guelyury

[guelyury]

The pics are hot, beautiful and amazing, but the article really maked my heart ached. This man is so beautiful, kind, soft and vulnerable, is like a gift, a light for this hard world. When someone asks me why I like Pedro Pascal so much, I'll put them to read this article.

[guelyury]

PEDRO PASCAL The Fantastic Four: First Steps | Put On Your RealD 3D Glasses!

[guelyury]

PEDRO PASCAL on the set of Materialists ph. Dakota Johnson

[guelyury]

Run to You {Rancher!Agent Whiskey x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5k

Warnings: 1800s AU, domestic violence, threats of sexual assault, fainting, hatred, loss, death, wariness, protectiveness, talking to ghosts, flirting, discussions of sexual acts, innocence, loss of virginity, oral sex (male and female receiving), technical adultery, fighting, gun violence, fear of being hanged, marriage vows.

Comments: Escaping from your husband, you run onto Jack Daniel's land. Begging him to help you, keep you safe from the monster you had been married to. Jack hates your husband, so he takes you in. Teaching you that you can trust him because he will protect you.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Agent Whiskey MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The sky is painted with red, orange, and pink. It's picturesque, and Jack adjusts his grip on the reins as he watches the sun set on another day. He's exhausted after working his land. The ranch that he paid for with coins he fought hard for. It's his sanctuary, and he is determined to maintain his peace. His horse huffs and he chuckles, patting his side, "don't worry, bud, we will get you fed." With a sigh, he prepares to go home just when he sees something running across his field. Wait...it's someone. Jack squints, back straightening until he sees it's a woman. Your screams hit his ears, and he immediately tightens his grip on the reins. "Help! Please! Help!" You scream, dress ripped and face bloody as you run towards him. He is on guard, glancing around to see if you're a distraction, but when you approach him, he sees the terror in your eyes. "What's wrong, girl?" He demands, his pistol on his hip and his fingers twitching with the urge to grab it. "Please. He's - he's trying to - help me." You sob and Jack nods, seeing the authenticity in your pleading. He reaches out towards you, offering you his hand, and you grab it. He swings you onto his horse behind him, kicking his side to gallop towards his home. You cling to him and he doesn't say anything until he stops outside his home. He swings his leg over and you look down at him when he stands and offers his hand to you. "You gonna sit on the horse all damn night, little lady?" He asks, raising his eyebrows. You shake your head and he helps you down, taking his horse over to the rail to tie him up until he can deal with him. "You gonna start tellin' me what the fuck is goin' on?" He asks, placing his hands on his hips as he looks at you until your eyes roll back. He barely manages to catch you before you hit the floor. "Goddamnit." He mutters, carrying you into his home.

The stone and log house isn’t as grand as some of the larger ranch houses around here, but it’s solid and warm. Jack kicks the door closed behind him and rushes to lay you down on the impractical sofa that his late wife had chosen for the parlor. He gently sets your head on the cushion and steps back, admiring your profile before deciding to get you some water and a rag to help you come back to your senses. “What the hell is happening over there?” Jack asks himself as he dips a clean cloth into the water bucket after pouring a glass of water. He knows the ranch that it seems like you had run from and he doesn’t like them at all. They push to graze their cattle on his land, something Jack and his cowboys have to be wary of.

You hear clanging and cursing and you wince, head throbbing as you struggle to open your eyes. You huff, sitting up slowly to look around and that’s when you begin to realize you are in a strange place. You gasp just as Jack walks out of the kitchen to see you sitting up. “Ah you’re awake, how you feelin’ sugar?”

The way you eye him warily, as if you don’t remember running to him for help has him chuckling. “You musta knocked your head good.” He shakes his head and ambles over, holding out the cup of cool water and the rag.

You don’t take the water from him, cautious as you watch him move across the room. “You don’t remember? I was ridin’ home and you came runnin’ towards me. Bout scared me and my horse but you begged for help so I brought you here and you collapsed. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Can you remember what you were runnin’ from?” He asks, slowly kneeling down on one knee next to you.

He waits for you to answer but you refuse to say a word, making him frown slightly before he rubs his fingers over his mustache. “Name’s Jack Daniels.” He decides that maybe you just need some information on him. “Most call me Agent Whiskey, seein’ how I used to be a Federal Marshall that used to investigate bootlegged whiskey.” He smirks. “Never managed to find any.” He winks playfully at you before letting the easy smile slide off his face. “So you’re safe with me, sugar.”

You stare at him, wanting to believe him, but you’ve been in danger for so long it’s hard to kick the feeling that something is going to happen to you. He holds up the glass of water again and you tentatively reach out to take the cup from his hand. He nods and leans back a little. “You wanna tell me what you were runnin’ from?” He asks softly, not wanting to spook you again.

Deciding that your thirst was worth the risk of whatever he might have added to the water, you lift the cup to your lips, moaning at the wetness. “My- my husband.” You admit with a wince. “Judd Miller.”

Jack’s eyes widen, eyebrows raised at a name he knows too well. “You - he got married?” He asks and you nod, swallowing another gulp. “I was - I am from New York. My father arranged for my marriage to Judd without us ever meeting. I was sent here on the train and we married the first night I arrived but he - he’s a monster.” You finish in a whisper and Jack frowns, knowing what the man is like. “I’m sorry, sugar.” He murmurs, “why’d you run? What happened?”

****

“You get back here, you bitch!” You reach the stairs, heels pounding on the wood as you race for the front door. You need to get out of this house, away from Judd. Reaching for the knob, you fling the door open and race towards the porch, the hitch post where his horse is still waiting for him. “Hurry up!” You hiss to yourself, hands shaking when you unwrap the reins, only to drop them when there’s a crash from inside the house you had just slept in for one night before trying to flee. The horse bolts off, leaving your only option to try to escape on foot.

“Get back here, you fucking bitch.” Judd shouts as he runs out the door, tempted to get his shotgun but he wants you in one piece. Ain’t nobody wanna fuck a dead wife. He growls, stomping to run after you. “Come back ‘ere. I promise I’ll treat you good. Will even let you close your eyes. You don’t have to watch me fuck you.” He promises as he follows the path you took into the woods. “Come on honey. Don’t be shy. I just wanna take what’s mine.” He coos, stepping into the trees, listening to any noises of you nearby.

You don’t want to be his. Judd is disgusting, the blackness of his soul oozing out of his eyes as he had stared at you. You try to catch your breath, needing to keep quiet. Why did your father send you here? Why this man?

Judd grunts, checking behind a tree, and he growls when he doesn’t find you. “Come out, come out wherever you are, girl. Come ‘ere wife. I just wanna fulfill my husbandly duties.” He coos, his head turning when he hears a twig snap in two just in time to see you running. He growls, chasing after you, and he manages to grab your dress. Your scream echoes in the wood and he wraps his arm around you. His hand covering your mouth to smother your scream. You react immediately, biting down on his hand, and he yelps, “fuck!” His hand immediately smacks your face, stars flashing in your eyes and you swear you taste blood. His grip on you loosens and you take your chance. Stomping on his foot, you shove him back and try to run despite your head spinning.

“You bitch! You just wait until I get my hands on you!” His foot hurts too badly to immediately rush after you although he is certain he will catch you. There’s nowhere for you to go. Only that Daniels asshole to the east of here and Judd wasn’t concerned about him. “I’ll make you think twice before you run again!” He bellows. “You hear me girl! I’ll make you regret it!”

**** 

Jack clenches his jaw, his eyes on the gash on your forehead from Judd’s ring hitting your face, and he wants to grab his pistol and go kill the bastard. He inhales deeply when he sees you flinch at the look on his face. “Lemme take care of that cut.” He murmurs, reaching up to gently grip your chin. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He promises, touching you when you relax. He tilts your head, “let’s get you cleaned up. You hungry?” He asks, wondering if you want some of the stew he has cooking.

Your eyes widen, surprised that he is being so gentle, offering you food. “I-“ your stomach lets out an outrageous sound right as you start to refuse. Your cheeks start to burn and he chuckles softly. “As soon as I get you fixed up, I’ll grab you a bowl.” He promises, making you wonder why your parents couldn’t have chosen someone like this handsome, kind stranger rather than Judd. “Thank you.” You murmur softly.

Jack shifts to stand, grabbing his supplies from the kit he keeps. He lives alone so he has a lot of injuries he has to treat himself. He kneels beside you again, grabbing a piece of cotton to dab at the blood on your forehead. You’re even more beautiful up close and he tries to focus on helping you. That’s what you need from him. “You wanna tell me what New York is like? I’ve never been.” He asks, trying to distract you.

“It is almost indescribable.” You admit, voice hushed as you think back to your home. “Buildings that reach the sky. Every luxury you could want right at your fingertips. Electricity. No lamps. A toilet inside, and not a bucket. Libraries, all the books you could read just waiting for you to pick them up.” You sigh wistfully, hating that your personal trunk filled with books is now in Judd’s possession. He will probably burn them.

Jack sees the passion in your eyes and he smiles, glad to see some life return back to your form as he cleans your cut. "Sounds like a mighty fine place. I was born and raised in the west. I ain't been to a city like that." He confesses, "and for the record, I got books." He jerks his chin over to the shelf, smirking at you.

You’re a little embarrassed, afraid you insulted the man who saved you. “What kind of books do you like to read, Mr. Daniels?” You ask politely but his answer astonishes you. “Oh a little of everything. Medical journals and such, a little bit of philosophy, my late wife, rest her soul, enjoyed those scandalous dime novels the good ladies at the church have palpitations over.” He chuckles. “So I had to keep them. Kept me from having to turn down dinner every Sunday to be introduced to their daughters.

Your wide eyes make him chuckle and he watches your mouth open and close a couple of times. "I am sure you are a popular gentleman." You observe, not blind to see how handsome he is. He chuckles, shrugging one shoulder, "I do not desire a simpering woman who will not want to help me with our home. I do not desire a woman who cowers from the harsh realities of ranch life." He confesses, "and...and I have yet to meet anyone who could compare to my beautiful late wife."

Why couldn’t your father want this kind of man for you? “I don’t know the harsh realities of ranch life.” You admit softly, staring down at your soft, unmarked hands. “And your wife must have been beautiful.” You’re jealous, envious of a dead woman curling in your gut. It is because your ‘husband’ would never speak of you that way, never.

“She was.” He murmurs, lost in the memories of his wife. That tragic night she was taken from him so many years ago. You hiss when he presses too hard on the cut and he pulls his hand back, “sorry, little lady.” He reaches for the salve he keeps on hand for his own injuries and applies some to your wound. “There ya go. You’ll be shiny like a new penny in no time.” He promises, “now, let’s get you some grub.”

“Grub?” You frown at the word and Jack snorts. “Food, little lady.” He clarifies. “Stew. It’s venison, more meat than anything, but I never have time to plant a vegetable garden and I’m tired of beans.”

You listen to him ramble as you follow him through the house to the kitchen, the warmth of the space inviting, although it would be better if there was the scent of freshly baked bread.

He strides over to the stove, grabbing the spoon to stir the stew. “Sit yourself down. You only just woke up. I’ll get you a bowl and you can eat. You need your energy after your fall.” He grunts, reaching for a bowl so he can scoop some stew up. “Eat.” He demands, placing the bowl and a spoon down on the table in front of you.

He’s not fawning over you, but it’s probably the most cared for you’ve felt since you learned you would be coming to this place and marrying Judd. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “Are you going to eat with me?” You ask, spooning up a bit of tender looking meat.

He nods, reaching for his own bowl. “I was comin’ home to eat this when you ran in front of me.” He snorts, spooning some stew into his bowl. He wastes no time sitting down opposite you, digging into his food with a grunt.

“So….” You take a sip and it’s a little saltier than you were expecting but it’s good. Hot and flavorful. “You live here all alone? No one else?” Jack chuckles. “Hands live in the bunkhouse.” He tells you. “They take their meals there, and they don’t often come up here for a social call.” He shrugs slightly. “Just me up here in the main house.”

He shovels the food into his mouth, eating like the food is going to disappear, and he sees you watching him. He swallows, shifting to sit up. “Sorry ma’am. It’s been a while since I had the honor of eatin’ dinner with a lady.” He explains, taking a smaller spoonful, making sure to take his time.

“Do not apologize.” You smile slightly as you take another sip of the soup. “Do all ranchers eat with such gusto?” You ask curiously. “I imagine it is taxing work.” Jack nods. “Best thing to come home to is a hot meal.” He tells you. “Even better when you don’t have to cook it.”

You nod in understanding. “I can imagine food is the first thing on your mind and you must be exhausted. I’m certain you’d prefer someone to cook for you.” You murmur and Jack nods, “yes. The ranch hands are always moanin’ about not havin’ a lady of the house to cook but I tell them to quit whinin’ and make a campfire.” He snorts, taking another spoonful of the stew.

You almost volunteer to cook for him right then, but your mother always cautioned you to not play your hand too early. Before she had died, she had been teaching you how to get around navigating in a man’s world. How to lead your husband to the happy home you wished for, although you know she would have never agreed for you to be married off to Judd. “Well, your stew is delicious.” You hum.

Jack is pleased with your compliment. He smiles, nodding his head, “why thank you kindly.” He watches you eat for a moment, the dainty nature of your posture, and he wonders how you ever ended up in the Wild West. “Tell me about yourself, sugar. What did you do back home?”

“Oh, um….” You look down at the soup and sigh. “I am afraid that my time was taken up by social calls and activities that were proper for a lady of my standing.” You roll your eyes. “When I was able to escape that, I spent time in the gardens and the kitchen with my father’s staff.”

Jack frowns at that. “That doesn’t sound like a fulfilled life. I ain’t really one for social anything. Prefer to keep to myself nowadays. Must’ve been exhausting. Unless - unless you like that sorta kind of course.” He adds hastily, “I’m sorry you were brought out here.”

“I can’t go back there.” You shudder and your shoulders round in worry. “He’s horrible and I know that he will - he wants-“ you bite your lip, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “We married yesterday and he was too drunk to-“

Jack clenches his jaw, glancing across to the window. He knows what kind of man Judd is. He shakes his head, “you don’t need to worry about that, sugar. Ole Jack will keep you safe. You ain’t going back to him if I’m alive and kicking. We will figure out how to get you back to New York before he figures out where you are.”

Your heart swells for a split second before you crash again. “I cannot go back to New York.” You admit with a heavy sigh. “My father would just put on the first train back to Judd.” You blink back tears and spoon up another sip of the soup.

Jack shifts to sit back in his seat, “your father would send you back to a man as vile as Judd?” He asks and your little nod breaks his heart. You look so defeated. “You’ll stay here then until we can figure out what you wanna do next. If you help me around the house, I’ll pay you coins that you can use for your journey and new life. Does that sound fair?” Jack asks, eyebrows raised. He’s not a rich man so he can’t just give you the coins but he wants to help you.

“That is-“ you choke up slightly, feeling safe for the first time in weeks, since you boarded the train to bring you to Judd. “Thank you.” You murmur softly, reaching out and touching his hand, even though that could be considered a breach in manners. “I will do whatever I need to help.” You promise.

Your soft hand touching his has his heart lurching in his chest and he suddenly struggles to swallow. He nods, watching you pull your hand back a moment later. "Happy to help, ma'am." He murmurs, "the fellas will be happy if you cook. They will worship the ground you walk on." He chuckles, taking another spoonful of stew.

“You said you had not planted a garden?” You ask, biting your lip. “Perhaps I could look at starting one? I love working in a garden.” Cooking might be a little more challenging, but you had spent plenty of time in the kitchen for the house. They had taught you well.

Jack nods, “that’ll be - I’d appreciate your green thumb. I kill any plant I touch.” He confesses with a chuckle, “and cooking? Anything that we ain’t gotta cook is good grub to us.” He promises, “tomorrow I’ll show you around the ranch. Judd doesn’t come out this way. He knows to stay off my land.” He promises, “and I’ll tell him I ain’t seen no woman if he approaches me and I’ll order the fellas to do the same.”

“Thank you.” You smile and hope that Judd doesn’t surprise Jack. From the way that Jack spoke, there’s been some issues between him and the other rancher. “I hope you don’t regret this.”

**** 

After dinner is cleaned up, Jack wipes his hands on his jeans, “I, uh, I will give you the bed. I can sleep on the floor or the couch.” He assures you despite knowing his back will be fucked for tomorrow. “My late wife…I still have her clothes. So you’ll have nightwear and something to wear each day. I think they’ll fit you.” He eyes you for a second and makes his way over to the stairs. “You’re welcome to follow.” He says when you remain still, and he stomps up the steps.

You shouldn’t trust Jack, but you don't have much of a choice. Getting to the stairs and then slowly climbing them, looking out over the living space as you climb. “I could sleep on your couch.” You offer. “That way I could get up early enough to make breakfast.”

Jack looks at you as you stand on the steps, “my mama, bless her soul, would beat me black and blue if I let a lady sleep on the couch while I had the bed. No, you’ll sleep in here. It’s upstairs too. You’ll be safer in case something happens. I’ll be right there by the door with my shotgun.” He promises, wanting you to feel safe.

"Alright, Jack." His colorful visual of what his mother would have done has you imagining a small woman scolding a younger Jack, perhaps pulling his ear. "If you insist." You will see if there is anywhere you can sleep that would give him his bed back. You finish climbing the stairs and join him on the landing.

He walks over to the set of drawers and opens the top one, reaching for a nightdress that his late wife would’ve worn and he holds it out towards you. “Here ya go, ma’am.” You take it and he shifts to make his way from the room. “Toilet is outside. You can wake me up if you need to go. If you want to go now, I can stand guard. There’s a sink and stuff over in the corner.” He points to the sink and shifts awkwardly, “so I’ll let you settle in.”

“I-“ you wince slightly, remembering that none of the houses around here have indoor toilets. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to go now before the sun sets.”

Jack nods, “let’s go, little lady.” He makes his way downstairs, grabbing his shotgun in case Judd or his men have somehow gotten brave enough to come to his home. You shiver when you walk outside and he stands guard, glancing around at the trees surrounding his home.

"The toilet isn't too far." You are grateful for that, wishing that you didn't feel so exposed. "Don't like stumbling around in the dark." Jack admits. "There's wolves out here, so don't come out without me or a gun." You choke back a laugh. "I don't know how to use a gun." You admit and he huffs. "I'll teach you. You need to know to live out here."

Jack stands guard while you do your business and he will take a piss outside once you’re fully situated. You make your way back inside and he locks the door to show you he’s serious about your safety. “Anything happens, you scream and I’ll be there to shoot the bastard.” He commands and you nod. He watches you make your way upstairs and he sets his gun in the corner, working on stripping down for the night. His boots by the door, his hand on the rack, and he grunts as he lays down on the couch. “Goddamn Mary, darlin’. I love you dearly but this fuckin’ couch.” He murmurs as he looks up at the ceiling. Reaching over to turn off the oil lamp and he sighs, wondering what he’s gonna do with you to get you away from Judd.

You are exhausted, feeling safe for the first time since you had been told you were getting married. Undressing doesn't take long and you are thankful that Jack's late wife had clothes that would work. Grateful for the pitcher of water in the wash stand as you pour it into the bowl and reach for the rag and the crock of soap. You had French milled soap in your trunks, now in Judd's house and you wish you could just get your things back. Slipping into the bed, you smell him, Jack. All over the sheets, the smell of man and leather seems to surround you. Making you sigh and close your eyes, wishing he wasn't so damn handsome.

**** 

Jack hears the footsteps on the stairs, and he turns his head to see you walking into the kitchen moments later. “Mornin’ ma’am. You like coffee? Got some brewing and some eggs I collected moments ago if you’re interested.” He nudges the eggs in the steel pan.

Your eyes are barely open and it seems like Jack has been awake for hours. You had gotten dressed in the darkness and assumed you would be the first one up. "Morning comes early on a ranch." You mumble, never one for early mornings. "I will get started on breakfast right away." You promise, knowing that you need to uphold your end of the bargain.

“All done, darlin’ but you could butter the toast.” He gestures to the table where the toast is already plated and butter next to it. “There’s jelly that I purchased from the ole gal in town.” He says, “and eggs are ready. Sit down.” He orders, sliding the eggs onto the plates before he carries them over to place them on the table.

"I- I am so sorry that I overslept." You stammer, rushing. over to help him but Jack waves you off towards and enamel cup. "Pour yourself some coffee, darlin'. I've got this." He assures you and it makes you feel guilty. "I'm always up early, so don't worry about me." He shrugs. "You slept hard last night. Probably the first good night's sleep in weeks."

You are surprised by his easy going nature. Your father would’ve reprimanded you for sleeping so late. A proper lady isn’t lazy, he’d said. Judd had you up early to prepare his hangover cure. Jack watches you pour some coffee and he sips his own cup, “I’ll always be up before you. Ain’t no use you risin’ so early when I gotta feed the animals first.”

"Then at least wake me up when you leave so I can have the coffee ready when you get back." You take a sip of the coffee and sigh blissfully. "I think today I should look over the supplies you have and perhaps go over what meals you would like to have." You offer. "And inspect the garden area?"

Jack wipes his mustache and nods, setting his coffee down. “Whatever you feel like, ma’am. I would suggest goin’ into town but I don’t want word of your whereabouts gettin’ back to Judd. I can go fetch supplies or get one of the boys to do it if you make a list.” He promises, reaching for his fork to begin eating his eggs.

“Thank you.” You bite your lip. “I wish I had some way of getting my things from Judd.” You sigh softly and then pick up the platter of eggs and start scooping them onto Jack’s plate. You should at least serve him since you didn’t cook. “But I will live without them.”

Jack hums, not wanting to make promises but there might be a way for him to retrieve your things. He has a contact on Judd’s land who owes him a favor. “What things did you bring with you?” He asks, wanting to make a mental list.

You sigh again, putting the plate of eggs down and putting some toast on the plate for him. “I had two trunks.” You admit. “One was filled with books and my clothes. The other was filled with things I had made with my mother.” You smile sadly. “I never even got to wear the wedding dress she made me.”

Jack makes a mental note to make sure this contact retrieves your things but he doesn’t let that show on his face as he digs into his eggs. He reminds himself to eat a little slower and he watches you as you put some jelly on the toast that’s a little stale but he hasn’t had a chance to get some bread from the lady in town. “I’m sure you woulda looked mighty pretty in that wedding dress.”

You fluster slightly and shoot him a small smile before taking a bite of your toast. “You are a flatterer as well as a white knight.” You tease. “Do the men eat lunch as well, or just dinner and breakfast here?” You ask, wanting to get into a routine as quickly as possible. Cooking for ranch hands sounds a lot better than being in Judd’s bed and being his wife.

Jack shakes his head, "mainly breakfast and dinner. We are usually far out heardin' cattle or dealin' with the fences so we grab something to eat from the land or we wait. Usually the smokes keep us goin'." He chuckles, "they ain't fussy either. They will eat what's given to 'em."

“Breakfast and dinner.” You agree, although you might have to have some cookies or something available for the men to have. “I think that I can manage that.” You smile and pick up your fork to eat a bite of eggs. “So you have chickens. And cattle. Do you have milk cows as well?”

He nods, looking up at you as he leans towards his plate, "yes ma'am. I usually get up to milk the cows and collect the eggs. Then I move on to other duties." He explains and shoves some egg into his mouth.

“I see.” You nod. “Then you will have to show me these chores and I will take them over.” Even if you’ve never milked a cow, you will learn. Your father had sent you to this place for god only knows what reason, but you won’t wither away.

Jack chuckles at the thought of you shoveling cow shit but he nods, "whatever you wanna do, ma'am. It's my way of life. I ain't lookin' to make you shovel cow shit but I would like a home cooked meal. Lord knows my mama didn't teach me to cook. I've had to figure it all out myself after my wife passed."

“Oh.” You press your lips together. “Then it is lucky you didn’t starve to death.” You tell him, trying not to laugh at the horrible meals that must have been normal for him to learn. “I have all of my favorite recipes from our cook.” You tell him proudly. “I would haunt the kitchen and she taught me everything she could.”

He smiles at your enthusiasm, "well, I look forward to trying her recipes made by your hands. You lemme know what you need and it's yours." He promises, finishing his plate and he picks up his coffee to down it. You are still eating and he reaches into his pocket for a smoke. "I better go meet the fellas. Let you get settled. If you need anything, you holler. There's a bell on the door that travels pretty darn far if you need me. If you're in trouble, scream and use the shotgun in the corner." He says seriously, "but you should be safe here. Ain't no way Judd would have the balls to cross into my land." He promises, lighting his cigarette before he stands up and reaches for his coat.

“Oh!” You stand up with him, making him huff and wave you to sit down. “Finish your breakfast darlin’.” He tells you, sliding his arms into the thick leather coat. You wonder if it’s cow leather or perhaps some kind of game. “I will.” You promise, sitting back down and feeling a little off kilter that this man would be so relaxed about chores. Judd had expected you to drop everything to attend to him. It was why your trunks were still untouched and unpacked, you hadn’t had time to do anything.

Jack watches you as you sit back down and he reaches up to take the cigarette from his lips. "See you later, sugar." He winks and makes his way to the back door, opening it and he shuts it behind him, wanting to make sure it's locked. He will come back to check on you later, make sure you are safe and none of Judd's cronies are sniffing around. He strides towards the stables, ready to work but his thoughts have been left at that kitchen table with you.

In the quiet of the house, the only sound is the fire in the stove, you finish your breakfast. Bringing the pans over to the dish tub. You are surprised to find the water pump inside, but that is a good thing. You are not naive, you know that the conveniences you had in New York aren’t available here, but your staff had taught you how to do things the older ways, a notion that now makes you wonder if they didn’t suspect your father would send you out west. You pump the water over the dishes and start scrubbing, humming to yourself as you watch through the windows to find men and horses in the pasture in front of the barn. Your first day here. 

****

Jack removes his hat to wipe his brow, looking across the fields, and he turns to see Kieran, his ranch hand, riding up to him. "Hey boss. The fellas are hungry. Fencin' out east has been fixed." He reports and Jack nods, "let's get some grub. Little lady said she's makin' a stew." He says, "go get the others." He orders and Kieran nods, riding off to get the others and Jack begins to make his way home. He had told his hands about you, and warned them to not talk to anyone about you and to be respectful. When he steps into the house, he groans at the smell of the food, "evenin' ma'am." He removes his hat and boots, shrugging off his jacket to see you wearing his late wife's apron, standing there with flour on your cheek and he chuckles. "You have - uh - right there." He gestures to his cheek and you wipe your face but miss it. You try again and he takes pity on you, stepping closer and he carefully brings his hand up to gently wipe the flour from your face.

“Thank you.” You smile and bite your lip nervously. He’s such a broad and strong man, but his touch is gentle and kind. It makes your stomach flutter even though you know that he is still in love with his late wife. “I hope you don’t mind stew and biscuits.” You gesture towards the kitchen. “I also made cherry pie for dessert with the canned cherries you had in your larder.”

Jack is impressed especially since you claimed to have no experience in cooking. He hopes for your sake it tastes good but he will lie through his teeth if he needs to. The back door bangs open, a group of men working on removing their boots and hats and jackets while groaning at the smell of the food. "Fellas! Fellas!" Jack yells and the men freeze. "Mind your goddamn manners. There's a lady here. Take your boots off and come over to introduce yourself." He orders and the men nod, lining up to say hello.

You stifle a small laugh, finding it funny that Jack had cursed while telling the hands to mind their manners. Each man held their hats in their hands and were almost bashful as they introduced themselves to you. All respectful, you feel a pang of happiness to be here and you motion to the stove. “Please, there is more than enough and another pan of biscuits is in the oven.” You weren’t sure how hungry the men would be and you reasoned the biscuits could be saved for breakfast if they didn’t eat all of them tonight. “Cherry pie for dessert.”

The men all groan in delight and they are about to surround the stove when Jack whistles. "Ladies first." He reminds them and looks at you, "go get your plate. You cooked, you get first pick." He insists and the men stand there nodding. You bite your lip, about to protest, but Jack raises his eyebrows and you nod, grabbing your bowl to get some of the food you cooked.

You don’t serve yourself a lot, considering you had some toast for lunch. Jack huffs at you but you just smile and move to sit down at the table. “I have plenty.” You promise before motioning to them to start making their own plates. “There’s fresh coffee for the pie.”

Luckily the men had washed up in the outhouse before coming inside so their hands are clean as they scramble to grab their plates. Jack watched as you take your seat and the men join you one by one with their bowls, hunger painted on their faces. “Jack?” You call his name and he sees he’s the last one. He nods and plates his food, taking the seat the men left beside you and he ignores their glances. “Kieran, you wanna say grace?” He asks, knowing that while he may not believe in God after his wife and child were cruelly ripped from his life, some of the men are church goers and he wants to respect that.

You bow your head but your eyes are focused on Jack. He is looking down at his hands, obviously not praying and you wonder how long he had lived alone after losing his wife. The prayer is short and immediately, the men dig into the meal. Groaning at the first bites and clinking the spoons into the bowl for another hurried bite as they shovel it in.“Is it good?” You ask tentatively, hoping they are not just trying to swallow down their meal as quickly as possible because they are hungry.

The men all nod, making you giggle at their enthusiasm, and Jack sets his spoon down. “The fellas are happy to eat anything but you cook better than I can.” He says with sincerity. The men all nod again, “you’re a mighty fine cook, ma’am.” One of them says and the others all chime in with their own compliments. Before too long, they are digging into the pie and Jack chuckles, leaning in towards you, “like rabid dogs.” He has some cherry filling in his mustache and doesn’t notice.

You smirk and nod, taking a sip of your coffee. The men had insisted you take a small slice of the pie first before they dug in. Aware that they were going to eat every crumb. None of them had dessert recently. “Maybe that will change when I have a jar full of cookies around.” You hum.

The men’s eyes widen and they all nod eagerly, “fuck, I’d love that.” One of the men groans and Jack tuts, “mind your language boy.” He orders and the younger man nods, “sorry for cursin’ ma’am.”

You hum. “That’s alright.” You promise, assuring him and reaching out to pat the younger man’s hand. “I understand that you are not used to having a lady around. I don’t expect you to cater to my delicacies.” You tease, glancing over at Jack.

Jack clicks his tongue, “they need to learn. If any of ‘em wanna have a chance at gettin’ married they best be learnin’ now to watch their tongues.” He raises his eyebrows and the men all nod. The oldest man, older than Jack, chuckles his agreement. “Now, you’re gonna help the lady clean up and then be off to your beds. We got a long day tomorrow.” Jack says once the men have all finished eating.

You are surprised by that, but Jack chuckles as the hands immediately stand and start scraping plates - not that there was much on them - into the slop bucket and cleaning them in the dish tub. “You cooked, darlin’, you shouldn’t have to clean up after ‘em.” You hadn’t expected that, but you smile in gratitude. “Thank you, gentlemen.” You tell all of them. “Your future wives will appreciate this too.”

Jack watches before he cleans his own plates, leaving them on the side to dry, and he wipes his hands on the cloth as the men thank you. “I can’t wait to see what ya cook tomorrow.” The youngest one grins and Jack snorts, “lady needs a rest first. Now off with y’all.” He orders and the hands all thank you, gather their things, and soon it’s just you and Jack. “I’m gonna stoke the fire. You’re welcome to read, do whatever you want. You’ve earned your rest.” He insists, reaching for the stoker to liven up the fire.

“Thank you.” You seem to be saying that a lot since you’ve been here. “I might have looked through your shelf and chosen a book.” You admit with a smile.

Jack nods, “relax and read. I’ll get everything ready for the night.” He promises, knowing he will need to check the doors and windows, to make sure the house is secure. Jack soon sits down in his chair, grabbing his knife, and he continues whittling what he has been working on before you ran into his life. The silence between you is easy and he realizes he has been lonely and not even noticed it.

You had taken off the apron and had poured yourself another cup of coffee, fixing one for Jack as well when you settle down. He didn’t even notice when you set it by his elbow, busy with his knife and wood. Opening the dime novel, curious to see what is so scandalous about these books.

Jack looks up from his project, noticing your reading material, and he bites his lip to smother his smirk. He knows you’re innocent. Can tell in your demeanor. When your eyes widen, he chuckles softly, “interesting reading, sugar?” He asks, curious about your thoughts right now.

“Oh!” He startles you and the book snaps shut, your eyes wide as you feel your face burn. “I- I don’t know-“ you confess, although your body feels like you’ve climbed into the stove and your core aches. You’ve felt attraction before but this is that same feeling based on words. “I didn’t-“ you swallow harshly. “I didn’t know men did that.”

Jack smirks, looking back down at the knife in his hand, “I’d ask you to read it to me but that would be wildly inappropriate on my part.” He shakes his head, “whatever it is…yes we do.” He promises, not even winking as you fluster and grip the book.

“Y-you do?” You practically gasp at that and a small shiver races through your body as you imagine Jack doing that to you. “How do you know that you do it?” You whimper, leaning in slightly as you ask, afraid someone else might hear you even though no one else is in the house.

Jack looks up at you, tilting his head, "seeing how flustered you are I can only assume it's one of three things and yes, we do all three. One of them especially if you love your woman." He promises, "nothing like it." He murmurs, glancing over to the fireplace, remembering how his wife would react to his tongue on her clit.

You make a tiny squeak and close your eyes. Trying to stop yourself from picturing Jack between your thighs. “Oh.” You manage, setting the book down and reaching for your coffee with a trembling hand. “I did not know that.” You admit. “I was only married for one day and he- I mean- we didn’t-“ you bite your lip.

Jack snorts, "I highly doubt Judd would ever be willin' to do that for his lady. He's a selfish bastard. You made the right choice runnin' away." He promises, "and you didn't consummate the marriage...maybe you get it annulled when you get to where you're goin'."

“I don’t want to be his wife.” You agree. “I wouldn’t mind being a wife, just not his.” You snort, shaking your head. “The man is vile.” You lick your lips and lean forward again, curious now. “And doing that- it, it said something about doing it to you- I mean, a man?” You had caught whispers and giggles from the newly wed ladies you had been friends with, but none of them would tell you about it, saying that your husband would show you everything you needed to know. You hated that answer and you sense that Jack is only holding back because of your embarrassment.

Jack sets his knife down and turns to look at you. His face is serious as you look down at the book. “Look at me, darlin’.” He orders and your eyes meet his, “if you want me to stop, you tell me, ya hear?” He asks and you nod. He nods back and continues, “women absolutely do that to a man. Only if you want to. Everything in a marriage, in a relationship, is give and take. Boundaries. I ain’t gonna get my kicks for a woman who isn’t enjoying what we are doing as much as I am.” He assures you, “but not all men are like that. Some will take what they want without care. Some men, like Judd, don’t care about the women enjoying it. Do not give yourself to those men. You can judge it, you have already with Judd. Any man you’re with should worship you.” He raises his eyebrows, “and the intimacy becomes natural.”

You doubt that, but the way he speaks makes you envy his late wife. The way he talks, the warmth to his voice, has everything to do with her. “She was a lucky woman.” You murmur softly. “How long were you married? Before she died?” You want to ask how she died, but you don’t want to press.

