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hailthegodsong · 3 months ago

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HIGH RIFT PLAINS: Chapter 1

Word Count: 10.4k+

𓄀 A/N: Well! Here it is! This first chapter is maybe a little boring for some but I promise the next chapter it picks up with some smut and drama and stuff. I was suuuuuper nervous to post this so I hope you like my rendition of sexy cowboy jake

𓄀 Content Warnings: Mentions of loneliness, petty theft, mentions of deceased family, depictions of prostitution, thats about it folks!

Somewhere in Montana, May 1875

𓄀

The sun hung low in the vast, cloudless sky, casting a burnt orange glow over the rolling plains that reached far into the distance, vanishing softly into the horizon. Jake adjusted his hat, pulling the brim lower to shield his eyes from the glare and his skin from the sun.

His horse, a bay mare named Bessie, moved at a slow, steady pace beneath him, hooves crunching against the dry, dusty trail. The wind was a mere whisper, stirring up occasional flurries of dust, but otherwise, the world around him was eerily still.

He'd been riding for hours, and his hips and legs ached against the steady rhythm of the saddle. In the distance, there was no sign of life and no movement apart from the sway of grass, and it had been like that since he’d set off from the last town.

But Jake liked it that way. He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no reason to be, not out there. As a traveller and a salesman, he was used to days like this, where the journey seemed endless, and towns were few and far between.

He patted the side of his saddlebag, feeling the weight of his goods, pistols, gun parts, tools, and the gun oil that he always managed to sell to the more gullible folk.

“Folks never know what they need 'til you show 'em what they can’t live without,” he muttered under his breath, the words from his father a familiar mantra.

Bessie huffed softly, as if in agreement, her ears twitching at the sound of his voice. Jake gave her a light squeeze with his heels, and she picked up the pace just a little. Somewhere out there was another town, a handful of ranches maybe, people he could talk to and trade with. He knew he was bound to find something soon, even if it was just a place to rest his head for the night.

𓄀

Finally, after what felt like days, but was only a few more eventless hours, Bessie reached a crest in the plains, revealing the faint outlines of buildings in the distance. A town, he realised and his lips curled into a half smile at the sight.

He loosened his grip on the reins, giving Bessie the signal to descend the slope at a leisurely pace, her hooves kicking up large gusting clouds of dust as they neared the town’s edge.

As the beaten track slowly turned into a recognisable gravel road, he looked around, wondering if this town was a quiet, unassuming place, just like all the others he’d passed through.

But that was just how he liked it— a town so small that folks relied on his services to maintain their inventory. He always liked to see how isolation had changed a town, letting them develop their own perks and customs different to the last.

As he neared the main street though, the town slowly came to life. Wooden buildings with sagging porches lined the road, their paint faded and cracked. A blacksmith’s shop clanged with the sound of hammer on iron, while a handful of vendors peddled their goods from stalls.

Women in bonnets hurried along the boardwalks, baskets full of vegetables or cloth, their eyes darting to him for a moment before they returned to their business. Men leaned against posts or sat outside shopfronts, nursing afternoon beers, their conversations fading to murmurs as they watched him pass.

His gaze swept the scene as he took in every detail, watching as the roughened hands of local shopkeepers sorted through their wooden artefacts, neatly setting them up to attract potential buyers.

There was opportunity here, he could tell. These were people who worked hard and needed the things he had to sell. If he played his cards right, he could sell them just about everything he had.

Intrigued, he continued down the trodden path and further into what looked like the farmers markets, perched high on his horse as he peered down at the locals.

Some men sold crops, grain and other farmed materials, while others sold their metal trinkets, varying from fire pokers to long rusted chimney pipes. There were women who held their own stalls too, mostly all selling cloth, bedsheets, and intricately embroidered materials.

One woman though, he noted, was perched by a stall that seemed to be selling just about everything. Wild rags, fresh vegetables, leather riding boots, broad brimmed hats, jars upon jars of milk, and more that he couldn't see past the mess of the stall beside her.

You were speaking to a frequent buyer when he noticed you, giving him the allusion that you didn't know he was there. But you had been watching him since he approached the markets, immediately recognising that he was not from around these parts, and kept a wary eye out for him in suspicion.

He only paused for a moment to eye you and your products, briefly inspecting the variety of jams you had stacked by the floor, but did not linger for too long before he gently tapped Bessies side with his foot, continuing his walk onward.

Once he reached the first saloon he could find, Jake swung off his horse, quick to stretch out the tightness in his thighs, and he stroked away the flies that clung to Bessie's side, her skin twitching at the feeling. He wandered around her, taking her by the reins and eyeing the dirty area down for a hitching rail.

He felt anxious tying her up by the other horses, not yet comfortable enough with the locals to trust that they wouldn’t steal her. He had done his research though, and this state, like many others, outlawed horse stealing as a crime punishable by death. But he was smart enough to know that the law didn't stop many.

Alas, he tied her up reluctantly, just like he always did, muttering a quiet prayer under his breath to keep her safe. He used the knot his father had taught him, one that most people did not know how to undo. Jake knew Bessie was a loyal girl anyway, a loud girl too, and if anyone tried to take her, he would know.

An old man with wild, wiry, white hair and an auburn leather hat over his head sat on the steps outside the saloon, watching him as he left the bay. Jake noted the leather chaps on his thighs, and the orange dust that coated his face from a day of riding. Jake gave him a nod, the kind that was polite but not too familiar, and although recognising his gesture, the older man looked away.

Ignoring the disrespect and returning his attention to the saloon, Jake listened as the tune of a piano filtered out the swinging doors. As he stepped in, he let his senses overwhelm him, glasses clinked in cheers and loud conversation echoed in the acoustics of the room. Further down, men sat perched at the bar, swaying in their drunken haze despite the early hours of the afternoon.

This was the kind of place where the townsmen gathered after a long day to let loose— and to loosen their purse strings in the process. He'd ply his relationships here first, getting to know the men and making a name for himself, and set out into the marketplace in the morrow.

