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✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
older hunter!western cowboy who finds you wandering through the woods at night - part 1
cw: mentions of injury, fear, and implied violence (not from him)
the woods had gone quiet by the time he saw you.
not the peaceful kind of quiet, neither. it was the sort that settled deep between the pines, where every branch creaking overhead sounded like a footstep and every gust of wind seemed to carry a whisper with it.
he’d been making his way home along the old hunting trail when something moved between the trees.
at first, he thought it was a deer.
then he heard the crying
he stopped.
there you were.
you were stumbling through the undergrowth, one hand pressed tightly against your side, the other catching desperately at branches as you tried to keep yourself upright. your clothes were torn and muddy, your hair tangled with leaves, and tears shone wet against your cheeks.
you looked like you’d been wandering for hours.
“well, what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ way out here?”
you turned sharply at the sound of his voice.
the sight of him frightened you worse.
“hey, hey.”
he lowered his rifle at once.
“easy now. ain’t gonna hurt you.”
you tried to answer, but whatever words you’d meant to say dissolved into another sob.
he took one slow step toward you.
you stumbled backwards.
he stopped.
“alright. i’ll stay right here.”
his eyes moved carefully over you.
“just breathe.”
then he saw the blood.
his expression changed.
“jesus…”
you followed his gaze and instinctively pressed your arm tighter against your side.
“you’re bleedin’ through your clothes.”
you shook your head.
“don’t fuss with it. lemme take a look.”
you shook your head again.
“easy now. you’re alright. just got yourself banged up some.”
he waited.
after a long moment, you finally nodded.
“that’s it.”
he set his rifle against a tree and crouched beside his old leather medical bag.
“hold still now.”
you flinched when he reached toward you.
he stopped immediately.
“easy.”
his voice softened.
“i know you’re scared.”
he waited until you gave the smallest nod.
“there you go.”
he carefully began tending to the injury.
you winced.
“i know. i know it hurts.”
your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your sleeve.
“just a little longer.”
you squeezed your eyes shut.
“you’re doin’ fine.”
he worked slowly and carefully, pausing whenever you tensed.
“that’s it. nice and easy.”
finally, he secured the bandage and sat back.
“there.”
he inspected it beneath the fading light.
“ain’t pretty, but it’ll hold.”
he packed his things away and rose.
“reckon you’ve had yourself a rough night.”
you looked toward the trees.
he followed your gaze.
“you wandered a long way from the road.”
you said nothing.
“folks don’t come out this far unless they’re runnin’ from somethin’.”
your eyes flickered toward him.
he studied you quietly.
“you runnin’ from somebody?”
silence.
he nodded once.
“…figured as much.”
he offered his hand.
“c’mon. cabin’s just up yonder.”
you looked at it uncertainly.
“you can’t stay out here.”
after a moment, you took his hand.
the walk was slow.
the forest seemed endless in the darkness, tall pines hemming you both in on either side, their black branches knitting together overhead. damp earth gave beneath your boots, and somewhere far off, an owl called once before the woods swallowed the sound.
you kept looking over your shoulder.
eventually, he noticed
“you hear somethin’?”
you shook your head.
“then quit lookin’ back.”
he glanced into the darkness behind you.
“whatever you’re scared of, it ain’t caught up with you yet.”
you walked on.
then, through the trees, a warm amber glow appeared.
his cabin sat in a small clearing beneath the pines, half-hidden by moss and shadow. it was an old, weather-beaten thing, built from dark timber that had silvered with age. the roof sagged slightly beneath its years, and a crooked stone chimney rose above it, breathing a thin ribbon of smoke into the night.
there was a rusted lantern hanging beside the door, its glass glowing faintly gold.
a stack of split firewood leaned against one wall.
an old pair of muddy boots sat beneath the porch.
he climbed the few wooden steps and opened the door.
warmth rolled out to meet you.
inside, the cabin smelled of cigarettes, burning cedar, old leather, pine resin, and whiskey steeping somewhere near the hearth.
a stone fireplace took up most of one wall, its flames casting a soft, restless glow across the room. above it hung an old hunting rifle and a pair of antlers, both darkened with age. a worn wool blanket had been thrown across a broad wooden chair, and a small table sat beneath the window with a chipped enamel mug, a lantern, and a stack of yellowed books.
everything had its place.
nothing was new.
but there was something comforting about it.
the kind of place that had been standing long before either of you arrived and would probably still be standing long after you were gone.
he stepped aside.
“ain’t much.”
you stood hesitantly in the doorway.
he glanced around the little room.
“but it’s warm.”
you stepped inside.
he shut the door behind you and turned the old iron latch.
“there.”
he crossed to the hearth and stirred the logs until the fire rose higher, throwing gold across the floorboards.
