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A man popped up from behind one of the pews near the front, holding a box of what looked like old hymnals. He was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with sandy hair that needed a trim and the kind of easy, open face that made you feel like you’d known him longer than you had. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, not a lick of the stiff collar or black getup I’d always pictured on preachers.

“Well, hey there,” he said, setting the box down on the pew and making his way toward me with his hand already extended. “Didn’t expect anybody to wander in on a Tuesday. I’m Pastor Mike.”

“Westley Gilderoy,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, easy, nothing fussy about it.

“Gilderoy,” he repeated, like he was turning the name over in his head. “That wouldn’t happen to be any relation to James Gilderoy would it? I think he owns a ranch outside of town.”

“That’d be my daddy’s place,” I said, feeling my jaw tighten just talking about it. “Though I ain’t exactly welcome there right now.”

Mike’s eyebrows lifted slightly, curious, but he didn’t push. “I see. Well, what can I do for you, Westley?”

“Actually,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, “I was hoping it might be the other way around. Dolly mentioned you were lookin’ for some help around here. Fixin’ things up, keepin’ the grounds in order. I ain’t much of a handyman, but I can mow a lawn and haul just about anything you need hauled. I just... I need work. And I figured this was as good a place as any to start.”

He studied me for a moment, and I braced myself for questions I didn’t want to answer. About why a rancher’s son needed work at all, about what had happened to put me in this position. But he just smiled in that easy genuine way that eased some of the tightness in my chest.

“You believe in good timing, Westley?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” I admitted.

He laughed at that, a real laugh, warm and unbothered. “Fair enough. But I’ve got a leaky roof over the fellowship hall since the tornado went through, grass that’s about knee-high out back, and a fence around the cemetery that’s been fixin’ to fall over since before I got here. I could use an extra set of hands around this place more than I could use somebody’s charity donation, if I’m honest. When can you start?”

“Today, if you need me to.”

“Today works just fine.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, steering me back out toward the door. “Come on, let me show you around before you commit to anything. Wouldn’t want you signing up for more than you bargained for.”

We stepped back out into the sun, and he walked me around the side of the building, pointing out the fellowship hall with its water-stained ceiling tiles, the old shed out back that was more spiderwebs than storage space, and an old fence leaning so badly it was a miracle it was still standing. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was work, and I felt myself feeling more and more relieved as he listed things off.

“And over here,” Mike said, leading me around toward a little house set back behind the church, “is the parsonage house I live at for the moment, which I could use some help with too when you’re done with the rest. Cash!” he called out toward the porch. “Come meet somebody!”

The screen door swung open, and a man stepped out onto the porch, tall and lean, wearing a cowboy hat and boots that looked like they’d seen plenty of real work. He had an easy, loping walk as he came down the steps, and when he got close enough, Mike’s arm slid around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“This is Cash,” Mike said, beaming. “My partner. Cash, this is Westley. He’s gonna help us get this place back in shape.”

I stood there for a second, my brain scrambling to catch up with what I was seeing. Two men, standing there together, easy as anything, Mike’s hand resting on Cash’s hip like he’d done it a thousand times before. In Sagebrush. At the church. With the pastor.

“Nice to meet you,” Cash said, sticking his hand out toward me, seemingly unbothered by whatever expression must have been plastered across my face.

I shook his hand on reflex, my mind still stumbling over itself. “Yeah,” I managed. “You too.”

I’d lived in Sagebrush my whole life. Twenty-five years, and I’d never once known there was a couple like this living right here, tending the church, no less. I didn’t know what to do with that information, only that it sat strange and heavy in my stomach, tangled up with everything else that had been churning around in there since that morning I woke up with my arm wrapped around Rhett.

“We sure could use the help around here,” Cash continued, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Mike works here in town during the day, but at night we’re rebuilding the house out on my family’s ranch. It got blown down in the tornado this spring and it’s takin’ a while to get it done by ourselves.”

“Right,” I nodded stupidly. “Makes sense.”

They were quiet for a moment before Mike couldn’t hold it back anymore. “You’re surprised by the partner thing, huh?” he asked, seemingly unworried.

“S-Sorry,” I managed, shaking my head. “I don’t have a problem with it or anything, I just… I’m surprised is all. I didn’t know there were…” I paused, searching for the right word.

“Gays in Sagebrush?” Cash offered.

“Y-Yeah.”

“You ain’t had your eyes open then,” he replied. “There’s a lot more than just us two.”

Cash’s grin widened at whatever expression must have still been sitting on my face, and Mike just laughed, easy as anything, like this kind of conversation happened to him every other day.

“Don’t mind him,” Mike said, giving Cash a little nudge with his elbow. “He likes to see people squirm a bit before he lets ‘em off the hook.”