Slipping onto one of the wooden barstools, Jake hailed down the bartender, ordering a whisky neat and sliding the coins over the table, the movements done so often that they had become automatic.

“M’names Raymond,” the man beside him introduced, a slur accompanying his unmistakable accent, “But you can call me Ray.”

He outstretched his dirt covered hand, indicating he'd had a long day on a ranch somewhere, and Jake took it politely, shaking firm.

“Jacob,” he replied, keeping his hat tipped low as he sipped at the drink before him. “S’ nice to meet ‘chu.”

“Likewise. You new to town? I aint seen you ‘round here ‘fore,” he questioned, nursing his beer in his thick hands, thumb swiping at the condensation that had gathered on the glass.

“Yes sir. Only stayin’ for a couple’a months. Here to sell some tools and such,” Jake explained, hoping to get his market into discussion amongst the local men.

“Ah, a nomad then?”

Jake tilted his head at the label, “Of sorts.”

He grunted, “And where’re you finding a pillow to rest your head?” As Jake's gaze travelled high in thought, Ray spoke again, “You know… we’ve got some lovely ladies in town that’d keep you for a night at not too bad a price,” he advised, gesturing to the back corner of the bar.

Jake leaned forward only slightly, peering into the dark corner of the bar, only illuminated by a single kerosene lamp, where a man sat by the piano, his fingers dancing over the keys in a fluid motion.

Ray was clearly not referring to the pianist though, as Jake's eyes assessed the scarcely dressed women who flaunted themselves upon the men who sat nearby.

Jake barked out a laugh, “Careful, you’re sounding much like a procurer.”

But when Jaked looked back at Ray, he found that his eyes were lust taken as the ladies bent over, necks exposed as they threw their heads back in laughter, showing off the deep crevice between their breasts.

Jake ticked his tongue, “Don’t be fooled by women o’ such, Ray,” he patted his back, “They just want their pretty penny by the end of the night.”

Ray turned back to Jake, grunting as he swung back the rest of his beer and shouted at the bartender to pour him another. Jake took his chance, knowing that Ray was on the cusp of being too drunk to be coherent, and drunk enough to fall for the temptations of gullibility.

Maybe it was wrong, immoral, but Jake didn’t care. Everyone knew that the truth only got you so far.

“Say, you have much use for guns, Ray?” Jake asked, leaning slightly closer to him.

“O’course I do. I’m a farmer.”

As Jake opened his mouth to make a proposition, and perhaps his first sale in town, Ray spoke again.

“But I won’t have any need for any if ye’r tryna’ sell me some. Could’n’ afford it. I can barely make my way as is. Hardly made a dollars profit this season,” he explained, and Jake frowned in sympathy. “But I’ll be sure to spread your name, Jacob. No use in the two of us scraping by.”

Jake briefly mourned the loss of the potential customer, but was reassured by his promise. Word of mouth truly was the best form of advertisement.

“Why’s that? Farm and what not’s good out here, aint it?” Jake asked, abandoning his sales approach completely.

“Usually, yes. But some’fin happened last season and none o’ ma crops made it through the summer. Er’one else's did, so I dunno what the shit happened to mine. ‘S turned me into a filthy criminal, it has,” he barked out a laugh, though Jake could tell he was far from happy, only masking the pain and stress of financial struggles beneath his humour and booze.

Filthy criminal? Jake thought, not quite understanding the meaning behind Ray's insinuation, but mostly attributed his incoherency to the alcohol pooling in his gut.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck Raymond, I truly do,” Jake patted his back in sympathy. “Now, where can I find a place to sleep ‘round here? ‘Part from the beds of those fine ladies, ‘course,” Jake asked, smirking.

“Well, this old place ain't just a saloon, it’s a tavern too. S’ got beds upstairs for travellers like yourself,” he explained, and Jake peered up at the ceiling and pursed his lips.

“Should do for a coupl’a nights ‘til I find a place more permanent. I’m hopin’ I can help around a ranch or some’fin like that in exchange for a place to stay,” Jake explained.

“Well I wish you luck too then. Not too many people ‘round these parts would be willin’ to let some cowboy shack up in their place.”

Jake tipped back the rest of his drink and stood from his seat, “Well it’s a good thing I aint a cowboy, then isn't it?” he said with a smirk.

Once Jake had left the saloon and untied Bessie from the wooden post, he settled into her saddle and spent the rest of the day exploring the new town. The leather saddle creaked under him as he adjusted his weight, feeling the familiar comfort of the practice despite the long hours.

As they ambled through the streets, Jake marvelled at the town’s size. It was bigger than any he had come across before. The perimeters stretched out far beyond what he was used to, with sprawling neighbourhoods and a network of roads that hinted at a prosperous community.

He travelled across those dirt paths to explore the ranches nearby, assessing the homes and wealth of the locals. Every market, shop and farm he had come across seemed abundant in supplies, thriving in their economy.

His thoughts turned to his own business, and he hoped that amidst the prosperity, the town might be lacking in gun makers, an opportunity he could potentially exploit. The thought gave him a small thrill, imagining the possibilities if he could tap into a market where his skills were in high demand.

By nightfall, Jake made his way back to the tavern where he had decided to stay. He paid for two nights’ accommodation, hoping that in the morning he might find a more permanent place to rest. The tavern was cosy, with the warm glow of lanterns casting a welcoming light over the wooden interior. Jake felt a sense of satisfaction as he settled in for the night, the day's adventures already weaving their way into his thoughts.

For dinner, he enjoyed a hearty steak served by a small front next door. Afterward, he tended to Bessie, making sure she was settled in a nearby stable with plenty of feed and water. And then he got some well needed rest.

𓄀

The next day, Jake spent his time scouring for customers, hopping off Bessie to speak with men on the streets who looked like the kind he usually struck deals with. The sun was already climbing high in the sky, beating down relentlessly, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. His eyes scanned every passerby with sharp focus, weighing his options. He knew his clientele well, their hardened faces, the way they glanced over their shoulders, or the worn leather of their holsters were often all he needed to know he’d found a potential buyer.