“come sit by the fire.”
you lowered yourself slowly into the chair.
he went to the little table and poured you a glass of whisky.
“here.”
he held it out to you.
“have a drink. you look like you need one.”
you took it with both hands.
“small sips now.”
he pulled another chair toward the fire and sat opposite you.
for a while, neither of you spoke.
rain whispered against the window.
the fire cracked softly in the hearth.
you stared into the flames as though they were the first thing you’d seen all night that wasn’t frightening.
he watched you quietly.
“you can tell me what happened when you’re ready.”
you said nothing.
he nodded.
“ain’t gotta be tonight.”
he leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the dark window.
“whatever’s out there can wait till mornin’.”
then he looked back at you.
“ain’t nobody gonna find you here.”
the fire burned low between you.
outside, the woods stretched endlessly into the darkness.
inside, for the first time that night, you stopped shaking.
Summery: A runaway stumbles into a stranger in the woods who offers her sanctuary.
Warnings: age gap (everyone is above 18), fluff <3, dark themes, trauma
Word Count: 1,710
PART 1
The house smelt like dust and everything looked a couple decades old. Otherwise it had a homey but undeniably male essence. There were lace curtains but the walls were peeling and the windows were caked with dirt and dust. The couch had a specific spot where a dent was right next to the small table at the end of the couch. Surely where he sat often. My brown boots clicked slowly across the wooded floor as the man brushed past me.
“I never got your name.” I said quietly, watching as he moved around the small kitchen like a giant in a dollhouse. He glanced back at me as he fetched a beer from the fridge.
“Joel.” He seemed to grunt out as he slammed the fridge door shut. I carefully set down my suitcase as he leaned his shoulder against the kitchen archway and took a swig of his beer. His eyes studied me, almost uncomfortably in its meticulousness. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting for something to say. I didn’t feel unsafe, maybe a little out of place…lost.
“Relax darlin’...y’ look like a lost lamb. None of that…” He drawled slowly, tilting his head as he surveyed me. I remained quiet, unsure where I should stand or go, maybe I should just leave. Joel cleared his throat in a gruff rumble, shifting his stance to stretch out a leg.
“Just ah…Y’ can take the bed, I’ll camp out on the couch.” He said and nodded towards the stairs once in offering. I looked up at him, he looked less rough and mean as before. Just kind of tired, awkward maybe. I probably looked the same. I looked behind my shoulder to where the stairs he’d nodded at were.
“You sure?” I asked quietly and looked back up at him, unsure of the silence filling the space between us.
“Ya ‘m sure. Go get some rest.” He said with a nod, turning towards the worn leather couch. I watched as he sat down in that one dented seat, grabbing the remote to turn on the television. I stood for a moment watching as the television glitched to life, before turning towards the stairs.
My suitcase was light enough I didn’t have any trouble lugging it up, yet the steps creaked like wildfire under me anyway. At the top of the stairs there was a little hallway. Only containing two doorways which were both opened. I peaked my head inside the first one, which happened to be the bathroom. I stored that away in my mind for later, walking further down the hall to the other room. The door was left open, so I walked through. I found a flannel unmade bed in the center, windows against the far side, and a dark wooden dresser with a mirror attached against another wall. Nothing fancy, barely anything at all really. The only memorabilia was a little porcelain lamb beside his wooden alarm clock that sat on his bedside table.
My suitcase landed softly on the worn woven rug as I walked over to his bedside table and picked up the little glass lamb. The only thing not carrying dust in this house. Not carrying chips or even a scuff. I bit my bottom lip and softly put it down.
Sleeping was hard. As comfortable as the bed was, I couldn’t stop reminding myself that a strange man was just downstairs. Despite the closed door I locked, surely he had a key. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d leave me alone because he offered me a roof. I found myself testing him that night. Staying up but still and as quiet as a mouse, listening for any creak in the wooden boards, or even a cough late at night. Yet, it was silent except for the old clock downstairs ticking through the house. Only when the sun started to rise did I allow myself to close my eyes, deeming him a good enough person to not disturb me.
—
When I woke it was a quarter to eleven. Later than I usually woke up, I needed the sleep anyway. I slowly got up, changing into my jean skirt and a white tank top that's seen better days. I was pulling on my brown cowboy boots when a knock sounded on my door.
“Hey uhh…Y’ up? ‘M makin’ breakfast.” Joel’s gruff voice sounded on the other side of the wooden door. I sniffed and retied the bow I had put on the top of my boots.
“Yea!” I replied, jumping up and opening the door. I looked up at him as he was half turned to walk away. He stilled, his eyes flicking down to my outfit for a minute. Then he cleared his throat and turned around, his big frame filling the small hallway space as he made his way down the stairs.
