#just a little neat character note that kate's trained herself out of running away even when absolutely fucking terrified out of her mind

[yesokayiknow]

this was definitely horrifying for ruby on a ridiculous number of levels but i can't stop thinking about kate's remark about the timeline being centered on her. bc like. did kate know? that this was an offshoot timeline that would eventually die? did she know that she wasn't the right version of herself? that one day her reality would collapse to make way for the proper timeline? that even meeting with ruby could be one step towards bringing the proper timeline back in play and erasing her own existence?

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part four) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part four: Y/N begins to feel more at home, getting the hang of the daily routine at the ranch. But her world is finally complete when her horse arrives.  Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Sunshine’ by Ryan Bingham, ‘The Stable Song’ by Gregory Alan Isakov. Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “You haven't mucked many stables in your life, have ya?”

     Panting, Y/N stops with what she’s doing, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. After turning out all the animals, Dean and Jo started training the horses, while she was assigned to assist Garth to muck out the twenty stables. The air might have cooled between the head wrangler and herself, he did not lie when he said that he was not going to treat her differently than any other intern. As she anticipated, she landed a dirty job, quite literally.          Out of breath, she turns to face Garth in the doorway, who is leaning on a pitchfork. He has his eyebrows raised, but his smile is gentle. With her pitchfork still stuck in the mixture of sawdust and manure, she chuckles nervously. Is it that obvious that she has absolutely no idea what she is doing? The stable boy has got her figured out, but she is not entirely ready to admit it yet. In another attempt to lift the heavy clunk off the concrete, she’s able to pull it up a few inches, but then she has to admit her defeat; it’s just too heavy.      “Guilty,” she sighs.

     “Here, let me help,” Garth offers. “What you basically do with each stable, is quickly scoop the clean shavings in one corner and only take out what’s dirty. Don't bite off more than you can chew, alright? If you try to clean out the stable in one haul, you’ll ruin your back. Make sure the wheelbarrow is already pointing into the direction of the shitpit, so that you don't have to turn it when it's full.”      “The shitpit? Really?” Y/N grins, assuming he meant the muck heap.      “It has a nice ring to it,” the guy returns, sniggering over his own choice of words.       He demonstrates quickly, moving the clean shavings aside and picking up the darkened wooden fibers with his pitchfork, hurling it into the wheelbarrow swiftly.      “Don't be too neat about it, the ponies are gonna drop their chocolate muffins the moment they step back in. Make sure most of it is out,” Garth scoops up the last droppings, then twists the handle and pulls the clean shavings back to the center of the stall, “then even out what's left and if necessary add a little more shavings.”

     The tactic helps, and Y/N cleans out the next stable a lot faster than she did the previous one. Yet she can't keep up with Garth, who finishes his row when she has barely reached the fifth box. Already she feels exhausted. Aching shoulders, a sore back, and already blisters start to develop on her hands during the very first hour of hard labor. On top of all that, she is so hungry that she can hear her stomach growl above the sound of Ryan Bingham’s ‘Sunshine’ blasting from the radio. Breakfast sure sounds good by now.       Twenty minutes past eight she finishes her final stable while the slender stable boy is sweeping the hallway. He is done by the time she returns with an empty wheelbarrow, which she turns over against the wall next to the other. Jo and Dean return from the arena, cooling the horses down by walking circles around the Joshua tree. For a second, Y/N watches the head wrangler on the beautiful buckskin with black manes and a shiny, golden coat. Her breath is stolen from her for a short second.

     Holy mother of God; he looks good on a horse.

     Even though the American Quarter is only walking, she can tell he’s a good rider. The way he comfortably adjusts his balance with the movements of the animal under him, the end of the reins loosely between his fingers and his free hand rests on his upper leg as he talks to Jo; riding comes naturally. It is like breathing to him, he doesn't even have to think about it. Jo seems at home in her beautifully hand-crafted saddle as well.       “I don't know about y’all, but I could eat.”      Benny leans against the large doorway, lifts his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, then puts it back on. He picks a pack of Lucky Strike from his back pocket, as well as his zippo, and lights a smoke. He generously smiles at Y/N after taking a drag, and for a second she senses that Dean isn’t the only one who is interested in the fresh face. Well, fresh? Not so much after mucking out stalls in eighty-seven degrees, but then again, neither is the farrier. His shirt is drenched, dark stains on the center of his chest. A little insecure about his intentions, she smiles back sheepishly, after which Benny thankfully shifts his attention to the riders.      “Still comfortable up there, Chief? Get your lazy ass off that horse, us workin’ men gotta still our hunger,” he nags.      Dean chuckles, amused by the harmless bantering of his best friend. “Somebody has to do the ridin’ and keep the horse beneath,” he counters, as he swings his right leg over the back of the horse and lowers himself to the ground.      "One time, brother,” the Southerling sighs, shaking his head. “One time you saw me fall off that bronc and you still hold that against me? That was six years ago!”