Throughout the day, he managed to score three sales, each one giving him a surge of satisfaction. Most were trades— spare parts, bits of hardware that were hard to come by in areas like this— but he took particular pride in his bartering, always able to coax a better deal out of his customers.

Still, there was one transaction in particular that stuck with him. He’d sold a shiny new Samuel Colt pistol for fourteen dollars, one he’d only bought a week ago for far less. The gleam of the gun had been an easy selling point, its craftsmanship speaking for itself, but Jake’s way with words sealed the deal. The man had been eager to take it, and Jake had walked away with his pockets a little heavier, a satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

By the time the sun began to lower, casting long shadows over the street, Jake was feeling good about the day’s success. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the cool breeze that had begun to stir offering a much needed reprieve from the heat. He patted Bessie’s side, tying her up in a shaded spot near a saloon where she’d be safe, before turning his attention back to the town around him.

The noise picked up increasingly as Jake made his way deeper into the market, the hum of voices and the clang of metal and wood surrounding him. Stalls were bustling with people, haggling over prices and inspecting goods with careful eyes.

He scoffed when he passed one particular booth, its shelves lined with second-hand boots. Everyone knew wearing someone's old boots was a sure way to invite bad luck into your life, and Jake wasn’t about to tempt fate, especially not with something as personal as someone's shoes. They held the miles of another man's journey, the hardships, and the wear. Better to leave those stories to someone else.

As he moved on, something shiny caught his eye. A flash of silver among a sea of worn leather and dusty trinkets. His pace slowed, and his curiosity got the better of him. He neared the stall, his gaze locking onto the object that had drawn his attention: a silver belt buckle, gleaming in the light. The craftsmanship was intricate, far more refined than the other items scattered around it.

Jake reached out, taking the buckle between his fingers, the cool metal sending a slight chill through his skin. He rubbed the front of it with the pad of his thumb, feeling the smooth surface give way to the detailed engravings. The buckle was flat and rectangular, but its simplicity was offset by the fine, almost mesmerising, designs etched into it. Patterns swirled along the edges, delicate and precise, and at its centre, the maker had carved a scene of a horse and rider, frozen in mid gallop.

He looked up at the seller, who was sitting by a table, etching illustrations into pieces of metal by lightly knocking a thin chisel with a hammer.

“Excuse me?” he called out, and the worker paused to look at him.

“What is it, boy?” he asked, and Jake shifted at the name, noting that the man owning the store looked only a mere few years older than he.

“How much for this buckle?” Jake asked, holding the piece up to show him.

The owner squinted at the piece, “Ah, that one goes for two dollars.”

Pricy, Jake thought. “Can you do a dollar fifty?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Jake, “A dollar and three quarters,” he corrected.

“I’ll take it,” Jake decided, shoving his hand deep into the denim of his pockets and retrieving the currency. “Thank you kind sir,” Jake said as he took the buckle, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.

The man tipped his hat at him, taking the money and returning to his carving work.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Jake's pace quickened when the hardware appliances began to morph into fruits, vegetables and domestic items, as his eyes began to scan the markets in search for one stall in particular.

Women called out to him from where they stood, offering their goods with a flutter of their lashes, and Jake merely smiled and moved on, no longer falling for flirtation as a lure to empty his money belt.

His thumbs hooked into the folds of his pockets as he listened to the lively sounds of chattering and banter. The scent of fresh bread and dried herbs mingled with the tang of leather and livestock, and Jake tried his best to shake away the feeling of comfort and nostalgia this town gave him.

He found your stall easily, the voluminous selection of goods you were selling standing out against every other item being sold in the markets. He approached the stall, this time able to stop and assess your produce, assess you.

But to his confusion, you were nowhere to be seen, and your abundance of inventory seemed to be left completely unattended.

He let his eyes scan over everything you had to sell, from the domestic goods like linens, bed sheets and socks, to the vast amount of produce you were selling. Rich colours of vegetables stood out amongst your market table, paper sacks of lentils below.

As Jake walked around the sides of your shop, he eyed the leather straps and metal horse bits you sold, all seemingly new and handmade. By the back of the stall, baked loaves of bread were perched on wooden slabs, along with jars upon jars of jam. Multi coloured bandanas were strewn along the table cloth around the perimeter of the shop, and Jake's brows shot up in astonishment of your inventory.

Curiously, he looked around the area in search of you, only just remembering what your face looked like from his brief look the day before. He spotted the head of your long hair from beneath and behind the counter. He wearily leaned over in confusion, and found you bare footed and crouched on the dirt, washing tomatoes in a bucket of clear water.

He smirked at the sight and cleared his throat to get your attention, “S’cuse me Ma’am?” he added, gaining your attention from below. You dropped the tomatoes into the bucket of water and stood, meeting your customer at eye level while you smoothed your creased dress with your wet hands.

“How can I help you?” you asked.

Jake grabbed a random kerchief from your table, “How much for a wild rag?” he asked with a smile.

“Ten cents each.”

Surprise graced his features at how cheap you were selling them for. To his dismay, you quickly returned to your work, not sparing him another moment before picking up the tomatoes from the bucket below and bringing them to a wooden workbench where you dried them with a cotton dish rag.

Not used to receiving such little attention, Jake called for you again, his voice carrying hints of nerves and uncertainty.

“When were these harvested?” he asked, lifting up the first vegetable he could see, which happened to be a zucchini.

You merely glanced at him and the vegetable before answering, “‘Bout a week ago.”

Jake frowned as you refocused on your work. He had never been denied the attention of a lady like this, especially not one who was selling to him. He was suddenly a young boy again, fighting for the attention of the prettiest girl in town.

Huffing, he watched as you worked away, consumed by your task and occasionally tucking hair from your fringe behind your ears.

You were a very fair lady, Jake thought, and maybe that was why you didn't care much for his attention. Maybe you were too used to being proposed to by local suitors and were numbed to the repetitive form of flirtations they administered. Or maybe you were already married.