“What are you makin’?” I asked more cheerfully than yesterday. At least he wasn’t a creep, and well…he was attractive. I tried not to think about that considering that didn’t seem what he was thinking about either, but his strong jaw and arms just screamed safe. Safe in the way home is when you’ve gone too far and want your daddy. He reached the bottom of the stairs, turning his head slightly to look back at me.
“Pancakes.” He gruffed out, his heavy boots creaking the dusty wooden floorboards. I followed him through the dim hallway, the scent of old furniture and dust filling the air. The kitchen was hardly in better condition itself, the old white wallpaper peeling with little blue flowers marked with dirt. I looked around for the source of the smell of something burning, seeing the grimey stove with pancakes burnt around the edges. A pack of Lucky Stripes laying on the counter beside it, the ceiling stained from smoking inside the house.
“I think…maybe the pancakes are done.” I said hesitantly, my wide eyes glancing up at the older man. He was sipping out of a coffee stained mug when his eyes whipped to the stove.
“Shit.” He cursed, rushing over to the stove, in his haste he picked up the pan with his bare hands.
“Fuck!” He yelled, making me jump and take a step back startled. The scent of smoke curled around the room as he picked up a towel and grabbed the handle to put the whole pan in the sink. A sizzle sounded as the water hit the pan. I took another quiet step back, anxiously watching him after hearing him yell like that. I always hated yelling, something about it brought out my fight or flight. It wasn’t even the volume that did it, but the anger that drove me away. I always expected a blow after, for it to turn on me and to have to defend myself. I don’t know where I’d learned this considering I’ve never been abused or particularly mistreated. Yet neglect was something I knew well. I suppose someone being overly aware of me was a problem now too.
“Are you okay?” I murmured, wrapped my arms around myself slightly defensively. He was now running his hand under the water muttering curses, my voice seemed to still him. At least reminding him I was there. He turned towards me and wrapped the wet towel around his hand.
“Shit…’m sorry hun, didn’t mean to scare ya’.” He said earnestly, running a hand through his hair, trouseling the thick dark mass on top of his head even more.
“Yeah…I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it…can’t say the same for breakfast though.” He said with a sheepish crooked smile that held all apologies and a little awkwardness. It was…sweet.
“Do you have more batter?” I said and stepped a little closer, tucking my hair behind my ear to peer into the mixing bowl. My eyes lit up as I saw it was at least half full.
“Oh! I can just make more. I don’t need a lot to eat anyway.” I said more cheerfully as I looked up at him. He didn’t look as convinced as he leaned closer to look into the bowl.
“Y’ sure that's enough?” He asked skeptically, rubbing the back of his head with his good hand.
“Yea, ‘m not that hungry anyway.” I said and offered him a little smile. I felt bad that he went through all this effort to make me breakfast just to burn it and hurt himself. He held my eyes for a moment longer than casual, making me stumble out another pitiful conversation filler.
“Maybe I should just cook from now on.” I said quicker than It took for me to think about it and winced.
“I mean- not that I’m staying just-” I stammered out just to trail off again.
“No I…I’d like that. You can…cook here if you want.” He said for me, saving me the humiliation of assuming he’d let me stay. Which had me looking up at him bravely once again.
“How many pancakes do you want?”
–
“Thank you…” I muttered for about the fifth time in twenty minutes. I had made blueberry pancakes that turned out far better than his attempt at it. We were sitting at his little wooden table by the window eating right now. I watched as he lit a cigarette, silently wanting to tell him he should really smoke outside but I refrained. He glanced up at me as he purposely blew his stream of smoke to the side.
“Stop thankin’ me just…eat the damn things.” He said gruffly, having already shoveled four pancakes into his mouth and cleaned his plate.
“Should be thankin’ you for cookin’.” He said and pulled a heavy metal ashtray across the table and over to him. I watched as he negligently ashed his cigarette into it and took another puff.
“Were they good?” I asked carefully, looking up at him as I took another bite of my pancakes. His eyes met mine, looking so much warmer than before with the sun lighting up his brown eyes. They reminded me of tree bark when the sun hits it just right at dawn.
“The best.” He said with a smile, making a smile of my own pop out.
//Masterlist//
A/N: I promise I'll be getting to the good stuff soon enough!!! just building some backstory!
plot. you as become increasingly drawn to ellie despite trying to suppress those feelings. however, your father reprimands you, reinforcing the strict expectations you grew up with. but you begin to question why something as innocent as being happy with ellie makes you feel so guilty.
content warnings. religious themes, little use of yn, a bit of fluff, asshole father, s!her pronouns used, reader is afab, language, ellie and reader are just being cute and flirting, 5k words
FAMILY TREE
Give myself up to him in offering - ethel cain
July 9th 1983
For several long seconds, you stared at the dusty ceiling, your gaze tracing the intricate cracks in the plaster. The farmhouse sighed softly around you as the old wood settled, its familiar creaks echoing through the quiet rooms while welcoming the warmth of the rising sun. Outside, a rooster crowed, cutting through the morning stillness and announcing the beginning of another day.