     Y/N looks from Benny to Dean, who has tied his buckskin to the pole under the Joshua tree and now loosens the cinch of the saddle. The intern takes her cue and walks over to help, partly trying to make up for the attitude she gave him the night before, but also to impress him with her eagerness. The head wrangler grins at her over the back of his horse as his friend continues to argue over what’s true and what's exaggerated about the event that his friend just brought up. Y/N can’t hide her smile either; she would like to see where this is heading.           “Oh, you didn't just fall off that bronc. That was the biggest face plant in the history of the State of Arizona,” Dean corrects, slightly overdoing it to the amusement of the others.      “C’mon now, it wasn't like that,” Benny responds.      Dean opens the faucet and starts to hose down the Quarter, washing the dirt and sweat out of its golden coat. In the meantime Y/N takes off the bridle and replaces it with a leather halter, trying not to snigger.      “Benny, be fair. There's still a dent in the arena footing where you touched down with that brick head of yours,” Jo chips in.      Y/N snorts and Dean breaks out in full-body laughter, only fueled by the stunned expression of the farrier, the cigarette still hanging from his parted lips. He doesn't have a counter ready.      “I ain’t talkin’ to you folks no more,” he mutters eventually, after which he saunters away, mumbling something unintelligible.

     Dean smirks, and eyes the intern again over the arch of the buckskin’s back, running his hand through the horse's wet mane, after which he gives the stallion a pat on the shoulder. He's trying to suppress the trace of victory before the others notice. What was this whole little challenge with his friend about? Truly just his colleague’s legendary fall? Dean saw how his pal smiled at Y/N and felt his gut twist and turn at the sight. He knows Benny, he knows that grin. And although she obviously belongs to nobody and the two men usually don't mind when one gives it a go with the girl who the other is chasing, Dean felt the need to claim her. When the farrier mocked him on making slow time, he instantly took that opportunity to put him back in his place. He wonders if Benny picked up on his reasoning, and what if she did? The cowboy tries to read her as he lifts the heavy saddle off the pole.      “Wanna bring him back to his stable?” he asks with a gentle voice. “Led is in the second on the left.”      “Sure.” She smiles, glad to get the responsibility of one of his horses. But then she realizes something. Led? Who calls his horse Led? Unless…      “Led, as in ‘Led Zeppelin’?” she wonders, as she unties the beautiful stallion.      Surprised Dean frowns at her and looks over his shoulder. “You know this horse?”      She scoffs. “No, but I know the band.” 

     Feeling the cowboy's eyes on her, she can tell that he’s impressed, and instantly the heat rushes to her cheeks.      Why are you feeling so flushed every time he directs his gaze to you? She wonders. You're that confident girl who gave him a run for his money last night. Where did she go?           But something about his ways leaves her a doubtful mess inside.      “You know Led Zeppelin?” Dean appeared again, resting his strong forearms on the stable door. Apparently he stored away the saddle in the tack room and made it back in record time. She piqued his interest earlier, but now he just can’t help himself.       “I’m familiar with their music, yeah,” she admits, undoing Led from his halter, after which she intends to exit the box.      “Prove it,” he challenges, holding the door for her. “First song of the second album.”      “Whole Lotta Love,” she recalls without blinking, confidence returning now that he started on a subject she’s an expert on.      “Name of the fifth album.”      She grins as the two of them start making their way, joined by Jo and Garth, who helped her tack down the grey she was riding.      “Houses of the Holy,” she answers.      He laughs. “Well, I’ll be damned. Where have you been hiding all my life?”

     She can’t stop herself from chuckling as she looks down, catching Jo’s eye roll as she does. It's clear the blonde cowgirl is not impressed with her cousin’s smooth talk and it brings Y/N back to earth. Yes, she gives Dean the benefit of the doubt, but Jo warned her for a reason.      This is his usual M.O, he tells this to all the girls, the convincing voice in her mind tells her. There is nothing special about you.      “What’s your favorite Led Zep song?” Dean wonders.      “Right now at this very moment?” She steals a playful glance at him from under her Milano hat. “It would be a tie between What Is And What Should Never Be and Ramble On.”