In desperation, he found himself eagerly trying to spot a ring on your finger, even nearly outright asking you of your status as your hands moved too quickly for him to see. He reprimanded himself at the thought, reminding himself of what he was truly here for.

He wasn't here to get distracted, he needed to focus on making money, selling parts, and getting out of town, the weight of his goods replaced by gold.

Deciding it was time to go, and to stop lingering by your store like a pervert, Jake bought two zucchinis and a dark brown wild rag from you, happily sliding his fare across the table in your direction before he made his return to the tavern.

𓄀

The next day, Jake was restless, flying through his meetings with gun buyers in hopes to make connections, but unable to stop thinking about you.

It bothered him so that you paid him close to no mind, and he had found himself tossing and turning all night at the plaguing thought.

Once he deemed his day of work done, he hastily returned to the markets, this time with much more fervour.

Once he made out your silhouette in the distance, again standing by your workbench and wiping vegetables down with a cloth, he straightened his shoulders and fixed his hair. He made sure his hat was on straight and his collar was flat against his chest before slowing his pace to a leisurely walk.

He sauntered up to your station, making brief eye contact with you, and frowning when you paid him no mind, once again.

“Hello, again,” he greeted, a charming smile on his face.

You peered up at him, squinting as the late sun shone from behind him, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” You tried not to smile at the look of offence on his face, of course you remembered him.

He cleared his throat and raised his chin, “Yes I… bought a wild rag and some zucchinis from you yesterday,” he explained, trying to rejog your memory, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as the obscure purchase left his lips.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” you said simply, before leaving him to return to your work of cutting square pieces of fabric to place over your jam lids.

Shaking off the rejection like an annoying fly, he moved around the edge of the table, finding a position closer to you, trying his best to insert himself into your line of sight. His eyes flew over the cabbages you had on this table, and he leant his hip against the wooden slab casually.

“Would you mind not leaning on that? The table is very fragile,” you advised, watching as it shook under the weight of his hip.

He quickly pulled himself off and rubbed the heel of his palm against his brow, “Yes, sorry.” He wiped an invisible layer of dust off the table to keep his hands occupied, sucking in a deep breath.

Jake's resolve was getting worse with every word you spoke to him, giving him mere breadcrumbs as he shamelessly begged for your attention.

“Well uh, you’ve got quite the selection here… you make all this by yourself, or you got someone back home helpin’ you out?” he asked smugly, biting his lip as he awaited a response.

You weren't stupid, and you could tell that this was his attempt at wooing you, first scoping your status to ensure you weren't married before he flirted with you. As if he hadn’t already been doing so.

“No, only me,” you explained, eyes trained on your task as Jake hummed at your response.

Movement caught your eye from behind him, and you glanced up to see a man shovelling tomatoes from your table into a sack, clearly intent on not paying his fare.

“Hey!” you shouted.

Jake turned and spotted the man at the same time you did, who was now spinning on his heel to run, realising he had been caught. Without a moment's hesitation, Jake’s feet sprang into action, and he bolted after the man, kicking up dust as he sprinted through the street.

You watched him go, hearing the faint jingle of his necklaces and other small trinkets bouncing and clattering as he ran. The sight of him giving it everything, all to catch a tomato thief of all things, brought a small laugh to your lips.

It was hard not to find it amusing. This man, with all his intensity, was chasing after someone who’d managed to swipe only a handful of tomatoes. It wasn’t as if it would put you out of business.

You knew it, and he likely did too. Still, something in him wouldn’t let it go.

Jake’s long strides ate up the ground beneath him, his muscles coiled tight as adrenaline surged through his veins. His focus was unbreakable, his eyes locked on the back of the man’s jacket, watching him weave and dart between the townsfolk.

Every step seemed heavier than the last as his boots thudded against the dirt street, dust flying up with every pounding footfall. His breath came through clenched teeth, harsh and rhythmic, fueling his pursuit.

The commotion began to stir the crowd. People exclaimed in surprise as they whizzed by, a blur of frantic energy cutting through the town. Conversations halted, and baskets were dropped as a makeshift path opened up for the chase, townspeople scrambling to get out of the way, nobody wanting to get caught up in the chaos.

The thief, quick as he was, couldn’t shake Jake. His frantic, erratic movements only seemed to fuel Jake's determination.

Jake’s breath came in short bursts, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he closed the distance. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, blocking out everything but the sight of the man just inches ahead of him.

Finally, Jake lunged, his outstretched hand catching the thief’s left shoulder. The impact sent both of them crashing to the ground in a heap, dust rising in a cloud around them.

Jake hit the dirt hard, rolling onto his back with a low grunt, struggling to catch his breath. He lay there for a moment, his thumb pressed into his sternum as he tried to force the air back into his lungs, the wind having been completely knocked out of him.

As his breath finally returned in ragged gasps, he let his hand fall away from his chest, only to grimace at the sight that greeted him. A tomato had been squashed between him and the ground during the fall, leaving a wide, red stain smeared across the front of his white cotton shirt. He sighed, lazily wiping at the mess, chunks of tomato peeling off him and falling onto the ground like sad little remnants of the chase.

The thief, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble, scrambled to his feet, abandoning the sack of stolen goods in his haste. He threw one last look over his shoulder, a mix of disbelief and fear on his face, as if Jake had lost his mind for caring so much about a few tomatoes. Without another word, the thief disappeared into the crowd, vanishing between stalls and onlookers.

Jake groaned as he slowly pushed himself up, dusting off his pants with one hand while the other scooped up the abandoned sack. The orange dirt clung to his clothes, and as much as he tried to wipe it off, it seemed permanent as an attestment to his fall.

His body felt heavy with the effort, each step back toward you a little slower, a little more laboured.

The townspeople, who had been watching the whole affair, now stared at him with a mixture of judgement and curiosity. Jake pressed his lips together into a thin line, the heat rising in his cheeks, but he kept his head high. He tipped his hat at a few of the more bold onlookers, silently daring them to say something. They didn’t.

