need your help with somethin'. But I need you to keep it between us."
Immediately, my mind went to worst-case scenarios.Financial trouble? The IRS? A secret second family?"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
"I’m fine," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just got a bum knee actin' up and I don't want Winnie fussin' over me. She worries enough as it is." He gestured for me to follow. "Come on. Need help gettin' some things down from the attic. Used to do it myself, but these days... gravity ain't my friend."
He turned and started toward the house, and I noticed how carefully he was walking—not limping exactly, but favoring his right leg in a way that suggested pain he was trying desperately to hide. It reminded me of the way he'd moved after the trail ride, slow and stiff.
"When you say 'bum knee,'" I asked, falling into step beside him, "you mean actually injured, or just old-age stuff?"
"Bit of both. Had surgery on it a few years back after a bull decided I looked punchable. It’s mostly fine, but weather changes and heavy work make it flare up." He opened the back door. "Winnie will try to take on all the heavy liftin' herself if she thinks I’m hurtin', and she’s already doin' more than she should. Girl carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Don't need to add my aches and pains to the pile."
"So you're asking me to be your secret accomplice in old-man stubbornness?"
"Essentially, yeah."
I grinned. "I can do that."
The attic was accessed through a pull-down ladder in the upstairs hallway. Watching Pops eye it with obvious reluctance told me everything I needed to know about his knee situation. Climbing that thing was out of the question for him today.
"What are we getting?" I asked, reaching for the cord.
"Few boxes of decorations and some old photos," Pops said, leaning against the wall. "Elise is comin' to visit end of the month, and I wanted to get her room ready. Make it feel more like home."
I paused, halfway up the ladder, and looked down at him. "Wait. Who's Elise?"
"My daughter."