Jack glances over at the pillow his late wife had made and he sighs, “she died about ten ago. We were childhood sweethearts. Married as soon as we could. We stayed with her mother until I earned enough money to buy the land. I built this house with my bare hands. We tried for a long time for a baby but we didn’t have any luck. We accepted that it wasn’t meant to be but then one day, she told me she was with child. I was overjoyed. We began to prepare our home for a new baby. Then one day-” He rubs his hands on his pants, “she went outside to fetch some eggs from the chickens. She was close to having the child, when a bullet hit her heart. Judd - he was hunting and - she was killed. Her and the babe.” He finishes softly, brought back to the moment he found her, blood pooling around her and her belly round with the babe.

“Oh God.” Your eyes start to water and you reach out to touch his shoulder. “Jack- I am so sorry.” You murmur softly, even though you had nothing to do with the events from ten years ago. His face is set, stoic, but his eyes show the sorrow and devastation he must still feel. “I wish that had never happened.”

“Me too.” He murmurs, not shrugging off your touch, “but she’s gone and I- I have been alone for so long. For the longest time I wanted revenge. I was consumed with it. I went to Judd’s house to kill him but he - he had all his men and I was prepared for a shootout but I heard my wife in my ear telling me to walk away. I walked away and I’ve been alone ever since.”

“I am grateful you listened.” You smile when he looks over at you. “You saved my life and you wouldn’t have been in that field if you had been buried next to your wife and baby.” You remind him. “Your hands wouldn’t have the jobs they have, you are not as alone as you think.”

Jack nods, knowing you’re right but he sometimes wonders how good it would’ve felt to put a bullet in Judd’s chest. “Tomorrow we will teach you how to shoot. You gotta know how to defend yourself out here while I’m gone.”

“Okay.” You nod, even though the conversation has veered off course from the original one. You know that he is worried about you and that makes you feel safer than you ever have. “In that case, maybe I need to go to bed.” You hum, putting a scrap of cloth in the book now that you’ve relocated the page and close it gently.

He nods, knowing you’ve had a long day and so has he. “You wanna use the outhouse before you go upstairs?” He asks and you nod, standing up. He guides you outside, shotgun in hand as he stands guard. Once you’re back inside, he locks the doors and makes sure the house is secure as you stand at the foot of the steps. “I’ll see ya in the mornin’ sugar.” He murmurs, hating how beautiful you look standing there in the lamplight. You ain’t staying and he wants you to be happy. “Good night, Jack.” You murmur and he nods, shifting to sit down as he works on removing his gun halter. That night when he’s laying on the couch, he swears he hears his wife say “it’s okay, Jack. You can love her.” He closes his eyes, imagining not being alone for the rest of his life.

The bed still smells like Jack and it makes you restless. Getting up and moving to the window, staring out over the pastures and wondering what it is like to live here year round. It’s beautiful in a primitive, wild way and you are stirred by it. The air is cleaner than in New York. You think about the book you had read and that same feeling builds inside you. “I don’t know if it’s right.” You whisper to the room, to the spirit of Jack’s wife. “But I’m taking care of him for you.”

**** 

“Now, you wanna make sure your fingers are only on the trigger when you are going to shoot. Otherwise you’re gonna shoot your ass off.” He shifts to stand behind you, adjusting your grip on the pistol. He’s teaching you how to shoot. Some cans on a log for targets and he hates how warm your body is against his and your sweet scent hitting his nostrils.

“I doubt that would happen.” You huff, but you make sure to keep your finger away from the worn smooth trigger. You are standing with your feet spread, wearing another one of Mary’s outfits and wishing that you weren’t so aware of how close he is pressed against you. “Aim.” He encourages you and you close one eye to aim for the can. “Breathe out and squeeze the trigger.” Jack hums and you pull back the trigger until the gun explodes in your hand and you yelp at the loud noise at the way it kicks in your hand.

Jack chuckles, knowing you’ve never shot a gun before so he grips your shoulder to keep you steady. “Try again. It ain’t gonna hurt you when you’re holdin’ it properly.” He promises, bringing his hands up to adjust your grip. “Lean into the kick back. Aim and breathe out while squeezin’ the trigger.” He orders, “try again.”

It’s so hard to concentrate when he’s breathing against your neck. His hands on your hip when he drops his hand from yours. “Steady.” He murmurs softly and you exhale softly before you squeeze the trigger again. This time the can flips off the wooden railing.

You cheer and Jack immediately keeps the gun pointed to the ground in case you wave it around. “I did it!” You grin and Jack feels like he’s been kicked in the guts, breath taken from him at how goddamn gorgeous you look when you’re happy. “You sure did sugar, let’s try again.” He orders, stepping back from you this time.

It takes you a few minutes to settle back down and aim at the next can. The next two shots are wild and Jack has to come back up to help refocus you. You take a deep breath and try one more time, hitting the can again and this time you don’t cheer, you just grin happily.

Jack smiles, happy that you are able to somewhat aim. "Good job, sugar. Just aim the gun at whatever asshole is there." He orders, "now, let's try the shotgun. That will take out anyone." He promises, wanting you to be comfortable enough with the weapons to protect yourself.

“I don’t know about that one.” You admit, eyes wide as Jack reaches for the weapon. “It looks deadly.” You make him snort out a laugh. “It’s supposed to.” He promises. “Fends off wolves and men.”

"Doesn't matter how bad your aim is, you'll kill a man." He promises, "and don't forget-" He reaches out to grip your chin so you look at him, "-it's your life or theirs. Ain't no room for mercy in these parts. Kill them without a second thought."

“Kill them.” You agree, although you know that you might hesitate depending on the situation. Jack’s eyes are boring into yours and you lick your lips. “I will Jack.” You promise after another moment.

He releases your chin and he nods, "good." It doesn't take long to position you for shooting the shotgun. "Now, the recoil is gonna be scary but relax and hold your frame." He orders, adjusting your posture.

You can feel him pressing against you but you don’t think much about it until you are pulling the trigger. The gun blasting back and if it weren’t for Jack, you would have fallen on your butt.

“Easy, girl.” He chuckles at your shocked reaction and he steadies you. “Try again. You’ll figure this out.” He promises, “you just need to focus.” He reminds you and he adjusts your form again, “just inhale and exhale.” He murmurs into your ear.

You shiver slightly but it’s not because you are cold. Holding the large weapon, you follow his orders and squeeze the trigger. “Oh my god!” You cry, the can is gone and you didn’t even drop the rifle. “I did it.”

He grins, pleased that you didn’t shy away and he squeezes your waist. “Good job, sugar.” He reaches for the shotgun, taking it from you as you grin and he nods, “now, you know what you’re doin’, I won’t worry so much when I’m out in the fields.”

“You don’t need to worry.” You promise but he just tuts. “Today I’m going to work on the garden.” You tell him. “So do I need to a keep a gun in my apron?”

Jack snorts, “not in your apron but nearby. I want you safe. You never know if Judd gets brave and comes to find you. I’ve heard he’s lookin’ for you. I gotta head into town tomorrow for supplies. I’ll find out what people know then.” He knows it’s too risky to take you with him. Someone could recognize you and tell Judd.

You nod, pulling the list he had you make out of your apron. “This is what I need.” You tell him, “if they have any penny candy, please get a bag.” You ask. “It’s good crushed up in cookies.”

Jack tucks the list into his jacket, nodding at you, and he knows you’ll have the guys wrapped around your finger if you bake them cookies. “You tryin’ to fatten up my boys?” He teases, “because they are all braggin’ about your cookin’ skills.”

“They would eat anything anyone put in front of them.” You snort, shaking your head. “But if I feed them cookies, they couldn’t possibly complain if I need help weeding the garden? Could they?” You ask the question innocently, but there is a conniving smirk on your face.

Jack chuckles, “I’m sure you’ll be orderin’ them around and they will do whatever you want as long as you keep cookin’ for them.” He promises, imagining how eager they would be for more cookies and desserts.

“Speaking of that.” You smile. “I better go make sure that the chickens are ready to put on the stove.” You are still cautious about not making enough, but so far everything has been perfect.

Jack watches you go, gun in hand, and he sighs, glancing at the cans you shot down. He prays you don’t have to use the guns at all. He hopes he can help you out of this goddamn town before it’s too late. Either because Judd finds you or you break down the walls he put up around his heart.

Coming out onto the porch hours later, you are about to ring the bell when you notice all the men waiting. Hands and faces washed, hats in hand, some are milling around the yard while others are out by your new weeded garden, obviously discussing where you will be planting. “Dinner is ready, gentlemen.” You smile. “Tonight is chicken and pastry.” It was one of your cook’s favorite meals to serve the staff since your father wouldn’t eat it, and you loved it. “With slices of spiced cake for dessert.”

They all groan in delight and Jack chuckles, knowing they’ve all been discussing all morning what the options could be for dinner. Jack didn’t ponder with them, knowing he had butchered the chicken that morning for you to use. The men all make their way inside to start serving themselves and Jack watches you as you sit down with your plate. You always serve yourself first. The men won’t allow anything else. Jack is soon sitting beside you, his leg knocking yours under the table as he eats, and he feels his stomach twist with emotion. Butterflies he hasn’t felt since Mary and that terrifies him. You are technically another man’s wife, he needs to push those feelings aside and bury them.

You had made two giant pots, and you are glad you did. Every man, including Jack, went back for big bowls of seconds. A couple of the younger guys even getting thirds. Then it was time for cake and coffee. You had learned the men loved saving the coffee for the dessert, finding it to make it feel like they were getting food from a restaurant. A rare occurrence for most of them. Thick slices of the cake were served and you wait to see what they think. Jack is the first one to groan, making your cheeks heat up because you are imagining him groaning over more than cake.

The other men quickly agree and despite eating so much for dinner, the cake is gone, not even a crumb left as they get up to clean the dishes. This is honestly the happiest you’ve ever been, feeling appreciated and useful instead of being bored to tears with gossip and luncheon dates with ladies you didn’t like. “I’m baking cookies tomorrow after you come back with the candy.” You promise.

Jack smiles, “they sure will love that.” He winks and stands up to wash his own plate. Once the dishes are dried, the men all come to say thank you and goodnight one by one. “Goodnight ma’am.” The last one bows his head after he puts on his hat and Jack ushers him out, knowing he’s got a little crush on you. “Finally.” He exhales, “time to relax.”

“Whittling is relaxing?” You ask, knowing that you should probably do some mending, you have noticed most of Jack’s clothes needing repair, but you want to read some more of the book. You had read another chapter while the cake was cooling, but it’s interesting and you need to know what happens next.

Jack chuckles, "well, there's other ways to relax but I won't mention them to a lady like yourself." He turns away from you and checks the door is locked until he makes his way over to his chair to pick up his knife and continue what he's been working on. He's nearly finished.

His words stick with you and intrigue you. Reading until he sits down again and then you stare at him. “It is relaxing?” You ask after a moment. “It seems so…physical.” You glance back down at the book. “How could you relax when it’s work?”

His eyes dip down to the book in your hand and he bites his cheek to stop his smirk. “It is work but it’s - it’s natural. It’s mind numbing and when it’s done right you’ll be melting after, mind empty except for how you feel. With the right person, it’s - it’s beyond words.”

“And how do you know that is the right person?” You demand, leaning in and your eyes flicker down to his lips before your cheeks heat up again and you have to look away. “I just- this is all so new to me. The freedom of asking is unreal.”

“You’ll know. You’ll feel it in your heart.” He promises, “it’s like nothing made sense until you met that person.” He murmurs, frowning when he realizes that he felt that way when he met Mary and now he feels that way when he thinks about you but he would never admit it.

You chew on your lip, frowning slightly because you know you’ve felt that way since you woke up on Jack’s uncomfortable couch. “I see.” You look back down at the book, sighing softly. “That’s what you had with your wife?” You already know the answer but your heart drops when he nods. “I hope that one day I have that.” You swallow. “But I fear it is not in my fortune.”

Jack frowns as he looks over at you, “that ain’t true. You’re a beautiful woman. You’ll have men fallin’ at your feet. Hell, half the fellas here would marry you tomorrow if they didn’t all insist that I-” He cuts himself off and glances at the worn rug beneath his feet. “Once we get you out of Judd’s grip, you’ll be free to love how you want.”

You frown, wondering what he was going to say. “I can’t even imagine that.” You admit softly. “Although….I am finding out that ranch life is preferable to the city.” You look outside at the last fading rays of light and smile. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“It is.” He murmurs, looking out of the window and his breath catches at how the setting sun makes you shimmer. He goes back to whittling and you continue reading. Soon, he’s completed what he was making and he softly says your name, “I made you something.” He holds out the small piece of wood that he shaped like an angel. That’s what he considers you.

“Jack-“ you are speechless as you take the small carving, looking down at the delicate wings and the smoothness of what was once a rough piece of wood. “It’s- it’s beautiful.” You don’t think about how it’s completely inappropriate, you get up and lean over him to kiss his cheek.

Jack inhales deeply at the way his skin tingles from your kiss. He turns to look at you, his cheeks a little flushed, “you’re welcome, darlin’. It’s, uh, it’s you. You’re my angel. Sent by Mary to help rescue me from my loneliness and anger.” He confesses, “I cannot thank you enough for giving me my life back.”

“Jack-“ you swallow harshly and for a moment, you are about to ask him. Your resolve fails you and you smile softly. “You saved my life.” You remind him. “It’s only fitting I help you with yours.” You don’t know what he means by giving him his life back, but you feel proud that you could help him in even some small way.

He stares at you, leaning a little closer, and he swallows harshly. “You’re - I can help you get on the train to Chicago. It’s not going to be an easy trip but you’ll be safe there. I have enough coins if that’s what you want to do. If not, I can help you get somewhere else.”

“I don’t want to go to Chicago.” You admit, breathlessly. His brow furrows, confused and you lick your lips. “I- I don’t want to go anywhere.” You have fallen in love with the ranch and everyone on it. Some more than others.

He frowns, confused at your confession and when you go to turn your head, he reaches out to cup your cheek. He doesn’t think. He just acts. He leans in to press his lips to yours. It’s wrong, you’re married and he’s older, and he shouldn’t be kissing you but he can’t help it.

You make a soft sound of surprise before you melt into his arms. The soft brush of his mustache doesn’t take away from the skill of his kiss. You’ve only been kissed by one other man and Judd’s kiss had made you feel disgusted. Jack’s kiss lights a fire in your belly and makes you moan softly when he pulls you closer.

Your response has his heart pounding in his chest and he slides his tongue into your mouth, taking advantage of your gasp when he nibbles your lower lip. His hand slides along your neck and he groans into your mouth, loving how you lean into him.

You feel deliciously wanton, but you don’t pull away. You press closer, your hands gripping his arms before they slide around his back. His tongue touches yours, making you groan again and you tentatively reach out with your own to see what it feels like.

He loves how eager you are. He slides his tongue against yours, devouring you, and he knows in the back of his mind that this is wrong but he wants you. He has since you started cooking for him. He kisses along your neck, “tell me to stop. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Don’t.” You beg, closing your eyes because you know it’s wrong, but you want him to show you those things you’ve read about. “I don’t want you to stop.” You shouldn’t be so free with yourself, but Jack is the only man who has ever heard you, really listened or cared about what you had to say. If anyone could show you how intimacy should be, it’s him. Even if he can’t love you.

Jack groans at your words until suddenly he pulls back. Your eyes flutter open, brow furrowing and he immediately stands up. Backing away from you, he doesn’t say a word as he strides to the front door and unlocks it after grabbing his boots. After shoving them on, he walks out into the night, shutting the door behind him. He turns back to look at the house for a moment until he walks off into the night.

Humiliation washes over you, making your entire body burn. He had told you that he was loyal to his wife and yet you had hoped that he would touch you. That he would show you a fraction of what a relationship between a man and a woman could be. Only to have him push you away. You rush to grab the book off the table and bolt for the stairs, ready to hide away for the night. Hoping he’s not going to tell you that you need to leave tomorrow. “What have I done?” You murmur hopelessly.

Jack walks for a while, pacing is more accurate, and he looks up at the stars. “Mary, darlin’, talk to me. She’s technically married and I- I swore I’d be faithful to you and our child.” He chokes, knowing he can’t just forget the woman he loves. The wind blows and he shivers, glancing at the trees that shake. He swears he hears Mary’s voice in his ear, curling around him in the breeze. “Be happy.” He chokes and looks up at the stars, nodding. He rolls his shoulders, deciding to make his way back to the house. He barely manages to take off his boots before he walks into the house, slamming the door behind him, and he stomps up the stairs to find you in the bed. “Jack?” You gasp at his sudden appearance and he kneels on the edge of the bed, cupping your cheeks to press his lips to yours.

You gasp into the kiss, Jack taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth again but you push him back this time. Breathing heavily and looking at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.” You huff. “You-“ Jack takes your hand and brings it to his lips. “I was tanglin’ with myself, darlin’.” He admits. “You’re a married woman and I’ve never been one to mess with a married woman, but I want you.” He declares. “You need to tell me what you want, because if I touch you, it will change everything.” Your eyes are steady, searching his face as you battle your own emotions. “I am married in the eyes of Montana.” You murmur quietly. “Not in the eyes of God.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, surging forward to press his lips to yours. His tongue immediately slides into your mouth and you moan, causing his cock to stir in his jeans. He isn’t aching enough to squeeze himself and he groans, kissing along your neck as his hand slides along your side until he’s gently squeezing your breast in his hand. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He murmurs into your skin, nipping your pulse.

Your eyes widen and then slide closed as you let him touch you like no one else ever has. Not even Judd, you had run from him before he could. You trust Jack, giving yourself to him easily. Your heart pounds and you whimper when he bites your collar bone gently.

He kisses your collarbone and palms your breast, using his other hand to shift the covers from your body. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous, darlin’.” He murmurs and slips the strap of your nightgown from your shoulder so he can kiss the skin there. He repeats the move with the other strap and the nightdress falls to your waist. He leans back, wanting to look at your breasts and you inhale deeply. “Fuck.” He whispers, cupping your breast, and when you moan, he surges down to wrap his lips around your nipple.

You cry out, but it’s not in pain. It’s pleasure that is swimming through your veins and making your core ache so swiftly that you press your thighs together to try to ease the need. “Jack!” Your hand comes up to his head and your fingers tangle into his hair. To pull him away, to press him closer, you don’t know. Your nipples are hard, begging for more as you whine.

Your cry has his cock pushing against the zipper of his jeans but he ignores that, loving how you tug on his hair and he groans around your nipples when you tug again. He switches to your other breast, wanting to worship you like you deserve.

Your chest is heaving and your eyes are fluttering behind your lids. It feels so foreign and yet it’s wonderful. “Jack.” You whimper softly. “I need-“ you don’t know what you need, but you need more of him.

He knows what you need. Certain that you are dripping into the sheet beneath you, and he releases your breast so he can gather the nightdress in his hands that’s bunched around your waist. He slowly lifts it up, exposing your flesh to his hungry eyes and soon you are naked in front of him. “Lord almighty. You are - you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, caressing your leg. “Lay down for me, sugar.” He orders and you are clearly nervous but there’s excitement on your face as you shift to lay down, head on your pillow. He shifts too, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans for some relief before he lays down on the bed and slowly pushes your thighs apart to expose your cunt to his hungry gaze. “Goddamn.” He mutters, inhaling the musky scent of your arousal as he leans closer to press soft kisses to your thighs.

He had said that men do this, but you had secretly that he was teasing you. Trembling slightly as you inhale sharply, your eyes fixed on the ruggedly handsome man between your legs. He’s devilish, smirking and winking at you before the flick of his tongue touches the most intimate part of your entire being. “Jack!”

He groans at your taste, tangy and slightly sweet. His hand grips your thigh, spreading you open even more, and his tongue slides through your folds, slowly sampling you. You look equally shocked and pleasured, making him chuckle into your cunt.

When you can move, your head falls back, staring up at the beams above you. “Oh God.” You moan softly. “I thought you were making fun of me.” You admit breathlessly. “This is- I’ve never felt anything like it.”

He pulls back for a second, “I’d never make fun of you, sugar.” He promises, groaning as he laps at you, his fingers digging into your flesh as he resumes devouring you.

“Jack-“ you choke out his name, fingers trailing down your body hesitantly. You’ve explored yourself in the dark. Always with a sense of shame and never under your nightgown but now you run your fingers over your nipples, still wet from his mouth. “What do I do?” You beg, needing to know if he needs you to do something, to participate.

"Nothin' to do, darlin' unless you wanna pinch your nipple." He orders softly, murmuring your name before he dives back into your cunt. He loves how good you taste and he desperately wants to see you fall apart for him, he needs to hear it.

It’s like he’s given you an order. Your hands, almost to his hair, drift back up to your breasts. You feel positively wicked as you touch them, hesitating for a second before you pinch the stiff, sensitive skin, making you moan as pleasure shoots through you.

He groans, cock aching in his pants and he unconsciously grinds into the sheets as you pleasure yourself. You look gorgeous and he knows he’s the devil seducing you when you are heaven sent to his door. He should leave your innocence intact but he wants you and he wants to be selfish for once.

“It- it feels so good.” You whimper, repeating the action and feeling it deep inside your womb, making another rush of heat spread. Jack flicks his tongue and laps at you like he is licking up a sticky syrup, pulling scandalous sounds out of you easily.

Jack loves how you are reacting, acting so wanton despite not knowing what you are doing. You moan his name and he groans into your flesh, his fingers trailing along your thigh until his digits find your entrance, gathering up the arousal pooling there while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You should stop him when you feel the pressure of his fingers slowly start to break you open, but you don’t. Too busy marveling over how good the pressure on your mons feels and arching up into the cup of your hand. “Jack- I- it’s so- I don’t know-“ you gasp out, needing something, feeling your body racing towards it but you can’t put it into words.

He knows you’re close, your whines and whimpers making him suck a little harder on your clit, and he slowly pushes his finger into you. Fuck, you’re so tight. He knows he’s done the right thing when you immediately cry out, clamping down onto his digit and he swears he could cum right then and there himself.

You feel like you’re drowning. Wave after wave of pleasure rolls over you. Stars bursting in your eyes and humming through your entire body. Unable to believe how blissful you feel all because of his hands and mouth. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” His name is a chant and you swear it’s the only word you know.

He loves how you fall apart for him. The way your body shakes and your cunt clenches as you chant his name. It’s almost too much but he shifts and works you through it until you start to wiggle. He pulls back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs after he slowly pulls his finger away from your flesh.

“Kiss me.” You beg softly, wanting to see if he tastes different with your juices on his lips. Reaching down, you stroke his shoulder and encourage him to come to you. “Please Jack.”

How can he deny you? He nods, shifting up your body until he is pressing his lips to yours. He is intoxicated by you already, sliding his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself from his lips.

You moan again. A needy, wanton sound that you barely even recognize coming from yourself. Pulling him closer to gasp in delight at the feel of his flannel shirt rubbing against your breasts.

He doesn’t push for more. You are innocent and he doesn’t want to take what doesn’t belong to him. He kisses you, shifting his mouth to press kisses along your jaw, “sugar, you gotta tell me what you want.” He orders, “cos I’ll head downstairs if you are done.” He promises, “I ain’t gonna be mad if that’s all you want from me.”

You love how he’s not trying to pressure you. Truly giving you a choice. You feel the hardness against your hip and you know that he wants you. You feel desirable and Jack doesn’t treat you like an object. “Show me what it feels like to give yourself to someone.” You demand breathlessly.

Your words have his heart pounding in his chest, his throat tightening as he kisses along your neck and you slide your fingers through his hair. He grunts when he feels you tug and he shifts to his haunches, fingers fumbling as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. He can feel your eyes on him, chest heaving as you watch him. He loves it. His cock is aching and after he shrugs off his shirt, he reaches for his pants. Your fingers twitch but he doesn’t let you take over, fingers fumbling to fully unbutton his pants until he’s pulling his cock free.

You’ve never seen a man before, not like this. Your eyes widen as you stare at the hard cock that is jutting up proudly and bouncing as he kicks his pants off. “Will it fit?” You gasp.

Jack almost chuckles at your question but he nods, “don’t worry, darlin’, it’ll fit.” He promises, “I just need to open you up a little more.” He slides his hand along your thigh, his fingers slipping through your folds.

You don’t know what he means, but you trust him. You whimper when he rubs his fingers against your clit. “That feels so good.” You admit. “But I ache.” It’s hard to describe, but he grins, knowing what you need even if you don’t. “I’ll take care of you.” He promises and you believe him. Jack has never lied to you, always taken care of you in the near month you have lived under his roof.

Jack slowly pushes his finger into you, loving how tight you feel around his digit, and when you moan softly, he decides to work another finger into you. He’s thick so you need to be stretched out for him, he can’t just slide into you.

His lips press against yours again as he starts to push his fingers in and out of your body. Making you gasp as he chuckles and his tongue slides against yours. It feels so different from the way he had touched you when his mouth was on you, but your hips rock down to push his fingers deeper inside you. Moaning when he curls them up.

Your moan has him groaning into your mouth, loving the way you are reacting to his touch. He wants to hear more from you so he pulls his lips back and watches you as he scissors his fingers for a moment, twisting his wrist until he can press his thumb to your clit.

Your fingers fly to his arm, gripping his bicep and holding firm to it while you cry out at the flash of pleasure. “Jack! Please, please…” you babble, eyes closed and breathing heavily as that now familiar feeling bubbles in your core and races through you.

He knows what you want even if you don’t and he works his fingers into you, curling them a little deeper, and your thighs shake around his wrist, making him smirk. “Cum for me, sugar.” He orders, “wanna see you fall apart on my fingers.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw.

You whimper again, enjoying his attention and now he focuses on you. You had heard that some men just selfishly focus on their own pleasure, but not him. You feel cherished and almost loved as he pumps his fingers into you and murmurs encouragement into your jaw. Telling you how good you are doing got him and he’s going to show you the stars when you cum for him.

He groans your name when you clamp down on his fingers. "That's it, darlin'." He murmurs, scissoring his fingers inside you as your nails dig into his forearm. He loves it. Fuck, he's throbbing but he focuses on you, knowing that you are giving him your innocence. "You want me inside ya, sugar?" He murmurs, wanting you to be sure.

“Yes.” You whine softly. “Jack, take me. Show me what it feels like to be a woman.” You beg, wanting to know everything you can about why women giggle and whisper behind their hands about their husbands.

He nods, watching you as he shifts to kneel between your legs. His eyes watching your expression. He desperately wants you to enjoy this. He swallows harshly as he grips his cock, shuffling closer until the head is sliding through your folds. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He murmurs, watching you as you grip the sheets until your hands find his arms. “You ready?” He asks and when you nod, he slowly starts to push into you.

It’s surreal, the feeling completely foreign. He’s large as he pushes into you, but it doesn’t hurt. Not until he’s so deep inside you that he feels like he’s all the way in. “I’m sorry darlin’.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to yours and kissing away your confused frown before he snaps his hips forward and making you cry out as he breaks through your innocence.

He presses kisses all over your skin, needing to take the pain away from you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. “You’re beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.” He murmurs, caressing your side as he gives you a moment to adjust to him.

The sharp pain gives way to just a small discomfort and the feeling of being full. He coos at you softly, assuring you that it will be alright and you believe him. Finally starting to squirm under his weight, wanting to move and feel that wondrous feeling like when his fingers were inside you. “Jack.”

Your whimper of his name has his hips jerking and he braces for your cry of pain but when you moan, he smirks and slowly pulls his hips back. It doesn’t take long for him to push back into you, especially when your thighs squeeze his hips. “Feel so damn good, sugar.” He grunts, kissing along your jaw.

“I feel…..full.” You admit breathlessly. “You’re so deep inside me.” You stroke his arms and then his back. “Put your legs around me.” Jack orders softly, making you gasp out as the angle changes and he feels even deeper.

He loves how you react, your nails digging into his back but he fucking loves it. “That’s it darlin’. Let ole Jack take care of you.” He orders, starts to move slowly, watching the micro expressions on your face as he starts to fuck you.

That’s what he’s doing. He’s taking care of you. You moan softly when he pushes back inside you. It feels incredible. He starts building a pace that is starting to steal your breath as he moves. “More.” You beg after long minutes, rolling your hips up.

He kisses along your jaw, pressing his lips to yours when you gasp and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth. He shifts his weight onto one forearm, his free hand slides along your side until he’s squeezing your breast.

You feel completely boneless and powerful all at the same time. Jack makes you feel like you are flying. He absorbs your whimpers, swallowing it down. Eyes closing as he makes you feel like you’re beautiful and loved.

He loves how reactive you are, the way you gasp as he pinches your nipple. Your walls clench around him and he groans into your mouth, kissing your chin. “So fuckin’ beautiful, sugar. Feel so goddamn good. Like an angel.” He murmurs against your skin.

“I don’t think an angel would do this.” You gasp out, shuddering in pleasure and your walls clench down around his cock. You love how he groans your name, it sounds so filthy dripping from his lips.

He chuckles softly, “I’d beg to differ.” He murmurs and grabs your thigh, pushing it back towards you and you cry out at the new angle. He loves it. You’re so fucking pliable and you are moaning his name. He shivers, muscles bunching, and he wants to feel you cum on his cock.

The pace sharpens, the thrusts deeper and your back arches slightly every time he hits the end of you. Making you shiver and shake as his hair brushes over your mons and propels you that much closer to that edge of bliss you now crave. “Jack, baby- I - I-“ you wail when he punches deep and grinds his cock inside, pleasure racing through you as you shake apart underneath him.

He groans when you clamp down on his cock, your cry echoing in the bedroom, and he fucking loves it. He can’t hold back and Jack is a man who would’ve prided himself on his stamina when he was married but it’s been too long. He growls as he pulls himself free of your fluttering cunt, fingers gripping his length and frantically pumping until hot spurts of cum paint your belly.

You watch, panting as you try to catch your breath. He was protecting you from a possible pregnancy, you know enough about sex to understand that, but you feel a little disappointed that you aren’t getting the full experience. Instead of saying something, you reach out and stroke his hip.

He pants, eyes closed until he works up the strength to open them. His dark eyes burn into yours, murmuring your name. “Shit, sugar. Ain’t you perfect?” He asks softly, a rhetorical question that makes you fluster.

You look up at him, his body slumped in total relaxation and your fingers touch the now cooling pearlescent liquid on your stomach. “Was it good for you?” You ask, knowing that you loved how he made you feel, but you are eager to know if he was pleased.

He cups your cheek, stroking your skin, “it was perfect.” He promises, reaching for his shirt to wipe your skin clean, and he shifts back to look down at you. “Do you want me - I can go back to the couch.” He suggests, unsure of what you want from him.

“Stay.” You reach for him, taking his arm as if he might pull away. “Please?” You add softly. You want him in the bed next to you, especially after such a monumental moment for you. “I- I don’t want you to go back to the couch.”

Jack can’t deny you anything. He nods and reaches out to caress your hip. He shifts to lay down on the bed beside you, pulling you close so you can lay on his chest. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead, “how you feelin’, sugar?”

“Tired.” You admit with a small giggle. “Incredible. I want to do that again. And again.” You twist your head and look up at him. “Does that make me a whore?”

Jack shifts his head to look at you, making sure you’re looking in his eyes, “absolutely not. You are human.” He promises, “and I - I want to do that again with you. I haven’t - it’s been - a while.” He finishes, caressing your cheek. “I will touch you however you want.”

“The way you just did is perfect.” You sigh happily as you lean into his hand. “I had hoped to have a man who treated me with respect, and you have done more than that.” Your fingers trace over an old scar and you lay back down on his chest. “I think there’s no better man alive than you, Jack.”

He wants to protest but he knows that will ruin the moment so he kisses your hair and sighs, “I think God has the final judgement there, sweetheart.” He snorts and caresses your side as you lean against him. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep and Jack remains awake, watching you sleep and wondering what the hell happens next.

**** 

You are alone when you wake up, something that doesn’t disappoint you too much as you feel across the empty bed. Life on a ranch must go on, it cannot wait for a woman to daydream about the night before. Getting up, you quickly wash in the surprisingly warm water in the pitcher and hide your own embarrassment over the pink tint to the water after cleaning away the remnants of your innocence from between your thighs. Dressing, you make the bed and rush downstairs to get started on breakfast for the men.

Jack finishes feeding the chickens and is making his way back to the house with a basket of eggs, enjoying the quietness of the early morning. You’ll be awake by now and he wonders if you regret last night. His mind keeps replaying the look on your face when you came, how goddamn beautiful you look. He can’t keep you though. Even if he’s claimed you. You’re not his wife. You’re not his and he doesn’t want to trap you when you never wanted to leave the city. He pulls off his boots on the porch, exposing his socks that have holes in them, and none of the others are here yet but he smells the coffee. Stepping into the house, he finds you in the kitchen with an apron tied around your waist. “Mornin’ darlin’.” He greets you, not coming over to touch you just yet, “got the eggs.”

“Good morning, Jack.” You feel your entire body heat up, feeling as nervous and giddy as a debutant at her coming out party. “Thank you, we are having pancakes - flapjacks - for breakfast.” You correct yourself, having some of the hand tease you last Sunday for saying it the ‘fancy’ way. “Coffee is ready.” You motion over to the pot and hope that he comes closer and kisses you before the men arrive. “Today I was planning on doing some washing and mending.” You look down at his sock with a smile. “If you will give those to me tonight, they will be fixed before you go to bed.”

Jack smiles, reaching out to touch your waist, “you’re too good to me, sugar.” He murmurs, grabbing your wrist gently to take the whisk from your hand. He sets it down on the counter and tugs you closer. Letting go of your wrist, he cups your cheek and slowly leans in until his lips press against yours.

Relieved that he is not pulling away, you completely melt into his arms. Winding your own around his neck, you moan softly into the kiss, your walls clenching around nothing when he slides his tongue into your mouth again. This feels right, it feels like home, like Jack is where you are supposed to be - who you are supposed to be with.

He pulls you closer, loving how you melt into him, and he slides his tongue against yours. Your soft moan has his cock twitching in his pants, and he pulls back after a few moments to nudge his nose against yours. “Goddamn.” He murmurs and you giggle, resting your forehead against his chest. He chuckles and kisses your hair while caressing your back. He hears the boys before he sees them and he lets go of you, taking a step back, and he winks just as the men come clambering in the door.

You bite your lip and turn back to the counter. “Flapjacks for breakfast, gentlemen.” You announce, making all of them cheer as they crowd around the coffee pot. It doesn’t take long to get all of them fed and they eat a lot. Making you smile at Jack as the scrap of forks clink against the tin plates that Jack told you were sturdier than any China. You believe it. Delicate things wouldn’t last out here and you are happy that you aren’t as delicate as you had once imagined. After they leave for the cattle, you set a roast on, wanting to make dinner special before you check your garden and then drag out the wash tub where it is kept in the lean to and build the fire outside to warm water to wash clothes.

****

Jack groans as he sits down, the men have left, fed and watered for the evening, and Jack watches you as you get a start on mending his clothes. "You happy here?" He asks after a moment, knowing you discussed you leaving as soon as he could get you a ticket back east.

You look up for a moment to smile at him before refocusing on mending his shirt. It’s been washed and dried on the line out in the yard, smelling like sunshine and grass. Another scent you associate with Jack’s musky smell. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” You admit, almost to yourself. “I- I can’t explain it. But I love working in the garden, cooking. Even mending your shirt.” You laugh at yourself. “My father thought that sending me to the west was a punishment, and it might have been if I was at Judd’s ranch, but here…..” you sigh. “I feel like I’m home.”