But all of it, the run, the fall, the ruined shirt, was worth it when he spotted you standing at your stall, watching him with amusement dancing in your eyes, biting your lip to hold back your laughter.

His heart lifted a little despite himself, and he felt a flush creep up his neck as he approached, still clutching the sack. With a sheepish grin, he tipped the small bag of tomatoes onto your table. He hadn’t realised how few there were until that moment. Just two sad-looking tomatoes looked back up at you both.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Well, it would’a been three if one of ‘em hadn’t burst on my shirt,” he joked, glancing down at the red stain spreading across his front.

You giggled at the sight of him, his proud form now covered in tomato juice, and gave him a grateful smile. "Well, thank you for your effort nonetheless. Whether it’s two tomatoes or ten, I sure do appreciate it."

He straightened up a little, puffing out his chest. "Well, it’s poor taste to steal from a lady,” he said proudly, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow at him, folding your arms over your chest. "Oh? But you’d steal from a man, would ya?"

Jake cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his face as he licked his lips. “Well, I didn’t say that, now did I?”

You bit your cheek to stop from smiling too wide, your intrigue growing with each word he spoke. There was something about this man, with his easy charm and recklessness, that had a way of pulling you in. And you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you wanted to see what else there was to discover beneath that dusty exterior.

“Nightfall is near, so I’m due to close up. If you follow me back to my ranch I can get your shirt cleaned up,” you offered, feeling indebted to him for his efforts.

“And who says I can’t clean it myself?” he challenged, testing your intentions.

“As far as I’m aware, there ain't no running water inside that ol’ tavern,” you rebutted, beginning to pack away your things into baskets and sacks, before placing them onto your wooden supply cart.

“Is that so? And what makes you think I’m staying at the tavern tonight?” he questioned, following you around the edge of the table.

You kept your eyes trained to your produce as you spoke, “Word travels fast ‘round these parts, Jacob.”

Startled, Jake smiled with intrigue. His ears heated at the fact that you knew his name, and something else heated at the sound of you saying it.

“Well, you can call me Jake, if you like. It’s nice to meet you,” he introduced, removing his leather hat and pressing it against his chest politely. You looked up at him with a small smile, and returned the gesture by introducing yourself.

Jake repeated your name, as if to see how the word tasted on his tongue.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he complimented. “I might just take you up on your offer, d’you need a hand packing anything away?” he asked.

“Yes actually, if you could lift the sacks of lentils on the cart, they’re a bit too heavy for me.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as Jake got to work lugging the heavier items onto your cart, leaving you to wrap up everything else in the meantime. With two sets of hands, the pack up was far quicker than expected, and soon you were both walking to retrieve your horses from the hitching rail.

“You have a beautiful mare,” you complimented, watching as he skillfully untied her ropes from the fencepost.

“Thank you, her name is Bessie. She’s a good girl,” he said, giving her a firm pat on her behind. She huffed and leaned her head down and to the side, directly beside his. He began to stroke her nose and she blew through her nose in affection.

“This is Buck,” you said, unlooping his rope and walking him over to Jake, and you stifled a laugh when Buck's hoofs kicked up dirt onto Jake's boots.

Jake took in the sight of him. He was slightly smaller than Bessie, and his red dun coat shone in the last lights of the day.

“He’s gorgeous,” Jake admired. “I like what you’ve done here,” he complimented, waving his hand over the braids you had weaved into his brown mane.

“Thank you,” you replied as you both walked your horses by their ropes away from the hitching rail and back towards your stall, “He is a good boy too, but he can get a bit anxious at times. Calms him down when I play with his hair," you explained.

You attached the rear saddle straps onto the wagon and buckled the belts tightly, tying them in knots for good measure.

“Alright,” you stated, clutching onto the horn of the saddle and slipping your food into the left stirrup. Bracing yourself, you heaved your body up with a groan, swinging your leg over Buck's back and plopping onto the saddle. The leather creaked under your weight, and you adjusted your position, making sure you were secure before giving Buck a gentle nudge.

Jake did the same, but with much more ease and fluidity. His movements were smooth and practised, a stark contrast to your own somewhat awkward effort despite the fact that you rode every day. You attributed your disadvantage to the layers of skirts you wore. He swung up onto his saddle with a natural grace that spoke of a lifetime spent on the horse. Once settled, he followed you as you walked off, your horses’ hooves crunching softly on the packed dirt road.

The ride was mostly silent, a comfortable quiet that stretched between you, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant call of a bird. You could feel Jake’s gaze occasionally shifting toward you from your right, but you kept your gaze forward, focusing on the path ahead. There was something about his attention that made you feel self conscious, though you couldn’t quite place why.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky now, casting a warm, golden light that made the world seem to glow. Your shadows grew longer, stretching out in front of you and bobbing with you as you bounced each step your stallion took. You sighed contentedly, savouring the feeling of the warmth on your back. It was a pleasant end to the day, the kind of simple pleasure that made the long hours worth it.

As you approached the ranch, Jake’s eyes scanned the area, taking in the sights with a careful look. His gaze swept over the landscape, noting the sprawling cropland and the various outbuildings that marked your home. It was clear that he was observing everything with a keen interest, absorbing the surroundings as if they might offer some insight into your life here.

Ahead, he could see your home. A subtle, but respectable building, made mostly out of wood and stone. After your fathers passing, you had decorated its exterior with lush herbs and flowers, often harvesting them to season your meals or add to tea. They took over your windowsills in a flourish, travelling down onto the stone bottom of your home that met the ground, spreading out onto the small garden out front.

Wrapped around you were flat plains of grass, one hundred acres of land to be exact. A quarter of that land had been dedicated to agriculture. Fields of wheat, cotton, corn could be seen in the distance and your cattle munched on the grass beside the fence posts you passed by, watching Jake and his horse curiously.