     Dean opens his mouth to respond as he pushes open the heavy door to the small cafeteria, but then the titles dawn on him. The double meaning behind her peculiar choice of songs doesn't go unnoticed with his colleagues either, because Jo throws him a wide grin, and Garth sniggers. He shakes his head, but can’t hide the ear to ear smile. Before the wrangler can fire back, he enters the lounge area, the smell of bacon, fresh bread, and pancakes filling his nostrils like it does every morning. Aunt Ellen, his dear aunt Ellen. Everyone who works at this ranch should be thanking the man upstairs for this woman who makes the best scrambled eggs in the country.

     “Well, come on in, y’all!” She greets the workers, stirring the delicious smelling food in the frying pan, after which she starts scooping the eggs on the plates. “The food ain't sittin’ here to get cold.”      With a watering mouth, Y/N settles down on the chair opposite of Bobby, who is already sipping on his coffee while Benny puts a fresh pot on the table. Ash hits the radio, letting Americana music mix with chatter. When everyone is seated, Ellen turns to Y/N.      “Now honey, here we pray before our meal. Feel free to join us, but it’s perfectly fine if you don’t,” she informs the intern with a gentleness in her voice that makes her feel comfortable, whatever option she chooses. Ellen takes her husband’s hand and squeezes it sweetly, then turns to one of the wranglers. “Ash? I believe it’s your turn for prayers.”      “Great, ‘cause I’m starvin’,” Ash states, apparently keeping things short. “Good food, good meat. Good God, let’s eat!”      “Amen!” Benny adds, not wasting a second before starting on his breakfast.

     Y/N grins at the sight of the two men, who couldn’t be more different, devouring the food as her neighbor Jo shakes her head disapproving, muttering ‘savages’. Laughing, Garth reaches over the table for a freshly baked bun while Bobby asks for the butter, and passes the ketchup to his daughter before she can ask for it. The blonde squirts the red sauce on her stir-fried eggs, leaving her bacon unattended long enough for Ash to almost steal it from her, had Ellen not smacked him on the hand with a spatula. The intern might have stumbled on a ranch that at the surface seems a little dysfunctional with workers and wranglers that occasionally score high on the crazy scale, but somehow she feels like she fits in. The fear of not being accepted was washed away by the welcoming comfort that reflects from every single one present in this room. She is a part of this already. 

     As she chews on the delicious bacon while laughing over one of Benny’s funny stories, she glances across the table, catching Dean looking over. It startles her a little, but she doesn’t look away and neither does he. For just a moment, she could swear she caught him off guard when she laid eyes on him, or did she imagine him flinching? The exchange of looks lasts several seconds as the cowboy keeps a hold of her gaze, letting her dwell in his emerald greens, before Bobby breaks the moment unintentionally by elbowing his head wrangler when he tries to pick one of the sausages out of the pan in front of him. Relieved, Y/N breathes and take a swig of her glass of orange juice. How many times does she have to remind herself that the only reason she’s here, is to prove to her dad that she can run her own business? She has to stay focused, remember what Jo told her, and do what she came here to do. Yet the presence of the tall and handsome cowboy with dark blonde hair, gorgeous eyes, and a killer smile is going to make that difficult. She doesn't even have to make it through the first day to figure that much.

     Honestly, Y/N has no idea what she was so worried about in the weeks prior to this internship. Working at the ranch proves to be hard labor, but the physical aspect of the job is about the only one she needs to adjust to. The rookie picks up quickly and doesn't have to be told twice, which is noticed by the crew. Garth especially compliments her on occasion, which fuels her confidence and motivates her to a degree that the soreness of her body is forgotten.      After breakfast, the trail horses are brought in and tied up at the tack up area, where she and Jo prepare them for the first ride of the day. While handling some of the four-legged workers, she tries to remember the names and characteristics of each. She gets to know Teddy, an easy-going, brown gelding whose full name is Ted Nugent, and Pink Floyd, a small chestnut with a peculiar scar on his shoulder in the shape of a triangle; a visible memory of an old injury he suffered when he ran through a fence as a foal. Then there's Bowie, a red roan with a zigzag marking on his forehead, Joplin, a dark mare, and Dylan, a pinto coming of age but is still going strong. Seems like Dean got a little carried away when naming the animals, it’s hard to miss the rock theme.       Jo takes a group of five inexperienced riders for a slow ride, while Garth continues to tack up training horses for the head wrangler, so that he can get off one and on the next. At that pace, eight horses have their workout before lunch. Between sweeping floors and turning out horses, Y/N manages to catch a glimpse of the training, and even though she doesn't want to get caught leaning on a broom, she can't stop her gaze from drifting over to the arena. The skilled rider is a joy to watch, and not just because he looks good doing it. Not once does he use force to control the horse, and the extent of his patience is remarkable, especially when one of the young stallions acts up. Without a shadow of a doubt, Y/N is going to learn a lot from him, she can't wait for her horse to arrive. 