Normally, you would have climbed out of bed immediately.
Normally, your routine was simple.
Wake up.
Pray.
Dress.
Work.
Repeat.
But today was different.
A pair of mossy green eyes flashed through your mind.
You sat upright.
Ellie Williams.
She had been working on the farm for nearly two weeks now, and needless to say, she was confusing.
You frowned at yourself.
Why were you thinking about her already?
You pushed the thought aside and reached for your Bible resting on the nightstand.
Its leather cover was frayed and faded from years of faithful use, and the edges of its pages had grown soft beneath your fingertips from countless readings.
Kneeling beside your bed beneath the wooden cross hanging above your headboard, you folded your hands.
"Dear God..."
The prayer came as naturally as breathing.
You thanked Him for your family.
For your home.
For another day.
You prayed for guidance, for patience, and for the strength to remain faithful in all that you did.
When you finished, you lingered for a moment before standing.
You dressed with your usual care, slipping into a pale blue dress that fell just below your knees. Tiny white flowers were embroidered delicately along the collar, and you smoothed the fabric before buttoning it neatly.
Your mother always said a woman should carry herself with grace, because the way she presented herself reflected the condition of her heart.
You brushed your curls until they sat just right, pinning back a few loose strands with a small silver clip.
Finally, you reached for the cross necklace that never left your neck. As the clasp clicked into place, a familiar sense of comfort settled over you.
A reminder of your faith.
A reminder of who you were supposed to be.
When you stepped into the kitchen, the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the aroma of toasted bread and sizzling eggs. Morning sunlight spilled through the windows, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.
Your mother stood at the stove, her hair gathered into a loose bun beneath a light scarf. She moved quietly between the stove and the counter, humming along to the hymn playing softly on the radio.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Mama."
Your father was already seated at the table. His newspaper rested neatly beside him while his worn Bible lay open near a steaming mug of black coffee.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"You'll help with the garden after breakfast."
"Yes, Father."
"The tomatoes are ready to be picked."
"I'll gather them this morning."
"And after lunch, you'll help your mother clean the house."
"Yes, Father."
He gave a single approving nod before returning his attention to the newspaper.
Your mother carried over a plate of eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, setting it gently in front of you.
"Eat before it gets cold," she said with a warm smile.
"Thank you."
The three of you ate together in the familiar silence that had filled your home for as long as you could remember.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
It was simply expected.
The quiet was broken only by the soft clink of silverware against ceramic plates and the distant hymn playing from the radio.
Everyone knew their place.
Everyone knew what was expected of them.
Your father folded the crinkled newspaper and rose from the table, the warm sunlight flooding through the window. He savored one last sip of his coffee, the rich aroma lingering in the air, before setting the empty mug in the sink with a soft clink.
"I'll be in the south field," he announced, his voice steady as he slipped on his worn work gloves, the leather creaking slightly. "Williams is already out there feeding the animals."
At the mention of her name, a flicker of tension coursed through you, tightening your grip almost imperceptibly around the fork, the metal cool against your palm.
With a curt nod, he stepped outside, the screen door swinging shut with a soft creak, leaving behind a momentary stillness enveloping the kitchen.
For a few fleeting moments, it was just you and your mother, the air heavy with unsaid words. She moved about the kitchen with a quiet grace, gathering the empty pans from the stove, her worn cardigan sleeves pushed up to her elbows despite the stifling summer heat. A faint bruise, a delicate reminder of something unspoken, peeked out from beneath the cuff before she instinctively tugged the sleeve down, hiding it away.
"You should eat a little more," she murmured, her gaze drifting to your half-finished breakfast—a plate of untouched eggs and toast.
"I'm not very hungry," you replied, feeling the heaviness of her concern weigh upon you.
Her brow furrowed gently, but she didn’t press the matter further. Instead, she reached over, brushing an invisible crumb from your shoulder, her touch a soothing comfort amidst the mounting tension.
"You’ve seemed distracted lately," she observed, her voice laced with warmth and worry.
Your stomach tightened at her words, the truth sitting heavily on your chest.
"Just tired," you offered.
“Mmm,” she responded, the sound both contemplative and understanding.
She studied you for a brief moment, her eyes searching for answers she didn't dare to pry out of you. Yet, instead of pursuing the conversation, she simply smiled, a soft, encouraging gesture that lit up her features.
"Well, don’t let your father catch you daydreaming in the garden," she teased lightly, her smile lingering.
"I won’t," you assured her.
The morning sun was already warm against your skin as you carried a woven basket toward the vegetable garden behind the farmhouse.