You had also dedicated your agriculture to vast vegetable gardens, growing freely and mingling amongst one another in a mess of cabbage, lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, broccoli, and other vegetables that you couldn't even name, their seeds passed on to you by trusted travellers before.

Beside your home was a small set of stables, enough to house your horse and any visitors you may have. Your pony, the only other horse you owned, aggressively preferred to stay in the fields with the cows, and was prone to bucking if you encouraged it to do otherwise.

A clothing line with skirts, bedsheets and other fabrics hung across the front garen, washed in the sun's afterthoughts, and looking so beautiful amongst the rest of your home.

Although a little run down, Jake thought as he noticed half of your front fence collapsing, your home was beautiful. As you both declined the shallow hill to enter your land, you pointed Jake towards the stables, a place where he could tie up Bessie safely, and where she could munch on some hay with Buck.

You threw a sheet over the trailer of goods you were selling at the markets, keeping it protected from thieving animals in the night, strapping it down with long leather belts for extra security.

Jake was mostly silent as he took in the exterior of your home, and you were too, fearing his judgement and hoping you hadn't left anything too embarrassing out on the clothing line or on your kitchen worktop as you showed Jake the way inside.

Your home glowed in gold, as the sun shone through the windows and onto the wood, turning it a warm orange. You made your way inside, heading straight for the kitchen to fetch a bar of soap and a bucket, but when you turned around you realised that the room was empty.

You wandered back to the front of the house, and found Jake standing warily by the doorway, peering in cautiously.

“You can come in!” you assured, “Just take your boots off, you can leave ‘em by the door.”

Jake smiled at you timidly, his cocky demeanour long gone now that he was under someone else's roof. Slipping his dirt ridden boots off and perching them by the front door as you said, he hesitantly followed you back through the house and into the kitchen. Dried herbs were hung from high wooden cabinets, and their aroma settled his qualms.

As you continued to gather soaps in preparation, Jake looked out from your kitchen window at the ranch, where he could see your cows basking in the sun.

Chickens ran around beside a small coop close to the house, and Jake could hear them clucking amongst the sound of birds singing in the nearby trees. A strong feeling of calm washed over him, warmer than the sun had been on his back earlier, but he was quick to brush it off.

In and out, he repeated in his head, reminding himself not to get too comfortable. He was here to sell his goods, make a couple of bucks and move on.

“Okay, hand over your shirt, I should only be a minute,” you instructed, looking back over at him with a polite smile on your face.

He stared at you wordlessly for a moment, as if processing what you had said, and was only snapped out of his daze when you cleared your throat.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he blurted, his fingers nimble as they made to unbutton his shirt. A task so simple, so mundane, and so repetitive, had somehow never felt harder.

Unknowing of his apparent nerves, you waited patiently until he unbuttoned it all the way, which wasn't far seeing as he only had the bottom few done up anyways. You tried not to stare at his tanned chest as he slipped the material completely off his body.

You took it from his hands and carried it with you as you left the kitchen and walked to the porch, the padding of his feet on the floorboards the only indication that he was following you.

“Please, sit,” you gestured to a wooden chair with white cushions on it, the one you always chose to sit on when you needed to decompress for the day.

You crouched on the ground, and stretched his shirt out before you, assessing where the tomato stain was, amongst the rest of the dirt that had been smeared on it during his fall and submerged the shirt under the soapy water.

You peered up at Jake through your fringe and watched as he sat awkwardly. He was feeling wildly uncomfortable at the impropriety of being alone in the presence of a lady, especially while shirtless.

Jake took off his hat, and rested it on his lap against his front, giving him some reprieve from the feeling of his upper half being completely naked. He watched silently as you scrubbed the spot on his shirt with a bristly wooden tool soaked in water and soap.

Soon, the sun warmed his skin, and he leaned back into the chair, sighing at the softness of the cushions and listening intently to the sloshing sound of soapy water, slowly being overcome by the sound of your gentle voice, humming a simple tune.

Once you were finished, you stood from your spot, and Jake watched you with careful eyes as you stepped off the porch, your bare feet making contact with the soft grass below. You rung the shirt of most of its wetness as you moved toward clothing line. He stared as you rose to the tips of your toes to reach the line, pegging the shirt on neatly so that it didn't crease and was in direct exposure to the last light's of the sun.

“There we go,” you said, wiping your hands on your skirts and returning to Jake on the porch, “Hopefully it dries by nightfall, ‘s a dry day today, not much wetness in the air.”

Jake hummed, “Thank you very much. It’s very kind o’ you, to do that.”

You smiled, “‘Course. Can I fetch you some tea?” you offered and he agreed politely, thanking you again.

Jake stared out at the ranch as you fixed each of you a cup of tea, letting his mind wander to other things, memories of his past escapades.

Never would he have guessed he would end up in a place like this. He was used to sleeping on the floor most nights to find his way, and never found himself being served a cup of tea by a beautiful woman. The same woman who had just washed his clothes for him at that.

“Here ya’ go,” you said, placing his cup into his hands gently, before taking your place in a soft seat beside him, looking out at the same view he had been watching before.

Jake thanked you again and took a sip, brows rising in surprise at the rich flavour, “Can’t say I’ve e’er had this ‘fore. What is it?”

“It’s called wild rose hip tea. One of the local natives gave me a branch of the dried herbs, told me it stops you from gettin’ sick. And I must say, I ain't been sick since I started drinkin’ it,” you explained, sipping the warm liquid and humming at the tangy fruity taste.

He nodded his head with his bottom lip jutted out in admiration for your story, “‘S good.”

You both sat in silence for a few beats, listening to your chickens cluck as they wandered freely around your garden.

“So, traveller,” you started, and Jake raised a brow. “How long do you plan to stay here in town?”

He sighed, “Well, I ain't got enough to stay at the inn for another night, so I’m to find a new bed to hold me for a couple’a months as soon as I may.”

“And what about tonight?” you asked in concern.

He smiled, “Guess I’ll just have to find a warm tree to settle under. Bessie’ll keep me company.”