     After lunch - which again is served by Ellen and tastes absolutely devine - the crew retreats to the bunkhouse for their two-hour siesta. Ash lays across the entire couch, completely out of it and snoring loudly, while Benny watches daytime television. The others went back to their rooms, all but Y/N. Impatiently, she draws marks in the sand with the heel of her boot, as she sits on the lowest step of the porch, gazing at the road that meets the private drive, about a half a mile further up. The heat is close to unbearable, even here in the shade droplets of sweat run down her chest. She understands the necessity of the break after experiencing her first day in extreme conditions, because working in these temperatures would be torture. A fly bugs the young woman; she smacks the insect out of her face while she wonders when the special delivery will finally arrive. The transporter called an hour ago that he had made good time and would probably arrive at the ranch half past noon. Which would be right about now, according to her phone. Y/N sighs and snaps her eyes at the main road again. 

     “What time are you expecting your horse?"      Dean slowly walks up from behind. She can feel the wood creak under her as he steps closer. His voice is enough to make her breath hitch a little, although she’s not sure if that’s because his sudden appearance startles her, or because he simply has that effect on her respiration.      Quick to cover her surprise, she answers him without moving from her spot. “Five minutes ago.”      Now she does look over her shoulder, watching him come closer with two cans of Coca-Cola in his hands. He offers her one, which she takes gladly and thanks him for, then she straightens herself again.       “I hope she’s alright,” she sighs, expressing her concern as she opens the drink.      “It’s a long drive from Maine, ain't it?” Dean assumes.      “Thirty-five hours on the trailer,” she replies. “They stopped for the night in Tulsa, but still.”

     He leans against one of the struts supporting the roof. The wrangler sips on his cool drink, clasping his lips around the opening in the can as he tilts his head back and takes a swig, exposing his neck as he does so. Y/N can't help but notice. Damn, that jawline… She snaps out of it and rips her eyes from him before he catches her swooning. Good call, because he looks down on her a second later.      “What’s your horse's name?”      “Meadowsweet.” She smiles.      “Quarter?” he asks again.      Y/N nods. “Sired by Gunner.”      Dean raises his brows impressed. Gunner is a leading National Reining Horse Association stallion, one of the few to earn over five million dollars in offspring, and is inducted into the NRHA Hall of Fame. Foals from his descent are known for their talent and eagerness to perform. That stallion has brought some of the best reining horses in the world.      “Don't worry about it. The transporter would have called if anything had occurred,” he reassures, comfortingly. “And all the horses that come through those barn doors, settle in just fine. These lands have this… peacefulness over them. It’s a good place for the soul, horse and human. You’ll see.”      Calmed by his gentle words, Y/N lets her gaze drift off, the corner of her mouth curling up. Then she glances up at the wrangler, whose eyes haven't left her yet.      “Has it been good for you, too?”       He scoffs. “Like you wouldn't believe.”      It's the way he delivers those words, that tempts Y/N to read the man in her company. How old would he be? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine, maybe? But it's without a doubt that in those years he has been through plenty. The cynical chuckle before he spoke, the way he averted his eyes immediately, those tiny tells just unraveled more than his confident talk and cheery appearance plus Jo’s warnings about the wrangler combined.       “How come?” she asks before she can stop herself.      A little thrown back by her unexpected question, Dean steals a glance, grinning at her nosiness. Instantly the blood rushes to her face again as she closes her eyes and covers her face with both hands. God! Why can't you simply think through what you are about to say before you blurt it out?!       “Sorry, that was inappropriate. Again,” she excuses herself.      “No, no. It’s quite alright,” Dean says, putting her mind to rest.      Usually, the wrangler isn’t eager on opening up about his past. It's something he keeps to himself and only very few know more about. He closed that book a long time ago, so he keeps it simple.      “My mom died when I was young, Dad wasn't around much,” he explains. “I came to live on the ranch when I was fourteen and I never left.”      Silenced, Y/N watches him, eyes big and filling with sympathy.       “No brothers and sisters?” she wonders.      Now she pulls on his heartstrings, even though Dean tries to suppress what he feels within. Yet his jaw flexes, his head tips down as the brightness in his eyes fades.      “I have a brother. But - uh...  He ran away from home before I left myself,” Dean elaborates. “I haven’t seen him since. I don't know where he's at.”