Jack's heart flutters at your words and he loves it. He nods, a soft smile on his face, and he watches you continue to sew his shirt. "I feel like my house is finally a home again." He confesses, "you've made me feel alive again. You've brought me back to life, sugar."

Your own heart flips and you feel your cheeks heat up. “You were very lively last night.” You tease, giggling as you tie off the last thread from the first repair on his shirt. One more little rip and this one will be as good as new. “I can only hope that you are happy to have me here.” You admit. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Jack shakes his head, "you ain't a burden. You're - you're heaven sent." He promises, "and I want - I was lively last night and I want you again tonight. If you want me." He adds, not wanting to assume.

You set down his shirt and look up at him again. “May I finish mending your shirt first?” You ask, smiling in jest as you nod. “I want more of you.” You agree. “As much as you will give me. I have- I have thought about it all day.” You confess. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Jack smirks, heart fluttering at your words, and he rubs his hands on his thighs, “me neither.” He confesses, “could’ve sworn I was tastin’ you on my lips throughout the day.” You fluster and he chuckles, “I’m yours if you want me, darlin’. However you want me.”

His words make you shiver and you nod. “Anyway I can have you Jack.” You know that a traditional future isn’t in the cards for you. You are technically married to another man and Jack’s heart lies with his late wife and child. If you just warm his bed for now that is what you will do.

Your words warm him, knowing you aren’t asking for more than he can give you but he wants to give you everything. His late wife is still on his mind but the whispered words in the wind are echoing and he wonders if she would forgive him for falling in love with you. “Finish your sewin’. I’ll be here.” He promises with a wink, picking up his knife to continue whittling some wood.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence. You finish the shirt and set it aside to iron, picking up the socks you had promised to darn. He has quite a few pairs that had holes in them, making you wonder who he had fixing his clothes before you showed up. Once they are all fixed so he has something to wear tomorrow, you put away your basket and stand, “I am going to get ready for bed.” You tell Jack softly. “Come up when you are ready.”

He nods, knowing you need some time to get ready and he watches you as you make your way up the stairs. “Take your time.” He says before you disappear and he sets his knife down, unable to concentrate on whittling now that he knows you are waiting for him. He clears his throat, standing up and brushing himself down.

You change into your nightgown and wash quickly, biting your lip as you tuck the blankets down on the bed. Wondering if you should just be naked and in the bed. You decide that’s better and slip off the nightgown and get under the covers. Last night you had slept naked with Jack, so it’s not like he would be surprised.

Jack slowly makes his way upstairs, the wood creaking under his bare feet, and he’s already shirtless since you’ve been fixing his clothes and washing them. He stands in the doorway in his jeans, fingers in the loops, and he offers you a soft smirk when he sees your bare shoulders. “Have I told you how fuckin’ beautiful you look?” He asks softly as he steps into the room .

You prop up on your elbows and watch him in the lamplight. “I vaguely remember something about it last night.” You admit. “But have I told you how handsome you are?” You pose. “You are a woman’s fantasy. Straight from those dime novels and into my bed. Rugged, handsome, kind…” You sit up and the sheets fall from your breasts. “Perfect.”

Jack’s eyes darken as they drift down to your breasts, taking in the ethereal sight that is you in his bed. He steps closer until he can kneel on the bed. “I ain’t perfect, sweetheart, but I sure am lookin’ at it right now.” He murmurs, surging forward to take your nipple into his mouth. Your cry makes him harden in his jeans and he switches to the other breast, biting down until he can kiss up your sternum. Your moan has him smirking against your skin between kisses until his lips press against yours.

Jack seems determined to make you see stars. He hovers over you, watching you as he draws the sheets down to completely expose your body. “Jack.” You whimper softly. “I want to touch you.”

“You can touch me however you want, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your chin, his hand caressing your side, and he trails his fingers down until he is cupping your mound. “You’re already wet. What have you been thinkin’ about?” He asks, a smirk on his lips.

“You touching me.” You admit breathlessly. “How you made me feel. Wondering if I could make you feel the same way.” You shiver, but your own fingers reach for the button on his jeans.

He chuckles, sliding his hand lower so his fingers are wet from your arousal. Caressing your folds until he slides his fingers through them. Your whimper has him aching in his pants and he presses his finger against your clit, slowly rubbing the bundle of nerves.

His buttons are difficult, but he continues to drive you mad as you try to undo them. “Jack.” You whine. “I want to touch you.” You beg, making him chuckle again.

Jack grunts when you finally manage to get his jeans undone, your fingers wrapping around his cock. “Fuck, sugar. You’re touchin’ me. You can do what you want.” He promises, rubbing your clit a little faster.

You love how his cock contrasts between hard and soft. There is a hardness that is covered in velvety soft skin. You squeeze him and giggle when he chokes out your name.

Your touch is innocent and soft but fuck, he loves it. He pants, rocking unconsciously into your hand, “fuck, sugar. Take what you want.” He orders, groaning your name again while he slides his fingers lower to push two inside you.

You lick your lips, wondering if he would react the same way that you reacted. Lunging forward pushes his fingers deeper inside you but you don’t moan as you touch your tongue to his cock.

Jack chokes on his breath when you take him into your mouth. He never expected it, and his chest heaves as he looks down at you. He withdraws his fingers, watching you as you look at him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, “you don’t - it’s - fuck. You feel so goddamn good.”

You hum softly, not letting go of him as your tongue rolls around his cock. Tasting him the way he tasted you. Loving how he groans and chokes, you swallow and his knees buckle.

He groans your name again, watching you as you innocently discover what it’s like to have a man’s cock in your mouth. You seem to enjoy it and that makes him twitch, reaching down to caress your cheek with wet fingers.

He seems to really like this so you take your time. Your hand slowly strokes the lower part of his cock as you take him deeper. You don’t know what you are doing, just responding to his sounds. Wanting to make him feel good too.

“You like this, darlin’?” He asks, voice raspy with arousal as he watches you with dumbstruck eyes. You moan around him and he twitches in your touch, “fuck. You’re doin’ so good. You’re takin’ what you want and it’s yours.”

You feel powerful and you slide out of the bed to your knees in front of him. It’s almost as if you are praying, but this is not a conversation with God. This is something much more carnal, wicked, although you would never ask for forgiveness for this. Not when Jack is looking down at you like you hung the moon.

You have his chest heaving and he knows that you are enjoying this. It’s something he’s imagined when he has thought of you but he never expected to see you on your knees for him. You take him deeper and when you choke, “careful, darlin’.” He warns, “don’t hurt yourself.”

You pull back and swallow, feeling him twitching on your tongue from the pressure. Looking up at him as you slowly take him deeper again and swallowing. Jack groans loudly as his hips rock forward, his hand caressing your cheek and then moving to the back of your head. You are dripping onto the wooden floor but you let him guide you, showing you what to do.

He guides you, working you on his cock, and he groans when you swallow around him. “Fuck.” He breathes out, watching you as you take his cock like you’ve been doing it every night since you ran into him. “Sweetheart. I don’t - lemme touch you. I don’t want- not like this.” He chokes when you hollow your cheeks.

“You don’t want to finish?” You ask innocently after you pull off his length, your spit dripping down your chin. “No, sweetheart, I want to make you feel good.” You take his hand and stand up. “I feel like I’m on fire.” You admit softly. “Wetter. It made me ache when I was touching you.”

Jack smirks, a little smug that he makes you feel like that. “Fuck. You’re so goddamn perfect, sugar. C’mere.” He orders, grabbing your ass to pull you into his lap, his hands immediately sliding along your back. He pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours, and he immediately slides his tongue into your mouth.

You’ve never sat on a man’s lap before, especially the way that Jack had guided your thighs around his waist. Leaving your core exposed and pressed against his hardness. You gasp, instinctively rolling your hips against him, writhing on his lap.

Jack loves how you gasp, so innocent yet so unashamedly wanton in your desire. His hands finds your ass, helping you to grind down onto his cock and he wants more from you. "Come on sweetheart. You wanna ride this ol’ cowboy?" He asks, leaning in to kiss your jaw.

“How do I do that?” You ask, eyes wide at the prospect of riding. “Is it like being on a horse?” You have ridden a horse, you are an excellent rider but you never thought about riding a man.

Jack chuckles, nodding, "it's similar. You gotta move your hips, however it feels good. I can guide you." He promises, reaching down to grip his cock and he positions himself at your entrance so you can sink down onto him.

You don’t know who moans louder, you or Jack. The way he feels inside makes him feel even bigger. Taking your breath away and the burn of his cock because of being slightly sore gives way to the pleasure. “Oh God.” You whine. “I want, I want to feel this all the time.”

Jack groans at your words, "whenever you want, I'm yours." He promises, "you're so fuckin' gorgeous." He leans in to kiss along your jaw and his hands squeeze your hips, giving you a moment until he helps to guide you rocking on his cock.

It’s slow starting, he doesn’t try to rush you. It’s a good thing, since he’s so thick and deep inside you. Your walls clench down around him every time you sink back down and your whimpers get louder as he pushes against something wonderful inside you.

"Take your time, sugar." He murmurs, caressing your back, "you're so fuckin' perfect." He coos, "takin' me like this. Keep goin'. Take what you want." He rambles slightly, kissing your neck until he cups your breast, tilting it so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

This is sinful, how good it feels. But you don’t stop, you never want to stop. Your tits shake as you start to ride him a little fast, holding on and your fingers twist into the longer curls at the nap of his neck. “Jack. Fuck.” You curse breathlessly. “You feel so good. So deep. Like you are buried inside me.”

He loves how you are gaining confidence, taking what you want from him, and he desperately wants to see you cum again for him. It’s all he’s been able to think about all day. “Fuck, that’s it. Lookin’ like you’ve been ridin’ my cock every damn night. Fuck.” He murmurs, biting down on your breast, wanting to leave a mark under the skin.

You gasp out his name, hips jerking and you start to bounce faster. Loving how rough he is with you. His hands gripping tighter and tighter until he lets go. You were going to protest when you felt a sharp slap on your ass, making you squeal. “Again, fuck, Jack.” You cry. “Do that again.”

Jack chuckles at how desperate you sound and he repeats the action, wanting to hear you moan his name again. You are frantically rocking on top of him so he grabs your hips, adjusting the pace so you can find that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

His grip of your hips makes you shout his name. So loudly that you think the men in the bunkhouse behind the barn can hear you. It feels incredible and you clamp down around his cock when he thrusts up into you, shaking apart in his arms.

He pulls back to watch you as you cum for him. Fuck, he loves it. He groans your name and twitches inside you but he’s not done yet. He pants and shifts, laying you down on the bed so he can hover over you. His cock still inside you, he caresses your cheek, and watches until you open your eyes. That’s when he starts to move again, rocking slowly into you.

“Jack.” You whimper his name, mouth dropping open as he starts to move. He’s looking down at you so tenderly you could cry and it makes your heart pound. You’re falling in love with Jack. You know you are. “More.” You beg, hands stroking his sides and arms as he rocks deeper. “I want everything.”

He grunts, knowing he can be a little harder this time. He groans your name, surging to kiss you and sliding his tongue into your mouth without hesitation. His hand grips your thigh, lifting it higher so he can push deeper into your cunt.

You kiss him back, giving yourself over to him as he takes control. So good at breaking you apart and making you unravel. Your moans and whines are breathed into him, Jack greedily swallowing your sounds as his hips snap forward with a singular determination

He pants your name, kissing along your jaw, and he pushes deep, needing to know you’re with him. He needs to know that you are in his bed and not leaving him yet. He doesn’t know how he’d survive losing you but he would let you go if he had to. Even if it killed him.

Your hand dives into his hair, holding tight as your leg winds around his hip. Pulling him closer as you rock your own hips up to meet his thrusts. “So good. You feel so good.” You praise, eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in and out of you. “I need you.”

Hearing you claim that you need him has him groaning your name and he hisses when your walls flutter. He knows you’re close. “Fuck.” He hisses, “you’re so fucking good.” He declares between kisses to your neck.

You whimper, making all the sounds that seemingly drive him crazy. “I want- I want to see you cum.” You tell him. “I love the way you looked when you finished.” You aren’t brave enough to ask him to finish inside you, you know he won’t because you aren’t his.

He nods, needing you to fall apart for him one more time. “Gotta look after you first, sweetheart.” He murmurs, reaching down to snake his hand between you, finding your clit. He rubs soft circles, loving how you cry out, “that’s it, sugar. Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me.”

You can never say that Jack is a selfish man. He is too interested in making sure that you are taken care of. Your chest heaves and you watch him touch you as his cock sides in and out of your body. “I’m- I’m so close.” You whine softly, only to cry out a second later when your walls clamp down around him, soaking him as you shatter.

He groans, loving how you clench down around him. You look wrecked and he loves it. "That's it, darlin'." He pants, pulling free of your cunt and before he can grip his cock, you are wrapping your fingers around him to start pumping him. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkk." He chokes, cock twitching as he cums in your grip, hot seed spurting onto your belly and tits.

You watch him, obsessed with the way that his jaw tightens and his lips twist in pleasure. Humming softly as he pants. “I think you are so beautiful.” You murmur.

Jack smiles, heart fluttering as you look up at him like he's your moon and stars. He leans in, uncaring of his seed drying on your skin, so he can softly kiss you. "You clearly ain't looked in a mirror because you are the beauty of the house."

You reach out and cup his cheek. “Thank you.” You whisper. He might think you are thanking him for the compliment, but you are thanking him for giving you the life you have right now. He has truly saved your life.

**** 

Jack narrows his eyes as he looks up at the sky, the sun is shining as spring graces his ranch with wildflowers. He will pick some to take back to you, even with the fellas ribbing him for being a sap. He doesn’t care. He wants to be a sap for you. You’ve brought him back to life after grieving Mary for so many years. He knows she’d want him to be happy. He gathers some flowers, tying them with some string, and he is making his way back to the house when he hears your scream. Tossing the flowers, he grips the reins and kicks his horse’s side, galloping to find you, praying he isn’t too late.

“You fuckin’ whore!” You scream when Judd strikes you again, your cheek exploding with pain. Still you fight, struggling to get away from him. You had assumed the horse trotting up behind you was one of the men as you had knelt down, pulling the weeds from the two small crosses that were nestled under the tree. Mary and the baby’s grave. “Let me go!” You cry out, your wrists hurting because Judd has such a tight grip on them. If you could just get to the gun in your apron pocket. “Jack!” You scream, praying he is nearby.

His heart is pounding as he gallops until he finds you struggling against Judd Miller under the tree where his wife and child are buried. Jack wastes no time swinging off his horse, not even coming to a stop as he hits the ground running to run into Judd. He growls as he slams into him, pushing him to the ground and away from you.

You gasp, heart pounding and you stumble back from the two men fighting on the ground. “Jack!” You reach into your pocket, fumbling for the gun and bringing it out, hands shaking.

Jack pulls his hand back, fist clenched as he punches Judd. "You motherfucker! You stole my fuckin' wife!" Judd growls, headbutting Jack who grunts, stumbling back. You fumble, trying to pull the trigger, as Jack punches Judd again. Bang! You finally shoot the gun and Jack stumbles back, eyes wide. You choke, watching him with blood splattered over his face until Judd's body drops to the ground.

“I - he was-“ you drop the gun on the ground and rush over to Jack. “I thought he was going to kill me.” You stammer. “Or you. I couldn’t let him- I love you.” You are touching him, checking him to make sure that he’s not injured. “I couldn’t let him-“

Jack is shocked, looking down at Judd’s bleeding body. His eyes trail back to you, and he doesn’t think, he just acts. He cups your cheek, surging forward to press his lips to yours. “I love you. I love you.” He chokes out between hurried kisses to your lips.

You start to cry, relief mostly, but also happiness that he feels the same way that you do. Your arms wind around his waist and you sigh softly when his frantic kisses ease. “Thank you.” You whisper. “I didn’t know it was Judd. I thought you had ridden up to visit with Mary.”

He cups your cheek, eyes darkening at the cut on your cheek from Judd’s ring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. That bastard - he must’ve been ridin’ along the fence and saw ya.” Mary’s grave is on the edge of the property and he should’ve told you to stay away from there but he didn’t think Judd would be looking for you. “Fuck. Are you okay?” He asks, looking you over for any other injuries.

“I’m fine.” Your cheek hurts but it would have been so much worse. You swallow harshly. “Am I going to be arrested?” You ask quietly. “I killed a man.” You’ve heard of murders being hung, towns making it a party as they watch them swing. “I killed my husband.” You choke out.

Jack caresses your back, trying to calm you down. "I ain't gonna let you take the blame. I'll tell the sheriff that I killed him." He reassures you, "you ain't gonna be arrested." He promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“No.” You shake your head. “I won’t let you do that. He was- he was telling me what he was going to do to me when he got me back to his ranch.” Your eyes fill with tears again. “It was- I would wish for death when he got done with me.”

Jack tightens his grip on you, jaw clenching, and he exhales through his nose as he tries to control himself. “Bastard.” He growls, “he will never touch you again.” He promises, “the sheriff knows who he is.” He murmurs, “I shall ride into town. Go home. Lock the doors. I’ll be back soon.”

You nod quickly, eyes flickering over to Judd’s body and you shudder to think what would have happened if Jack hadn’t heard you scream. “I’ll- coffee will be ready for you and the sheriff.” You promise, knowing that you will be too jittery to sit still. You will probably start making cookies and pies for the men since dinner is already started.

Jack nods, leaning to kiss you softly before he pulls back. Your horse is still tied up so he swings his leg over his horse, galloping off to see the sheriff. “Judd’s what?” The sheriff asks, eyes wide in shock. “He’s dead.” Jack repeats, “he tried to attack his wife. She - she ran onto my land and told me he tried to take her with force the day after their wedding. She’s been stayin’ with me.” He explains and the sheriff’s eyebrows lift beneath his hat. “And you’ve taken her as your own?” He guesses from the way Jack is acting. “I love her.” He confesses, “we both know Judd was a monster. He would’ve killed her like the last one. She did all of us a favor.” He snorts and the sheriff’s nods, knowing he’d be happy to have Judd off his back even if he will miss the coins.

“Guess I should go speak to her.” He sighs, dropping his boots off his desk and groans as he grabs his hat. “You plannin’ on marrying her?” He asks. “Judd’s ranch is nice little piece and she’s gonna get it. He didn’t have no family.”

Jack didn’t even think of that. Didn’t even care about obtaining more land but it would be yours to decide what you want to do with it. By proxy, Jack would own it as your husband but it would always be yours. “Goddamn.” Jack murmurs, knowing that Judd has gold stashed on his land too. He was a mean bastard. The sheriff and Jack ride back to his ranch, finding you in the kitchen. “Darlin’.” He calls out, knowing you must be distracted as you mix something in a bowl.

You yelp, not even hearing Jack come in. Whirling around, you press a hand to your chest. “Jack.” You whimper in relief before noticing the man standing next to Jack with a shiny star pinned to his chest. “Sheriff.” You had met the man when he had married you and Judd as soon as you stepped off the train. A pathetic little ceremony in the office in full view of the cells where drunkards and thieves slept. “I- I was making cookies for the men, in case…..” you trail off and look back at the table where nearly a dozen pies were sitting as they cooled. “Could I get you some coffee?” You ask the sheriff, aware he might have some questions.

The sheriff nods and Jack gestures for him to sit down at the table which he obliges, taking a seat next to Jack. “So little lady, you wanna tell me what happened?” He tilts his head after setting his hat down on the table.

You pour two cups of coffee and bring them over to the table before going back to get plates and a knife. If they are having coffee, they might as well have a slice of pie. “I was at Mary and the baby’s graves, visiting and pulling weeds.” You were asking her to forgive you for falling in love with her husband, but the sheriff doesn’t need to know that. “When I heard a horse, I thought it was Jack, so I didn’t turn around. Before I knew it, I was being pulled to my feet and slapped, Judd was screaming horrible things at me, hitting me.”

The sheriff knows about Judd, how he’s treated women in the past. Hell, he was there the day the man shot Mary. He nods softly, knowing that no one would miss Judd, not even his own ranch hands. “Well…it sounds to me like you acted in self defense. Something that isn’t punishable by the law. You were his wife. You now inherit his land and you are his widow. No longer married in the eyes of the Lord.” He explains and Jack’s eyes widen at the realization. He looks at you, scrambling to stand up, “marry me.” He demands, “right now. I wanna marry you. Want you to be mine officially.”

You are startled, gasping as he reaches for your hand. “Jack-“ you choke out. “What about Mary?” You ask but he shakes his head. “I’ll love her forever, but she’s gone, baby. She’s not here and I’ve-“ he pulls you closer. “I’ve fallen in love with you. You are my future, my happiness.” He coos. “Marry me?” He asks again, softly this time and you melt. Looking over to the sheriff, you ask, “can you marry us now, or do we have to wait?”

The sheriff chuckles, nodding as he stands up, the chair scraping. “You can be married now in the eyes of the Lord. You wanna do this here?” He asks, looking around and Jack looks towards you. “Here or the garden?” You smile, “the garden.” Jack nods, taking your hand to guide you outside. He doesn’t have a ring but he can get you one, wanting you to have everything. You’ve saved him. He takes your hands, standing beside the garden you’ve been cultivating, and the sheriff puts his hand on his head, reaching into his jacket for his bible.

You are nervous, squeezing his hand as he stands beside you. Tall and steady, making sure that you are taken care of. You trust Jack completely, knowing that he won't be like Judd, he wouldn't make you afraid for your very life. "I love you." You murmur softly, looking over at him with a surety that makes you proud to marry Jack.

Jack winks at you as the sheriff begins to explain what marriage is. Jack looks at the sheriff, "we are both widows. Can we skip to the vows so I can kiss my wife?" He asks and the sheriff snorts while you giggle. "Do you, Jack Jameson Daniels, take this woman to be your wife?" He asks and Jack smiles, squeezing your hand, "I do." The sheriff asks you the same question and you nod, "I do." He sighs and shuts his bible, "then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your-" He doesn't get to finish before Jack is surging forward to press his lips to yours.

You giggle against his lips, kissing him back and throwing your arms around him while he spins you around. Feeling happy and lighthearted. You are a married woman again, this time to a man who you love that you want to be with. You won’t be running from him.

“I’ll register Judd’s death and then register the marriage.” The sheriff declares, “now don’t be shootin’ anyone else, sweetheart.” He orders you and you lean into Jack’s chest. “I promise.” You grin and Jack squeezes your waist, “now git so I can make love to my beautiful bride.” Your newly minted husband orders the other man who chuckles and tilts his head. “Have fun kids.” He makes his way to his horse, making a note to have his deputy come collect Judd’s body later. Jack surges forward to kiss you again, groaning into your mouth, and he ducks down to wrap his arm around your knees, lifting you into his arms.

You squeal, then throw your head back and laugh as Jack turns towards the house and carries you. “Jack!” You wrap your arms around his neck and smile. “I can walk.”

He grins, "not over the threshold. It's bad luck and we ain't needing any more of that shit." He declares and you giggle, clinging to him, and he kicks the door open. He carries you into the house and sets you down, his hands sliding along your body.

"Does this mean you will.....finish inside me?" You ask, biting your lip as you look into his eyes. "I- I want to feel my husband inside me as he cums."

Jack nods, cock hardening in his pants at the thought of filling you up with his cum. He loves how eager you look and he kicks the door shut, taking your hand so he can escort you up the stairs. Your baking is abandoned as he focuses on you, his wife. When you’re upstairs, he turns you around so he can slowly start to unlace your dress. Leaning down, he presses kisses to your neck, “so goddamn beautiful.”

“You are just being sweet to me because I married you.” You tease, practically glowing because you are now Mrs. Daniels. Tilting your head so he can have more access to you, it’s tortuously sweet and yet it feels like your dress is falling off your body in a second.

When your dress falls, his hands immediately cup your tits, gently squeezing them in his palms, and he groans as he kisses more of your skin. His impatience wins out as he spins you so he can duck down and take your nipple into his mouth.

You whine, eyes closed as your fingers bury into his hair. You know that he will make sure that you are breathless and satisfied by the time you are finished but this time is special. This is sealing the vows that you just made to each other. “Husband.” You whimper. “Please.”

Jack hasn’t been addressed as husband for so long but hearing you say it has his heart pounding in his chest. “Fuck.” He murmurs against your skin, shifting to kiss down your stomach until he is kneeling before you. You’ve brought him back to life and he desperately needs to show you that, to worship you. He groans your name, shifting to lift your leg onto his shoulder, and he groans when your scent hits his nose.

You know he wants to put his mouth on you again, making you shudder at the thought. He loves it and you are grateful that his pleasure is so tied to your own. He isn’t greedy or selfish with his touch. “Jack.” The first touch of his tongue has you pitching up off the bed, hips lifting to his mouth. “God!”

He smirks against your folds, loving how you moan, and he eagerly laps at you. Your tangy taste is one he can sample for the rest of his life. “Fuck.” He grunts as he pulls back, using his thumbs to spread your folds before he dives in with a groan.

He drives you out of your mind. Licking and sucking, teasing you with the curl of his tongue against your sensitive flesh. You know that it’s positively wicked but you don’t care, it feels amazing. Pulling moans out of you every time he flicks his tongue against your clit. “Oh God, I can’t-“ you gasp out. “I’m gonna-“ you keen, feeling stars burst behind your eyes and you shake apart for him.

It’s the quickest you’ve fallen apart for him and he thinks it’s a combination of his love for you and the fact that you belong to him. He loves how you cry his name as he laps at you, working you through it, and his cock is throbbing with need for you. “Lemme be inside ya, sugar.” He rasps, shifting to his haunches to work on unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yes.” You lunge up, helping your husband undress, wanting to see and feel his strong body. He had cleaned Judd’s blood off his face at some point, so you lean in to press kisses along his jaw, nipping the skin.

He grunts when he pushes his shirt off his shoulders and your hands fumble with his belt until finally you wrap your fingers around his hard cock. “Fuck. Let me-” He chokes, shuffling and nearly falling forward as he pushes his pants down, kicking them off. He shifts to hover over you, his hand caressing your side, “my beautiful wife.”

“Make love to me, Jack.” You demand. “I’m already yours but I want you to erase the fear.” You reach for his shoulder to pull him closer. “I was so afraid when Judd found me. Afraid I would never see you again. Afraid that you would think I had just left you.”

He nods, gripping his cock to position himself at your entrance. His dark eyes meet yours as he slowly starts to push into you. He groans your name, kissing along your neck as he stretches you out.

“You feel so good. So big inside me.” You moan softly. You don’t mention his name, but Judd’s cock had been something small, pathetic when he had pulled it out that day you fled. You couldn’t imagine feeling like you do right now with him. “Like you are so deep inside me I don’t know where you begin and I end.”

Jack loves hearing you talk like this. He groans, “that’s right. Only I can make you feel like this. Only cock you’re gonna have is mine.” He murmurs between kisses. “I love you, sugar.” He grunts, starting to rock into you.

“I love you, Jack.” You close your eyes as he starts to make the bed creak as he pushes in and out of you. It’s a rhythm that seems as old as time but it’s still so new to you. Your legs wrap around his waist and he groans in pleasure when your walls clench down around him.

No more words are spoken as he rocks into you. There's no rush, no worry, nothing hanging over your head. Just the two of you and the future shining bright ahead. "Fuck. You feel so good, sweetheart." He murmurs, reaching down to slide his hand between you so he can rub your bundle of nerves.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, making you whine as he expertly drives you mad. “I want to feel you.” You gasp. “I want to feel you deep inside me when you cum.”

He groans, “that’s it sweetheart. You need to - fuck - cum for me.” He demands, “cum first and then you’ll feel me.” He promises, rocking into you a little harder.

You pant into his mouth, nodding as your eyes slip closed again. Letting him completely overwhelm your senses. “Jack-“ you bite your lip and rock your hips down, feeling your body fly to the edge of bliss so quickly under his talented hands.

He groans as you squeeze him, lost in the feel of your cunt gripping his cock and knowing he doesn’t have to pull out of you to spill his seed onto your belly. He moans your name, “gonna - gonna cum.” He warns you, wanting you to be sure.

“Yes, baby.” You moan, cunt clenching harder in anticipation. Wanting to feel what it is like to be filled for the first time. “Cum, I want to see you.” Eyes open, you caress his cheek gently. “Make me your wife completely.”

He clenches his jaw, watching you and he pants your name, desperate to fill you up, make you his in every way. “Fuck.” He hisses, dark eyes focused completely on you. “I’m gonna - I’m gonna - shit.” He growls, pushing deep as his cock twitches, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut as he paints your walls.

You whimper, feeling the heat filling you. Flooding your womb and it gives you the sense of completion you had never expected to feel. Like this is what was supposed to be when you climbed onto that train. “I love you.” You whisper, kissing along his jaw as he rocks into you, riding out his pleasure.

He collapses onto you, shifting his weight to his forearms so he doesn’t crush you. His lips press against yours, tongue sliding into your mouth as his entire body buzzes. He loves you so much. You’ve saved him. He never imagined that inspecting the fence on the edge of his property with Judd Miller would lead to him finding the woman who would save him from his solitude. “I love you too, Mrs. Daniels.” He murmurs and you giggle, caressing his back. “The boys will be here soon for dinner.” You sigh when you are curled around him, his hand caressing your thigh. “They can serve themselves.” Jack growls, squeezing your ass and leaning in to kiss your neck. Your squeal makes his chuckle. His house is a home once again.

[guelyury]

Soft Reins — Day Three

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Pairings: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader

Summary: You join Joel on his errands run to town

Tags: Age gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Joel being a sweetiepie, sexual tensions

Word Count: 7,6k

a/n hellooooo!!! i’m so excited to post this one because finally these two have their alone moments yippieee!!! thank you so much for all my beta readers because ya’ll really help shape this chapter with your ideas and feedbacks! ily all of you!! enjoy!

You set five different alarms to make sure you’d be up by five. You got ready—showered, did your hair, light makeup—and picked something cute but casual: a baby blue sundress you packed, paired with comfy walking shoes. It felt like getting ready for a first date. Which, technically, it wasn’t—you were just tagging along with Joel on some errands. But still. Just you and him. Away from everyone else. You were a little nervous… but mostly, you were so damn excited.

By the time 6 AM rolled around, you were already heading out to the front of the ranch. You sent a quick text to Amy on your way:

“Running errands with Joel to the town. Cover for me if anyone asks.” She probably wasn’t even awake yet.

Out front, you spotted him—leaning against his truck in a dark blue shirt, arms crossed, biceps on full display. Then he turned his head, and his eyes lit up when they landed on you.

“Well, look who’s up and early,” he teased.

You giggled. “Hey, cowboy.”

“Hey, sugar,” he said, softer now. “C’mon, get in. It’s a long drive to town.” He opened the door for you, you thanked him and he nodded before running off to his side and getting in as well.

“Seatbelt,” he murmured, and you clicked it on.“How long’s the drive again?” you asked as the truck rumbled to life.

“’Bout an hour to the nearest town,” he said, eyes on the road.

You nodded, watching the early morning light stretch across the fields as the ranch disappeared behind you. “You do these errands often?”

“Every week,” he replied. “Stuff for the kitchen, cleaning supplies, hardware, things that need fixin’. All the boring stuff.”

“Was surprised you wanted to come,” he added with a low chuckle. “You’ve got way better activities back at the ranch.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah… was surprised I said that too.” Then you shrugged. “I don’t think errands are boring, though.”

“No? Compared to, say, archery lessons?” he teased.

You grinned. “Well, in that case, it’s safer for everyone if I come with you.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him and you giggled along with him.

Then, after a beat, his voice softened. “You look… you look real pretty, by the way.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “You think so?”

He nodded, eyes still on the road. “Yeah. That dress suits you.”

You glanced out the window, smiling to yourself. “Thanks, Joel.”

You watched the scenery roll by through the window, the cab wrapped in a comfortable silence.

“Do you usually drive in silence?” you asked, glancing over at him. Joel raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… no music, no podcast, no audiobook?” you teased.

He chuckled. “Don’t think you’d wanna hear my old country stuff.”

“Why not?” you shot him a playful look. He shrugged, smirking. “Don’t seem like the type to listen to it.”

“Well, you’d be right,” you grinned. “But I still wanna hear your music. Your picks.”

He glanced at you, amused. “You sure?”

“Come on, show me the reins, cowboy.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Alright then.” Joel pulled the truck gently to the side of the road and leaned over to the glovebox on your side, popping it open. Your heart skipped a little at how close he was. Inside the compartment there’s a whole stash of cassette tapes.

“What’s your pick, sugar?” he asked, eyes scanning the labels.

You laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I have no idea what counts as good country music.”

“Well then,” he murmured, pulling one out with a worn label, “Guess it’s my job to show you.”

He slid the tape into the player. “We’ll start with a classic…”

A slow guitar twanged from the speakers, soft and easy, like the start of a daydream. Joel pulled back onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.

“Who’s this?” you asked, tilting your head slightly at the rich, honey-warm voice that started to hum through the cab.

“Don Williams,” he murmured. “Ever heard of him?”

“Not even once,” you admitted with a quiet chuckle.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting as he let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, figured as much.”

You returned the smile and looked out the window, the landscape rolling by in the golden morning light. The song carried on, slow and gentle, like a lullaby for grown-ups. Your foot started tapping in rhythm almost without thinking.

“Not bad,” you said after a moment.

Joel glanced at you sideways. “Yeah? Thought you weren’t a country girl.”

“I’m not,” you grinned, “but I like this. It feels… nice. Kinda peaceful.”

He gave a small hum of agreement, eyes still on the road. “He’s got that effect.”

You let the music fill the silence between you, not rushed or awkward—just easy. The kind of quiet you didn’t mind sinking into.

Throughout the drive, he kept introducing you to his favorite country artists—Don Williams, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash. He’d glance over now and then, watching your reactions like they mattered. And every time you smiled or said, “I like this one,” he beamed a little, like you’d just passed some kind of secret test.

You couldn’t help it—you kept sneaking glances at him as he drove. There was something hypnotic about it. The way his hand rested so confidently on the wheel, the subtle flex of muscle in his forearm, the way he tapped to the rhythm with a quiet ease. He was humming again, low and gravelly, just barely audible over the soft strum of guitar from the stereo.

“Sing for me,” you said, nudging him gently.

He gave you a side glance, amused. “Again?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Mmhmm. I like your voice.”

He let out a small breath of a laugh, eyes flicking back to the road. “Thought I already gave you a show last night.”

“And now I want an encore,” you teased.

He smirked, shaking his head. “You don’t let up, do you?”

“Yep.” you said simply, popping the p.

That made him laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, like he was pretending to be reluctant—though the way he glanced at you, like he liked being asked, gave him away.

A few beats passed. Then, softly, he started to sing—just a few lines. And you leaned back in your seat, smiling like an idiot, soaking in every note like it was just for you.

When he stopped singing and the song came to an end, you threw your hands up and clapped like you were at a concert. “Wooooo!!” you cheered, grinning wide.

Joel let out a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face—one of those rare, unguarded ones that made your chest flutter.

Time always seemed to move faster when you were with Joel. One minute you were cruising along to Don Williams, the next you were pulling into a sleepy little town. He turned into a small parking lot and parked out front of a grocery store.