Rows of tomato plants stretched before you, heavy with bright red fruit that hung low on their vines. Bees drifted lazily between the blossoms while butterflies fluttered over the nearby wildflowers your mother insisted on planting every spring.
You knelt beside the first row and began picking tomatoes, carefully twisting each one free before placing it into your basket.
The work was familiar.
Steady.
Predictable.
You had been helping in the garden for as long as you could remember. By now, your hands moved almost on their own, gently twisting each ripe tomato from its vine before nestling it into the basket. Your mother always reminded you to be careful not to bruise them.
"Treat God's creations gently," she would say. "Everything He made deserves kindness."
You smiled faintly at the memory.
The garden had always been your favorite place on the farm. It was quieter than the fields and far from the rumble of machinery or the sound of your father's booming voice carrying across the property. Here, all you heard was the rustling of leaves, the soft buzzing of bees, and the occasional song of a meadowlark perched on the fence.
You reached toward another cluster of tomatoes, pausing when you noticed one had split along its side.
“Poor thing,” you whispered, gently cradling the small, withered vegetable in your palm. It looked bruised and battered.
“It'll still taste just fine,” came a familiar voice from behind, causing you to jump with surprise.
Startled, you whipped around so quickly that your woven basket tilted precariously, sending three ripe, red tomatoes tumbling through the dirt with a soft thud.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, your heart racing as you scrambled after them, but you noticed she was already crouched beside you.
“I got ‘em,” Ellie said, her voice cheerful and reassuring as she plucked up the first tomato before it could roll beneath the rusty fence. She brushed away a few specks of dirt from its glossy surface and presented it to you, her grin sheepish and disarming.
Today, she was wearing a faded brown T-shirt that had seen better days, its fabric soft and worn from countless washings. Her grey jeans were speckled with dust that mirrored the surrounding landscape. Her cowboy boots were just as dirty. A streak of earth marked one freckled cheek, giving her a rugged charm, while a stubborn piece of straw tangled in her auburn hair.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she added, her green eyes sparkling in the warm sunlight.
“You certainly have a habit of doing that,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face as you accepted the tomato from her outstretched hand.
She chuckled. “I guess I do,” she admitted.
"There," she said, her voice firm as she brushed away the clumps of dark earth from her hands. "No casualties."
You took a moment to acknowledge her effort, your smile emerging as you accepted the woven basket she handed you. "Thank you."
Instead of wandering off, Ellie settled beside you, her forearms resting comfortably on her knees. She watched intently as you continued your work amid the lush greenery surrounding you.
After a brief pause, she reached out, fingers curling around a ripening tomato, the vibrant red tempting to her eager eyes. "So... like this?" she queried, twisting it awkwardly as her brows furrowed in concentration.
"No, wai—" you started, but it was too late. The stem snapped cleanly, leaving a small piece of the vine clinging to the plump fruit.
Ellie paused, her eyes wide as she examined the tomato now dangling from her grip. "...I think I killed it."
You bit your lip, desperately trying to suppress a laugh at the sight of her wounded expression. "You definitely injured the plant," you replied, amusement dancing in your tone.
She glanced up, her dramatic wince making you chuckle. "Well, that’s embarrassing."
With a gentle motion, you reached over and expertly twisted another tomato, still firm on the vine, to demonstrate the technique. "You have to twist it here," you instructed, guiding her fingers as you showed her the right way to detach it without damaging the stem.
She leaned in, her eyes focused as if she were studying a complex puzzle, and then tried again. This time, she mirrored your movements precisely, and the tomato came away cleanly, a small victory that made her face light up.
She held the fruit aloft like a trophy, pride radiating from her. "I did it!"
A smile crept onto your face, genuine and warm. "You did."
With a sense of accomplishment, she gingerly placed the tomato into the basket, then flashed you a bright grin. "I think I’m officially a gardener now."
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief. "I wouldn’t go that far."
Ellie clutched a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. "Wow. Harsh."
Your smile lingered, softening your features as you reached for another tomato, the air filled with the earthy scent of soil and sun-warmed produce.
"So," Ellie began, breaking the comfortable silence between you as you continued to gather ripe tomatoes, "how long have you been doing this?"
"Since I was little," you answered, your voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.
"Every summer?" she asked, curiosity glimmering in her eyes.
You nodded, the memories flooding back. "Every summer."
Ellie glanced around the garden, taking in the vibrant rows of vegetables and the colorful blooms dancing gently in the breeze behind the farmhouse. "It must get old after a while," she mused, her gaze sweeping over the patchwork of greens and colors.
You pondered her words, gently brushing a leaf aside. "I’ve never really thought about it."
A comfortable silence wrapped around you both, punctuated only by the occasional rustling of leaves and the rhythmic pluck of tomatoes from their vines.