     With empathy heavy on her chest, she tries to think of something to say in order to turn this conversation on a less depressing course than the one it’s sailing now. Y/N breathes out, though. Seems like for the first time since the two met, she’s clueless about what to say, and so she states the obvious.      “I'm sorry,” she says, internally kicking herself in the head for bringing out the skeletons in his closet.       “Don't be. I landed on my feet,” Dean assures, trying to take away her discomfort with a smile. “These lands, this ranch; this is home. And the people runnin’ it and workin’ here are my family. Life’s good.”      He means that: she can tell, because the passion returns in his powerful gaze. Soothed by the sight of his contentment, she smiles down at the empty can in her hand, which she’s torn the cap from.

     “And you? Any siblings?” Dean returns, genuinely interested.      “Yeah, three brothers actually. All older than me.” She grins at that.       “Whoa, that must have been a challenge.” The wrangler chuckles as he takes the last sip of his Coke.      “Not so much. They toughened me up and when it came down to it, and were always there to protect me. Plus, I did learn how to build a treehouse and I’m a pretty good wrestler too,” she adds.       The cowboy smirks imagining it. “And how does a girl like you know so much about Led Zeppelin?” he wonders.      Y/N furrows her brow. “A girl like me ?”      “Yeah, I mean… Y’know,” he mutters, a little unsettled by her tone. “From upstate, young, twenty… something.” Shit. He's digging his own grave here.       “Twenty-four,” she fills in for him, amused by his stumbling, “and I like to think I have an old soul, but really it was my Grandfather who introduced me to music.”      “He did a good job teaching you then,” Dean compliments, looking down at his cowboy boots and still trying to overcome the near-miss.      “He did. He was amazing. Meadow was actually a gift from him,” she tells.

     Was. He was amazing.

     Dean peeks at the intriguing woman from under his lashes. He doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that her Granddad isn't amongst them anymore. A short silence follows as Dean ponders on how to continue the conversation, when a dust cloud on the driveway catches his attention. His focus on the horizon triggers Y/N to get up and look in the same direction.

A bright shimmer of sunlight bounces off the aluminum trailer pulled by a red Dodge, which approaches slowly in the distance. A whirlwind of excitement blows through her as she looks over at Dean. Then she gets down from the porch and heads off to meet them.      “Need help unloading?” he checks before following his intern.      “Yeah, I can use a hand,” she says, looking over her shoulder.      And so he follows. By the time they reach the square in front of the horse barn, the pickup turns onto the parking lot and comes to a stop. A middle-aged man with a black beard turns towards her after getting out of his truck, reaching out to shake her hand.      “Y/N L/N?” he checks.      She nods. “Yes, that’s me.”      A loud neigh sounds from the trailer, followed by stomping. Meadow heard her owner loud and clear and her response puts a smile on the cowgirl’s face. She missed her horse, but it seems like her friend is glad to see her human too.       “Was she okay?” Y/N checks with the transporter as she circles the trailer.      “A little restless every now and then, but other than that she did fine,” he says, taking the safety pins out of the heavy handle, turning it open.

     Dean had done so on the other side as well and the men lower the ramp to the gravel. Inside two pointy small ears are pinned towards the light. Meadowsweet's trademark white face stands out in the shade as she yanks on the chain that prevents her from turning around. It’s for her own good, too much freedom during travel could cause her to lose her balance and fall. But she doesn't understand the restrain, and the mare seems to be insulted by the limitation to her movement. All she wants now is to get out, eat, drink, and stretch her legs.      A soft low purr comes Y/N’s way, her nostrils flaring. After days on the road, taken away from home by a man she didn't recognize, a familiar face calms her. Softly hushing her horse, Y/N walks up to her, takes the lead rope, and clasps it to her handcrafted halter. She releases the chain and pushes open the divider, guiding her horse down the ramp while both Dean and the driver stand on each side of it, making sure Meadow doesn't step next to the lit. Alert, the mare looks around, taking in her new environment. The Arizona sun shines on her light brown coat, revealing a beautiful copper shine. A second neigh reverberates under the high roof of the barn when Y/N leads the Quarterhorse to the first stable on the right. Her call is countered by an echo produced by the other horses, who seem to welcome their new neighbor. Dean follows with the luggage, the heavy saddle under one arm and dragging her large tack box on wheels behind him.      “What did you pack? Bricks?” he complains, grimacing, moving the equivalent of a woman’s suitcase on holiday; a lot of stuff she’s never going to use or wear, but might need.