He glanced at you. “You comin’ in, or waitin’ out here?” You scoffed. “Obviously I’m coming in. I wanna help.”

Joel gave a small smile and nodded. “Alright then.”

You reached for your door handle, but before you could open it, Joel had already hopped out and jogged around to your side. You raised a brow at him as he opened it.

“Well, look at you,” you teased, stepping down. He gave you a small shrug like it was nothing. “Raised right, I guess.”

You followed him into the store, grabbing a shopping cart on your way in.

“I got it,” Joel said, reaching for the handle. You pulled it out of reach. “Nope. I’m pushing. I need to feel useful.” He let out a soft laugh. “Alright, boss.”

“So what’s on this big list?” you asked, and Joel fished a crumpled paper from his pocket.

“Lotta boring stuff,” he muttered, scanning it. “Cooking oil, sugar, salt, coffee filters, laundry pods… stuff to keep the place from fallin’ apart. Handwritten by Maria herself, so no substitutions.”

You grinned. “So no getting the fun cereal?”

“Nope. Unless you wanna deal with her,” he smirked.

You wandered through the aisles with Joel reading off the list like it was a mission, and you taking it way too seriously. When you finally handed him the right kind of sugar, he looked at it, nodded once. “Yup. That’s it.”

You grinned and lifted your hand. “That’s at least worth a high five.”

He gave a small shake of his head but still slapped your palm lightly, a little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You’re humoring me,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Little bit,” he murmured, but didn’t pull his hand away right away. His fingers brushed yours for just a second before he turned and kept walking.

You stood there, biting your lip to hide the way you were smiling like an idiot before hurrying after him with the cart.

In the snacks aisle, you picked up a box of animal crackers and wiggled it at him.

“Come on. These count as essential supplies, right?” He raised a brow. “Only if you plan on feeding the horses with ‘em.”

You tossed them into the cart anyway.

You passed the frozen aisle and spotted a tub of ice cream, eyes lighting up. “Do you think Dolly would like a frozen treat?” you asked, already halfway to grabbing it.

Joel glanced up from his list, one brow raised. “Is that for Dolly… or for you?”

“Definitely for Dolly,” you nodded slowly, not very convincingly.

He smirked. “’Cause if it’s for you, there’s a real good ice cream parlor I could take you to after this.”

You squinted at him, pretending to weigh your options. “Okay… it’s probably too much sugar for a horse anyway,” you said, setting the tub back with a little sigh.

The cart was getting heavy with supplies, wheels creaking as you pushed it toward the checkout line. You and Joel had made good time, crossing off most of the list, and now you were both standing side by side, waiting behind a woman with two screaming kids and way too many cans of soup.

Joel scanned the items in the cart again. “Shit. Think I forgot somethin’.”

You glanced up at him. “You want me to grab it?”

“Nah, I got it. Just stay put, I’ll be quick.” He gave your arm a soft pat before heading off down one of the side aisles.

You leaned your arms on the handle of the cart, letting your weight sink forward. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the radio was playing some soft country tune you didn’t recognize. You were zoning out a bit, looking out to the moving conveyor belt in front of you.

And then, out of nowhere, a bouquet of daisies landed in the cart right in front of you.

You blinked. “What the…”

You turned your head, and there he was—Joel Miller—acting like he hadn’t just dropped a bunch of fresh daisies next to the bag of sugar and dish soap. He was standing a few feet away, pretending to examine the display of gum and travel-size hand sanitizer near the register, his face unreadable.

“What’s this for?” you asked, lifting the bouquet slightly, your heart already beating faster.

He glanced at you briefly, then looked away just as quick. “For the ranch. Foyer could use somethin’ fresh.”

“Oh,” you said, trying not to sound too deflated.

He sighed through his nose, then rubbed the back of his neck, his voice dropping lower. “Nah. It’s for you.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and he finally looked at you again, a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Figured it kinda matched your dress,” he added, quieter now.

You looked down at the bouquet in your hands, the little white petals and yellow centers. They weren’t fancy, not by any means, but they were sweet. Thoughtful. Your throat went warm.

“Really?” you asked again, grinning now, unable to help it.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his lips twitched into a nervous half-smile. “Yeah. I mean—I don’t really know what kind of flowers you like. Just thought these might suit you.”

You looked up at him and beamed. “I love daisies, actually.”

His shoulders dropped a little, like that was the answer he didn’t even realize he needed. “Well. Good then.”

You held the bouquet close to your chest. “Thanks, Joel.”

He cleared his throat, fiddled with a pack of gum he wasn’t going to buy, and nodded. “You’re welcome, sugar.”

Finally the lady in front of you left the cashier, he patted your arms. “C’mon,” he murmured and your heart fluttered yet again.

You followed Joel back to his truck, arms half-full and ready to help—only for him to stop you with a raised brow and your bouquet of daisies.

“Here,” he said, placing the flowers gently in your hands like they were something delicate. “You sit. I’ll handle the rest.”

You opened your mouth to argue, just for the sake of it—but the moment your fingers wrapped around the stems, your protest disappeared. You were smiling too hard to form words anyway. With a soft huff of a laugh, you climbed into the truck and sat down, watching him through the windshield as he moved around to load the groceries like it was nothing.

When he finally climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled in, you turned toward him, still grinning. “So… where to next?”

Joel hummed low, starting the truck. “Gotta pick up feed for the horses. Big bags of the stuff.”

You nodded, already picturing him hauling fifty-pound sacks like it was no big deal. But then he added, almost offhandedly, “The ice cream parlor I told you about? It’s on the way.”

Your face lit up. “We are?”

He smirked as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Yeah, sugar. We’re gettin’ ice cream.”

You let out a soft, happy little noise, hugging the bouquet to your chest. “I knew running errands with you was the right call.”

The truck rumbled down the sleepy roads of the small town, and you looked out the window, watching as the morning light warmed up the faded buildings and quiet sidewalks. Your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the petals of your bouquet, careful not to crush them. You turned your head slightly to peek at Joel—and caught him already looking at you.

“What?” you asked with a smile.

He quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Nothin’,” he mumbled, eyes locked on the road now, but you could tell he was smiling too.

Five minutes later, the truck rolled to a stop in front of a tiny mom-and-pop ice cream shop. It looked like it hadn’t changed in decades—hand-painted signage, chipped blue benches out front, and a little bell on the door that jingled when you walked in.

Behind the counter stood an older woman, maybe in her sixties, with silver-streaked hair tied back in a bandana. Her eyes lit up the second she saw Joel.

“Well, well—look who finally showed up,” she called out. “Been a while, Joel. Thought you gave up on us.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, been cuttin’ down on sugar,” he muttered.

She waved him off with a laugh, then looked at you. “And you brought someone!” she said brightly.

You smiled, and introduced yourself.

“Just runnin’ errands,” Joel cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as if the words burned his mouth.

The woman gave you a knowing look and leaned in across the counter. “She’s a pretty one, huh, Joel?”

Joel gave a low laugh—tight, nervous—and stared very hard at the ice cream cooler. “Can we just get two scoops of vanilla and whatever she wants,” he said, voice rougher than usual.

You caught the way he wouldn’t quite look at you, and you bit your lip to hold back a smile. “I’ll have the chocolate mint,” you told the woman behind the counter.

He paid before you could even pretend to reach for your purse, giving you a look that shut down any protests. You followed him out with your cone in hand, the two of you settling onto a chipped blue bench out front, the early afternoon sun warming the seat beneath you.

“I didn’t take you for a vanilla guy,” you teased, eyeing his cone. and how he looked licking it in such a man way, putting his cone sideways and all. it definitely put some…thoughts in your brain.

Joel glanced at you, amused. “What makes you say that?”

“I dunno,” you said, giving him a look. “Just figured you’d be more of a… rum raisin or coffee kinda guy. Something old.”

He turned his head toward you, one brow lifted. “You callin’ me old?”

You tried not to laugh, biting your spoon. “Old like old-fashioned.”

He gave you a narrow look, but there was a tug of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

“And besides,” you added, voice softening just a bit, “I don’t think old is a bad thing.”

Joel licked his ice cream slowly, his eyes drifting back to you with a different kind of curiosity. “No?”

You shrugged, faking innocence even though your heart was beating a little faster. “Means they’re more experienced.”

He froze for half a second—and then choked mid-swallow.

You flinched toward him. “Whoa! Are you—?”

He coughed into his fist, eyes watering a little as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine. Just… ice cream hit wrong.”

You handed him a napkin, trying and failing not to smirk. “Right. Definitely just the ice cream.”

He took it from you, muttering something under his breath with a shake of his head. You looked away, grinning like an idiot again, your cheeks warm.

You didn’t say it out loud, but… you liked this. Him. The way he got all flustered when you flirted too directly.

You kept eating your ice cream, trying to play it cool. But yeah—your heart was definitely not listening.

“You can’t say stuff like that to me,” he muttered, a quiet laugh in his voice as he stared down at his ice cream.

You glanced over at him, putting a spoonful of ice cream past your lips, brows raised. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer right away, just shook his head like he was trying to hold something back. “You’re a smart girl,” he said finally, low and steady. “You know why.”

You tilted your head, lips pressing into a small smile. Oh, you had a pretty good idea why. Maybe it was because he liked you—really liked you—and you throwing out lines like that wasn’t fair if you didn’t mean them. Maybe it was because it made this harder for him, trying to stay careful, keep some kind of line intact. But you wanted to hear him say it. You leaned back just slightly, pretending to think. “Hmm… no, I don’t think I do,” you said sweetly, acting like you were waiting for a real answer.

He looked at you then—really looked—and there was something in his eyes that made your stomach flip. Something unspoken and heavy and soft all at once.

He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he reached over, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Got some ice cream,” he said softly, swiping at a smear near your lip.

Your breath caught.

“Messy girl,” he added, voice low and warm, and his thumb lingered just a second too long.

You swore the air shifted around you. Like something tipped. Your mouth was dry and you were suddenly aware of how close he was sitting.

That teasing little moment had turned sharp and dangerous and sweet all at once—and you realized this wasn’t just flirting anymore.

You were in it now. Both of you were.

“Where to next?” you asked, watching him shift the truck back into drive.

“Gotta buy some feed for the animals,” he murmured, easing out of the parking lot.

“Mmm, okay.” You leaned back into your seat as the road stretched ahead.

“Store’s on the edge of town,” he added, glancing at the rearview mirror. “We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

You nodded, reaching to turn the radio back on. The cassette from earlier clicked to life again, filling the truck with soft twangy guitar and the hum of an old country voice.

With Joel focused on the road, you finally checked your phone. Your lockscreen lit up with a stack of notifications—Amy, of course.

07:00 - i just woke up

07:00 - what the fuck?? when did you agree to join him??

07:01 - why didn’t you tell me sooner??

07:12 - hello??

07:15 - you can’t text me that and leave me out in the dust

07:30 - whatever i’m getting breakfast, please tell me ur alive

08:30 - babe i need updates

The most recent was just ten minutes ago, your full name written in all caps. You bit back a laugh and snapped a quick picture of the bouquet Joel got you—propped on the dashboard, daisies bright against the blurry shape of the road outside. Sent.

She didn’t even hesitate:

09:00 - OH MY GOD IS THAT FOR YOU???

09:00 - FROM HIM???

You giggled quietly to yourself.

“What’s goin’ on there?” Joel asked without taking his eyes off the road.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling at your screen. “It’s Amy.”

“She know you’re with me?”

“Mhm. I trust her.”

09:01 - mhm 😋

09:01 - BIIITTTCCHHHH

09:01 - tell me EVERYTHING

You glanced over at Joel, who was tapping his fingers to the beat, focused as ever.

09:02 - later, can’t talk rn

09:02 - but i think he likes me

09:02 - bitch…obviously

09:03 - you wear protection now

09:03 - jesus amy we’re nowhere near there yet

09:04 - it will be there sooner or later

09:04 - omg my baby’s growing up 🥹

09:04 - shut up i’ll talk to you later

You slipped your phone back into your bag with a smirk, letting yourself sink into the moment—the hum of the truck, and the open road ahead.

“You don’t have to come with me to this one,” Joel said as he pulled the truck into the loading dock behind the feed store.

You gave him a look. “What? No way. I’m your little helper today.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Exactly. Little. I gotta load up some heavy bags in here, darlin’. Don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not that little. I have muscles, you know,” you said, flexing dramatically. “There’s gotta be something I can help with.”

He sighed in that way he always did when he was pretending to be annoyed but actually didn’t mind one bit. “Fine. You can tag along,” he muttered, climbing out of the truck.

Before you could even reach for your handle, he was already coming around the front to open your door for you. Again. You stepped out with a grin. “You know I can do that myself, right?”

“I know,” he murmured, closing it behind you.

The moment you stepped inside the feed store, the air hit you—a strong mix of hay, grain, and something distinctly… barnyard. You did your best not to wrinkle your nose and followed Joel closely, trying not to look like you were second-guessing your life choices.

“Hey, Tim,” Joel greeted the man behind the counter with a nod.

“Joel! Got your order ready—‘round the back,” the guy replied, pointing toward a stacked pile of massive feed bags.

Joel went to pay, then both men got to work with practiced ease, lifting the fifty-pound sacks like they were nothing. You tried very hard not to stare at Joel’s arms—at how his sleeves stretched, his forearms flexed, and how annoyingly effortless it looked.

You cleared your throat. “What can I help with?”

Joel glanced at you, then gestured with a nod toward a few smaller bags stacked nearby. “You can carry those, sugar.”

You smiled brightly and grabbed one of them, reading the label. “Horse treats?” you said, amused.

The bags were definitely smaller than what they were carrying. But not light, either. You lifted one to your chest, adjusted your grip, and followed Joel out the loading door with a little huff.

“You okay back there, sugar?” he asked without turning around.

“Mhmm! Easy—mmh—easy peasy,” you grunted, trying to sound casual while your arms were already beginning to ache.

Joel let out a soft laugh, and you could’ve sworn he slowed his pace just a little for you.

“Stubborn,” he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

The men made several trips, loading heavy sacks of feed onto the truck bed. You were still wrestling your second bag of horse treats out of five while Joel and Tim had already stacked six massive feed bags like it was nothing.

Joel leaned against his truck with his arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you huffed, struggling to hoist the bag up onto the truck bed. You let out a grunt as it landed with a soft thud.

“You sure you don’t want help with those treats?” he teased.

“I got it,” you insisted, wiping the sweat off your brow.

He chuckled and pushed off the truck, walking around to the front. A second later, he returned and tossed you a bottle of water. You caught it, eyebrows raised.

“You’re sweatin’ more than me, sugar,” he said, grinning.

You unscrewed the cap and took a long sip, then held it up like you were toasting him. “That’s cause I’m doing all the important work.”

“Oh, right,” he drawled, playing along. “Those horse treats don’t carry themselves.”

You smiled, drinking again as he glanced at you, still grinning. The sun hit his face just right and his hair was a little damp from the heat, and you suddenly felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

He nodded to the last two small bags. “You got it, champ?”

“I got it,” you said again, lips quirking.

He ended up helping anyway, of course. The final sacks were stacked neatly in the bed of the truck, and you wiped the back of your hand across your forehead with a satisfied sigh.

“We did it,” you huffed, trying not to sound too proud of yourself—but you kind of were.

Joel glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then, with the ghost of a smile, he lifted his hand.

“Alright,” he murmured, “gimme five.”

You blinked in surprise—he wasn’t exactly the high-five type, recalling back on how he acted when you asked for one earlier in the grocery store. But nonetheless, your face split into a grin as you slapped your palm against his with a loud smack.

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it. “That was the most reluctant high five I’ve ever seen.”

He shrugged, hand dropping back to his side. “Didn’t wanna leave you hangin’. You earned it.”

You grinned and held up your hand again. “Gimme one more then!”

Joel smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to let it turn into a full smile. He gave you another high five—but this time, his fingers lingered, slipping between yours just for a second. Pinkish hue crept up to your cheeks.

“Get in the car, sugar,” he murmured, voice low and warm as he gently tugged your hand, steering you toward the passenger side and urged your flustered-self inside.

“Back to the ranch?” you asked as you clicked your seatbelt into place.

“Nope,” Joel said simply, shifting the truck into gear and easing out of the parking lot.

You turned to him. “No?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Takin’ you to eat.”

A grin spread across your face. “Really?”

He glanced over and chuckled when he saw the look you were giving him. “You haven’t eaten, right?”

You shook your head. “Skipped breakfast for you.”

“Good. Don’t want you leavin’ some Yelp review sayin’ we starve guests at the ranch.”

You giggled, settling back in your seat, a warm flutter in your chest.

Twenty minutes later, the truck rolled into a gravel lot in front of a diner that looked like it hadn’t changed since the ’60s. Only one other car was parked out front.

Inside, the door jingled as you stepped in behind him. The smell of coffee and fried food hit immediately. An older woman behind the counter looked up and lit up with a smile.

“Joel! Long time no see.”

“Hey, Marge,” he greeted with a polite nod. “Yeah… been busy.”

Her eyes flicked to you, and her smile widened. “And you brought someone! Is this Sarah? She finally came to visit?”

You felt Joel tense beside you.

“No,” he said after a beat. “Not Sarah.”

“Oh—sorry, hon. Lord, this mouth of mine,” she laughed, flustered, and turned to grab some menus.

You followed Joel to an empty booth. The two of you slid into the vinyl seats. You opened the menu, but your eyes didn’t really focus on the words.

“Sarah?” you asked gently.

He nodded. “My daughter.”

You nodded too, pretending to read, unsure if you should say more. But the question was already forming on your tongue.

“She live around here?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Got her own life up in the city. East coast.”

You hesitated, then asked quietly, “How old is she?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed once against the edge of the table.

“’Round your age,” he murmured, still not looking at you.

Your stomach twisted a little. “Oh,” you said softly.

You both were quiet , and then Marge came to take in your orders. Once she left it was silence again, heavy with a new sense of tension. The both of you clearly deep in your own heads.

“Does it bother you?” you asked quietly, not looking at him.

Joel turned to you. “What?”

“That I’m her age.”

He was quiet again, and when he finally did answer, it wasn’t what you expected. “It should.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “But it doesn’t?”

He looked at you like he was trying to find something. Maybe a way out. Maybe a reason to stay.

“I’m tryin’ not to think about it,” he said honestly and you nodded understandingly. Then, almost out of self-defense, you exhaled sharply and forced a crooked smile. “Well, we’re both doing a real bad job of not thinking about it, huh?”

That earned you a small smirk on his lips. Marge came to your table and handed out your drinks, you said thank you to her and she walked away with a smile glancing at the two of you.

You took a breath and then leaned in, arms crossed on the table. “Okay, uh… when you’re not doing ranch work, what do you do?” you asked, clearly trying to steer things into safer waters.

He shrugged lightly. “Always workin’. Always somethin’ needs takin’ care of on the ranch.”

“C’mon,” you grinned. “You must have some kind of free time.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, like he was debating whether to tell you. Then finally, he murmured, “I do some woodworking.”

Your eyes lit up. “Wait—really? Like, making little statues and stuff?”

He tried not to look smug at your interest, but the corner of his mouth tugged just slightly. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

You tilted your head, teasing now. “So you’re good with your hands, huh?”

It took you a full beat to hear how that sounded.

Your eyes widened. “I mean—! I didn’t mean—”

Joel cut you off, low and amused. “I’m pretty good with ’em, sugar.”

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t quite hold back the laugh that bubbled up. He didn’t press the moment—just leaned back in the booth, smirking into his coffee like he wasn’t the least bit flustered.

The silence after that was comfortable. Cozy. But then, after a beat, he added, “Won’t be many more chances for it.”

You looked up. He didn’t say it with any kind of edge. Just stating the truth. A reminder.

“You’re only here a week,” he said, eyes on his plate now. “Week’s halfway gone.”

You swallowed your bite a little harder than before. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced out the window like he was watching the wind. “Don’t feel like it’s been that long.”

“It doesn’t,” you agreed softly. “It’s weird. Feels like I just got here.” You weren’t sure what else to say. And he didn’t add anything either.

The food between you slowly disappeared, and the conversation drifted to easier things—Joel told you stories of random guests that cracked you up. You asked about his horses, and he gave each one a personality like they were coworkers. Things relaxed again, but the clock was ticking in the background now, even if neither of you said it.

The road home stretched long and quiet, flanked by fading wildflowers and endless trees. Joel kept his eyes forward, hands steady on the wheel, jaw set in something close to silence.

You’d dozed off twenty minutes ago, somewhere just past the turnoff to a sleepy gas station, full from breakfast and warm from the sun pouring through the window. He didn’t blame you—it had been an early start. Still, it made something twist in his chest, seeing you curled up like that in the passenger seat. Comfortable. Trusting. Like you belonged there.

But you didn’t. Not really.

He told himself not to look too long, but he still did. You had a little crease between your brows, even in sleep, like you were dreaming something you didn’t trust yet. He wondered what it was. Wondered if it had anything to do with him.

He shifted in his seat, exhaled hard through his nose. The wind was soft today. The drive usually felt like nothing—just time to clear his head. Now it was too quiet. Now it felt like every mile was just giving him more room to think. Too much room.

Joel flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, rolling his shoulder. His chest still felt heavy from that look you gave him when he said Sarah was your age. You hadn’t said much after. Tried to keep things light. He appreciated it, even if it only made the guilt settle deeper.

What the hell was he doing?

He’d told himself he was just being kind. That taking you to a late breakfast didn’t mean anything. That the way his hand lingered after the high-five was just a reflex. But then you smiled at him in that damn booth, legs folded under you like you’d been doing it forever, like this wasn’t just a vacation. And that look in your eyes—like you saw something in him worth wanting.

And he’d wanted to kiss you. God, he’d wanted to.

He glanced over again. You’d shifted slightly, your head now tilted toward him, lips parted just enough to make his heart skip. He looked away fast, like it hurt.

“You’re not stayin’,” he muttered under his breath. Like saying it out loud might remind him of the line he wasn’t supposed to cross.

But it was already too late.

He turned the music down a notch, just in case it woke you. One hand dropped to rest on his thigh, and he caught himself clenching it into a fist, like that might ground him.

You stirred softly, not quite waking, and he looked at you one more time.

Just drive, he told himself. Just get her home. Even if every part of him already wanted more than that.

The shake of the truck jostling over a pothole pulled you from sleep. “Hm?” you murmured, blinking at the sunlight now slanting lower across your lap.

“Shit,” Joel said softly, glancing over. “Did I wake you, sugar?”

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “I fell asleep?”

“Yeah, you did.” He gave a small, crooked smile, eyes returning to the road. “That food really knocked you out, huh?”

“Guess so,” you mumbled, stretching a little against the seatbelt. Your voice was still thick with sleep, and you gave him a lazy smile. “How long was I out?”

“Little over an hour.” His voice was casual, but a bit strained. “You didn’t snore, if you’re wonderin’.”

You laughed, soft and slow. “Good to know.”

The truck hummed along the two-lane road, trees blurring past the window, the sky wide and blue above the hills. The peacefulness should’ve felt easy—comforting—but there was a weight to the silence now. You glanced at him. Joel’s hand was tight on the wheel, his jaw set like he was somewhere far off in his head.

“You’re quiet,” you said gently.

He nodded a little, but didn’t look at you. “Just thinkin’.”

You waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

About me? you wanted to ask. About what Marge said? About Sarah?

But instead, you leaned back in your seat, watching him out of the corner of your eye. You could feel something shifting again—something drawing back in him after such a warm morning. And maybe you didn’t want to know exactly what it was he was trying so hard to push down.

“How far are we now?” you asked softly.

“Close,” he said. “Almost back.”

A few minutes later, the ranch came into view, peaking between tall pine trees and his truck slowed. Joel pulled the truck around the side road that led to the staff entrance, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he slowed to a stop under the pale afternoon light. The engine ticked softly when he killed it, but neither of you moved to get out.

You bit your lip, glancing at him.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” you said gently. “I really did have a good time.”

He gave a slight nod but didn’t speak, eyes fixed on the windshield, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. That familiar quiet had returned—the kind that made you feel like he was somewhere far away again.

You tilted your head. “Joel… what’s going on?”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t do that.” Your voice was soft, but firm. “Something changed.”

That made him look at you—finally. His eyes searched yours, and you saw the weight there, the push and pull of something he was trying hard to hold back.

“I just…” he started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “I forget myself, when I’m with you. I let it feel easy, like it’s alright.”

You blinked. “And it’s not?”

He gave a tired, crooked sort of smile. “You know it ain’t.”

“But you want it to be,” you said, watching him closely.

His eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second—barely a flicker, but you saw it. You felt it.

“I do,” he murmured, so low you almost missed it.

Your breath caught.

The air between you shifted—warm and buzzing. Joel leaned in just a little, as though testing a line he knew he shouldn’t cross. His hand brushed your seat, resting between you, close enough to feel.

Your heart beat a little faster. You weren’t sure who moved next—you or him, but the space between you was shrinking.

And then—

“Joel!”

The voice shot through the air like a slap. Both of you froze.

Tommy.

You quickly pulled back, cheeks burning as Joel cursed under his breath and straightened up in his seat. He looked toward the sound of his brother’s voice, brows drawn, expression already guarded.

Tommy was striding toward the truck, his face stormy.

“Joel, the hell you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago!” He caught sight of you “And you brought- Jesus Christ, Joel” Tommy shook his head in disbelief and frustration, his hand pinching his nose bridge.

Joel didn’t look at you. “Go on inside,” he said quietly.

“Joel…”

“Now, darlin’.”

You hesitated, then slipped out of the truck, the bouquet of daisies towed in your arms. The moment between you and Joel left unfinished, hanging heavy in the air.

The moment Joel dropped you off, he vanished — like the entire day hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t almost kissed him right there in the cab of his truck. Like something in him had snapped shut again, locked tight.

You were worried is an understatement. The rest of the day you kept pacing around your room wondering what to do, how bad did you put Joel in trouble. But also, your heart still fluttered when you thought about what almost happened. It was a weird feeling, really—being excited and so goddamn worried at the same time.

By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting everything in a soft orange glow, you couldn’t take it anymore. You have to find him.

You didn’t eat dinner. Couldn’t, really. Not with your stomach in knots and your thoughts spiraling in circles.

You threw on a hoodie and quietly slipped out the back door, careful not to make a sound as you crossed the wide porch and stepped down onto the path toward the barns. The evening air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of hay and cedar.

You found him in the far stall, brushing down a mare with slow, methodical strokes. His back was to you, same shirt from earlier, sleeves still rolled. Like nothing had changed.

“Seriously?” you said from the doorway, voice sharp. “You were just gonna hide out in here all night?”

He didn’t turn. “Ain’t hidin’.”

“Oh sure you’re not.”

You stepped inside, the straw soft beneath your boots. It was warmer in here, humid from the horses and the quiet heat of summer air. Still, the cold tension between you made your skin prickle.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Joel shrugged. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“That’s not the point,” you snapped. “You just dropped me off like—like nothing happened. Then disappeared.”

“You got home fine, didn’t you?”

“Joel.”

He stopped brushing. Set the comb down a little too hard. Then turned to face you, jaw clenched.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, low.

“I want you to stop pretending like what almost happened meant nothing.”

“I never said it didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to.” You took a breath, heart hammering.

“You’re running.”

“I’m tryin’ to do the right thing.”

“Is it the right thing, or just the easiest one?” you said, voice cracking. “You think this is easier for me?”

He stepped forward. “You think this is easy for me?” His voice was rough now. “You think I don’t think about it every goddamn time you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you see me. Like you want me. Like you know me.”

You stared at him. The barn was quiet except for the soft rustle of horses in their stalls and the sound of your own unsteady breath. You stood there, caught in the tension, debating—do you let this go? Walk away and save face? Or fight for it, even if it’s messy, even if it’s too soon?

You weren’t sure if this was too much too fast for someone still healing. But maybe that was the point. Maybe it wasn’t too much.

Maybe it was exactly what you needed. Not just something safe—but something real.

Him.

So you took a deep breath. And stepped forward. “I’m not sorry I see you,” you said. “I’m not sorry I want you.”

Joel’s eyes dropped to the ground. He shook his head, fists tightening at his sides. “Well, I am,” he said. “I shouldn’t want you.”

“That’s a lie,” you said.

And he didn’t argue. Didn’t speak at all.

Instead, he closed the space between you with three quick strides and his lips crashed on to yours like it was the only thing that could shut either of you up.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was everything he’d been holding back, his hands gripping your waist, your face, like he didn’t know where to hold you first.

You gasped into it, hands fisting in his shirt, holding on like he might vanish again. Like this moment was slipping through your fingers already. His lips were insistent, his facial hair scraping the soft skin of your face in the most delicious way.

He walked you backward until your back hit the wooden wall behind you, the boards cool through your shirt. A low, rough sound rumbled in his chest the moment he had you pinned. Your hands slid up his chest, finding their way around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. You were greedy now, needy, and your tongue traced the seam of his lips, asking—no, demanding to be let in.

Joel pulled back like he’d been caught in a fire, chest heaving, eyes wide. You stared at each other. Neither of you said a word.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Then he stepped back, just enough.

“Go,” he said, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You didn’t want to. Every part of you screamed to stay.

But the look on his face, scared, guarded, overwhelmed, it told you this was all he could give for now.

So you backed away, one slow step at a time. Your lips still tingled. Your hands were still shaking.

a/n so….what do ya’ll think? we’re finally getting into the meat of the fic and i am so so excited to write it 😭 i hope you guys stick around for the next one bc mmmhhhh…anyways tysm for reading! you can comment if you wanna be on the next chapters taglist! also my inbox is open for feedback and ideas, ily all!!

Taglist: @bau-muffin, @javierpenaismyhusband , @dilf-docs , @heavydirtygirll, @somedayheaven , @loveisacowboyyy , @lyssaspengler

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[guelyury]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 9: Stay✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’ve been a little busy the past few months focusing on my book, but I’m excited I finally had time to write a little for this series 🩵 I love these two so much, and I hope you enjoy! We’re getting into Joel’s angst in this chapter.

Chapter Summary: You get a glimpse into Joel’s past and realize he might be just as broken as you.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags: Grief, flashbacks, soft! Joel, grieving Joel, angst, feelings, fluff, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), slow burn

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  January’s cold, with light snowflakes glistening on the ground outside. But today, it’s warm inside. The fire pops, shrouding the room in a blanket of heat, while the trees howl outside the windows. 

   It’s Friday. Nothing’s on Joel’s schedule. Not even Tommy’s blowing up his phone. It’s just peaceful, a bit silent, draped in muted tranquility. But also, there’s something in the air, tingling along your arm like electricity. Something new. Something untouched. Something… warm. 

   “C’mere. Wanna show you something,” Joel says from across the way, leaning against the fireplace. He’s all warm, like usual. A small smile curled across his lips. Brown eyes slipping over you. A green flannel pulled across his cords of muscle. Greying locks all tousled from his hands. It makes you almost breathless. 

   You tilt your head and lay the book flat on the couch, your eyes brimming with curiosity. “What is it?”

   “A surprise,” he says, flashing you a white smile across the room. 

   Pressing your lips together, you frown, but only a little. “You know I don’t like—”

   He interjects and looks at you, softening his crinkling eyes. “You trust me?”

   There’s that question again. The one that makes your stomach flip. Makes you somersault all the way to his glittering brown eyes. 

   You swallow and nod slowly. “Yes.”

   Tugging on a grin, he tilts his head and starts walking toward the long hallway. “C’mon, then. Got something you might like.”

   Slowly, you trail after him, keeping a faint distance, but also following right on his heels like a cat, tiptoeing over solid wooden floors and flitting by framed photos. 

   He stops at the end of the hall, right in front of his office. The one he keeps shut all the time. Two solid mahogany doors polished and dusted, with golden doorknobs and invisible signs that must say to keep the door closed. But there he is, pushing them wide open, allowing you to step through into his space.

   “Well, here we are,” he says as you pass through the doors, your eyes wide at the scene.

   “This is… Wow. This is your office?” you ask, your jaw dropped as you map out his large office. 

   “Mhm,” he chuckles. “Figured you might wanna look through the bookshelves in here. Almost forget about them sometimes.”

   Your eyes trail over the dark wood of the walls, framed pictures of lakes and deer in thick forests hanging high above. There’s a large mahogany desk in the back corner that’s littered with papers, an open laptop, ink pens, and a pair of glasses. A small reading area sits tucked away in the right hand side of the room, a couple pillows pressed against the clear window that overlooks the side of the house—trees and acres of land to map out Joel’s space. But what gets you the most are the large, expensive bookcases that line the back walls. All filled with various types. Some full of color, some old with a light coat of dust on the pages, some brand new with a film of shine. 

   It’s incredible. This is exactly somewhere you’d hang out. Maybe when Joel’s up late working a case. You could just curl up in the corner by the window seat, watch over the top of a book while he smooths his face with his hand, peels his eyes open with the sip of his black coffee. You think you’d like that. Staying up with him, keeping him company. Maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed then. Maybe he could finally just relax for a bit. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask as you trail your hand over the colorful spines, astounded at the texts he has sitting here, waiting to be read.

   “All mine.” There’s a smile you hear in his light tone. It makes tingles run down your arms.

   “Joel… this is incredible,” you breathe as you pull out a book on the history of Ireland, fingers brushing against the pristine pages of dark green land.

   “Quite the collection, yeah?” he asks, amused as he slides in next to you, dragging his fingers over the polished shelves.

   “Yeah…”

   “Well, it’s yours now, too.”

   Your mouth drops open as you snap your head to the side, almost dropping the book in surprise. “What did you say?”

   He smiles, a saccharine expression framing his brown eyes. “Pick anything you like, sweetheart. They’re as much yours as they are mine.”

   “Joel…”

   Brushing it off, he tilts his head to the side, encouraging you to venture in his office. “Well, go on, sweetheart. They’re waitin’ for you.”

   They’re waiting for you. He means the books, but it almost sounds like he’s waiting too, for you.

   Swallowing, you pad across the room, eagerly slipping books from the shelves, till you have a stack against your chest. Joel chuckles when he turns and sees you carrying the large load. His eyes are all sparkling and soft, just like they always are when he looks at you. You can’t help but to smile back at him and blush. Has he always made you feel this warm? You guess he has. Even from that first night he saved you, he’s always been so fucking soft for you, you think. 

   When you turn, you still at the edge of his desk when a glint of a smile catches your eye. Setting the books on the edge, you tiptoe over to the shiny glass and pick up a picture that’s framed in a golden hue. The glass spotless, like he wipes it of dust every hour of each day. 

   You ghost your fingers over the untainted glass and swallow as your eyes peel over the picture. There’s Joel. A few years younger, wearing a soft white T-shirt and blue jeans, standing in front of a planetarium sign. He’s all smiles, his eyes glowing, hair all tousled. And there’s a little girl standing next to him, holding up a hand with one arm wrapped around his back. She’s got short brown hair tied up halfway, hazel eyes that favor mostly green, freckles dusted across her nose, and a rock and roll T-shirt donned against black shorts. 

   “Who’s this?” 

   Joel turns his head, his eyes falling to the picture you’re holding like it’s fragile and delicate. “Oh. That’s umm, Ellie,” he says carefully as he pads up beside you, his eyes flicking to the picture that’s in your hands. 