You sat with yourself in deep thought for a few moments. You knew better than to invite a stranger into your home, let alone a dodgy traveller. But from the limited time you had spent with him, you felt no disparity towards his genuinity.

You usually had a good judgement for things like this, and your gut hadn’t turned at the thought of offering him the spare bedroom.

“It gets cold ‘round here at night. I have a spare room you can take for the next while,” you offered. His eyes shot up in surprise at your offer. He shuffled in his seat, his eyes softening for a moment as he glanced toward the house. He shook his head.

"I appreciate the offer, Ma'am, but I can’t impose on you like that. This is your home, your space. I ain’t meant to be in the way."

"You wouldn’t be in the way at all. The house is big enough for the both of us. I’m sure you’ve been travelling for days, you could do with a proper bed."

He looked away, a small smile tugging at his lips, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

"I’m fine out here, really. Don’t need to make no fuss on my account. A man gets used to the sky after a while."

You crossed your arms, feeling the cool night air press against your skin as the sun began to set behind the horizon.

"How about the couch, then? It's comfortable enough, and I won’t bother you."

Jake scratched the back of his neck, shifting again and clearly uneasy with the idea. "Couch still feels too close, Miss. I ain’t one for overstayin’ my welcome, especially not under the roof of a lady."

You sighed softly, realising he was too proud, or maybe too respectful to accept anything that felt too intimate.

"Well, if you’re that set on it, I’ve got a small bed in the barn. It ain’t much, but it’s better than sleeping outside."

You watched him carefully as he took in the sound of your offer, “Part of my fence is collapsing, you could fix it as payment for your stay,” you added, hoping it would sway his decision.

Why you had become so insistent on him staying was beyond you.

Jake’s eyebrows lifted, and you caught the glint of relief in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. "Now that sounds more like it. I reckon I could take you up on that,” he agreed, flashing a charming grin your way.

You nodded, though a small tug of guilt pulled at your chest. The barn got cold at night, nowhere near as warm as the house, but he seemed so determined to keep his distance.

Sensing your discomfort, Jake tried to lessen your woes, "You’ve been more than kind, thank you for all your help. The barn suits me just fine, promise. A roof over my head’s more than I’m used to these days."

You nodded slowly, still feeling a bit uneasy, but you respected his choice nonetheless.

“I can start on your fence first thing in the morrow, I saw it on our way in, so you don’t gotta show me the way.”

You blushed at the thought of him seeing how poorly maintained you had kept your land after your fathers passing, “That bad?”

He cocked his head and clicked his tongue, “I’ve seen worse. Nothing to worry ‘bout Ma’am, I’ll have it sorted for you in no time.”

Jake stood from his seat with a sigh, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops.

“I best tend to Bessie soon, she gets restless when it comes to her dinner,” he laughed lightly, and you stood too.

“Yes, you’re right, Buck’ll be needing some dinner by now too.”

You hopped off the porch and over to the clothing line, taking his shirt and rubbing your fingers over the now white spot that the tomato had stained.

“Only slightly damp by now,” you said, offering his shirt back to him.

He thanked you, expression softening with gratitude as he slipped his shirt back over his body, buttoning the bottom few up.

“You have a lovely home here,” Jake complimented, as you wandered back to the stables, carrying buckets full with a mixture of hay, grain and water.

“Thank you.” A weight in your stomach sunk in at his complement, as you knew your time on this homestead was limited. You shook away the thought quickly, knowing that there was nothing worse than to brood over things that couldn’t be changed.

“I don’t think Bessies had a meal as good as this in a long time,” Jake laughed as you reached your horses, dropping their dinners in front of them.

You took a dandy brush off the wall and got to work grooming Buck as he ate, the rhythmic strokes of the brush calming both him and you. His coat, matted with dust and flecks of dirt, resisted at first, but soon enough, the shine began to return.

Jake, standing a few feet away, patted Bessie’s side affectionately, his rough hands moving over her sleek coat. You couldn't help but be a little envious of the way she had maintained the smoothness of her coat throughout the day, even after the long ride. Unlike Buck, who had somehow managed to collect dust and dirt despite spending most of the day tethered to a hitch, Bessie looked as if she had barely been touched by the elements.

Jake gave Bessie a satisfied nod, his voice low. "She always keeps herself clean, no matter what we get into." His hand lingered on her neck, rubbing circles into the spot where she liked it best. You glanced over, watching how she leaned into his touch, her contented snorts mixing with the soft sounds of the barn.

"You’re lucky," you muttered with a half smile, running the brush over Buck’s side with a little more vigour. "Buck ‘ere’s like a magnet for everything. Dust, mud, you name it. He’ll find it."

Jake chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe he just likes keepin’ you busy."

You laughed, “Seems like it.”

The barn was quiet again, save for the sound of the horses munching on their dinner, the occasional stomp of a hoof or swish of a tail. The smell of hay and leather filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the horses. Darkness had begun to creep in, and you could barely make out Jake's face in the dim light. It felt peaceful here, a small, shared moment of stillness after a long day.

"You got a way with him, though," Jake started again, breaking the silence you had created, glancing over as he leaned against Bessie. "Takes a good hand to get a horse lookin’ as calm as he does now."

You felt a warmth in your chest at the compliment. "Well, he’s a good boy when he wants to be," you replied, scratching Buck’s ears, "Just has a mind of his own sometimes."

He chuckled, but remained mostly quiet.

“So, where have you travelled from, Jacob?” you asked, keeping your voice light, though the question held a deeper curiosity you couldn’t quite shake.

He sighed through his nose, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of miles and years. Before responding, he glanced away, the lines in his face tightening for a moment as though he was trying to remember.

“I wish I could tell you, to be honest. I came east, but I never stay long enough to learn a town's name.” His voice was low, almost distant, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

A flicker of sadness crept over his soft features, the edges of his usually guarded expression loosening as the words escaped. It was brief, just a moment, but you caught it. A vulnerability that vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

He straightened his posture slightly and shifted his gaze to Bessie. The way he looked at her, you wondered if he found solace in the simplicity of her presence. A horse didn’t ask questions about where you’d been or what you’d lost.