Her gaze drifted toward the rolling pasture, where a flock of horses lingered peacefully, their sleek coats gleaming under the warm embrace of the afternoon sun. The gentle sound of their munching mingled with the soft rustle of grass.
After a moment, Ellie turned her attention back to you, a curious spark in her eyes.
"You ever ridden?" she asked suddenly.
You glanced at her. "A horse?"
Ellie chuckled. "No, a cow."
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't stop the small smile tugging at your lips.
"Very funny."
"So?"
You hesitated, picking at the edge of a tomato leaf.
"A little," you admitted. "My father doesn't really let me ride anymore."
Ellie's smile faded slightly.
"Why?"
"He's worried I'll hurt myself." You shrugged, trying to make it sound less important than it was. "Besides, I'm not exactly a natural."
Ellie studied you for a moment before a mischievous smile returned to her face.
"Maybe you just haven't had the right teacher."
You raised an eyebrow.
"And you think you're the right teacher?"
She grinned.
"I'd say so."
"You certainly seem confident."
"I've been riding since I was ten."
You glanced down at her dusty cowboy boots.
"I suppose that counts for something."
"It definitely does."
You shook your head, amused by her confidence.
Ellie pushed herself to her feet, brushing the dirt from her jeans.
"Well, if you're not too scared..." she said, holding out her hand. "I could teach you sometime."
You looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before taking it. She pulled you gently to your feet.
"Maybe after we finish picking these tomatoes?"
Ellie nodded toward the basket.
"Deal."
Then, with a slight hesitation, she added, "I mean... unless your dad would kill me for asking."
There was that nervous edge in her voice again—the one that appeared whenever she suggested something that might go against your father's expectations.
You glanced toward the farmhouse.
For a moment, you considered what your father would say.
Then you looked back at Ellie.
"I don't think he'd mind too much," you found yourself saying, despite the small nagging voice in the back of your mind disagreeing fiercely.
Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Great! Then it's settled.”
The walk was quiet, the soft crunch of your shoes muted against the parched earth as you made your way across the sun-baked yard. The faint, comforting sounds of the farm enveloped you—gentle rustling of leaves, the occasional distant cluck of a chicken, and the low buzz of insects floating on the warm breeze.
As you neared the stables, the atmosphere shifted. The horses, sensing your presence, began to rouse from their slumber. One of them lifted its majestic head from the shadows of its stall, its sleek coat gleaming in the sunlight, and let out a soft, resonant whinny that echoed in the stillness.
Ellie's face lit up with a smile. “See? They remember me,” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight.
You chuckled softly, teasing, “You've only been here a week.”
“A week is plenty of time to make friends,” she replied confidently, her enthusiasm infectious.
You smiled back, observing the genuine affection in her expression. “You really like horses, don’t you?”
Ellie turned to meet your gaze, her expression earnest and sincere. “Yeah,” she said simply, her voice soft.
You stood captivated as she moved gracefully among the horses, her bond with them palpable in every movement she made. The affection radiated from her, evident in the way her fingers brushed against their sleek coats and how she spoke to them softly, as if sharing secrets only they could understand.
With an inviting smile, she gestured for you to come closer. “Come on. You should meet this one,” she urged, her eyes sparkling with joy.
Tentatively, your steps carried you forward, curiosity bubbling within as Ellie led you into the stall. Your gaze landed on a sturdy buckskin horse, its coat a rich blend of golden brown and deep tan that shimmered in the soft light. The horse regarded you with a calm disposition, its intelligent eyes reflecting a gentle wisdom.
“This is Willow,” Ellie said, her voice a soothing melody as she intertwined her fingers with yours, guiding your hand toward the horse’s warm neck. “She’s a sweetheart. Won't hurt a fly."
Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected warmth of her hand, the gentle pressure of her fingers intertwining with yours sending a fluttering sensation through your chest that you had never felt before.
You quickly shifted your gaze to Willow, who stood in the corner of the stable, her coat gleaming softly in the afternoon light.
"She's beautiful," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could contemplate them.
Ellie’s smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. "She knows it, too."
Willow lowered her head slightly, her velvety muzzle nudging against your palm, making you laugh softly.
"I think she likes you," Ellie remarked, tilting her head slightly to observe the interaction.
"She barely knows me," you replied, glancing up at Ellie, curiosity evident in your voice.
"Neither did I when I got here," she countered, her expression thoughtful.
You caught her gaze, silently questioning.
"And now?" you probed, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken connection forming between you.
Ellie smiled in a way that seemed to hold a world of understanding.
"Now I know you."
The weight of her words made you look away, your heart racing as you gently stroked Willow’s neck, feeling the warmth and smoothness of her coat beneath your fingertips.