   “Is she yours?” you ask cautiously. 

   “She… was mine.” He takes the picture from your grasp and runs his thumb along the outer glass, tracing her face like she was the most important light in his life, besides Sarah.

   “Was?” You tilt your head and look up to find his eyes glistening with held back tears. 

   “Was…” he whispers faintly, like he’s afraid to speak it into existence. 

   You continue staring at him, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the pin to drop. But you think it might’ve already hit the floor. 

   His mouth forms into a tight line as he speaks. “I found her in a shipping container when I was on a job. She was all alone and scared. Twelve-years-old. Only three years younger than Sarah. Found out she was in foster care, and I jus’ didn’t have the heart to take her back to that. So, I adopted her.”

   You move a little closer and lean into the mahogany desk, right where he’s at, still staring into the glass like it’ll come to life. 

   “God, that girl was a troublemaker,” he chuckles, shaking his tousled hair out. “Always getting into stuff, always so fascinated by everything. Couldn’t get that girl to be still for a second.” 

   “Sounds like you were fond of her,” you smile as your eyes flick up to his. 

   He glances over at you and nods. “Yeah. She got on my nerves, but I really loved that girl.” 

   I really loved that girl. The words stick to your skin like summer sweat. You blink up at him and wait. Waiting for you’re not sure what. For him to continue explaining, you guess.

   His attention falls back on the picture frame. “She was always so excited for college. Paleontology. That’s what she wanted to do. Couldn’t get that girl to stop talkin’ ‘bout dinosaurs for even a second. She was so eager to get back to campus, even though it was the middle of Christmas break. Crazy girl.” He laughs under his breath, shakes his head again at the memory. 

   Curling your fingers against the edge of the desk, you reach for more. “What happened to her?”

   He tenses at the question. His lips press together, and he clenches his jaw. Then, he whispers, quietly. “She died.” 

   The air pierces in a deafening silence, almost like the trees froze outside and the world stopped spinning. Oxygen ceases to exist for a second in your lungs as you gasp for air. 

   She died.

   “She… oh, Joel.” You stumble over words, almost afraid to say anything. 

   He shifts his weight and leans deeper against the desk, like he’s trying to melt into nonexistence. Just so he won’t have to talk about it. “A few days after Christmas. She was so eager to get back to campus. Even though it was dark outside. She couldn’t wait till the mornin’. Said she had to get back to an important project. But I told her to wait ‘cause it was freezin’ out. And it was drizzling rain, a little sleet building on her car.” 

   You blink, trying to gather everything he just said to you. “She left?”

   He nods. “I tried to pry the keys from her hand. Told her if it was so urgent to let me drive, but she refused. Said she was fine, and I’d jus’ slow her down. So I let her go, jus’ like that…”

   There’s a dark cloud hanging over his greying locks, a deep melancholy feeling burrowing into your chest. And there’s static around the room, depleting Joel’s oxygen, making his brain ache with a migraine between his blurry eyes. You want to reach and take it from him, replace the pain with something good, but all you can seem to do is just stand there, hoping someone can come and save him. 

   “What happened?” you ask, cautious as the void blooms in his dark eyes. 

   He opens his mouth once and snaps it shut, swallows something down and pushes the drawbridge open again, before he shuts down. “A truck lost control on the slick road,” he states, looking down at the picture in his hand, thumb grazing over her smiling face. “There was ice, and he was going too fast. And he… he hit Ellie and knocked her car off the side of the road.” He stops a beat, swallows a tear and continues with shaky hands. “The fire department gave me a call, and I raced there as fast as I could. Almost lost control myself, but nothing seemed to matter in the moment. I jus’ had to get to her, to know she was okay. But by the time I got there, she was just… gone.”

   The last word makes your ears ring, makes you want to pull him into your arms to soothe the pain, but you don’t move. You just freeze, aching to say something that’ll make him feel better, but what can you say? 

   “Joel…” you plead, desperate to crawl into his lap and hug him tight. But again, you do nothing. You’re just here, existing next to his space. Invisible strings that should be cut and pulled apart. 

   “She was just starting out. Still had a lifetime ahead of her. If I would’ve pushed harder for her to stay, would’ve taken the keys from her hand and drove her myself then maybe… maybe she’d be here. Maybe I would’ve taken her place. Maybe… I’d still have my little girl.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, a desperate cry to get his little girl back, but she’s gone. And he sounds so broken, so angry, yet pawing for some relief to his ache. You want to give him that, if only you knew how.

   Slowly looking up, you carefully reach out and brush the side of your knuckles against his wrist, where his watch sits idle. “It’s not your fault,” you say, trying to soothe the ache away.

   “It feels like my fault,” he growls a little, hanging his head a little lower as his bottom lip trembles. “Some days are so fuckin’ hard to get through. Some days I can’t stand to look in the mirror because all I see is that shattered glass on her broken windshield. All I see is my Ellie staring back at me with glassy eyes. And it… it… fuckin’ hurts.” He cracks as a tear slips free, landing on the glass of that perfect picture of his whole world in his hands.

   Another minute goes by, and his eyes are all coated in a thick shine as tears gather and spill one by one, pressing on his heartstrings with each drop that lands on the glass. 

   You need to do something. What, you’re not sure. But you think maybe if he had someone to hold then maybe it’d sting a bit less. Maybe, just maybe, you could take his gloomy day and turn it into spots of sunlight. 

   Blinking again, you slowly turn your body around and stop when your legs are pressed against his knees. He’s still lost in the past, trying to hold on to Ellie, but she’s slipped from his grasp. And before the picture falls from his open hand, you catch it and set it back down on the desk, waiting for him to look up. 

   “Joel?” you say, calling his name softly, but he doesn’t look up, doesn’t even move. So you try a new tactic. One that will take a little courage to muster up. 

   Slowly, hesitantly, you wrap your fingers around the soft material of his blue flannel and take a step closer, till you’re right in his space. 

   He swallows another tear and blinks up, his eyes all misty with tears, dark brown and coated in sorrow. And he just stares at you, like you’re some kind of saving grace. Like maybe you could steal his hurt and lock it away in a safe, somewhere he couldn’t find it again. 

   You just stand there, breathing each other’s air, locking eyes until you’re brave enough to move again. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even stutter once you take one step closer, till you’re almost chest to chest with him. And with one more look at his molten eyes, you’re falling. 

   You wrap your arms around his back and lean into him, smelling his woodsy scent, molding yourself to his broad body as your fingers grasp at his flannel. He sits there for a minute, his arms locked at his sides, like he can’t believe what’s happening. And then slowly but surely, he’s folding his arms around you like a blanket and pulling you in, till he’s wrapped himself completely in you and blended his pain into the seams of your sweater. 

   “I’m right here, Joel. I’m here. It’s okay. Just let it out,” you whisper against his warm chest. “You stole some of my pain, now I’m going to steal some of yours.”

   Joel buries himself in you. Resting his chin on the crown of your head, he lets the tears fall, but you never minded the rain, so you let him pour himself all over you.

   “I miss her all the fuckin’ time,” he whimpers out, like someone just staked him in the heart. “And sometimes it feels like she’s still here, waiting for me to take her to her favorite dinosaur museum, but she’s gone…” 

   You feel the pain knotted in your chest, like you just took a bullet in his place. And maybe you would. If you could keep the silver from piercing his skin, you would.

   “I know,” you coo, trying your best to quell the sorrow. “It’s okay, Joel. I’m here now.” 

   He grips you tighter and hauls you against him, like a brick wall that won’t crumble. Human touch makes you shiver, but Joel keeps the chill from your bones. He’s always just so… warm. He’s a safe space and now, you’re his.

   “Jus’ don’t… don’t leave, okay?” he begs as another tear slips down his lashes. “Jus’ stay.”

   Stay. The word presses on your heartstrings, somersaults through your stomach. You want to stay. And even though part of you misses Washington, Washington doesn’t have Joel. Joel is where you belong, you think. So maybe you will stay.

   You squeeze him tighter and nuzzle your nose into his winter scent. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

   His lips brush over the top of your head, just the slightest so he can whisper, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

   And it’s in that moment that you shatter, like all the million parts of you when you were taken. But he puts the pieces back together one by one.

   “You won’t…” you whisper back as you close your ears and sink against him. 

   You stay like that. For seconds, minutes, maybe an hour. But you lose track of time because time doesn’t exist right now. There’s just you and Joel, and you don’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Not unless he does. 

   Stay. His words ricochet off the walls, till they blend into everything around you like paint. 

   Stay…. 

—

   It’s after eleven now. The rest of the house is asleep. Lights dim, floors creaking as you chew on your bottom lip. You’re standing outside his closed bedroom door in your pajamas—pink silk shorts and a cotton T-shirt as you hug your arms across your body. You debate turning back around, slipping under the safety of your own covers, but you’re torn. 

   After Joel told you about Ellie, he barely said a word the rest of the night. Dinner was eaten in silence, only the clinking of silverware against glass cut through the white noise. And then there was the static of the tv, his far-off gaze glued to the screen, even if he wasn’t really paying attention. He said he was tired about nine and retired to his room, leaving you alone in the living room with the weight of his sadness swimming through the air. 

   You stared at your reflection for a solid ten minutes before you got the nerve to crack the door open. Paced circles around your room till you were able to pad across the floorboards outside your room. And now, you’re here, standing in front of his bedroom, waiting for something to happen. 

   Leaving him alone in the state he’s in isn’t an option. You saw how wrecked he was when he dragged his feet up the steps, saw how worn the wrinkles around his misty eyes were. And when you went to bed, all you could feel were his arms latching around you like a teddy bear, hanging on for dear life. 

   He needs you, you think. And even though you’re scared to death of taking a step into his room, you need to try. For him, you’ll try anything. 

   Taking a deep breath, you swallow down some courage and lift your hand, till you’re leaving small knocks across his solid door. Slowly, you crack it open and call his name through the darkness. “Joel?” 

   You hear him toss in his sheets, until he’s sitting up and rubbing his eyes of sleep. “Sweetheart?” he asks as he reaches for the lamp at the side of his bed. “What’s wrong?” 

   Chewing your bottom lip, you take a hesitant step inside and leave the door cracked, slowly making your way into the middle of his room. “Nothing’s wrong,” you say, shaking your head. 

   Nothing’s wrong, but you need him, just like he needs you. 

   He blinks at you, body lax but also stiff, like he might jump up at any second. “Did you have another nightmare?” he asks as the lamp shines next to him.

   “No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. 

   He tilts his head and does a once-over, trying to figure out why you’re standing here. “Then why did you—”

   You interject and let the words slip. “Can I stay with you?”

   He blinks again, his eyes wider than they were seconds ago, like he doesn’t understand the muffling of your words. “Can you…”

   “Stay with you,” you repeat, so he’s sure he heard you right. 

   He parts his lips and breathes, just staring for a beat. Then, he nods as he curls his lips into an easy smile. “‘Course you can stay, sweetheart.” 

   “Okay…” You quietly pad across the carpet, your heart beating out of your chest as you take a steady breath and blow it out through your nose. Your heart’s thundering as you carefully slip against the cool sheets, your hand resting on the soft brown comforter. 

   You can feel Joel staring at you from over your shoulder, can feel the heat his body blankets in the vicinity. And while you’re scared for more, for this—sleeping in his bed—it’s not like this is the first time you’ve been in his arms. 

   Joel doesn’t move as you slide beneath the sheets, careful to stay on the left side of the bed while he stays on his side. And when you finally settle, he flips off the lamp and sinks back into the mattress once the room is filled with darkness. Only the moonlight spills through the window, making starry patterns on the pristine walls. 

   You hear him breathing, like you are. Slow breaths with pounding hooves across your chest. There’s an ache tugging at your core. A slip of something pulling you closer. Like the way your hand automatically grazes the back of his—skin hot like the blazing sun rays. 

   Slowly, you turn your head toward him and find him staring back at you, dark eyes that seem so soft, yet filled with turmoil from the afternoon. And you want to soothe him, want to make him feel better. Like maybe you could hug away the aftermath of Ellie’s absence in his life. 

   With a few words of encouragement to yourself and muted affirmations that you can do this, you roll onto your side and crawl over to him, till you’re blanketed on top of him with your body. 

   Sighing, Joel weaves a hand through your hair and strokes lightly down your back while his other arm wraps around you. “Sweetheart,” he coos into the shell of your ear. You melt into the raspy sound of his voice and look up, till you’re face to face with those syrupy brown eyes. 

   “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, seeming to be enraptured by your eyes.

   “You remember that day in the truck that you told me I didn’t have to be alone?”

   “Yeah, I remember.“ He tilts his head to the side and asks, “How come?”

   Swallowing, you take a deep breath and quietly say, “Well, you don’t have to be alone either.”

  He stares at you a beat—mouth parted and eyes so soft that you could melt into them. And they’re all coated in held back tears, all starry just for you. “C’mere, sweet girl.” Joel tugs you against his chest and wraps his arms tight around you, like he may never let go. You hope he doesn’t. His lips brush lightly over the crown of your head, and you revel in the feel of it, of the hunger that stirs in your chest to be needed. 

   He needs you. 

   And with that Southern drawl of his, he whispers the words you’ve been waiting to hear. “You’re exactly what I needed…”

   You sink into the feel of his white T-shirt and thread your fingers around him as you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling his woodsy scent that encompasses you. 

   “I needed you, too,” you whisper. And as he hugs you tighter, you drift off into a blissful sleep, wrapped in Joel like a cocoon. 

   Maybe you’ve always needed him, just like he needs you…

—

   Sunlight filters through the window as you blink your eyes open, rubbing the sleep away while a yawn falls from your lips. You take a second to fully open your eyes, to register you’re in Joel’s bed, still curled into the side of his warm body. 

   Smiling to yourself, you see he’s still fast asleep. His chest rises and falls in cadence as slow breaths pass his lips. He looks so beautiful sleeping. Messy curls against his pillow, eyelids fluttering like he’s dreaming, his arm still tucked snugly around your hip. And it feels right. This feels right. Even if you’re scared of getting close to someone after the trauma you’ve endured, you think you’d like to stay right here, tucked into Joel’s side. 

   You outline the curves of his face with the trace of your fingers, mapping every wrinkle and tilt of his mouth like they’re stars lining the night skies. When you lightly dance over his salt-and-pepper scruff, he rolls a little to the left side and falls back into stillness, letting you scratch along his jawline. 

   You could brush along his lips with yours. That’s how close he is. Close enough to taste. You almost want to graze your lips across his, but you don’t. Instead, you take one more good look at him bleached in sunlight and slip out of his arms, careful not to wake him. After he’s had so many restless nights, you just want to let him sleep. He needs it. 

   Suddenly, you get this bright idea in your head to do something nice for him. You’re sure he’d love to wake up to a fresh cup of coffee and some pancakes. He’s been doing most of that lately, so now it’s your turn to show him how much you appreciate him. This is something you think he’ll love. 

   Slipping one of his blue flannels on, you tiptoe out of his room and hurry to your bathroom. When you flip on the light, you run the brush through your hair, scrub your face clean, and take the toothbrush across your teeth. When you think you’re good enough, you grab your phone and make your way down the hallway, to the kitchen. 

   Once you’ve flipped the kitchen lights on and pulled back the curtains, you get to work. With an old 80’s pop song on, you bop your way through starting the coffee and turn on the stove as you mix batter and blueberries together. You talk yourself through mixing the ingredients and accidentally get a little flour on your cheek, but you brush it off because you’re having fun. For once in your life, you’re learning to enjoy little bits of your morning routine. Even if you’re still learning step by step how to do life again, you think Joel’s teaching you, with his hand in yours. And Tess, she’s helping you swim your way through therapy. You think maybe, just maybe, this is all working as it should. 

—

   Joel rolls on his back and throws his arms over his head, stretching as he rubs his tired eyes awake. Sunlight fills the room in a bright glow, but when he turns his head to the left, he sees empty sheets. There’s just an imprint of you still curled to his side. 

   He sighs and falls to his back again, ghosting his hand over the slept-in sheets where your body laid just minutes ago. There’s an ache in his chest, something like maybe he misses you. But also, he feels so full because he had you wrapped in his arms all night long. You took the sting away, pulled on his heartstrings just enough for him to see the sun again. 

   You did that. You showed him the light. He saw it in the way you looked at him—all doe-eyed while you nuzzled against his chest. You saw him for what he is—a lonely wolf that lost one of his own. But now, he thinks you might’ve filled that hole. The one he’s had speared open since Ellie died. But now, you’re giving him something to hold onto. You’ve given him hope…

   With a low groan, he hauls himself up and makes his way toward the door, dragging his feet with a smile on his face. “Now, where did you go?” he asks himself, chuckling when he slips through the door and sees that your room is empty. 

   A clink of pots from the kitchen makes him turn his head toward the staircase. And when he hears soft humming coming from that direction, he can’t help the smile that pulls across his lips. 

   Found you. 

   Slipping into a stool unnoticed, he leans against the kitchen island and watches you flit around the kitchen like a dancer. Sunlight coats your skin in a golden hue. Your hair bounces with every step as you pour powdered sugar into a bowl. Your head bops to the beat of an old pop hit as you grab for a spoon, whisking eggs together in a bowl. 

   Joel can’t help but to feel a warmth burning in his chest, heating his cheeks when he watches you glide like a fairy through the kitchen. You’re absolutely breathtaking, he thinks. The most free he’s ever seen you. And he likes this. Likes seeing you so alive after months of nightmares he couldn’t quite tame. But look at you now, spreading your wings, taking a leap of faith across lakes of water, all while wearing his flannel. He kinda likes that. Seeing you wear his clothes. Makes him feel like he’s got a crush, and maybe he does. 

   When the song ends and another begins, he clears his throat and watches you about drop the bowl you’re holding. Your eyes go wide, and you gasp. “Oh, Joel! I didn’t know you were there.” 

   He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “Figured I’d just watch you for a minute. You seemed in your element.” 

   You set the mixing bowl on the edge of the counter and smile shyly his way, pulling on the flannel that’s wrapped around your body. “Could’ve said something,” you say, shyly fluttering your pretty eyelashes up at him. 

   “Good morning, sweetheart,” he smiles, watching you play absentmindedly with some fringe at the bottom of your sleeper shorts. 

   “Morning,” you say with a small smile across your pink lips. Lips that look like morning dew. “You sleep okay?”

   He nods. “Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” 

   There you go, smiling again, brightening up his morning yet again. “Here, I made you some coffee,” you say as you pour in the black liquid in a white mug, letting the steam billow through the air. You slide it over to him, till it’s safe in his hands. 

   The side of his mouth twitches into a smirk as his eyes slide over you. “Was nice of you to do that.”

   “Hope you like it,” you smile.

   “You made it, so ‘course I’ll like it.” He tips the mug up and takes a generous sip, letting the warm liquid saturate his taste buds. “Mmm. Yeah. Jus’ how I like it,” he murmurs as he takes another gulp. 

   “Glad you like it,” you giggle.

   He chuckles as he notices the flour on your cheek, how it sticks out. And just before he decides to brush it away, he taps his finger to his own cheek. “You’ve got a little flour right—”

   “Oh!” You frantically wipe it off with the palm of your hand and instantly blush. He thinks you’re fucking adorable all rosy-cheeked and embarrassed. “Must’ve got carried away with the cooking.” 

   Another laugh and he’s running a hand through his messy locks. “Must’ve,” he smiles. 

   There’s a moment between the two of you. Something hanging in the air that isn’t heavy, doesn’t have any weight to it. But it shines like the sun, blooms through his nervous system. He thinks he’s fallen in love. 

   You turn back around and flip some fluffy pancakes onto a plate and bring him some, including a bottle of syrup and a spoonful of butter.

   His eyes flick over your beautiful form, taking you in like you’re a breath of fresh air. Like you’re a garden full of roses. “You know, you keep stealing my flannels and I’ll have to buy more.”

   You turn around and smirk up at him, a brow raised, eyes bright. “You want it back?” 

   He chuckles, shakes his head at you. “No. Keep it. Looks good on you.” 

   And it does. His clothes always look good on you.

   You tuck a lock behind your ear and blush, smiling sweetly as you blink up at him. “Thanks.” 

   “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he smiles. And when you turn back around, he doesn’t focus on the pancakes or fresh cup of coffee in front of him. He keeps his eyes on the woman he’s falling head over heels for. A woman he saved, who also ended up saving himself.

   If I’m the moon, she must be the sun that coated me in light, he thinks to himself. 

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[guelyury]

PEDRO PASCAL Eddington | Behind the scenes

[guelyury]

Pedrosol summer ☀️💜💕

And welcome back Javi Peña BTW

[guelyury]

Happy father's day

[guelyury]

Soft Reins — Day Two

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Pairing: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader

Summary: You join a horseback ride to impress Joel

Tags: Age Gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Horses, yeehaw

Word Count: 5,6k

a/n hey guys!! tysm for all the enthusiasms soft reins is already getting 😭 i’m so excited to keep going with all your support!! enjoy this sweet sweet chapter 😋

You didn’t expect last night’s moment with Joel to cling to your thoughts the way it did. You spent half the night lying awake, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, tracing their rough shapes in the dark and replaying his words over and over like a song stuck in your head. He’d been so gentle, so unexpectedly kind for someone who barely knew you. Sure, you told yourself he was just doing his job—being hospitable, making sure the emotionally unstable guest didn’t light a fire or wander off into the forest. But the way he looked at you when you told him the truth about Noah, the way he didn’t try to fix it or sweep it away with platitudes—that stuck with you.

There was a warm, fizzy feeling bubbling inside whenever you thought about Joel, and you did not want to acknowledge it. At all. Not after what happened with Noah just a month ago. Not after spending every waking moment for the last few weeks reminding yourself that love is a scam and men are emotionally illiterate. And definitely not when you’d only known this guy for… what, twenty-four hours?

Still, when he asked if you wanted to join the horseback riding excursion this morning, you said yes. Immediately. Like you were some breezy, capable outdoorsy woman who rides horses for fun on the weekends. You ignored the very real fact that the last time you sat on a horse, you were eight years old at a county fair. And you didn’t even ride it. You were placed on top like a doll while a teenage employee in a visor led the pony in a slow circle. You’d waved at your mom like you were Queen Elizabeth. That was your full résumé.

And yet… here you were. Nodding like you belonged as Tommy gave the group briefing near the stables. Your cousin Amy stood confidently beside her towering horse, while her husband Justin—who apparently did polo, because of course he did—adjusted his fancy boots. Uncle Martin, Amy’s dad, looked like he’d been born in a saddle. Even Lily, perched on Amy’s hip, kept trying to grab the horse’s mane like it was a plush toy.

You tried not to look too stiff as Joel and Tommy addressed the group.

“So I assume all of y’all are familiar with horses?” Tommy asked, his voice bright.

Everyone chimed in with confident yeses and casual nods. You clamped your lips shut and willed yourself not to raise your hand. Your palms were already sweating.

“Great,” Tommy said. “Because the trail’s got a few narrow bends once we get closer to the river. Nothin’ too wild, Some narrow patches on the trail, so keep your horses close and steady.”

You swallowed hard. Yep. Totally fine. You were alert. And possibly about to die. But mostly alert.

And then, just for a second, your eyes flicked to Joel. He was adjusting a saddle strap with ease, looking calm and composed like this was just another morning. When he glanced up and caught your eye, his mouth lifted in a barely-there smirk.

Oh no. He knows.

Tommy and Joel began leading the horses out of the stables, handing them off one by one to the group gathered around. There was a quiet shuffle of hooves on dirt, the clinking of tack, and the occasional excited chatter from the riders—most of whom looked way too comfortable around animals that large.

You stood toward the back, watching as Joel bent down to lift little Lily, who squealed in delight as he gently hoisted her up and helped Amy settle her onto the saddle. It was stupid, but something about the way he moved—with such ease and care—made your stomach flip a little. He didn’t even say much, just gave Amy a small nod and adjusted the stirrup. Efficient. Quiet. Solid.

Then he turned and made his way to you, leading a pale beige horse with a long, flaxen mane and a soft white patch on her forehead. She looked like something out of a fairytale… or a shampoo commercial. You tensed up slightly as the large animal came to a stop in front of you.

Joel gave you a lazy grin. “Glad you decided to join us, city girl.”

You swallowed and smiled back, hoping you didn’t look as panicked as you felt. “Yeah, well… couldn’t miss the chance to, y’know, take in the sights. Ride horses. Live the ranch life.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle and gave the horse a pat. “This one’s yours.” He glanced at her affectionately. “Name’s Dolly.”

“Parton?” you asked instinctively.

His grin widened. “Yep. Dolly Parton. All yours.” He held out the reins to you and you took them with what you hoped was steady confidence.

“She’s gentle,” Joel added, nodding at the mare. “Calm. Good with beginners.”

“Cool, cool. Love that for me,” you nodded, eyeing Dolly like she might explode if you looked at her wrong.

Joel held the reins out to you, and you took them gingerly, trying not to make it obvious that your palms were already sweating.

“She’s not gonna buck me off or anything, right?” you asked with a nervous laugh.

“Nah,” Joel said. “Only if you insult her music.”

You snorted, and your grip on the reins loosened just slightly. “Hey there, Dolly,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through her mane. “Be gentle with me. I’m fragile.”

Joel watched, clearly amused. “You need help mounting?”

You glanced at Dolly, who was objectively massive. “Yeah… she’s a big one. No offense, Dolly,” you added quickly, patting her flank like she might understand and get offended.

Joel moved closer, one brow raised. “Alright. Foot in the stirrup, I’ll give you a boost.” His hand found your elbow, steady and warm, guiding you into position. Your heart did something stupid in your chest, but you kept your face neutral.

You stepped into the stirrup and, with Joel’s help, swung (okay, scrambled) into the saddle. Somehow, you managed to stay upright.

“Nice n’ smooth,” Joel said. “See? Not so bad.”

You blew out a breath, adjusting your posture. “Yeah. Piece of cake,” you said, clearly lying.

Joel gave you a look like he could see right through that. “Just stick close,” he said. “I’ll be up front if you need anythin’.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “Thanks, Joel.”

“Anytime, city girl,” he said, tapping Dolly’s side lightly and heading off to help the next rider.

You exhaled again, whispered a quiet “please behave” to Dolly, and hoped no one noticed that your legs were already shaking.

The group had just started down the winding trail, and you were doing your best to mimic whatever the people around you were doing—loosening the reins, sitting up straight, pretending you totally knew how to signal a horse to walk. Thankfully, Dolly seemed content to follow along with the others, her hooves plodding gently behind Amy’s horse.

“Yeah, keep it going, good girl,” you murmured, giving her mane a tentative little pat like you weren’t absolutely terrified of her sudden, massive strength.

For a while, things were smooth. You even started to relax, soaking in the warm morning light and the crunch of hooves against the dirt path.

But slowly—very slowly—you noticed the space between you and the rest of the group was growing. Like…concerningly growing.

“Wait—no, no, no, Dolly,” you whispered in rising panic as the others rounded a bend ahead. “Come on baby, don't do this to me.”

Dolly, in contrast, had zero worries. She had stopped completely, head lowered to nibble enthusiastically on a clump of grass by the trail.

“Oh, come on, girl. Not a snack break,” you pleaded, tugging gently on the reins the way you vaguely remembered seeing in movies. “Work with me here.”

Dolly flicked her ear but didn’t budge.

You sighed and looked around helplessly, as if someone might magically appear to help you out of your very equestrian dilemma. No such luck. Everyone else was ahead, blissfully unaware of your little detour.

“Okay… okay. I can fix this,” you muttered to yourself. “How hard can it be? I’ve seen enough movies for moments like this right?.”

You sat up straighter and cleared your throat. “Giddy up, Dolly!”

Nothing.

“Let’s go, girl. Yah!” you added, with a dramatic pat to her side.

Dolly let out a snorty huff in response, more annoyed than motivated.

You groaned and slumped forward, resting your upper body against her neck in defeat. “Dollyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a child being told they couldn’t have candy for dinner.

And as if to really hammer in your humiliation, she took another bite of grass.

“Come on, Dolly. Don’t do this to me,” you pleaded under your breath, now bouncing a little in the saddle to try and get her attention. “I have zero survival skills and a tiny water bottle. Is that what you want for us?”

You heard the soft clop of hooves approaching, and before you even turned your head, you knew who it was. Joel. Of course.

You immediately straightened your posture and tried to act like you hadn’t just been draped dramatically over Dolly. You squinted off at the trees, as if you’d been admiring nature this whole time.

Joel pulled up beside you, his expression halfway between curious and entertained. “Everything alright back here?”

“Oh yeah,” you said quickly, with an overly casual shrug. “Me and Dolly are just… chilling…enjoying the serenity. You know. Taking the trail less traveled.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He glanced at Dolly, who was still nosing the grass like she had zero intention of walking again today.

“She’s not movin’,” he said plainly.

“She’s contemplative,” you replied, deadpan.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure you’ve ridden before?”

You hesitated, then muttered, “Depends on your definition of ‘ridden.’”

He gave you a look that was all too knowing. “That’d be a no.”

You groaned and dropped your head briefly. “Okay, fine. No. I haven’t. But I had enthusiasm and blind confidence, which I thought counted for something.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “It does. Just not with horses.”

Joel clicked his tongue and nudged his horse a little closer to yours. “Alright, scoot your boot forward in the stirrup,” he said, voice low and easy, like he was trying not to spook either you or Dolly. “You’re sittin’ too far back on the saddle. That’s why she ain’t listenin’ to you.”

You awkwardly adjusted your seat, trying to mimic what he said. “Like this?”

“Almost.” He leaned over, and before you knew it, his hand was on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward just a few inches. You froze for a half-second—not from discomfort, but from how warm his touch was, how close he was. “There,” he murmured. “Better?”

You nodded quickly, eyes fixed on your hands. “Yep. Perfect. Totally professional now.”

Joel chuckled. “She might even believe you’re a cowgirl now.”

“I always knew I had it in me,” you said with a grin.

“Sure you did, city girl.” He looked at Dolly and gave a small whistle. “Come on, girl. Let’s get movin’.” And, just like that, Dolly started following Joel’s horse like she’d been waiting for him the whole time.

You blinked. “Oh my god. Are you a horse whisperer?”

He grinned as he led the way back toward the others. “Nah. Just spent enough time around stubborn creatures.”

You raised a brow. “Dolly or me?”

He glanced back over his shoulder with a wink. “I ain’t sayin’.”

The rest of the trail passed more smoothly. Dolly, now comfortably trailing behind Joel’s horse, seemed far more obedient with him around. With his calm voice offering the occasional instruction—“sit up straighter,” “relax your hands,” “you’re not strangling the reins, are you?”—you actually started to get the hang of it. Sort of.

You let your eyes wander more now, admiring the stretch of sunlit trees and the way the leaves shifted in the breeze. Every so often, you stole a glance at Joel. He looked completely in his element—comfortable, capable, his silhouette framed by the morning light filtering through the canopy. It made something flutter in your chest that you promptly ignored.

“We’re gonna take a different trail than the rest of ‘em,” he said over his shoulder. “That okay with you? Their route’s got steeper climbs—meant for folks who actually know what they’re doin’.”

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah, I’m not really in the mood to die today.”

He laughed, low and rough. “Jeez, you always this intense?”

“Only when I’m clinging to life on a moving animal,” you shot back, grinning.

Joel guided both horses toward a gentler path, winding up a quiet hill. The sound of the group faded behind you, replaced by birdsong and the soft rustle of trees. When you reached the top, he stopped his horse and gestured with his chin.

You gasped.

Below was a patchwork of green—rolling hills, thick clusters of trees, and just beyond them, a shimmering sliver of river catching the morning light.

“Wow,” you breathed, taking it all in.

Joel gave you a glance, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d like that.”

“I do. It’s… really something.”

Joel glanced at you and smiled. “Not bad for your first ride, huh?”

You nodded slowly, still caught in the view. “Not bad at all.”

And for a quiet moment, neither of you said anything. Just two strangers—somehow not feeling so strange anymore—watching the world go by from the back of two horses.

“You get quiet when you’re in awe,” he said softly.

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “Noticed it last night too. You get real still when somethin’ matters to you.”

Your stomach did a strange little flip, and you quickly looked back at the view, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “That obvious, huh?”

“Not to most,” he said, almost like a secret. “But I been watchin’.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The breeze carried the sound of rustling leaves and distant birdsong. You suddenly felt very aware of how close his horse was to yours — how natural it felt, having him near.

“I like it here,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Joel nodded. “Yeah. I figured you might.”

When you glanced over, he was already looking at you, but he didn’t look away. His expression was unreadable, something quiet and careful resting behind his eyes.

The moment hung there, soft and full. And just as you started to turn your gaze back toward the trees, you felt it — his fingers, just barely brushing the back of your hand where it rested on the reins. A light, fleeting touch.

“Come on,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Trail gets even prettier past the ridge.”

You followed without a word — but your hand still felt the memory of his touch, like warmth held in sunlight.

You and Joel continued down the quiet trail, the horses’ hooves crunching softly beneath you. For a while, neither of you said anything—just the occasional creak of leather or birdsong overhead.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” you murmured, glancing over with a faint smile.

Joel let out a low chuckle. “Haven’t we been talkin’?”

“I’ve been talking,” you teased. “You’ve been listening.”

He huffed. “That so?”

“Mhm. Give me something, Mr. Joel.”

He smirked. “It’s Mr. Miller.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “So I only get your last name? Come on, tell me more.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Hmm… like how long you’ve been working here?”

“Fifteen years,” he said simply.

You let out a whistle. “Wow. Long time.”

Joel gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Back then it wasn’t this fancy place you see now. It was just our folks’ old ranch. Me and Tommy ran it ourselves for a while—bout four years or so—kept it small. Then one of those management companies came knockin’. Wanted to turn it into a resort.”

His voice had a note of quiet resignation. You caught it. “You didn’t wanna sell?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Not really. Felt like lettin’ go of somethin’ important. But Tommy said we needed it, and he wasn’t wrong. So… I went with it.”

You were quiet for a second. “You regret it?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “Met a lotta people since then. Most of ’em just here for the experience. Selfies, spa treatments, overpriced boots. Rich assholes type of people”

You gave a sympathetic laugh.

He looked away, then back again—something gentler in his gaze. “But once in a while… I meet people like you.”

You blinked. “Like me?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “Sweet. Genuine.”

That flutter in your chest kicked up again. You looked down at your reins, smiling to yourself, cheeks warm in the morning light.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, “I’ll try not to ruin my record.”

Joel chuckled again, low and rough. “Don’t think that’s possible, sugar.”

By the time you and Joel reached the stables, the rest of the group was still trailing behind, their voices distant along the winding trail. The yard was quiet, save for the soft huff of Dolly’s breath and the creak of her saddle as she shifted beneath you.

Joel dismounted first, his movements practiced and easy. He glanced up at you, one hand already reaching.

“Easy, sugar,” he said, voice low and steady, touched with the kind of warmth that made your stomach tighten.

You took his hand without thinking, and the moment your palm met his, something sparked. His hand was rough, calloused, but warm—solid in a way that made you feel suddenly, wildly unsteady. His other hand hovered just shy of your waist, not quite touching, like he didn’t want to cross a line. Still, the nearness of it made your skin prickle.

