He shook his head, mouth twisting. “Oregon. My parents didn’t like the farm, so they moved to Eugene. Didn’t last long after they found out I was…” He shrugged, like the rest didn’t need saying. “I left at sixteen. Been on my own ever since.”
He finished slicing, dumped the onions into the pot, and wiped his hands on a threadbare dish towel. I didn’t push, but he kept going, voice soft. “I worked every farm job there was—nurseries, dairies, tree-planting. Seasonal stuff. I’d rent a room, then lose it at the end of the summer. Bakery was my first steady job.”
I watched him, thinking about the way he’d cleaned the house, the way he handled himself around strangers, the wayhe never quite relaxed his shoulders, even now. “You must have picked up a lot.”
He snorted. “More than I ever wanted. But I like it. I like growing things.” He glanced out the window, rain streaking the glass. “Even when I didn’t have a place to grow them.”
I sipped coffee, staring at the rain. “You ever run a place this size?”
He shook his head, ponytail flicking. “No, but I know where I’d start. The fences on the east side are falling down. The pasture’s got goat-heads in it, which can kill a horse if you’re not careful. The barn’s okay, but you’ll want to check for black mold under the hayloft. I can help, if you want.”
I had to admit, he’d done his homework. Probably spent his nights pacing the property, cataloging every flaw. I respected that.
“I’ll want your help,” I said. “I’m not much of a farmer. My old man wouldn’t even let me near the garden.”
He smiled at that, a real one this time, and started cracking eggs into a cast-iron skillet. The scent was unreal—onion, pepper, a little bit of bacon from a slab I didn’t even remember buying.
“So what are you going to do with the place?” he asked.
I hesitated, the question bigger than it sounded. I hadn’t let myself think about it last night, not really. But here in the warm kitchen, with the storm outside, it seemed less like a threat and more like a challenge.
“I want to make it work,” I said, surprising myself with the honesty. “Not just flip it, or sell it off. I want to run cattle. Maybe take on mustangs. Restore it the way my granddad wanted.”
Jojo nodded like he understood, but the look in his eyes told me he knew how much work that meant. “You’ll need help. And not just with the fences.”
I glanced at him. “You offering?”
He blinked, then set the pan on the table between us. “Yeah. I mean, if you want. I could keep the books, too, or handle the garden. Or… whatever.”
I served myself, then slid the rest to him. “You can stay. If you want. I’ll pay you.”
He stared at me, eggs half-lifted to his mouth, and for a second, I thought he was going to cry. Instead, he just nodded, then wolfed the food like it might vanish if he waited too long.
We ate in silence for a while. I made another pot of coffee. He cleaned up as soon as he was finished, moving with efficiency and purpose. I watched him from the window, noting the careful way he lined up the dish soap and scrubbed the sink.
I realized, suddenly, that I didn’t want him to leave, not just because he was useful, but because the house felt less empty with him in it.
He wiped his hands, then glanced at me. “Do you want me to move my stuff out of the little room? I can find another place to sleep.”
I frowned. “Why would you?”
He hesitated, biting his lower lip. “Most people don’t like omegas in the main house.”
I snorted, then fixed him with a look. “I’m not most people, Jojo.”
He blushed, a hot pink rising to his cheeks. “Okay.”
I took a breath, feeling a strange tangle in my chest—something between pride and protectiveness. It caught me off guard, and I covered it with a question. “You ever ride a horse?”
He shook his head, eyes wide. “I always wanted to, though.”
“Come on,” I said, grabbing my boots. “You’re about to learn.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the clouds still hung heavy over the pastures. I saddled up one of the horses, the only one gentle enough for a beginner, then led it out to the yard. Jojowatched, arms wrapped tight around his chest, but didn’t flinch when I handed him the reins.
“Climb up,” I said.
He did, awkward, but game, and nearly toppled off before I steadied him with a hand on his thigh. He went rigid, and the scent in the air shifted—nervous, sweet, and something that made my own pulse pick up. I kept my hand there longer than necessary, then let go, feeling heat rise in my own face.