Ellie stepped closer, her voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “Let her get used to you. No sudden movements.”
In the tranquil stable, time stretched as you stood quietly beside Willow, the sounds of soft hooves shifting against the ground and the creaking wood around you creating a serene backdrop.
Ellie handed you a brush, its handle cool against your palm. “Here. Slow strokes along her neck.”
You took the brush with care and began to brush carefully, your strokes deliberate. You had some memories of when you were younger and when your father would allow you to take care of the horses with him.
“You’ve got a good touch,” Ellie noted, her sincerity making you feel unexpectedly proud.
“Thanks,” you replied, a shy smile creeping onto your face.
“I mean it,” Ellie emphasized, leaning casually against the stall, her presence warm and inviting. “Most people get nervous and grip too tight.”
“I am nervous,” you confessed, the truth spilling out of you.
“I know,” she replied, the understanding glimmering in her gaze.
You glanced at her, surprised. “How?”
“Because you’re holding your breath,” she teased lightly.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Ellie laughed softly, the sound light and airy.
“See?” she said, a grin spreading across her face.
“You’re annoying,” you shot back, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips.
“I’ve been told,” she chuckled, playfully tapping the brush against your shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”
You turned back to Willow, the brown horse quietly observing your interaction.
“She doesn’t seem scary,” you remarked, admiring the creature’s calm demeanor.
“Because she isn’t,” Ellie reassured you, her voice softening as she leaned closer. “Horses can tell when you’re afraid. If you panic, they panic.”
Nodding slowly, you absorbed her words. “So I stay calm.”
After a few more minutes, Ellie reached for the saddle, the leather gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the stable door.
"Think you're ready?" she asked, a hint of excitement in her voice.
You glanced at the saddle, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. "To ride?"
"Not quite," she said, laughing at your expression, which was a comical blend of eagerness and fear.
"First, I'll show you how to saddle her. Then we'll see how you're feeling," she explained, her confidence bolstering your own.
You nodded, swallowing hard.
Ellie moved gracefully around Willow's stall, her hands deftly demonstrating each step of the saddling process. You leaned in closely, captivated, absorbing every detail as she explained, asking questions whenever any uncertainty crept in.
She always responded with patience, never making you feel foolish.
When you stumbled over a step, she simply corrected you with a gentle touch.
"Like this?" you asked, adjusting your hands as she guided you.
"Almost," she replied, gently placing her hands over yours, adjusting your grip. “There.”
You looked down, then up, your face heating up at her touch. “Oh.”
“See? Easy,” she smiled, encouraging.
You smiled softly at her compliment. “You're actually a good teacher.”
“Actually?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow playfully.
You rolled your eyes at her teasing. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
Ellie laughed, the sound brightening the stifling air of the stable.
When everything was ready, she led Willow out into the small paddock beside the stable, the vibrant grass swaying gently in the warm summer breeze.
The sight of the saddle ignited an old, familiar wave of nerves within you.
Ellie caught your change in demeanor immediately. “You don’t have to do it.”
You met her gaze, determination igniting within you. “I want to.”
“Okay,” she replied, standing firmly beside Willow, an anchor of reassurance.
Taking a deep breath, you nodded, readying yourself. Slowly, you placed one foot in the stirrup, your heart racing.
Your hands tightened instinctively around the saddle, catching Ellie’s thoughtful glance.
“Easy,” she instructed gently.
You looked at her. “I’m trying,” you said, feeling the weight of your anxiety.
“I know,” she assured you, her smile encouraging, crossing the gap between anxiety and reassurance. “You’ve got this.”
With a deep breath, you pulled yourself into the saddle.
For a second, doubt flashed through your mind, a fleeting thought that you might fall. But you didn’t.
Willow stood calmly beneath you, her presence both grounding and liberating. You stared down at the ground in disbelief, then back up at Ellie, a wave of astonishment washing over you.
"I'm up," you declared, your voice a blend of surprise and triumph.
Ellie’s grin widened, illuminating her face. "You’re up."
A laugh escaped you, bubbling over with newfound joy. “I actually did it.”
“I told you,” she said, her satisfaction evident.
You locked eyes with her, your smile brightening as the warmth of the afternoon sun illuminated her auburn hair, glinting like fire in the golden light. In that moment, all your worries faded into the background—the weight of your father's expectations, the chores waiting at home, the rigid rules that confined you—all seemed to vanish.
There was only Willow beneath you, the gentle summer breeze caressing your face, and Ellie standing beside you with a proud smile that lit up your world.
"You look happy," Ellie said quietly, her voice like a soft melody amidst the tranquil atmosphere.
Your smile faltered slightly as you realized the truth of her observation.
"I am," you admitted, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you.
Ellie smiled, that warm, brilliant smile that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows. "Good."