With your other hand pressed to his shoulder, you eased yourself down. You felt the strength beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, and tried to make the dismount look natural—even graceful—but your heart was pounding too loud to focus on anything but how close he was.

Your boots hit the dirt with a soft thud.

You let go reluctantly, pretending to brush imaginary dust off your jeans just so you didn’t have to look up right away. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes just in case he could read the color rising to your cheeks.

He gave you a quick nod and stepped back, always polite, always knowing when to pull away. But you missed the contact the second it was gone.

A few minutes later, the rest of the group rode in. Tommy was the first to speak.

“There y’all are!” he called, swinging down from his saddle. “Everything okay?”

“Dolly got a little distracted,” Joel said, giving the horse a knowing pat.

Tommy laughed. “Of course she did. That lil’ rebel.”

You barely had time to smile before you noticed Amy riding in just behind him, her daughter Lily perched in front of her. Her eyes landed on you and Joel standing next to each other, and the look she gave you was unmistakable: one arched brow, a crooked grin, pure mischief. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

The second she dismounted, Amy was on a mission. She strode right up, holding Lily to her hip without breaking stride, and grabbed your arm.

“Tell me everything,” she whispered urgently as she pulled you away from the group.

You snorted. “Nothing happened.”

“Bull. Shit.” She narrowed her eyes at you. “You’re all flushed and glowy. That is not the face of someone who just went horseback riding.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t fight her when she dragged you in the direction of her cabin.

Behind you, her husband called out, “Amy? Where are you going?”

“Girl talk! Don’t come in the room!” she shouted without looking back.

“But I need to shower—”

“Too bad! Use the spa!”

“Yeah, Daddy!” Lily chimed in, and you both burst out laughing.

Amy barely let you get two steps into her room before she yanked you inside by the wrist. With practiced ease, she kicked off her boots and crouched to help Lily tug off her little pink cowgirl ones.

“I need to know everything,” she said, her voice sharp with excitement.

Then she turned to Lily, her tone softening instantly. “Baby, go play with your toys. Mommy’s gotta talk to her cousin about grown-up stuff.”

Lily lit up and nodded, already making a beeline for the soft rug near the window where a pile of plastic horses and a glittery stable waited. She plopped down and started narrating a dramatic horse rescue in a sing-song voice, completely immersed.

Amy turned back to you with the same look she used to wear in college when she was about to interrogate you about a new crush. “Alright. Spill.”

You opened your mouth, but she was already dragging you toward the bed.

“Sit. Talk.”

You laughed as she pushed you down gently. “Amy—nothing happened, okay? We just… talked.”

“Bull sh—” She glanced toward Lily and caught herself. “Crap. Total crap. I can see that blush, honey.”

“What blush?” you said too fast, already giggling as you touched your cheek. “This is—no. You’re imagining things.”

Amy crossed her arms and gave you that look. The one that said don’t insult me.

You sighed and dropped your shoulders in surrender. “Okay… fine. He helped me with Dolly, alright? I was struggling a little, and he stepped in. It was—nice. And then we kind of took a detour.”

Amy’s eyebrows shot up. “A detour?”

You groaned. “Not like that.”

“Sure. And I’m a nun.”

You swatted a pillow at her, laughing despite yourself. “He just showed me this hilltop. It was really pretty. We talked. That’s all.”

Amy narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “You’re leaving something out.”

You hesitated. “…He called me sugar.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my God, did he?”

You nodded. “Multiple times.”

Amy nearly bounced. “Bitch.”

“Shh!” You both looked toward Lily, but she was too busy making a horse gallop across the rug to care.

You lowered your voice to a whisper. “It doesn’t mean anything, right? I mean… that’s just, like, Southern charm. Or hospitality. Politeness. He probably calls all the women ‘sugar.’”

you groaned and flopped on to the bed, Amy flopped beside you, lying on her side so she could face you. “Babe. You’ve got the glow. I’ve seen it before, and I’m seeing it now. He said it in that voice, didn’t he?”

You groaned into your hands. “That voice should be illegal.”

“I know!” she said, laughing. “It’s like molasses and sex had a baby.”

You smacked her with a pillow and she let out a muffled wheeze, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed, glancing at Lily, who was thankfully too absorbed in her little world.

You flopped back onto the bed, hands over your face. “I don’t know, Amy… this is so stupid.”

Amy tilted her head, her teasing expression softening. “Why do you say that?”

You let your hands fall to your chest. “This whole… thing. Whatever it is. I haven’t even let myself think about dating since Noah.”

She gave a low whistle and sat beside you. “Damn. He really fu—”

“Language,” you muttered, glancing toward Lily playing on the rug.

Amy held up her hands. “Sorry. He really messed you up, huh?”

You gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. He did. And I thought I was over it, or getting there at least. But now this little crush is popping up and I feel like I’m back in high school.”

Amy nudged your knee with hers. “You know what that tells me? That you’re still human. You didn’t shut down completely. That’s a good thing.”

You stared at the ceiling. “But what if it’s just me clinging to the first guy who’s nice to me?”

“Maybe it is,” she said simply. “But maybe it’s not. And even if it is just a little crush—it doesn’t have to be more than that.”

You glanced over. She looked calm. Assured.

“You don’t have to marry the guy. You don’t even have to date him,” Amy added. “Just… let yourself feel it. Flirt back. Enjoy it. You’re allowed to. It doesn’t have to be serious to be something.”

You went quiet, absorbing that.

“And let’s be honest,” she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “a man like that calling you ‘sugar’ multiple times? He’s not just being polite.”

You felt your face burn. “I hate how giddy it makes me.”

Amy grinned. “That’s the point, babe. Let it make you giddy. No pressure. No expectations. Just… see where it goes. And don’t be so scared to feel something again. Noah doesn’t get to take that from you too.”

You blinked fast, swallowing a sudden lump in your throat. “You always know what to say.”

“I’ve had practice,” she said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. ”Now tell me more”

Then you talked to Amy about everything that happened, feeling like you’re teenagers again.

The rest of the day blurred by in a haze of warm sunlight and overthinking. You’d spent the afternoon helping Amy with Lily, pretending not to replay every second of the ride with Joel in your head. His voice. The way he’d said sugar. You cursed your own heart for fluttering so easily.

But by the time the sun dipped low behind the Tetons and the scent of firewood drifted through the air, your nerves had settled into something gentler. Curious. Hopeful, even.

The campfire was set up near the main lodge, a wide circle of Adirondack chairs gathered around the flames, lanterns swinging gently from nearby posts. Someone had already laid out a spread of hot cocoa, cider, and the kind of marshmallows that looked genetically engineered for s’mores.

Everyone was busy with their own conversations, laughter and soft chatter weaving through the cool evening air. You stuck close to Amy and her family—you’d learned by now that your other relatives were less likely to bombard you with questions when you were safely tucked in beside her.

You knelt beside Lily, helping her roast a marshmallow to gooey perfection.

“Can I have more, Aunty?” she asked sweetly, bits of melted chocolate already smudged around her mouth.

You chuckled. “You haven’t even finished that one yet.”

Lily blinked at her half-eaten s’more, then grinned wide. “Oh yeahhh,” she said before returning to it with enthusiastic munching.

You smiled, brushing hair from her forehead, then glanced up—and froze for a second.

Across the fire, Joel had just settled onto a log beside Tommy and Maria. He moved quietly, almost unnoticed, until he lifted a guitar onto his lap. Without a word, he began to play.

A soft, steady melody drifted into the night—something gentle and nostalgic, like a song that belonged to the land. A few people turned at first, surprised, before their conversations resumed, letting the music melt into the background.

But not you.

You couldn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed fixed on his hands—his large, calloused fingers moving with a skill and ease that felt completely at odds with the gruff man you thought you were starting to know. The music came from somewhere deep inside him, unspoken but clear.

And then he looked up.

His gaze met yours across the flickering firelight.

You startled slightly, caught in the act. But then your lips twitched into a small, involuntary smile.

You could’ve sworn—sworn—his mouth curved, just the slightest bit, before he looked back down at the guitar.

You turned your attention back to Lily, heart tapping a little faster than before.

Amy’s advice echoed in your mind like a refrain, soft but persistent.

So when the campfire began to wind down—conversations fading, chairs scraping back, and guests drifting off toward their cabins—you stayed put. The night had settled into something quieter, slower, and you weren’t quite ready to leave it.

Amy approached with Lily curled sleepily in her husband’s arms, her little head resting against his shoulder. “We’re gonna head out,” Amy said gently. “You coming?”

You glanced at Joel across the fire, still seated with his guitar. Then you looked back at Amy and shook your head. “Nah… I’ll go back in a bit.”

Amy gave you a knowing smile—warm, but mischievous. “Okay,” she murmured, not pressing. “Night, babe.”

“Night,” you said softly, watching as she walked off into the shadows with her family.

Then you turned back to the fire—and to him.

Joel was still softly strumming, the notes low and steady in the quiet night. Across from you, Tommy stood and stretched, Maria slipping her arm through his.

“We’re heading in,” Tommy said, patting Joel’s shoulder.

Joel gave a small nod without missing a beat. Then it was just the two of you.

He glanced your way, and you stood, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek before slowly making your way around the fire to sit beside him.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hey, sugar,” he murmured, and your heart did a little somersault.

“You’re not heading in?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nah… night’s too nice.”

He hummed in quiet agreement, his fingers never stopping their lazy path along the strings.

“Didn’t know you could play like that,” you said, nodding toward the guitar.

“Yeah… been playin’ since I was a kid,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Really?”

“Mhm. Had a… dream once, to be a country music star.” He gave a sheepish smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

You grinned. “You sing too, then?”

He shrugged. “I’m not good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you teased.

He raised a brow at you, amused.

“C’mon, sing something for me,” you nudged him lightly with your elbow.

He laughed under his breath. “Nahh…”

“C’mooon,” you coaxed, leaning a little closer, playful now. “Just a little song.”

He looked at you again, his expression unreadable, the firelight catching the faintest smile tugging at his lips. For once, you didn’t look away.

“Please?” you said, softer this time.

He sighed in defeat, his fingers pausing over the strings. “Alright,” he murmured, then started to play again.

The melody was familiar—slow, rich, and aching with something you couldn’t name right away. Then he sang, and your breath caught.

His voice was beautiful in a rough, worn-in way. Deep and unpolished, but soulful. Real.

“You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine…”

Your heart did that stupid leap again as he looked up at you while he sang. You grinned, a small, surprised giggle escaping before you could stop it. He glanced down again, letting the music carry him.

“You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time…”

He kept playing, the fire crackling beside you both, the rest of the world quietly slipping away. When the chorus came again, you couldn’t help it—you hummed along softly.

The final chord faded into the night air. His hand stilled.

You were quiet for a moment.

“Wow,” you whispered. “That’s… that’s really good, Joel.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You know that one?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Tennessee Whiskey. Chris Stapleton, right?”

Joel looked at you, eyebrows knitting in faint confusion. “Chris who?”

You blinked. “Chris Stapleton. That’s his song.”

He shook his head slowly, a little amused. “No, darlin’. George Jones sang that long before Stapleton ever grew a beard.”

You frowned playfully. “George who?”

Joel let out a low chuckle, eyes crinkling. “Lord help me.”

You giggled, and Joel let out another warm laugh, the kind that made your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“You youngins really need to learn the originals,” he teased.

You gasped, playful and dramatic. “Youngins?!”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Alright, alright—settle down now.”

You laughed again, nudging him gently with your elbow, and for a second, everything felt light and easy.

The laughter faded, and a quiet settled between you. You both stared into the flickering firelight, the night still and warm around you.

“You should head in,” Joel murmured, voice low. “It’s gettin’ late.”

You shook your head gently. “No.”

He chuckled, glancing at you. “Why not?”

You hesitated, eyes on your hands in your lap. “I like it here… with you.”

There was a pause, and then his voice came soft and sure. “I like it with you too.”

Your heart fluttered. When you looked up, he was already watching you, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You smiled back, bashful, your eyes darting back to the fire.

“Are you, um… leading another ride tomorrow?” you asked after a moment.

He shook his head. “Nah, not tomorrow. Gotta run some errands into town first thing in the morning.”

The words were out before you could stop them. “Can I come?”

He looked at you, surprised. “To town?”

You immediately regretted it. “Never mind, I didn’t mean—no, that’s dumb—”

He cut you off with a quiet laugh. “No, no, it’s not dumb. Just caught me off guard is all. Guests don’t usually volunteer to tag along with staff doin’ boring errands.”

You smiled, sheepish. “Still… I’d like to.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright then. If you’re sure. We leave at six—meet me out front?”

Your grin bloomed without hesitation. “I’ll be there.”

“You should rest up then,” he said, looking at you like he almost didn’t want you to go.

“Yeah, I should,” you murmured, rising to your feet. “Well… goodnight.”

“’Night, sugar,” he said with that soft, low drawl. “See you tomorrow.”

You gave a little wave as you walked off, heart light and warm, already counting down the hours till morning.

a/n sooo what do ya’ll think? heheheh next chapter is gonna be a doozy and probably the longest one yet and i can’t wait to put it out 😭 lmk if you guys wanna be put in the taglist for next chapters in the comments!! ily ya’ll thanks for reading 🩷🩷

Taglist: @bau-muffin, @javierpenaismyhusband, @dilf-docs, @heavydirtygirll, @somedayheaven, @loveisacowboyyy

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[guelyury]

I need him so bad

POV: FaceTime with PEDRO PASCAL

[guelyury]

This is so beautiful

„Like A Song Stuck In My Head“ Masterlist

Navigation post for all things regarding this AU 🎶🎸

This story isn't about happy endings. It’s about almosts. About the kind of love that brands you and ruins you and lives in you even long after.

moodboard made by my dear friend @pascalispunkczechia

full series word count: ~ 16,5 k

status: finished ✅

also readable on ao3

Meet the Characters

Main Story

„Demo Tapes“ (drabbles) masterlist

"One Missed Beat"

"Unknown Number"

"Sepia Film"

„For The Jukebox“

"Comfort In Stereo"

Some facts about F & F

Bonus "Firefly's & Frankie's Instagram"

"Under My Skin"

Epilogue „I Lost You To Another Almost“

[guelyury]

This is PERFECT ❤️❤️❤️

falling | joel miller x fem!oc

E P I L O G U E

word count: 11,000 + warnings: literally all fluff. like painful, smothering fluff. Choking, blubbering, fitful angst. Sorry, not sorry. See you on the other side, everyone, hope you enjoyed 'Falling'!

The following is a series of artefacts belonging to JACKSON RESIDENTS recovered from their homes.

J. MILLER LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT - JACKSON, WY

If you’re reading this, or find this, I’m probably dead.

I’m okay with that. Would’ve preferred to go out old—grey-bearded, asleep on my porch swing in the summer, maybe a hundred and twenty with bad knees. Quietly. Got my fingers crossed, hoping that I do.

Because that ain’t how men like me go. I’ve lived hard. Killed more than I ever want to count. Broke things I couldn’t fix. And loved people I didn’t deserve. That’s the whole truth of it.

And now, sitting here writing this, I keep thinking about what the hell I’m really leaving behind. What is my legacy, anyway? Some folks leave behind land. Leela is going to leave behind her math and her inventions. Y’all’s names are clean enough to go on school buildings.

I live in a house that isn’t mine. My money’s long gone. And my name is a goddamn graveyard. So why am I doing this?

Look... I need you someone to know I tried.

I tried to be better. To build instead of destroy. To try love without losing control. I used to think all I was good for was surviving. Guarding. Holding the line until it all gave out. And yeah, maybe that was true once for a long time.

But then came my Ellie. Then came my Leela and my Maya.

I raised two three girls. THREE goddamn girls. More beautiful than me (thank god for that), more hardass-er than me, more stubborn than me, and that’s saying something. Ellie is the fire. Sarah was the storm, and Maya is the spring that comes after. I didn’t make them—but I kept them alive. Loved them the best way I knew how. Think I did a pretty good job.

That’s my legacy.

You can burn the rest of it. The guns, the patrol records, the guilt. Let it rot. The only thing worth anything now is what I loved.

Tommy. Maria. Brother, we never did things the easy way, did we? We fought like hell, and still came back. I know you two gave me a hard time some days, but you were the people I always knew had my six—whether I deserved it or not. Guess that's what siblings do. So don’t go getting all soft now. Just keep doing what you do best: being affectionate assholes and occasionally dumb as a pile of rocks. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Leela… darling, you had loved saved me. Over and over. By staying, letting me in, looking at me like I wasn’t the monster I saw in the mirror. You are my quiet, my reason, my damn backbone some days. I didn’t know it could be like that with someone. I didn’t ask you to forgive me, but you did it anyway, every time I came home to you a little more broken. I’m sorry for the parts of me I couldn’t fix. I know I said that too much—or not enough. Also—and I mean this with all the love in my tired bones—take your time, but don’t forget I’m waiting on those insane koftas over here. So when you finally get your fine ass to me… bring me some baharat (and those strappy little tops of yours because they really drive me wild.)

Ellie (hoping the above didn't throw you off, sorry). Here it is. I saved my world that day in the hospital. Yours. You. I’m not gonna pretend it was easy or righteous. It wasn’t. But I did it so you’d have more time with me—more chances to grow with me, laugh with me, hate me. I wanted that for you more than I ever wanted it for myself. I am sor I'd do it all over again. You might never have needed a father, but you got one anyway. You got me. And I’m proud of you, kiddo. Proud as one of your own. I LOVE YOU. There. I said it. I love you, Ellie.

And. Maya. Baby girl. If you’re reading this someday—well, shit, first off: did you get glasses? How else are you reading this with all that squinting? Eyes open, sweetheart. Ha, got you.

I want you to know it plain and simple: you are my everything. My girl. I loved you the moment you opened your eyes to me that night. You’re mine in every way that counts. Grow slow. There’s no prize for getting older, other than back pain. Be good—but not too good. Break some rules. No one likes a smartass. Don’t run too fast. Tie your shoes. Wear your damn socks, I MEAN IT. Don’t be scared of the world, even when it earns it. And take care of everyone, even when it hurts. And when you miss me (if you do), go sit with my guitar (be nice and share with Ellie). Sing to me. Hum. Cry. Talk out loud like I’m listening, because I swear I am.

I never had much. Still don’t. Got a couple of guitars, ammo, boots, a few busted knuckles, and a face that looks worse every year.

What I do have—what’s worth a damn—is all of you.

I was always the buffer. I thought that was the job. Keep everyone breathing, keep the world out. I don’t regret that. But it took me a long damn time to learn why I was doing it. It was never for survival.

It was for you. Always for you.

Signed, Joel Miller.

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – VIDEO FILE #1 TIMESTAMP: 19:48 | Reed Residence, Living room SUBJECT: Maya Miller, aged 2 years, 5 months CAMERA: Tripod, static, handheld. Low lighting. Floor lamp turned on. NOTES: Observational recording for cognitive development + emotional awareness + language formulation.

[CAMERA CLICKS ON. The video begins with a slightly tilted angle. The couch sits behind them, a soft quilt thrown over the edge. A toy horse lies abandoned on the floor. The room is warmly lit. LEELA adjusts the lens, sitting cross-legged, her voice focused but affectionate. JOEL is off-screen, behind the camera. Both their voices carry the sleepiness of a late evening.]

LEELA (softly, almost to herself): Okay... steady. This is important. (adjusts the lens) This is the first video entry in Maya’s development log—

JOEL (from off-screen, dry): Which is entirely unnecessary, 'cause she’s got a brain like a bear trap.

LEELA (half smiling): This is to test her cognitive flexibility, emotional regulation, and social interaction—

JOEL: C’mon, sweetheart. Listen to yourself. She’s fine.

LEELA: (glances at him behind the camera) I need to know she’s normal, Joel. Not just sweet or clever. Normal brain functioning.

JOEL (pauses, then gentler): She’s a goddamn miracle, Leela. Beat me at cards yesterday. Straight face the whole time. You think I let her win? (mimics a girlish voice) “Go fish, Daddy.” She’s hustlin’ me already.

[LEELA exhales, lips twitching, and nods. She angles the camera a little to the left. The frame shifts. MAYA is now sitting on the rug beside her mother, wearing denim dungarees over a cotton shirt with a stitched grasshopper. She waves at the camera like she’s greeting a friend.]

MAYA: (sends a flying kiss.) Hi.

JOEL (laughs): Hi, baby.

LEELA (gently): Alright, there we go. Baby, what's your name?

MAYA: (pointing) Daddy, video.

LEELA: Yeah, he is. Can you say your name for the video?

MAYA (taps her chest): Maya. Maya, Maa-yaa.

LEELA (laughs): Okay. Hi, Maya. And what’s your full name?

MAYA (mumbles): Maya… Miller.

LEELA: That’s right. Good girl. Now—can you please look at Mama for a second while we talk?

[MAYA is fully occupied with the brass buckle on her dungaree strap. She keeps flipping it open, then closing it, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.]

MAYA (without looking up): I fix this first.

LEELA (gently redirecting): Hmm. But if Mama wants to talk to you first, what would the polite thing be?

MAYA (quietly): …Wude.

[She lets go of the buckle and looks up, her knees drawn close.]

MAYA: Okay. I listen now.

LEELA: Thank you, baby. Ready?

MAYA: Yup.

LEELA: How old are you, Maya?

[MAYA holds up two fingers. Then she thinks, frowns, and adds a third finger halfway. Then reconsiders and puts it down.]

LEELA: That’s right. Two, almost three. And what’s Daddy’s name?

MAYA (giggles): Ha-wd-ass.

LEELA (gasps): No!

JOEL: Gonna kill that little shit Tommy.

MAYA (with her fist in her mouth, grinning): Joel.

LEELA: Joel, right. Maya… can you tell me: have you ever been angry at Daddy before?

MAYA (quickly): No.

LEELA (tilts her head): Never ever?

MAYA (frowning): ...mm, he took me home from park. He—he said... no. (points to the door) We go home now.

JOEL (off-screen, defensive): Hey now—it was a hundred degrees. I didn’t want you melting out there.

LEELA (clears her throat): Alright. And what did you say when he said that we have to go home?

MAYA (matter-of-fact): I said “NO! Not going home.” Then Daddy pick me up. We go home.

LEELA: And then?

MAYA: Then I... cried.

JOEL (mutters): Meltdown.

LEELA (to Maya): And when you get upset like that... what helps you feel better, Maya? Do you want to run away, or—do you need to yell? Maybe throw something?

JOEL (warning tone): Leela.

LEELA (ignoring him, soft but intent): Or maybe… do you just need a hug? Do you want someone to hold you?

[MAYA pauses. Her fingers fidget. Her chin tucks slightly, and her voice is very small.]

MAYA: I need hugs.

[LEELA looks up at the camera now. Her expression is softer, more tired. Her hand rests on Maya’s back.]

LEELA (to camera): So—we’re observing that when Maya experiences emotional dysregulation, she doesn’t act out violently or retreat, but reaches for physical reassurance. (pause, voice softening) Which is… significantly better than what I feared.

[MAYA turns and throws herself into Leela’s lap.]

MAYA: I love hugging Daddy.

JOEL (gravel-voiced, warm): Right back at ya, baby girl.

[MAYA now leans sideways into Leela’s lap, visibly drowsier but still engaged. A thread from Leela’s jeans has caught her attention, and she tugs it gently. LEELA hums quietly, drawing her back into the moment.]

LEELA (sing-song): Maya… now, were you really angry at Daddy that time?

MAYA (shakes her head, thumb brushing her lip): No. I just… don’t wanna go home.

LEELA (empathetic): Oh, well, I understand that. If I were having fun and someone told me it was time to go? I’d be mad too.

MAYA (nodding): Yeah. I wanna play more.

LEELA: So, do you have a lot of friends? Is that why you don't like leaving?

[MAYA looks up for a second, big, brown eyes shining, then shakes her head.]

MAYA: No.

LEELA (gently): Then why do you want playtime?

MAYA: I like big sandbox. Ellie helps me on the slide.

LEELA: What about the other kids?

MAYA: Only me, mama.

[LEELA hums again, stroking her hair slowly. The thread is forgotten now. MAYA leans closer.]

JOEL: Now, she ain’t alone. Ellie’s there, I’m there. The other kids... they're just older. And there are no other kids like her in town.

LEELA (shoots him a look): Joel—you're confusing her.

JOEL (scoffs): Fine. Shuttin’ up.

LEELA (focuses on Maya again): And how does it make you feel, baby girl? When you're alone? Are you scared? Or angry?

[MAYA’s brows furrow. She picks at her sock this time, quieter.]

MAYA: Sad.

LEELA (slight shift in posture, softer): You feel sad? Do you feel sad a lot?

MAYA (tiny nod, small voice): Yeah. I cry.

LEELA (quietly, not alarmed, just listening): You cry a lot when you're sad? When Mama isn’t around?

MAYA (sniffles): Mhm. I don’t like alone.

LEELA: Oh, my love.

[MAYA's face twists, and she rubs at her eye. A pause. JOEL’s voice is low and irritated from behind the camera at the sight of her hurting.]

JOEL: Okay, stop. You’re upsettin’ her.

LEELA (shaking her head, gently): No, we’re understanding. (She turns back to Maya, her hand brushing through tangled curls.) She’s not upset. She’s being brave. Aren’t you, baby?

[MAYA’s eyes flick to LEELA’s. She nods faintly.]

MAYA: I wanna be brave. Like Daddy.

LEELA: And you are. Angry and sad make you brave and real. Real people feel things. And they cry. Even big people. Even Daddy... (stage-whispers) in the shower.

[MAYA lets out a little giggle through her tears.]

LEELA (tucking a strand of hair behind Maya’s ear): Baby, you know… if you ever feel like it got dark around you, you can tell us. If you’re mad, you can stomp your feet. If you’re sad, you can cry in my lap. You don’t have to hide it or hold it in your belly, okay?

[MAYA shakes her head firmly this time, her lip wobbling just slightly.]

MAYA: I don’t wanna be mad, Mama. Don’t like it.

LEELA: No, honey. It’s okay to be mad. I get mad. Daddy gets mad all the time.

[A brief, audible scoff from JOEL.]

JOEL: Yeah, alright.

LEELA (grinning): All the time. And when he does, what do we do?

MAYA (perking up): Time-out!

LEELA: Right. And do we yell at him?

MAYA (giggling): You hug him.

JOEL (mock indignation): It's brutal.

[LEELA laughs softly, then leans forward again, face almost fully in frame now. Her voice drops to that warm, instructional tone again.]

LEELA: So next time, baby, when you feel mad or sad... what do you do?

[MAYA’s brow knits as she thinks. Then her eyes brighten.]

MAYA (low to loud): I say, 'Mama, I'm sad.'

LEELA (laughing): Very good. And then what happens?

MAYA (repeating back): You hug me.

JOEL (quietly): Every single time.

[There’s a long, peaceful pause now. MAYA rests fully in Leela’s lap, three fingers in her mouth, eyelids fluttering closed. JOEL finally appears in frame again, crouching beside them. He presses a hand gently to Maya’s back and gives Leela a tired, fond look.]

JOEL (murmuring): We should probably stop here. She’s running on fumes.

LEELA (sighs): Yeah, okay. That concludes entry one—emotional processing and response. Maya is responsive to guided questioning, able to self-identify emotions, strong associative memory.

JOEL (grins at Maya): Translation: she’s a little miracle.

LEELA: She’s Maya.

[JOEL leans in, kisses the top of Leela’s head.]

JOEL: You’re doin’ real good, mama.

[LEELA swallows and nods, visibly emotional. She lifts her hand to turn off the camera.]

[CAMERA CLICKS OFF]

X

E. WILLIAMS TRAVEL LOG #2

(The camera jolts to life with a brief blur of sunlight. A rhythmic thud-thud-thud of hooves on dry dirt is heard beneath the image. The view steadies to show Ellie, sweat glinting on her brow, holding the camera at arm’s length. She squints at the screen, then grins.)

(Ellie, to camera) “Okay, we’re rolling. This is Travel Log number two—because apparently Leela thinks we’re NatGeo now.”

(She wipes sweat off her nose with the back of her arm, then flips the camera around. It bounces before settling on the riders behind her.)

(Ellie, off-screen) “Maya, say hi!”

(The camera catches a horse trotting beside Dina’s. Joel rides a little behind, Maya seated snugly in front of him on the saddle. Maya is grinning so wide it looks like her face might split open.)

“Hai!”

(Ellie laughing) “And how the hell are you outside of Jackson, missy?”

“’Cause Daddy let me. And now we’re gonna catch fish!”

“Oh yeah? Wanna tell everybody how old you are?”

(Maya proudly holds up three chubby fingers, but two of them are smushed together.) “I’m th-wee.”

(The camera pans shakily to Dina, who rides up alongside, squinting against the light. Her hair is pulled back to that familiar topknot, sweat matting her face.)

“And there’s my gorgeous girlfriend. Babe, say hi.”

(Dina groans, ducking her head.) “I look like shit.”

“Yeah, but like—hot shit.”

(Dina flips her off. Ellie cackles. The camera swerves toward Joel, who is too focused on keeping Maya safe and the horse steady.)

(Ellie snorts.) “Could be worse. Look at this dumbass.”

(Joel, gruffly) “You better get that thing outta my face.”

“No can do. I’m under strict orders. Your wife told me to document everything. I’m just being a good citizen.”

“Christ. Just watch your step, kiddo.”

(Ellie, to camera now) “So, for the record: We’re taking baby girl on a late fishing trip for her birthday, which was all the way back on Christmas. And—this is the troop.”

(The camera zooms in briefly on Maya, who is now humming some nonsense song and patting the saddle horn. Joel looks down at her, and for a second, the camera catches him smiling.)

(Ellie, softer) “Not bad, right?”

(Static crackle as the image shakes again. Ellie flips the camera back to herself.)

“Alright, let’s go catch some fuckin' fish.”

—

(The footage stutters into motion with a high-pitched whine of static. The screen shakes wildly for a moment—just flashes of sky, pine, and boot—and then jolts into focus. A rough hand fumbles across the lens. Joel grumbles.)

“How the hell do you—? Goddamnit.”

(He shifts the camera. The image stabilises. Now it’s looking out over a sunlit rocky ledge above a wide, glittering creek. Ellie, Dina, and Maya are perched in a row on the flat of a sun-warmed boulder. Three rods poke into the air, lines drifting lazily into the current. The only sound is birdsong, water, and distant giggling.)

“Ellie, keep your arms around her. She’s jumpy as a damn frog.”

(Ellie snickers.) “Relax, old man. I’ve got her.“ (Then to Maya:) “You’re good, gremlin. Just hold it still and wait.”

(Maya squeals, standing up.) “I saw a fish! I saw one!”

(Dina teases.) “You’ve said that like ten times.”

“This time it smiled at me!”

“Liar!”

(The camera zooms slightly. Joel’s breathing is close in the mic, still focused on the trio. Maya suddenly gasps and yanks her tiny rod.)

“Mine's moving! DINA, I GOT ONE! I—!”

(Her footing slips. She screams with a quick splash—then chaos.)

“Maya, no!”

(The camera jerks wildly—Joel’s dropped it. It lands half-sideways in the dirt, still rolling. We catch fractured glimpses: Dina throwing off her jacket, Ellie lunging forward, Joel already in motion, boots thundering past the lens.)

(Ellie hisses.) “Shit—Maya!”

(A splash. Then another. Then silence but for the rush of water and muffled voices underwater, distant and panicked. Joel's frantic voice is the loudest.)

“Maya! Maya, can you hear me?”

(No answer. Just the hiss of the creek and thrashing limbs. The lens catches the churn of boots and panicked motion, but no child. Ellie surfaces empty-handed, wiping water from her face. Dina calls out, chest-deep and scanning rocks.)

“Anything?”

“Nothing—babe, she was right here, she was right here—”

(The lens catches motion as Joel barrels downstream. The camera misses his face, but his actions are sharp, driven. He throws himself into the current, shoving aside reeds, slipping on wet stone. He shouts again.)

“Maya, just come up, baby! Listen to my voice!”

(Nothing. Just the creek roaring louder. Ellie glances toward the far bank, silent now. Dina exhales hard, treading water. It’s been a full minute now. Then two. And—Joel stops.)

(He buckles—doubles over with both hands on his knees, soaked to the chest, breathing too fast. For a second, he’s motionless, like this short-circuited inside him. He grips his thigh, grounding himself. Then, barely audible—)

“God, please… please.”

(Dina turns toward him, voice gentler now but firm, trying to cut through the spiral.)

“Hey—hey, Joel. Listen to me. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll split up. I’ll head up the rocks, Ellie’ll sweep back toward the reeds. You keep to the bend. Okay? We’ll find her.”

(Joel doesn’t respond. His hands twitch at his sides, clenched and unclenched. He’s not hearing her. Or he is, but it’s bouncing off armour.)

“I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve—I looked away, just, just one second—”

(Ellie moving closer.) “Joel. Joel. Look at me. It's fine.”

(She’s within arm’s reach now. His jaw is set, neck tight, eyes scanning but not seeing. Ellie softens.)

“She can't have gotten far. We find her. You with me?”

(He blinks hard—once, twice. His hand comes to his mouth like he’s trying to hold something in. Then hoarsely—)

“Not again. Not her. Not…”

(He trails off. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Ellie’s eyes flicker, understanding more than he says. Behind them, Dina is waist-deep and staring at the far downstream bend. Her hand goes up slowly, pointing.)

“Wait. Wait—do you—?”

(A faint, distant voice echoes from downstream—bright and bubbly.)

“Daddy, Dina! I got it! I got the fish!”

(Joel doesn’t move at first. His head lifts slowly, like he’s afraid to believe it. Then Ellie breaks into motion and he follows—trudging through water, stumbling once but not stopping. The camera is still skewed, but it catches a tiny shape emerging from the trees further downstream, waterlogged and barefoot, holding something overhead in both hands.)

“It was hiding! I chase it!”

(Joel’s breath catches. His arms drop slack, then he’s moving faster, boots pounding the muddy bank, sloshing up toward her.)

“Maya. C'mere, baby.”

(He drops to his knees in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and then crushes her into a hug, flapping fish and all. Maya giggles, not understanding the terror that had settled in his chest just moments ago.)

“You scared the hell outta me. Thought I lost you.”

“But I got it!”

(Joel clutches her closer, water dripping down his face—unclear if it’s from the river or his eyes. His voice is barely a breath now.)

“Don’t ever do that again. You hear me? Don’t ever…”

(He cuts himself off. Kisses the top of her head, pushing the wet hair off her cheeks and neck. Behind him, Dina rubs her face and exhales, laughing through leftover adrenaline. Ellie just drops backwards into the creek with a splash, limbs splayed like a starfish.)

(Ellie sighs and looks up to the sky.) “I'm never fuckin' babysitting this little demon again. Not without a goddamn leash.”

(Maya beams.) “I was tracking! It went under the rocks, so I had to go up the side like Dina said!”

(Joel shakes his head.) “Not without tellin’ me, you don’t.”

(Ellie picks up the camera—mud-smeared and dripping, but still running. She holds it at a crooked angle as the group sloshes back to shore, all soaked, all laughing in that shaky, post-crisis way. Joel’s doesn’t come yet—but he’s still holding Maya.)

“Update: Joel has aged twenty years. Maya met a fish. And none of us are allowed to breathe ever again.”