You frowned, your brow creasing as his answer weighed on you more than you expected. “Do you like it like that?”

Your words were gentle but pressing, trying to understand why someone would choose a life of such constant wandering. The thought of never having roots, never knowing the names of the places you passed through, seemed lonely.

He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly as if he had something to say but wasn’t quite ready to speak it. His jaw tightened, and you could see the battle going on inside him, between what he wanted to admit and what he felt he needed to keep to himself. He was quiet for so long that you thought he might not answer at all.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice rougher this time, like gravel shifting underfoot. “Sometimes I think I do.” He paused, his thumb tracing the brim of his hat, still not meeting your eyes. “There's a freedom in it. Never being tied to one place, getting to do whatever the shit I wanna,” he chucked dryly. “ But…” he trailed off, as if unsure whether to finish the thought.

“But?” you prompted softly, taking a step closer, still brushing Bucks coat to maintain a level of casual appearance despite your curiosity.

His gaze flicked to you briefly before he looked away again, back to Bessie. “But sometimes, it’d be nice to stay. To stop wondering where the next road leads, where I’m to end up the next day… where I’m gonna sleep for the night. Even if just for a little while.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of what wasn’t being said. You could see it now, the weariness behind his eyes, the kind that comes from being a man always in motion but never really going anywhere.

It was the kind of tiredness that wasn’t just about lack of sleep. It was the kind that came from being alone, even when surrounded by others.

You wanted to ask him more, to dig deeper into the layers of his past, but something about the way his shoulders tensed told you to hold back. Instead, you gave him a small, understanding smile. “Well, you’ve got a place here for as long as you like, even if you only decide to stay for a little while.”

Jake didn’t say anything right away, but his posture softened just a bit, and for a moment, you thought you saw the corners of his mouth lift, barely, but it was hard to see in the dark. It wasn’t much, but it was something, acknowledgement, maybe even a little gratitude.

“Alright Buck, that’s enough,” you laughed softly as he began licking the inside of the bucket, big teeth nibbling at the wood in search for more.

You lifted the food bucket, earning a frustrated stomp from Buck.

“Oh you big sook, I think you’ll survive.” You patted his neck and opened the stable door to leave.

“I’m going to prepare your bed place in the barn, do you know where to find me once Bessies finished eating?” you asked Jake, who stared at you from across the room in admiration.

“Yes, I believe so. Are you sure you aren’t in any need of help?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll manage. Thank you,” you praised, “Would you like to join me for dinner afterward?” you offered, waiting in anticipation as he thought your request over.

“No, I couldn't possibly take more from you than I already have.”

“What will you do for supper then?”

Jake patted a small satchel he had brought in with him, “Got some leftover travellin’ food right here.”

Unsure if he just preferred spending his time alone, or if he was trying his best to maintain his gentlemanly honour, you respected his wishes, muttering an ‘alright’ and taking one last look at the three of them before stepping out of the stables.

The walk to the barn was cool, and eerie. The moon had taken stark replacement for the sun in the sky, casting your ranch with a dim, cool glow. You took a kerosene lamp and a box of matches alongside fresh bed sheets from inside your home, lighting the lamp while you walked to the barn and setting it on the floor when you arrived.

The barn was a bit worse for wear, no longer housing the family of pigs that it did many years ago, and the silence was unsettling.

Shaking the feeling, you bunched up your skirts and crouched to the floor where a small, thin mattress sat against bales of hay. You looked around in search for something to frame the mattress on, feeling too guilty to let Jake effectively sleep on the floor.

You lumbered wooden crates across the floor of the barn, dragging up tufts of dirt and hay in the process, before you settled it in the corner, throwing the light mattress on top.

Shaking out the folded sheets, you breathed in the smell of clean laundry and tucked them over the bed properly. You wouldn't admit how much you struggled to fit the cover over the feather duvet, almost getting lost in the darkness as your head was consumed by the bedsheets.

Alas, you managed, and tucked the end of the sheets in to keep any warmth from escaping.

You stood back, hands on your hips as you blew a stray piece of hair from your face and took in your work. It would have to make do.

Jake's footsteps fell heavily outside, and you wondered if they were to warn you of his approach, afraid to creep up and scare you in the otherwise silent night.

“Wow,” he appraised, taking in your domestic work as he stepped into the dimly lit area. “This’s far nicer than I was expecting.”

You wondered if he was joking as you looked back at the measly setup, but when you looked back over at him, the look of gratitude in his eyes was unmistakably genuine.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. When you freeze half to death in the night, my couch’ll still be empty if you need it,” you offered, voice soft under your nerves, brewing from his burning gaze.

As you moved to walk past him, he gently stopped you with a soft hand on your arm, the roughness of his skin shocking in contrast to the smoothness of your own.

"Thank you, Ma'am, for your hospitality. I won’t forget your kindness."

“It’s no bother, truly… It um, gets a bit lonely ‘round here too sometimes,” you expressed, rather shyly.

His eyes held empathy for you, unbearing understanding of how you felt. He could only imagine how you struggled, living day by day to come home to an empty home. How you worked endlessly, and for what?

Jake didn't need to say anything to show how he understood, to show how he truly heard you. Instead he nodded, eyes boring into yours in silent communication.

With one last look, you turned and walked in the dark back to the house, hugging your torso in the cold.

You ate supper alone, hoping Jake wasn’t as cold as you felt, and wondering if you would be crossing a line if you returned with heavier blankets to warm him up in the night. Deciding against your pressing thoughts, you washed your dishes and went straight to bed.

Meanwhile, Jake lay awake, munching on the chewy chunk of stale bread he was sure he bought over a month ago. He stared up at the high ceiling in thought, recapping his stay here, which had seemed much different so far from any other town, and it was all because of you.

He rolled over and put out the kerosene lamp, pulling the covers up to his neck and letting the distant sound of your cattle wandering and mooing lull him to sleep.

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