     Y/N presses her lips together and chuckles a little embarrassed. Yeah, maybe she went a little overboard while packing. She undoes Meadow from her halter and lets her be for a bit, smiling at how the mare curiously sniffs every inch of her new box. When she has decided her stable is safe, she circles around a couple of times, adjusts her bedding by digging through the wood shavings with her front leg, after which she lowers to her knees and falls on her side, taking a long-anticipated roll. She rolls over once, twice, then gets up and shakes off the sawdust, after which she looks at her human friend.      "Satisfied?” Y/N asks, amused.      Meadow sighs, pushing out a long breath, and starts eating the hay; seems like the Queen approves. Shaking her head with a smirk on her face, her owner closes the box. The driver walks up to her with the paperwork and a pen.      “If you could sign this, I’ll be out of your hair,” he requests, handing over the papers and Meadow's FEI passport.       Y/N leaves her autograph on the bottom line and hands the paperwork back. After exchanging another handshake, the man returns to his truck and starts the engine. As they watch him drive off, she lets out a sigh, the weight of the world finally falling off her shoulders.        “Told ya she would be fine,” Dean reminds her, leaning on the stable door and admiring the beautiful mare in the box.      Y/N smiles as she joins him, forking her fingers together while resting her arms on the edge.       “Thanks,” she responds, genuinely.

     He was right, and for the first time since the young woman arrived, a sense of true calm washes over her. Now that Meadow is here, everything is exactly how it should be. Her horse arrived safely and seems fit and well. Y/N can spend time with her again, more than she ever could when she was still in Uni. Now the adventure can truly begin.      “I’m heading back to the bunkhouse. Work starts at two again,” Dean informs, assuming that his intern plans to stay.      She watches him walk off down the alley between the stables, and takes a short second to appreciate the view. His hickory colored western hat is tipped forward to protect his face from the sun, the collar of his plaid blouse up, the hem at the bottom tucked into his jeans. Denim covers his O-shaped legs, which are probably a result of spending years of his life in the saddle. A muscular back, broad shoulders, strong arms. It doesn't matter from which angle she admires him, he’s insanely gorgeous. Another result of all that training and hard work is his well-shaped a--      A wet nose slobbers over Y/N’s face, pulling a startled gasp from her. Meadow took the liberty to awaken her owner from her thoughts, right after drinking from the automatic waterer. Oh well, she needed a shower anyway.      “It’s good to see you too, sugar,” she laughs, petting the horse. “Talking about sugar…”      She digs deep in her pocket. The motion of her hand alone triggers Meadow to extend her neck and ask for the treat with her intense dark eyes. Y/N finds a sugar cube, takes her horse’s favorite candy out and feeds it to the bay mare. Grateful, she crunches the sweet between her molars and begs for more, but her owner holds up her hands innocently.       “I'm out,” she says, sorry to disappoint.      Not taking her words for granted, the smart animal searches her boss’s pockets, first left, then right, then gives her a look that expresses something along the lines of ‘are you kidding me?’ To make it up to the mare, Y/N rubs her neck, softly scratching near her withers. Clearly enjoying the grooming, the mare nozzles her upper lip and turns her head a little. The cowgirl chuckles at the sight, once again realizing how much she missed her company. She mist her whiskers brushing against her hand as she reaches to touch her, and the gentleness in her eyes when she’s at ease.      Y/N’s hand lingers on the flat surface of Meadow’s forehead, between her eyes. It’s a horse’s blind spot, where she can't see her. Touching a horse there requires trust, yet there isn't a single fiber in Meadow’s body that isn't comfortable with her owner, not even her instincts. The mare even lowers her head further, a sign of relaxation and submission. Y/N lets her hand slide down her face and rest on her strong jaw, as she lays her cheek against Meadow’s white blaze, closing her eyes for a moment.      Dean talked about home earlier, how the ranch is his.      Well, this right here, this moment with her Meadow, is hers.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part five here