(Maya, off-camera, all chipper.) “I wanna swim!”

(All three, in perfect unison—)

“Nope.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Never happening.”

(The camera catches one last frame of Maya proudly cradling the flopping fish, her curls plastered to her forehead, Joel’s arm around her protectively. Ellie’s laughter trails off as the screen fades into soft static. Cut to black.)

X

J. MILLER HOME VIDEO #3

(Video begins mid-jostle. The camera is unsteady, jiggling as Joel tries to lift it above the crowd. Boots thump on the wooden floors, fiddle music screeches with jubilance. String lights swing in the rafters, and there’s distant whooping over the band’s tempo.)

(Joel’s voice mutters, amused.) “Can’t see nothin’ in this damn barn…”

(Camera finds its focus, finally sweeping over the packed dance floor, shakily pushing through arms, backs, and half-finished pints. Then the camera locks in on Maya, spinning into dizziness in the middle of the floor. She’s in denim overalls, her sleeves rolled, curly hair bouncing, boots two sizes too big. People are giving her space, clapping in rhythm.)

(Tommy, off-camera, hoots.) “Look at her go!”

(Maria coos, off to the side.) “Shit, I wanna bite her little face off.”

(Camera zooms and shakes slightly. Joel laughs.)

“Go on, baby girl!”

(Maya notices the camera. She gasps, hands on her cheeks like a cartoon character. Then waves with both hands.)

“Haiiii!”

(She dashes forward, expertly weaving between dancers, laughing the whole time. Camera wobbles as she leaps at Joel, arms flung wide.)

“Let me hold it! I wanna be the camera girl!”

“You got butterfingers. This thing’s older than Ellie.”

(Maya whines, bouncing in protest. Joel tips the camera up and away as she tries to jump for it. A waitress sidesteps her, chuckling. Joel lowers the lens, steadies it again.)

“C’mon, help me find your mama. She better not be—”

(Sudden distant yell.)

“WOOOOOO!”

(Camera swings wildly again—searching. Finally, it lands: Leela, up near the band. Her cowboy hat's tipped too far back, one boot missing, one boot on. She’s shimmying with total abandon to the beat, singing along loud and off-key to a song she clearly doesn’t know.)

(Tommy cackles.) “'S happened again.”

(Joel groans. The camera jolts down, then upward—now Tommy is holding it, laughing breathlessly.)

“Grab it. I gotta go fix this.”

(Tommy lifts the camera to zoom in as Joel pushes through the crowd. Ellie briefly appears beside Tommy, leaning in to whisper.)

“Is that one boot on, one boot off? Iconic.”

(Maria snorts.) “She drinking out of her boot?”

(Camera zooms in—Leela indeed holds a boot like a goblet, sloshing something suspiciously dark and fizzy inside. She twirls—and nearly slips.)

(Joel reaches her just in time. He grabs her arm with both hands. Leela gasps, delighted.)

“There he is! Husbaaaaand.”

(Joel is clearly trying not to laugh.) “You stink.”

(Leela puts on a fake cowboy accent.) “That’s called love, darlin’.”

(Her arms loop around his neck, hat slipping to one side, planting a kiss on his mouth. Joel—half laughing, half exasperated—obliges, but only briefly before pulling back.)

“You’re gonna break your neck out here.”

(She sways her hips in an invitation.) “Dance with me, Daddy.”

(Ellie groans from off-camera.) “Ew, what the fuck?”

(Joel groans, pinches the bridge of his nose. Crowd laughter builds in the background.)

“Jesus, don’t call me that in public. You’re gonna confuse the hell outta people.”

(She uses a finger to beckon him.) “C’mon.”

(He plants both hands gently on her waist to steady her.) “You gotta sober up, sweetheart. You already lost a boot.”

(She pouts. He sighs. Then offers his hand.)

“Just one.”

(The music softens into a slower tune—harmonica over strings. Leela leans into Joel, wrapping her arms around his neck like a sleepy kid. They sway awkwardly. One-booted. Out of time. Joel mutters something we can’t hear. Leela giggles like it’s the funniest thing in the world.)

(Camera pans down: her bare foot rests on his boot. He just lets her lean.)

(Ellie whispers nearby.) “Stop filming. They’re so gross.”

(Tommy snickers.) “They’re happy.”

(In the far right of the frame, Maya appears again, now holding Ellie’s hand and tugging hard.)

“Dance with me, Ellie, c'mon!”

(Leela turns mid-dance and waves dramatically at Maya, then does a very poor spin that nearly sends her into a table. Joel catches her mid-fall and dips her, exaggerated, one arm around her waist. She shrieks with laughter.)

(Camera pulls back. The saloon lights flicker overhead. Everyone around them is dancing, drunk, or both. It’s messy and warm and joyful—a pause in the noise of survival.)

(Frame lingers on Joel and Leela, pressed close. He murmurs something into her hair. She closes her eyes. The song fades to the final note—violin and steel guitar.)

X

TELEPHONE RECORDING #1 DATE: SEP. 26TH | TIME: 04:03 A.M. LINE: INTERNAL, JACKSON, WY PARTICIPANTS: J. MILLER, L. MILLER, M. MILLER

[Distant, metallic click. Faint static hum. A long pause. Then—a shrill ring, not the synthetic tone of modern cellphones, but an old, analogue bell. Faint rustling. Something thuds lightly against wood—maybe a hand fumbling in the dark.]

J.M. (groggy, disoriented): …the hell…?

[Rustling sheets. A creak of the bedframe. He fumbles for something in the dark.]

J.M: …No way.

[Another ring. Then a hesitant click as he answers. Silence.]

L.M. (warm, amused): Hi, can I speak with the birthday boy, please?

[Long silence. A faint creak.]

J.M. (cautious, stunned): Leela?

L.M. (giggles): Joel. Can you hear me?

J.M: I’m not dead, am I? It’s four in the damn morning… and the phone that’s sounds like a death knell just rang.

L.M. (sing-song): Surprise!

[A beat. Then, Joel exhales a sharp, stunned laugh. Fabric shifts as he sits up.]

J.M: Holy shit. Leela. Darlin’… Holy shit. This is real.

L.M. (whispers): Happy birthday.

J.M (laughs again): I—I can’t even wrap my head around this. You’re on the phone. Like actual… static and everything. How the hell’d you pull this off?

L.M: Well... I rewired the internal comms grid. Boosted a small solar cell relay through the southern outpost lines. Then I cross-fed it into the restored switchboard. Et voila, eight months later, it works just in time.

J.M: …Y'know, I only caught about two words of that, right?

L.M. (smiling through): I said I missed your voice.

J.M: Goddamn. All that for a call to me?

L.M. (gently teasing): You’re not that hard to miss. But yeah… first working phone in Jackson. Figured it should go to the man who hates birthdays and attention. Two birds.

J.M. (grinning now): You gonna make the whole town use this thing?

L.M: Eventually. For now, I serve as both operator and technician. Thought I’d test the system on someone who doesn’t mind me, er.... rambling.

J.M: That right? Hell, I’d listen to you read out the damn dictionary, baby. You always made even the hard shit sound soft.

L.M.: Don’t go sweet-talking me now. It’s your birthday. I should be the one getting all the mushy.

J.M. (lower, softer): You already gave me everything I wanted.

[A faint click in the background—a loose wire, or a shift in signal. Then Joel clears his throat, as if trying to recover.]

J.M: So tell me—now that I’ve got you on the line… You reckon this thing could handle what the kids used to call phone sex?

L.M. (incredulous laugh): Joel!

J.M.: Come on, darlin’. I’m just sayin’—voice like yours in my ear? Might short out the tower.

L.M.: Stop. I’m recording this call for research.

J.M.: Whatever. I’m the birthday boy. I get one pass.

[They both laugh. Then, a faint stirring. A tiny yawn. The faintest whimper.]

M.M. (sleepy): Daddy…?

J.M.: Hold on. Trouble’s wakin’ up.

[He shifts. The mattress creaks. A soft scritch of his beard brushing her cheek. A kiss to her forehead.]

J.M. (instantly gentle): Hi, baby girl. You’re okay. It’s just the phone.

M.M.: Phone?

[Joel adjusts—the rustle of movement, soft fabric, a creaking mattress. Then, the faint sound of a small body being shifted, carefully.]

J.M.: Here. I want you to listen to someone special.

[Receiver shifts slightly. Then—]

M.M. (suspiciously): Mama?

L.M. (audible intake of breath, voice trembling slightly): Hi, baby girl. Hello.

M.M. (in awe): Are you inside the... box?

L.M. (chuckling): Sort of. The box can carry voices through the wires and air.

M.M. (gasps): It’s a magic box!

J.M.: Damn right it is. First call of the new world, and it went to you.

M.M.: Mama… where are you?

L.M.: Still right here, baby. Just downstairs, in the hall. But this box lets me kiss you goodnight without moving.

M.M. (soft giggle): It is magic.

[A tiny yawn. Then the gentle shuffling of her curling into Joel’s chest. The receiver shifts again.]

J.M. (hushed): She’s driftin’. You still there?

L.M. (sniffles): Always. Did you like your surprise?

J.M. (low chuckle): No phone sex? Hardly a surprise.

L.M.: Your daughter is literally five inches from your face.

J.M. (snickers): And you’re missin’ five inches in yours.

L.M. (shocked gasp): Joel, what is wrong with—

J.M. (grinning): You made it too easy. Alright, I love you. Now hang up… and come over here.

L.M. (quiet smile in her voice): You hang up.

J.M.: Mm-mm. Not playin’ this game, darlin’. Been dead for twenty years, I intend to keep it that way.

[Silence lingers. Then—]

L.M. (whispered): Good night, birthday boy. See you in a minute.

J.M. (just above a murmur): Night, baby.

[Click. The line goes dead. Faint hum fades out.]

X

E. WILLIAMS HOME VIDEO #16

(The footage opens with a bit of bounce—someone's adjusting the handheld camera. There is a gentle sound of cards shuffling. Ellie is clearly behind the camera. Her steps are slow as she moves into view of the dining table, where Tommy sits across from Maya, elbows on the table, scattered with half-finished custard, eyes narrowed in concentration.)

(Ellie, off-camera, voice playful) “Alright, it’s dead silent in here. What’s goin’ on? Poker night?”

(Tommy, gruffly, not looking up) “It’s war.”

“With a three-year-old?”

“She’s up four hands and counting. I ain’t here to play. I’m here to win back my dignity.”

(The camera pans to Maya, sitting squarely in Leela’s lap, her tiny brows furrowed, lips pursed. The cards look enormous in her little hands, but she’s manoeuvring them with sharp, deliberate movements. Leela’s not helping—just holding her arms up as Maya goes through them.)

(Maya, serious, without looking up) “Your turn, Uncle Tommy.”

“I know, kid. I know. Just thinkin’.”

“Don’t think too long. That’s how Daddy lost.”

(A beat. Then a snort of laughter from Ellie.) “Oh my god. Joel lost to Maya. Comedy gold.”

(The camera zooms in a little as Tommy lays down his card—then, slowly, Maya lays hers. A moment passes. Tommy exhales through his nose.)

“Son of a—”

(Maya squeals, grinning wide.) “Yay! Mine’s bigger!”

(Tommy grumbles.) “Damn right it is.”

(Leela gently warns) “Maya…”

(Maya is still triumphant.) “I said bigger. Not a bad word, mama.”

(Ellie, laughing) “I dunno, Tommy. You sure you’re not lettin’ her win?”

(Tommy holds up both hands.) “You see me foldin’? Hell no. She’s counting cards. I ain’t got a chance.”

(Maya, too gleeful) “That’s ‘cause I remeh-mber them.”

(The camera wobbles as Ellie doubles over laughing. Tommy just leans back in his chair, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.)

“Leela, honey, what are you feedin’ your child? We all get the same goddamn rations.”

(Leela with a small smile) “Books. Puzzles. Joel.”

(Ellie heaves a breath.) “Well, that explains the poker face.”

(The camera zooms once more on Maya, who now holds up her cards dramatically toward the lens, fanned out—wrong side forward.)

(She stage-whispers to the camera.) “No one can sh-top me.”

(Tommy shakes his head.) “I gotta start cheating.”

“That’s against the ruuuuules.”

(Leela giggles.) “Tommy, she will never let you live it down.”

(The camera lingers on Maya’s proud little face, cheeks puffed out as she shuffles her cards again—badly, sloppily, adorably. Leela helps guide her fingers, whispering numbers, which Maya repeats under her breath. Across the table, Tommy looks both defeated and weirdly proud.)

(A beat. Then, off-camera, Joel’s voice cuts in—gentle, curious.)

“You wanna be like your mama when you grow up, baby?”

(Maya pauses mid-shuffle. The cards slip out of her hands and scatter. Her eyes go wide—and then she lets out a shy giggle, immediately burying her face in Leela’s chest.)

“Mmm…”

(Leela laughs softly and brushes back Maya’s curls.) “What? What is it?”

(She kisses the top of Maya’s head. Just then—sharp, tinny brrrring! cuts through the moment—the patched-up rotary phone on the wall rings. Everyone in the room glances over, startled.)

(Maya gasps, squealing) “Aaaah! I got it! I got it, I got it!”

(She scrambles to her feet, almost tripping on her feet, and makes a beeline for the phone. Joel chuckles and reaches out instinctively to steady her as she races past.)

“Easy, trouble.”

(She hops up on the table by the wall, lifting the receiver with both hands like it’s treasure. Maya speaks in a serious tone, copying someone she has seen.)

“Jackson outpost. Maya speakin’.”

(Leela hides a laugh behind her hand. Ellie is already zooming the camera in as Tommy leans forward, amused.)

“Aw hell—she’s got a job now?”

(Maya, now pressing the receiver to her ear, trying to sound official) “Okay. Uh-huh. You got it. I tell Uncle Tommy. Stand by!”

(She covers the receiver with her hand and turns to Tommy with wide eyes.)

“Uncle Tommy, they sayin' the lookout spotted smoke near the ridge. You check it now.”

(Tommy is laughing but impressed.) “Well damn. Alright, little ranger. I’ll suit up. Thanks for the heads up.”

(Maya beams proudly and puts the phone down, then turns back to the group, chest puffed a little.)

(Ellie, mock-serious) “That’s it. She’s taking my side gig. I’m retiring.”

(Joel grins at Ellie behind the camera.) “Gotta get her her own call sign. Radio girl’s gonna run Jackson by ten.”

(Leela pulls Maya back into her lap.) “Where’d you learn to talk like that, huh?”

“I listen when you think I’m sleepin’.”

(Joel snorts.) “'Course she does.”

(Tommy raises his glass.) “To the youngest scout we got.”

“Maya Miller: card shark, signal scout, future queen of the airwaves.”

(Laughter ripples through the room. The camera catches Maya grinning bashfully, resettled between Leela’s arms, stacking her scattered cards again. A brief static flickers as the camera feed fades to black.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #48

[The broadcast crackles in—a gentle hum of wind in the background, maybe the faint clatter of boots on wood outside. Maya, aged TEN, runs the radio station in the mornings. A little jingle—probably something she made herself with Ellie’s help—plays, made up of a few clunky guitar notes and a whistle.]

M.M. (bright, chipper): “Goooood morning, Jackson! It's 7 a.m., the sun is shining, the wind is definitely tryna blow the roof off the stables, and you're tuned in to our very own radio station with your friendly neighbourhood deejay, Maya Miller, keeping you company as we ride out another day in paradise.”

[Short laugh—a little dry, but charming.]

M.M: “Okay, okay—maybe not paradise. But hey, it’s home. And here in Jackson, we’ve got chickens that lay, fences that hold, and people that don't give two shits about my radio station. That’s more than most.”

[A page rustles. She taps her book—maybe a list.]

M.M: “We’re keepin’ it light today, folks. A couple of songs, a couple of stories, maybe one or two terrible jokes if you're lucky, thanks to Ellie. And if you're tuning in from the outer fields, the boiler room, or the patrol tower—this one's for you.”

[Pause—her tone quiets, like remembering a note.]

M.M: “Oh! Big shout-out to Kenan at the forge. They just finished another batch of those wicked-sharp hatchets. If you scored one before the morning shift, buy 'em a cider at the Tipsy Bison. Or—I mean, at least carry their woodpile for a week.”

[She laughs, a little sheepish now.]

M.M: “And... yeah, I know it’s been a little rough out there lately. More sightings than usual. One of the patrols spotted a runner near the Gulch—again. But look—we’re still here. Still standing. Still singin’.”

[A breath, then her voice perks back up.]

MAYA: “Alright, alright, no more of that serious stuff. That’s not what you tuned in for. Let’s play something for Bill, who requested ‘Mr. Sandman’—says it reminds him of ‘before.’ I don’t know if that’s sweet or depressing, but I’m rollin’ with it.”

[‘Mr. Sandman’ begins to play softly underneath.]

MAYA: “This one’s for you, Bill. And for anyone else out there, remembering a time when the world made a little more sense. You’re not alone. And hey, if anybody wants to drop in and say 'hi', I'm right by the main hall, and it's a pretty sweet setup. I don't bite. Anymore. I promise.”

[Music fades back, plays for a few moments, then cuts softly as the mic picks up again.]

MAYA (a little mischievous): “Alright, folks, you’re in for a treat. We’ve got a very special guest in the booth today. Resident genius and best mom in the world. Wanna say hi?”

LEELA (off-mic at first, reluctant): “Uh. I’m Leela. Her—your mother. Hi.”

MAYA: “Hi, Mama.”

LEELA (dryly): “You forgot your lunch bag. Again.”

MAYA: “I was... on the air. Y’know. Broadcasting to the entire colony. Essential work.”

LEELA: “Mhm. Well, now your sandwich is cold. Again. Good luck with that.”

MAYA (laughing): “Wait! Wait. Sit down. Just one question. It’s a good one.”

LEELA (sighs): “Maya, I’ve got to look at the turbines at the dam today—”

MAYA: “Please. Please-please-please! C’mon. For the people.”

LEELA (defeated): “Fine.”

MAYA (suddenly mock-serious): “Okay, Jackson, here’s today’s philosophical corner: If you could say one thing to someone or something you’ve lost—what would it be?”

[Silence for a second. Then, deadpan:]

MAYA (hisses): “Mama, you have to answer.”

LEELA (after a pause, dryly): “To someone I’ve lost? …I’d probably have a word or two with my patience. Wherever it went. Please come back.”

[MAYA snorts with laughter.]

LEELA (murmuring): “And now I really do have to go.”

MAYA: “You’re the worst.”

[A kiss lands audibly—Leela kisses the top of Maya’s head, just off-mic.]

LEELA (softly, already stepping away): “Have a great day. I love you, baby.”

[The door clicks. Faint sounds of her leaving — boots on wood, the wind again. Then silence. Maya exhales like she’s trying not to smile.]

MAYA (quietly, into the mic): “She says that every time, like she doesn’t mean it. But she does. Every single word.”

[She clears her throat.]

MAYA: “Okay, back to the music before I start cryin' on air. This next one’s for y'all weirdos with too many feelings. Stay safe, stay sharp, and stay with me.”

[The song fades in.]

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #12 TIMESTAMP: 11:03 | Reed Residence, Dining room SUBJECT: Maya Miller, aged 3 years, 8 months NOTES: Observational recording for emotional awareness _ identity formation.

(Soft rustle. The recorder clicks on. Leela's voice enters soft, tired, but affectionate, as though she’s easing into the moment.)

“Development log twelve. Maya, aged three years and nine months. Today I want to check in on Maya’s social-emotional patterns—how she plays, how she relates to other kids. Observation notes: Today, she built a “rocket ship fort” with our laundry basket. Declared herself commander. Declared Ellie the alien. She delegated roles. Pretty assertively.”

(There’s a quiet chuckle from Leela, followed by a long exhale.)

“It’s been... remarkable, watching her become her own person. She’s started giving things names. Stories. Feelings. People. I just want to see where her head’s at.”

(She sets something down, the soft clatter of a ceramic mug. Then gently—)

“Hey, baby girl. You wanna come sit with Mama for a second?”

(There’s the sound of soft running feet on hardwood, followed by a tiny huff of breath as Maya sits down. Fabric rustles. Maya’s voice is sweet and happy.)

“I was building a big zoo for you, mama.”

“A zoo? Wow. What animals did you put in it?”

“Three horses, one tiger, two bunnies, and a T-Rex.”

(Leela laughs.) “Now that’s a very inclusive zoo.”

(A pause. Then, casually but purposeful—) “Maya, can you tell me about your friends? Who do you play with the most?”

(Maya, without missing a beat) “Carter.”

“Oh, he's a nice boy. Remind me, who's Carter?”

“Silly.” (She hums.) “He lives next door!”

“Mhm. And what’s Carter like?”

“He’s funny. He let me use his green crayon even though it's his favourite. And he pushed me on the swing so high I almost touched the sun!”

(Leela, gently teasing) “You have a lot of fun together?”

(Maya giggles.) “He’s my boyfwen.”

(There’s a beat of silence. A soft click as Leela sets down her pen.)

(Leela sounds more careful than amused.) “He's your boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh. He shared. And I kissed him on the cheek. So now we’re... boyfwen and girlfwen.”

(Leela’s quiet laugh slips out—surprised, warm.) “And how did he feel about that?”

(Maya, cheerfully) “He said I smelled like apples.”

“That’s a pretty sweet thing to say.”

(Then her tone shifts—slower now. She softens it without losing the thread, like a hand on Maya’s back.)

“Baby, can we talk about something important?”

“'Kay.”

“You know how hugs and kisses and holding hands can feel really nice, right?”

“Yeah. I go like this—mwah!”

(There's a small pause.) “But you always get to choose. Nobody gets to touch you unless you want them to.”

“Mhm.”

“And if someone ever tries, and it makes your tummy feel funny, like a scared feeling, or like you want to get away—you tell Mama. Or Daddy. Or anyone in your family.”

(Maya, quietly) “Even if they’re nice?”

“Even if they’re really nice. If you don’t feel good about it, that’s enough. Your body is yours.”

(There’s a pause, like Maya is working it out in her head. Something taps gently—Maya’s fingers on the table, maybe. Then her voice returns, brighter again.)

“But I wanted to give him kiss, mama.”

“That’s okay. It’s good when you want to. That’s how we know something feels right. But you should know it’s always okay to say no, too. Even to kisses. Even to Carter.”

(Maya hums, a beat later) “What if I change my mind?”

“Exactly. Then you say, “No, thank you.” And he has to listen. And if he doesn’t, you come straight to me, alright?”

“I think he listens.”

“Then he’s being a good friend. That’s what matters most. Being safe and kind.”

(Silence. Then—)

“Mama?”

“Yeah, baby.”

(Her voice is shy.) “Can I kiss you?”

(Leela laughs, breath catching a little—caught off guard.) “Of course you can. Gimme a big one.”

(A pause. A kiss lands—a loud little mwah. Then giggles.)

“You smell like Daddy.”

“And you smell like apples. Go on now, go build your big zoo.”

(Tiny footsteps patter away. The door creaks faintly. The room settles. The faint hiss of the windchime and the occasional tick of the cooling kettle fill the space. Then—soft, almost absent-minded—Leela begins speaking again.)

“Um, well... Maya shows increasing um, verbal complexity in social interactions. She uses ownership language—“my boyfriend,” “my zoo”—which aligns with expected identity formation at her... stage. Shows initiative in emotional reciprocity—physical affection, shared play, verbal acknowledgement of care...”

(She takes a quiet breath, then shifts.)

“Omigod... what happens when those interactions aren’t safe? When someone nice isn’t good?”

(Another breath. This one is shakier.)

“I don’t know how to teach my daughter the difference between fear and instinct without giving her...” (A soft gulp.) “...my history. I don’t want her carrying mine. I want her to know the world. But how do you prepare someone for what you survived, without letting that become the shadow they grow up under?

(A long pause.)

“My baby, she’s so soft. And that’s a miracle. I didn’t know softness could survive me. I didn’t know I could still hold it, let alone raise it.”

(Her voice lowers again, almost as if she’s talking only to herself.)

“I watch her love so freely, and it's starting to terrify me again. Because there’s always this part of me that thinks: someone's going to take it. But another part, the one that clings to Joel, assures me that she's safe. Maya knows how her father is and how a person should be.”

(Silence. Then, quietly, with that same gentle steadiness she gives to Maya—)

“She knows she can say no, and that she can run home to me. That’s… a start.”

(Click.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #49

[Mid-broadcast—music fades out. The soft hum of the station returns.]

MAYA (into the mic, mock-serious): “And that was Fleetwood Mac for the third time this week because apparently we are a town of heartbreakers. Thanks for the request, Esteban—erm, next time, maybe something that doesn’t make me want to bash my head against the wall for two hours.”

[She shuffles a cassette case, clicks it shut.]

[The studio door creaks open. Footsteps, then a long, familiar sigh as someone flops down onto a chair.]

ELLIE (off-mic, relaxed): “Damn, it’s cosy up in here. Look at this! Did you get new pillows? Wait, that one's mine.”

MAYA (groans): “Oh no. No, no, no. Ellie—you’re not cleared for entrance. You gotta go.”

ELLIE (snorts): “Relax. I’m just hangin’ out. You got snacks? You always got snacks. Leela's fuckin' sinful pretzels.”

MAYA: “This is a professional environment. You can’t just—”

ELLIE (into the mic, sing-song): “Psh, you're like ten. Did your professional environment know you’ve got a boyfriend who—”

MAYA (shrieks, cuts her off): “NOPE. Nope. Don’t you dare! You always do this! Get out!”

ELLIE (cackling): “What! I didn’t even say—Carter!—Come and—ow, hey!”

MAYA (wrestling for the mic): “Get! Out!”

[There’s a scuffle, laughter, the sound of a chair scraping back. Ellie’s voice is fading as she’s being half-dragged.]

ELLIE (calling out): “He sees her through his window, Joel’s gonna—!”

MAYA: “OH MY GOD!”

[Just as Ellie is shoved out the door—]

MARIA (stern, from the hall): “Girls. Too loud.”

[Silence. The studio door eases shut.]

MAYA (breathing hard, mutters): “…Gonna kill her.”

[She takes a second. Then clears her throat and speaks calmly into the mic again, regaining her radio persona like nothing happened.]

MAYA: “Apologies for the brief turbulence. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programme. Here’s one for anyone with nosy sisters and no locks on their doors. This is ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me.’”

[Music kicks in—The Police.]

X

MILLER HOME VIDEO #16

(The footage starts mid-motion—jostled slightly as someone fumbles with the handstraps. A soft clatter in the background, tools on wood. The screen settles, coming into focus on Joel at his workbench, his head bowed, the muscles in his forearm taut as he files the edge of a half-finished guitar body. Sunlight spills across his shoulders. There’s a quiet hum in the room: dust in the air, the faint buzz of wind outside, the rasp of wood shaving down.)

(Leela, off-camera, dryly amused) “You done pretending I’m not here?”

(Joel doesn’t look up. His voice is slow, roughened with focus.) “If you’re filmin’ me again, I’m chargin’ a fee.”

“Mm. That so? Well, I've got money to spare.” (A pause as she zooms slightly, catching the flex of his hand as he turns the wood. She goes into a deep voice.) “Joel Miller. Documented in the wild. In his natural habitat. Look at the precision. The grace. The muscle.”

(Joel snorts. Still doesn’t look up.) “For real?”

(She laughs quietly behind the camera.) “I wish I were more artistic.”

(He finally lifts his gaze, catches her through the lens, then returns to his work with a little shake of his head.)

“You are. You just get mad when it ain’t perfect.” (A beat. Then he sets the file down, reaching up to flick the collar of his flannel toward the camera.) “Like this. Tell me this ain’t art.”

(The camera zooms in. There, stitched along the collar’s edge in slightly uneven thread, is a pair of deer antlers—wobbly, charming, clearly handmade.)

(Leela laughs.) “That was not for public display!”

“Too late. It’s on record now.” (He grins, clearly enjoying himself, and lifts his palm next—dark ink visible along the base of his thumb.) “And this?”

(Camera focuses on his outstretched palm. A swirl of dark brown ink stains the skin—rust-colored henna, slightly cracked with drying. The design isn’t excellent, but in the centre are the small, careful initials: L & J. The camera dips just as quick.)

“Ugh, you're proving my point. It looks terrible.”

(Joel studies it for a moment.) “Looks perfect to me. Show me yours.”

(The shot wobbles as Joel takes the camera gently. A moment of black, then the image refocuses—now it’s Leela in frame, sitting cross-legged on the floor, light pooling behind her in the corner of the woodshop. She gives a reluctant grin, her hands resting in her lap, then slowly lifts them.)

“Happy?”

“Look at that. Real pretty. Like you.”

(Camera zooms. Her palms are detailed with dark henna—delicate vines, tiny dots like stars, and soft spirals, uneven in some places but clearly done with care. Her ring sits amid it, gleaming bright against her skin.)

(Joel’s voice is soft behind the lens.) “What’s this called again?”

“Henna.”

“Right, henna. And you did this because...?”

(She gives him a pointed look.) “Because I got married.”

“That you did.” (A pause, then:) “Poor bastard.”

(Leela laughs and throws a scrap of fabric at the camera.)

(Joel lowers the camera a bit, just enough to see more of her—not posing, just being.) “And in two days. I get to see all this goodness in a pretty white dress.”

“If you shave a little.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“And wear a tux.”

“Now that’s pushin’ it.”

(She tilts her head, lips pushed to a frown.)

(Joel clucks his tongue.) “We’re not even having a real ceremony, baby. Just some pictures. No one’s wearin’ a damn tux.”

(She narrows her eyes playfully.) “Then why should I wear a dress?”

(Joel pauses.) “Don’t, then. Even better.”

(Leela looks away, but her mouth curves.) “Put the camera away, Joel.”

(A beat. Joel mumbles something inaudible to catch.)

(She gasps.) “Turn it off! You can't just say that while—”

(She exhales a quiet laugh, then reaches toward the lens—fingers outstretched. The footage shudders as the camera is lowered, turned. Just before the image cuts out, there’s a blurred shot of Joel’s boots stepping toward her.)

—

(The footage flickers back on. The camera shifts wildly at first—then it steadies, slightly tilted, capturing a low, intimate view of the workshop floor. The frame settles on Leela.)

(She’s sitting with her back against the wood-panelled wall, knees drawn up, a guitar resting haphazardly in her lap. Her hair is tousled, her nightdress clinging loosely with two buttons undone and one sleeve halfway off her shoulder. There’s a lazy satisfaction in her posture, it's obvious—she is freshly fucked. She’s grinning, biting her kiss-bitten bottom lip as she awkwardly tries to strum.)

(She nods to the camera.) “Nice, you turned it on. Say it again for me.”

(Joel, off-camera, voice sheepish) “You wish. I turned it on because future historians are gonna know what beautiful means.”

“Uh-uh. You have to say it. For the record.”

“There ain’t gonna be a record. This thing’ll get eaten by squirrels or somethin’.”

“You just said—”

“Changed my mind.”

(She laughs, eyes flicking up toward the lens, fingers still plucking uncertainly at the strings.)

“So, Joel said—and I quote—‘If I die, you have my blessing to move on, but not to someone with bad grammar or a weak chin.’”

“I was jokin’.”

“No, no. This is legal documentation now. You’re on record.”

“Fine. You got it on tape. But it’s a one-way deal. No replacements. I die, you mourn forever. Become a ghost widow or some shit.”

(Leela snorts. She strums a wrong chord and winces.) “You really think I’d let you die?”

“You plan on goin’ first?”

“Someone’s got to make you dinner in the afterlife.”

(Joel sighs.) “Hate it when you talk like that.”

(She softens then, gaze dropping back to the strings. Her voice stays light, but there's something underneath it—like the edge of a sigh.)

“You’re not gonna die anytime soon, Joel. Remember your guarantee?”

(He grumbles.) “Hundred-and-twenty years. No refunds.”

“Precisely. You’re only halfway through.”

“Still got time to pick up bad habits.”

(Leela flashes him a smile.) “You already did. Me.”

(There’s a beat of silence. You can hear Joel shift off-camera, maybe leaning closer. When he speaks, it’s warm, almost shy.)

“At least I get a cute girl outta the deal. And then some.”

“And I haven’t even started greying yet.”

“You won’t. Not for another decade. Still a damn teenybopper.”

“Right, right. I’m seventeen, Maya doesn’t exist, and I met you at my high school prom.”

“That’d explain the dress this weekend.”

“It has stars on it. Maya drew it.”

“Look, I’m livin’ long enough to see that girl bring home some cocky little bastard, and when they knock on our door, I’m gonna be sittin’ there with this guitar, cleanin’ it like it’s a shotgun.”

(Leela breaks into quiet, delighted laughter, leaning her head back against the wall. Her fingers fall still on the strings. She looks up at the camera and lifts one brow.)

“Will you at least put on your shirt first?”

“Hell no. Ruins my intimidation tactic.”

(She groans, mock-horrified. The camera tilts just slightly as Joel chuckles, and the screen catches a blurry glimpse of his knee before the feed goes shaky.)

“Alright, movie star. Gimme that thing before I start filming your bald spot.”

“Such a little—”

(A blurry shot of her smirk as he dodges a playful swipe. Then—black.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #50

[The last notes of a mellow track fade out—Simon & Garfunkel’s 'The Only Living Boy in New York.' The needle lifts. A breath of quiet static. Then, Maya’s voice, soft and clear through the mic.]

MAYA (into the mic, thoughtful): “Going along with our question for the day... I always wonder what the old world felt like. It's something I lost. Y’know, the one before the fences and the patrol schedules and the rules about not going past the orchard without a grown-up.”

“My dad and mom—they tell me stories. Sometimes funny ones. Like the time Daddy got stuck in this thing called an elevator and thought he was gonna spend the rest of his life in there.” [laughs quietly]

“And sometimes they tell me the coolest stuff. Like—did you know Leela Miller was supposed to inherit a jet? One of those fast-flying things that important people used to ride in. A private jet, she said. With soft chairs and teeny-tiny pretzels. You should’ve seen Daddy’s face when she told me. He just went real quiet and blinked a bunch.”

[Her voice quietens.] “Sometimes the stories are sad, though. Ellie told me once about the stars and how people used to ride rockets into space. She said if she had the chance, she’d go straight to the moon and never look back. I didn’t even know the moon was close enough to touch.”

[A soft pause. You can hear her thumb tap the desk, just once.]

“And every Thursday, I help my ma make dinner. It’s, like, our thing. She says people used to do that—pass down recipes and stories while peeling potatoes or whatever. Last week, we made these round stuffed cookie sandwiches called Oreos. Black and white. Sounded fancy. Tasted like… chalk? Ugh.” (giggles) “I don’t know why people were obsessed with them. Daddy ate five just to prove he liked them. Then he made this face like he’d swallowed his boot.”

“And then there were the M&Ms. Uncle Tommy found this old sealed jar when he was out on patrol. Tiny little colours, all shiny like beads. I thought they’d taste like cardboard. But… they didn’t. They melted in my mouth. Like, hmm… I don’t know. Crunchy happiness? I didn’t even care if they were a hundred years old. I wanted three more jars.”

[Her voice quiets. More space between words now.]

“Sometimes… I think I’m never gonna know what that world felt like. The one with school buses, and oh! These ice cream trucks that played music? With movie theatres and cereal aisles that go on forever. Where you could drive a car just because you felt like it. And move to a whole continent in a few hours.”

“I live in a world of rationed rice. And fences. And watchtowers. A world where you grow what you eat. And you don’t go out unless you have to...”

“But it’s not all bad.”

[She inhales, like she’s grounding herself in the now.]

“It’s actually kinda nice here. I wake up and check the berry bushes with Mama. I get to see the horses every day with Ellie. I help Daddy in the shop—he lets me sand the soft wood and shows me how to oil the hinges so they don’t squeak. When we walk through town, people wave. They know my name. The Miller kid.”

[A beat. Then she smiles, almost audibly.]

“Maybe the old world’s gone. But this one’s still growing, right?”

[She hesitates. Then leans a little closer to the mic. Her voice goes small—sincere.]

“If I ever had to pick between all the shiny stuff, the Oreos and M&Ms, the old world… or having this, my family, the lake, and my town?”

“I’d pick this. Every time.”

[There’s a quiet moment—just the hum of the equipment and a flick of a switch.]

MAYA (soft): “This next one goes out to anyone who's building something new in a world that’s still figuring itself out. Hang in there. Here’s “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles. Stay warm, Jackson.”

[Music begins.]

X

T. MILLER HOME VIDEO #3

(The frame opens with a slow zoom onto Joel, standing in front of a small bedroom mirror, trying—and failing—to get his cufflinks to sit right. The golden sun highlights the pressed lines of Joel's jacket. Tommy's teasing voice comes from behind the camera.)

“Look at that. Goddamn. Joel Miller in a tux. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

(Joel doesn’t look up. Just mutters a curse under his breath and keeps wrestling with the cuff.) “Terrible timing.”

“Oh, c’mon. Give us a spin, would ya?”

(Joel doesn't even glance over.) “Fuck off.”

(Tommy chuckles behind the camera. The lens zooms in—just slightly too close—as Joel adjusts his tie. The suit fits better than expected: crisp, black with a subtle grey lining. He looks good, clean, handsome, and uncomfortable. Someone has ironed the outlaw right off him. He finally gets the tie straight, eyes narrowing at his own reflection like it just insulted him.)

(Tommy, drawling, mock-formal) “Big brother’s gettin’ married today. Real event of the year.”

(Joel continued centring his tie.) “It ain’t a wedding. It’s pictures.”

(Tommy ignores him.) “There’s a bride. There’s a groom. She’s in white. You’re in a tux. There are rings involved.”

(Joel snorts. He fiddles with the small boutonniere Maria had pinned to the lapel earlier. It’s a single thistle and a white wildflower. Subtle.)

“Ain’t about the pictures or the suit. I… wanted a day that Maya could remember. So that’s what we’re doin’.”

“That’s a wedding, dumbass.”

(Joel gives him a look. The kind that would’ve stopped most people from speaking again. Tommy is not most people.)

“If you fuck this up for me, I am puttin’ your head through a goddamn wall.”

(The camera pans awkwardly to the bed, where Maya, three years old, is sitting cross-legged in a blue dress with a sash, hugging her stuffed bear. Her hair is braided in two neat ropes on her shoulders. She’s watching Joel with the kind of reverence only little kids have for their dads.)

“Hey, squirt. You seen your mama?”

(Maya beams at the camera.) “Yeah, she looks like a pin-cess. She got tattoo on her hands, and flowers in her hair...”

(She falls back onto the bed, kicking her feet in glee. Joel turns at the sound, a smile creeping over his face.)

“Well, now I gotta see her.”

(From off-frame, a calm voice answers, warm and amused—)

“Look no further.”

(The camera swings again, a little too fast, before it steadies—catching Leela standing in the doorway. She’s radiant in a simple flared white dress, tea-length with delicate lace sleeves. Her long braid is swept over one shoulder, tucked with tiny wildflowers. A string of pearls graces her neck, and white heels click softly on the floorboards as she steps in. She’s not done up like a fairy tale—she’s real, alive, smiling, glowing like one.)

(She smooths a hand down her stomach.) “Is it fine?”

(Joel doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares. His brow softens. One hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, the way he does when words fail him.)

“You look...” (He exhales a short breath through his nose, still watching her like she’s walked out of a dream.) “Yeah, darlin'. Yeah, you look... more than fine.”

(Then he snaps his fingers at Tommy without breaking eye contact.)

“Out. Take baby girl with you.”

(Tommy groans.) “Aw, c’mon, Joel. Get a grip.”

“Get. Out.”

(Maya squeals as Tommy dutifully scoops her up. The camera jostles a little. A final glimpse of Joel reaching for Leela’s hand before the door begins to close.)

(Maya, off-camera, giggling) “Bye, Mama! Bye, Daddy!”

(Just before the recording cuts, there’s a quiet moment—Leela stepping close, Joel’s hand brushing along her waist, his head dipping against hers, and the soft click of the door behind them.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #51

[The tape clicks on—there's a fuzzy hum of silence, then the creak of a stool. Maya exhales. She’s clearly resting her chin in her hand, voice small and low.]

M.M (quietly): ...you're tuned in with me, Maya, where the stars are out and everyone else is asleep. Except me. And maybe that one rooster that doesn’t understand how time works.

[A pause. The chair creaks again. She exhales, this time longer. Her voice grows softer—almost like she’s talking to herself now.]

M.M: No one came down here tonight. Not even... Carter. And he said he would. Boys are so dumb. (Then quickly:) Also, he's not my boyfriend! I hate his stupid guts!

[A long silence. Just the faint sound of a wire humming. Then, her voice, low and a little sad—]

I guess... if anyone’s still listening… thank you. [Her voice tightens. She’s holding something back. Then—] Okay. That’s enough sadness. Up next is the sound of me flipping through my songbook until I find something good.

[Just as she starts to rustle the pages, there’s a knock. Soft, deliberate. Her head lifts slightly. Another knock. Then Joel’s voice—]

J.M. (off-mic, gentle): Hey.

M.M (muffled, burying her face in her arms): Hi.

J.M.: How'd it go today?

M.M: Super. No one came. Or called.

J.M.: I came.

MAYA: You don’t count.

[A beat. The floor creaks as he steps inside, sits beside her. A long silence between them—companionable. Then—]

J.M: Well. You sure do like talkin’, huh?

[Maya mock gasps—like he’s insulted her most grievously.]

MAYA: Dad. Talking is important.

J.M. (teasing): Didn’t say it wasn’t. Just wonderin’... you ever run outta words?

MAYA (proudly): Nope. Never. Not even once.

[Joel lets out a low chuckle.]

J.M: Alright. But why the radio? What is it, your diary?

[Pause. Her tone pivots—still Maya, still full of sunshine, but now there’s a thoughtfulness underneath. Like she’s been waiting for someone to ask.]

MAYA: No. Because it’s... magic. You talk... and the words go somewhere. You don’t know where or who’s listenin’. But it’s out there.

[Beat. The chair creaks as she swings her feet.]

Mama said sound keeps goin’ even after we stop hearin’ it. Maybe it bounces off the sky or floats forever in space.

[She lowers her voice now—a hush, like telling a secret.]

So what if someone’s out there in our town, and what if they’re sad and alone... and then poof, they hear my voice. They know I’m real.

[Joel doesn’t answer for a second. You can hear the emotion get caught somewhere between silence and breath.]

J.M. (soft): That’s a mighty big heart you got.

MAYA (shrugs): It’s just talking.

J.M: Nah... ’S more than that.

[A rustle—Joel moves closer, maybe rests a hand on her head. His voice lowers.]

J.M.: Why don’t I answer your question tonight?

[A soft shuffle—maybe she’s lifting her head just slightly.]

MAYA: You will?

J.M: Shoot.

MAYA (a little more awake): Um... today it was: if you could say one thing to someone or something you lost… what would you say?

[Joel doesn’t answer right away. The mic hums gently. When he speaks, it’s soft—like he’s not sure she should hear it, but says it anyway.]

J.M: I’d say… I’m still here. Still tryin’. Doin’ better. And I’d say I love you very much. Took me a while to come back. (A pause.) That’s all.

MAYA (humming): Was it… a person? Or your guitar?

J.M (snorts softly): Ain’t the guitar.

MAYA (after a beat): Then I think I know who she is.

[He doesn’t deny it.]

J.M.: You got a song picked out?

MAYA: Not really.

J.M. (with a little smile): Well, you know mine.

MAYA (grinning): Future Days?

J.M: Mind if I play it?

MAYA: Well, no one's listening to put up with your singing anyway. Go ahead.

J.M: Smartass.

[He reaches for the old guitar case he brought with him—the latch clicks faintly. The strings hum as he tunes without thinking, hands practised, voice low.]

J.M. (gravel-voiced, playful): “This next one’s for the late-night crew. All one and a half of you.”

MAYA (giggles): Hey!

[He starts to play. A few soft, familiar chords. The mic catches it, carries it. Maya leans into his side. You can hear the soft brush of her hair against his jacket. Her voice, sleepy now.]

MAYA: Thanks for coming down here, Daddy.

J.M (quietly): Always will, darlin’.

[The song fades in.]

X

PHOTO LOG — SPRING | “Unwedding” Filed: L. MILLER, personal archive Roll #03, camera serial A-081 [TRIPOD RECORDING – VIDEO & STILL INTERVAL] CAMERA: ACTIVE

Frame 001

JOEL & LEELA, centre frame. They’re standing side by side in front of the big white house. Leela holds a handful of clipped sunflowers from her garden, stems wet and crooked. She’s smiling widely, the grin still growing. Joel gives the camera a suspicious look, then manages a half-smile, awkward, slightly off-centre.

ELLIE (offscreen, yelling): Joel, your face looks like you just stepped on a nail. Try smiling like you love her!

JOEL (grumbling): I do love her.

ELLIE: Then tell your dumb mouth.

Frame 002

JOEL & LEELA, closer. Joel’s arm slips around her waist, tugging her toward him. She stumbles into him, laughing, and the sunflowers drag a streak of yellow pollen down the front of his jacket. He scowls. She looks up at him, still laughing.

LEELA (cowboy accent): Guess I done marked you there, partner.

JOEL: Been doin’ that since day one.

Frame 003

JOEL, LEELA, & ELLIE. Ellie jumps into the frame, arms around their shoulders. She’s in a wrinkled black suit with a bright red tie, hair slicked back in a ponytail. Leela clutches Ellie’s hand with a smile that softens her whole face. Joel’s attention has shifted—he’s not looking at the camera anymore, just at Ellie, and there's something proud and bone-deep in the way he’s smiling down at her.

Frame 004

JOEL, TOMMY, LEELA, & MARIA. They’re bunched close, like they’re about to break into a group prayer or a brawl. Maria has her arm around Leela’s waist. Joel stands slightly behind, one hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy’s got his eyes closed like he’s already regretting whatever Joel’s about to say.

JOEL (murmured): Don’t you dare put your scaly ass lips near my wife again.

TOMMY (winking at Leela): I got one more kiss left in me.

LEELA (laughs): Me, too.

JOEL: Don't encourage him, honey.

MARIA: Shut the fuck up and smile.

Frame 005

MAYA. She stands in the front lawn by her swingset, a sunflower tucked behind her ear, grinning so wide her cheeks nearly touch her eyes. She frames her chin with her little hands, posing like someone’s taught her pageantry. Her gaze is angled up—someone tall, probably Joel, is just off-frame.

Frame 006

JOEL & TOMMY. They're in a mild standoff, both half-turned toward each other and toward the camera, bickering with their eyebrows.

TOMMY: You go left. I go right.

JOEL: You ain’t ever been right.

Frame 007

MARIA & TOMMY. Maria’s head is thrown back in a real laugh, eyes crinkling. Tommy’s kissed her cheek mid-frame, smug. His tie’s crooked. Her blouse is wrinkled. They look like the only people who didn’t try and still somehow got it right.

Frame 008

TOMMY & MAYA. He crouches beside her, both of them duck-pouting for the camera. Maya quickly throws up bunny ears behind his head just as the shutter clicks.

TOMMY (growls): Little nightmare. C'mere, I'll yank your nose out. Can't have one good photo.

[MAYA squeals, running off.]

Frame 009

ELLIE & MAYA. Ellie lifts Maya up at the waist, both laughing like they’ve just shared a secret. Maya’s braid is lopsided now. Ellie's hair is blown upward by the wind. They don’t care; they erupt into laughter.

Frame 010

JOEL, LEELA, & MAYA. The final frame lingers. Joel holds Maya in his arms, her small hands looped loosely around his neck, her cheek tucked against his shoulder. His other arm is around Leela, drawing her in without hesitation. She leans into him, one hand resting gently over his heart, holding it there, the wood-and-gold ring twinkling in the sun. Joel doesn’t smile often, but he does here. It’s lopsided and big. It took a long road to arrive at this moment.

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #117 October 3rd, 10:12 P.M.

(Soft click. A breath. Fabric rustles. Distant sound of wind chimes, maybe a creaky chair.)

“Okay. Six years, four months.”

“Maya asked me today if the sky always looked this old. And I didn’t know what to tell her.” (She laughs.) “I am still thinking about it. She is absolutely incredible. Now I know how my parents felt.”

“She’s... sharp lately. Surpasses me in all ways. Picks up on patterns faster than I can redirect her. Her brain is restless—it wants to devour everything. Maps. Fire. Roots. Words she’s not ready for. Words I wasn’t ready to hear her say.”

“Transcend. Refract. Exquisite. And, ugh, gross. Which she gets from Ellie.”

“She is Joel’s mirror. Her eye-roll, the little tilt of her head, the way she leans. She wears his old shirts, tucked into her jeans, sleeves all rolled up. She still bolts out the front door at exactly four every afternoon, barefoot if I don’t catch her, just to meet him halfway, and grabs his bag like it’s hers to carry. She sings with him now, plays guitar with him, little fingers on the frets. She even talks with that same Texas drawl of his.”

“She’s started naming weather. Not just clouds, but moods—“grump-storm,” “whisper rain,” “sun that’s pretending.” I think it’s how she handles the chaos. Which makes sense. It’s how I handled mine.”

(A beat passes.)

“I have decided that this is the last one. The last log. Not because she’s finished—well, she’s just getting started—but because I think she’s moving beyond me. And that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“My brilliant baby girl doesn’t need me to define her anymore. She’s learning what kind of person she wants to be. All I ever wanted was to get her this far. Alive. Unbroken. Curious. Aspiring. And so damn beautiful.”

“I think… I think I did that.”

(A brief rustling, a soft clink of glass—maybe a whiskey. Quite out of character for Leela.)

“As for me...” (She clears her throat. A chair creaks as she leans back.)

“I’m still working. I finished my notes on the zeta convergence problem last week—well, finished for now. There’s a ceiling I keep hitting, but I’m trying to trick myself into thinking it’s just another kind of symmetry.”

“I never thought I’d leave anything behind of mine own that mattered. But lately, I’ve been helping Jackson map our winter grid—energy storage with the lightning battery, food supply routes, even water rationing patterns. We’re building a resilience plan that doesn’t rely on luck anymore. A bunch of futurists here.”

(She exhales.) “I drew up the town’s first curriculum guidelines last month—basic logic, analytic equations, geometry... Maria says we’re going to turn the old sawmill into a school next year. Joel says if I make him teach fractions, he’ll fake his own death.”

(A small laugh. She lets it fade.)

“But I think he’s proud. Quietly. Of me.”

(And here—she gets a little softer, thoughtful, speaking more to herself now.)

“I don’t know if any of this will last. The world still breaks more than it builds. But maybe we leave behind, um... enough blueprints. Enough questions. Enough people who believe something good is possible.”

(Silence, just the faint hum of wind outside. Then—)

“I keep the hard math separate from the home stuff. Thanks to my handy chore chart. Usually. But sometimes—like today—I sit at the window with my pen, and I think about proof, and beauty, and entropy, and how somehow we still made this little family work. Even after everything.”

(Beat. She takes a sip. The glass touches the table again.)

“I mean, I still get the nightmares. Can't stop it. Not every night, but some. Sometimes I wake up with the scream still stuck in my chest. Sometimes I can’t get near my daughter's room without remembering what was done to me. What I survived.”

“But I’m doing better than I ever was. I don’t flinch as often when Joel touches me. I like taking walks around Jackson with Maria. I like to listen to people talk. Sometimes I visit Joel at the contracting yard, just to wake him up a little. I still freeze when I smell bleach, but I tell myself I’m safe, Maya is safe, and sometimes it even works. And when it doesn’t... he holds me through it. No questions or pushing. Just waits for me to fall asleep, and is awake before I am to reassure me that I didn't disappear.”

(Her voice softens here—full, held together like something precious she doesn't want to break just by saying it aloud.)

“Being with Joel is... loving a faultline. It is too silent, too deep, and it waits there. Ancient. Worn. Presence over promise. There’s something in him that bends toward my grief without being afraid of it. He just knows it’s there.”

(A soft breath, like she’s amazed by her own truth.)

“I think I love him more now because I know he’s seen the worst of me. And somehow he still leaves coffee by my nightstand every morning and kisses me like I’m his gift.”

(A faint, amused exhale—almost a laugh. She sniffles.)

“God, I sound so corny. He’d tease the hell out of me for this.”

“I never thought I’d have this. But then Joel knocked on my door one night, and everything began again. I’m... still learning how to let myself have that. Which is the hardest goddamn part. Belonging.”

(She sighs.) “Anyway... that’s the... my everything for now.”

“Joel’s downstairs—hinge number six. Maya’s his shadow, as always. I’ll go to them in a minute.”

“If I never say anything else—let this be the one that stays. I'm still here. I’ll hold onto this as long as the world lets me.”

[Click.]

X

© damneddamsy

I think it took me a really long time to post this because I had to say goodbye. To everyone who made it this far, thank you. What a wild journey this has been! Round two starts here -> FALLING masterlist Or if you're interested in something else, it's here -> DAMS main masterlist

{taglist (my literal family) 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[guelyury]

Holy fuck

PEDRO PASCAL Materialists | Behind-the-scenes Camera Test

[guelyury]

How this man can be so beautiful? Que alguien me diga

PEDRO PASCAL as Harry Castillo MATERIALISTS Poster Promotional

[guelyury]

So good and so delicious

Soft Reins — Day One

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader

Summary: Her family made her want to leave, Joel made her want to stay.

Tags: Age Gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Familial Tension, Mentions of infidelity, Snobby and judgy family

Word count: 3.6k

a/n: HELLOOOO okay so this is my second fic heheh and i’m hoping i can stick with it and actually finish it because its definitely a huge learning curve for me lol. i’ve had this idea brewing in my head for months and i’ve gotten to the point where i just gotta write it. tysm for my beta readers ily all and also ty for reading this!

Summer 2025

You're behind the wheel, cruising down a winding road framed by towering pine trees—a striking contrast to the usual backdrop of glass and steel skyscrapers. Ahead of you, a line of sleek, high-end cars snakes along the road, unmistakably belonging to your wealthy, highbrow extended family.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming isn’t the kind of place you'd expect to find people like them—it’s a little too middle-of-nowhere America. And yet, that’s exactly what draws them in.

Nestled in the valley is a ranch—but not your typical one. This is a luxury dude ranch, “Silver Spur Ranch” where the wealthy come to sample the Western lifestyle. Well, sort of. The real West usually doesn’t come with spa treatments and gourmet meals. Still, there are horses, rustic cabins, and sweeping mountain views which are pretty close enough for them.

“Noah would love this,” your mother sighed, gazing out at the sweeping valley.

Your neck stiffened at the mention of his name.

“Can you not bring him up, please, Mom?” you murmured, eyes locked on the winding road ahead.

“I can’t help it, hun. He became the son I never had,” she replied, throwing up her hands in mock surrender.

“Well, he’s not. And we’re not together anymore,” you said, sharper now. “So I’d really appreciate it if you could just... let it go.”

She fell silent—not in compliance, but in calculation. You knew her too well to believe otherwise. She was building her next line, rehearsing it in her head like a lawyer preparing closing arguments.

“I just don’t get it,” she finally said, her voice soft but edged. “You were with him for what, five years?” A beat passed before she pushed forward again, “Have your father and I not set a good example for you? Even your grandparents—fifty years, happy as ever! And you gave that good man up just because—”

“Cheating is not a just because reason, Mom,” you snapped, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles went white.

She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Well, no, of course not. But Noah is a good man. He just made a... lapse in judgment.”

You laughed once, hollow and humorless. “A lapse in judgement? A lapse is forgetting an anniversary. Not sleeping with someone else. For months.”

Your mother looked away, lips pursed, like she couldn’t quite argue but still didn’t agree. The silence between you thickened, stretching across the cabin of the car and the valley beyond.

“I’m just saying, honey, a man like Noah—he’s hard to come by.”

You grimaced inwardly. Of course she’d say that. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around your mother’s unwavering loyalty to him.

Sure, he was polished. He came from old money—more than your family ever had. He knew how to dress, how to charm your mother with just the right words at just the right moments. He wasn’t bad looking either. On paper, he was perfect.

But inside? He was hollow. And for the last stretch of your relationship, so were you.

The rot had been setting in for months, invisible at first, until it was all you could feel. Then came the final blow: you found out he had been cheating. Days before he proposed.

And still—he did it. With your entire family watching, he dropped to one knee, smiling like nothing was wrong. A last-ditch effort to lock you in before the truth could catch up to him.

But you said no.

And you walked away.

It hadn’t gone over well. There were whispers, long stares, your father refusing to speak to you for weeks. Your mother never stopped calling it a “mistake” you’d made in the heat of emotion.

But it wasn’t emotion. It was clarity. Maybe for the first time.

The trip was meant to celebrate your grandparents’ anniversary—fifty years together. A milestone that, given what you knew about how awful men could be, felt almost impossible to grasp.

The entire extended family would be there, and you could hardly wait to be cornered with questions about your recent breakup and failed engagement. For seven whole days. A real vacation.

To say the timing was less than ideal would be generous. You could’ve opted out—God knows you wanted to—but that would’ve only fueled the whispers. And despite everything, under different circumstances, you would have wanted to be there. You loved your grandparents. They were the rare ones in your family who didn’t judge, didn’t press. Maybe it was because, unlike their children and grandchildren, they hadn’t grown up with money. There was a softness to them that hadn’t been bred out by status or social games.

They were the reason you came. Not the charade. Just them.

The ranch finally came into view, peeking through the tall trees like something out of a movie. It had a rustic charm, but you could tell it had been carefully renovated—polished just enough to suit the tastes of its upscale clientele.

Your car slowed as you passed through the front gate and followed the long gravel driveway toward the main cabin. The second your tires came to a stop, you were already reaching for the door handle, eager to escape the tension that had been simmering in the car with your mother.

You stepped out and made a beeline for the trunk, popping it open and reaching for your suitcase. But just as your hand closed around the handle, another—larger—hand landed over it.

“I got this, sugar,” came a warm, slow drawl, thick with a Texas accent.

You froze.

He was close—close enough for you to catch the scent of sandalwood, sun, and flannel. You instinctively stepped back, your eyes scanning upward.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who looked like he actually belonged on a ranch. You caught a glimpse of his profile: strong nose, weathered skin, hair streaked with silver that matched the salt-and-pepper scruff along his jaw and mustache.

“Long drive?” his voice broke through your thoughts, low and easy.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. It’s, uh... pretty far from, well—everywhere,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

He didn’t laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat—curious, unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached down and hoisted your bags, one in each hand like they weighed nothing.

“Welcome to Silver Spur,” he said with a small, polite smile.

And just like that, he turned and walked off, disappearing with your luggage before you could even think of a reply.

The main lounge buzzed with the energy of your entire family gathered together. The interior was stunning—tall ceilings draped in dark wood, a grand stone fireplace, and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the land. You stood by your cousin Amy, the one you were closest to growing up. You’d shared so many memories, but things had shifted a bit since she married and had a baby. You were still close, just not as much as before.

One of the staff passed around welcome drinks—icy cold lemonade. You accepted with a grateful smile.

“How are you holding up?” Amy asked, her voice full of concern. You sighed. “So far, so good. You?”

Amy leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Lily wouldn’t stop fussing the entire way here, and Justin was no help,” she murmured, glancing over at her husband, who was bouncing their three-year-old daughter on his lap. “He somehow always appears to be there when she’s calm, though.” Amy chuckled softly, and you followed suit, shaking your head.

A sound of glass clinking drew everyone's attention to the man standing on the small stage by the piano. He looked strikingly similar to the guy who’d taken your luggage earlier—maybe a bit younger. Next to him stood a stunning woman with dark skin and a warm, radiant smile.

“Howdy, y’all! Welcome to Silver Spurs Ranch!” he called out, his voice smooth and welcoming. “I’m Tommy, and this is my wife, Maria,” he gestured to the woman beside him, who waved her hand in greeting. “We’ll be your ranch hosts during your stay.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the man from earlier walking toward the stage and standing right next to it on the corner. You couldn’t tear your eyes away once you realized he was there.

“You like him too, huh?” Amy whispered, leaning closer.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered back, your voice a mix of surprise and mock offense.

Amy giggled, eyes twinkling. “What? You’re free now!” She gestured to her family with a smirk. “I, on the other hand…” She trailed off, pointing to her husband and daughter.

“You’re being ridiculous. We just got here,” you scolded playfully, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, he’s hot, so…” Amy teased.

You cut her off, whispering, “Amy, shut up.”

She laughed quietly. “Alright, alright!” she relented.

After a brief pause, as everyone focused on the ranch hosts listing activities for the stay, Amy leaned in again. “I didn’t know Silver Spurs Ranch came with a silver fox cowboy,” she whispered.

You bit back a laugh. “I hate you,” you muttered under your breath.

“That one over there is my brother, Joel,” Tommy said, pointing to the man standing a little off to the side. Joel. The name felt just right for him. He offered a small wave before slipping his hands back into his pockets, his gaze scanning the room.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of him,” Tommy continued, a proud smile on his face. “He takes care of the land and will be leading some of your excursion activities.”

You couldn’t help but watch Joel for a moment longer. There was something about him—steady, grounded.

Amy leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gotta admit, he’s got that ‘I work with my hands’ kind of charm.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “You mean he’s got the ‘I wake up at 5 a.m. to ride horses and shovel dirt’ look?”

Amy grinned. “Exactly.” She looked back at Joel, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. “He’s definitely got that whole ‘silent, mysterious cowboy’ thing going on.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny that there was something magnetic about him. Not in a typical ‘movie star’ way, but in a way that made you want to know more. Maybe it was the confidence that seemed to radiate from him without ever needing to say much.

At that moment, Joel turned his head and caught your eye. His gaze flickered toward you briefly, almost like he was assessing you. It wasn’t a stare, just a quiet acknowledgment, but it still sent a little pulse of awareness through you.

Amy caught it too, her smirk widening. “Uh-huh. I see that look. He noticed you.”

“What look?” you asked, feigning innocence. You turned back toward the stage as Tommy and Maria continued talking, but your mind kept wandering back to Joel.

“Don’t act coy. He definitely noticed you,” Amy teased. “You’re going to have fun here, I can tell.”

You glared playfully at her. “Just because I glanced at him doesn’t mean I’m about to go on a horseback ride into the sunset with him.”

Amy let out a short laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”

Maria's voice cut through the conversation, bringing everyone's attention back to the front. "Alright, everyone, feel free to explore the ranch, or just take in the view. We know it's a long journey to get here so your rooms is ready, and dinner will be served in an hour."

As the crowd began to move in different directions, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity swirling inside you. You were supposed to be here to relax, but for some reason, everything—especially Joel—seemed to be pulling you in.

Amy nudged you with her elbow again. "So... what's the plan? You gonna go for it or just pretend you're not interested?"

You sighed, trying to hide your grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure," Amy teased, "keep telling yourself that."

Dinner was set like something out of a magazine. A long, weathered farm table stretched down the center of the dining hall, dressed in ivory linens, wildflowers, and flickering candles that made the roasted dishes gleam like still life paintings. Your grandparents sat proudly at the head, fingers intertwined, laughing like they hadn’t seen fifty years go by. The rest of the family filled the table in loud, familiar clusters, the wine flowing too easily, the conversations layered over one another.

You were somewhere in the middle, boxed in by a distant cousin on one side and a sea of aunts and uncles on the other. You kept your head down, halfheartedly pushing food around your plate, bracing for the inevitable.

It didn’t take long.

“So… no Noah this year?” Aunt Debby asked, tilting her head with feigned casualness.

“Nope,” you replied, stabbing a perfectly innocent carrot.

“I figured we’d see him again. Didn’t you two usually take trips like this together?” someone else chimed in. A cousin’s wife, maybe—you didn’t bother to look.

“Not anymore,” you hummed, your hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

“That’s a shame. I really thought we’d be getting a wedding invite this year,” Aunt Debby said, swirling her wine with theatrical sadness.

“Well, there won’t be one anytime soon.”

Uncle Rick joined in without looking up. “Still can’t believe you let that one go. Good job, good family, good-looking.”

“Not good at staying faithful,” you muttered.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Aunt Debby asked, all syrup and fake concern.

You didn’t think before the following words that came from your mouth, you’re fed up by all the judgement coated with faux sugar coated concerns, You looked up. “I said, he cheated. For months. Before he proposed.”

The table fell quiet. Someone clinked their fork against a plate, a few chairs shifted.

Aunt Margaret recovered first. “Well... relationships are complicated. Everyone makes mistakes. Your mother and I both—”

“I know,” you cut in, turning your gaze to your mom. “You’ve made that very clear.”

The silence was heavier this time.

You folded your napkin, set it on your plate, and stood. The scrape of your chair on the wooden floor sounded louder than it should have.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you murmured.

“Oh honey, don’t be dramatic—” your mother sighed.

“I’m not. I just need air,” you said, sharper now, and without waiting for a response, walked out into the night.

The door swung shut behind you with a quiet thud.

You slipped off into the dark, wandering past the edge of the cabins until you found a quiet spot beside what looked like the horse stables. You needed to be somewhere out of sight—far from the dining hall, far from your family. Because after all that, you needed a smoke. And if anyone in your family ever found out, it’d be a full-blown intervention before sunrise.

From your pocket, you pulled out a small tin, flipping it open with muscle memory and placing a cigarette between your lips. You were just about to flick your lighter when—

“You know smokin’ ain’t allowed on this property.”

You jumped so hard the cigarette nearly fell from your mouth. “Jesus—fuck!”

You turned and saw him. Joel. Standing half in shadow, half lit by moonlight, looking more amused than stern.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, chuckling.

You let out a breath, your hand over your heart. “Yeah, well, you did.”

He nodded toward the cigarette. “You still gonna light that?”

You hesitated. “Can I?”

Without answering, Joel reached out and gently took hold of your arm, guiding you farther back into the shadows—near a thick row of bushes. Your heart stuttered a bit from the contact, the feel of his large calloused hand against your soft skin, and you were suddenly glad it was too dark for him to see the way your face flushed.

“Cameras,” he murmured. “You’re safe here. Go on.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled, grateful, and finally lit the cigarette. You took a long drag, the smoke easing something tight in your chest.

The night wrapped around you, quiet and still, save for the soft hum of cicadas and the slow rhythm of your breath. Joel didn’t move far—he stayed just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching the horizon like he had nowhere else to be.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle. “Saw you stompin’ out here like you were fixin’ to do some damage.”

You laughed under your breath. “Might’ve, if someone hadn’t stopped me.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you in that steady way that invited you to keep going.

You sighed, watching the smoke curl upward. “They think I ruined my perfect life. That I threw it all away because I said no to a proposal.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, listening.

“He cheated on me,” you murmured. “For months. And then had the nerve to propose like nothing happened.”

Joel let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a real catch.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah. All sunshine and rainbows, that one.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a steadiness to him—like he knew how to be still in a way most people didn’t.

After a moment, he shifted. “Listen, uh… it ain’t really my business, but—sounds to me like you dodged a bullet.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Joel looked at you, earnest beneath all the roughness. “You did the right thing.”

You glanced over at him. “Thanks… Joel, right?” you asked as if his name hasn’t been echoing in your head eversince Tommy said them.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Yeah.”

“And I’m—” you said your name, almost shyly.

He repeated it back to you, the sound of it low and unhurried as it rolled off his tongue.

You gaze up at the sky, the stars shining much clearer here than in the city. It’s mesmerizing—you can’t remember the last time you saw more than two tiny dots scattered above.

Slowly, you sit down on the grass, and Joel lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin that pretty dress,” he teases.

You smile up at him. “I don’t really give a damn.”

He grins at that, then joins you, sitting down beside you.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” you murmur.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m actually obligated to keep an eye on troublesome guests.”

You turn to look at him. His serious face slowly breaks into a smirk, and you chuckle softly. “Asshole,” you murmur.

Taking another drag of your cigarette, you sigh. “Must be nice, living out here, huh?”

Joel nods, eyes still fixed on the stars. “Gets real quiet. Makes it easier to think.”

You glance down, voice soft. “I could use a little of that.”

He looks over at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly: “Then stay a while.”

You smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the stars. The silence between you and Joel was comfortable, but there was something simmering beneath it—something you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge just yet.

“The stars are beautiful out here,” you murmured.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle. “Bet you don’t see many of those back in the city, huh?”

You shook your head with a faint smile. “Kind of forgot how many there actually are.”

“They’ve always been there,” you said softly, more to yourself than him. “Just hard to see when the sky’s all polluted.”

Joel hummed low in his throat. “That sounds like a metaphor for a lotta things in life.”

You turned your head toward him, a light laugh escaping you. “You always been this wise?” He grinned, subtle and a little self-deprecating, eyes still on the sky. “Nah. Just old.”

That made you giggle, the sound easy and real, and something in Joel’s expression softened. Then, without a word, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you back before they send a search party.”

You hesitate, just for a second, then take his hand. His grip is solid and warm, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go right away.

You both stand there for a moment—closer than before, still caught in that soft, uncertain pull—before he clears his throat and lets his hand fall away.

“This way,” he murmurs, nodding toward the path.

You follow him into the quiet dark, heart beating a little louder than before.

Joel walked with you back toward the main cabin where the guest rooms were. You led him through the quiet hallways, the old wood creaking underfoot, until you stopped in front of your door.

“Well, uh… this is me,” you said, a little awkwardly, your hand hovering near the doorknob.

Joel nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Get some rest. Breakfast’s at seven,” he said, then added, almost hesitantly, “Me and Tommy are leading a horseback ride along the river tomorrow. If you feel like joining.” His eyes flicked from the floor up to yours, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost nervous.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then. See you tomorrow, city girl.” He started backing away, slow and casual, and you turned to open your door. “See you tomorrow,” you murmured.

Just as he turned the corner, you called out softly, “Joel?”

He stopped and looked back, quick like he’d been waiting for it.

“Thank you… for tonight,” you said, meaning it.

He nodded once, that same quiet smile still on his face. “Anytime, sugar.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, and you stood there for a moment longer, heart just a little too full.

a/n: thank you so much for reading guys <3 i know its a short one but i’m just laying out the vibes and tone of the series before we get to the good stuff on the upcoming chapters!! your feedback is greatly appreciated!! ily all

[guelyury]

PEDRO PASCAL as Mayor Ted Garcia EDDINGTON 2025 | dir. Ari Aster