And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel guilty for expressing it.
As you made your way back to the farmhouse, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky awash in a breathtaking panorama of pinks and oranges, as if the world was wrapped in a soft, warm embrace.
You could still feel the lingering ache in your legs from the ride, a sweet reminder of the freedom that came with being atop Willow.
Yet, despite the fatigue, a radiant smile lingered on your lips.
Willow had only meandered around the paddock, and Ellie had patiently stayed by your side throughout, but there was an undeniable sense of achievement that filled your heart.
She had gone home early to have dinner with her family, much to your disappointment.
But for the first time in what felt like ages, you had done something purely for the joy of it—a true escape from the weight of responsibilities that often clouded your days.
Stepping inside, the house enveloped you in a blanket of quiet.
Your mother moved gracefully about the dining room, setting the table for evening devotionals. She placed the aged family Bible at its center, the worn leather cover telling tales of generations before.
At the head of the table, your father sat, his glasses slipping down his nose as he flipped through the crisp pages, a soft frown etching itself on his brow.
You hastily nestled into your chair, trying to shake off the remnants of your afternoon adventure.
"Sorry," you murmured, the words slipping out softly.
Your father glanced up at the wall clock, its ticking an unwelcome reminder of time.
"You were supposed to finish the laundry before supper," he stated, his voice measured and serious.
The warmth of your smile evaporated, replaced by a cool breeze of apprehension.
"I know. I’m sorry," you replied, a hint of sadness threading through your voice.
"I asked you to do it this afternoon."
"I was going to," you insisted, your voice gaining a touch of defiance.
His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing.
"Then why wasn't it done?"
You cast your gaze downward, unable to meet the weight of his stare.
"I was helping Ellie."
A heavy silence descended upon the table, pressing against your chest like a stone.
Your father's expression hardened, his disappointment palpable.
"Helping Ellie?" he repeated, skepticism woven through his words.
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.
"We were with the horses."
"You were supposed to be doing your chores."
"I know," you replied, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper.
His tone grew sharper, like the crack of a whip.
"And instead, you were distracting her from hers."
Confusion washed over you, leaving you momentarily speechless.
"I wasn't distracting her," you retorted, a spark of indignation flaring within you.
"She is here to work."
With a deliberate motion, your father closed the Bible, the thud echoing through the air, a finality that left no room for argument.
"Not to spend her afternoon entertaining you."
Heat flooded your cheeks, humiliation creeping in.
"I only asked her to show me how to ride," you exclaimed, desperate to rationalize your actions.
"And she should have been working," he countered, his voice resonating with authority.
You swallowed hard, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach.
"Yes, Father," you managed to say, defeated.
Your mother glanced back and forth between the two of you, her eyes wide with concern.
"She's finished now," she interjected softly. "The laundry can wait until after devotionals."
Your father turned his steely gaze toward her.
"It should have been done when I asked."
Your mother lowered her eyes immediately, as if to shield herself from the tension.
"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
You felt the familiar coil of anxiety twist within you.
"I'll do it after," you assured, hoping to quell the storm brewing around the table.
Your father scrutinized you for several seconds—an eternity of silence—and then, without warning, his hand connected with your face in a swift strike.
The sound cracked through the room, a sharp clap of thunder that. You simply stared at the table, your breathing shallow and uneven, trying to understand what had just happened.
"See that you do." Your father straightened in his chair.
You nodded, dazed, the world around you fading for a moment.
"Yes, Father."
He reopened the Bible, signaling the end of the conversation in his eyes, while the weight of his authority hung in the air like a storm cloud.
You stared down at the closed hymn book before you, tears brimming in your eyes, blurring the edges of your vision.
Just hours earlier, you had been perched on Willow’s back, bathed in the warm glow of the summer sun, sharing laughter with Ellie, whose infectious smile had brightened your entire afternoon.
You had let yourself feel happy for the first time in ages. Now, you questioned if perhaps that happiness had been a mistake.
Your father cleared his throat, the sound piercing through your thoughts.
"Let us begin."
Everyone bowed their heads, reverence filling the room.
You clenched your hands tightly in your lap, palms sweaty against your thighs.
Your father's voice filled the space around you, deep and commanding as he began to read from Scripture, a rhythm you had known by heart.
You tried to listen, desperately striving to find comfort in the familiar words.
But thoughts of the stable kept creeping in—Ellie’s encouraging hand on yours, her soothing voice guiding you, the warmth in her gaze as you mustered the courage to climb into the saddle.
You lowered your head, waves of guilt crashing over you.
"Y/N."
The sound of your father’s voice jolted you back to the present.
You looked up, heart sinking as you met his eyes. "Yes, Father?"
"Are you listening?" he demanded, disgust etched in every feature.
Your heart plummeted further.
"Yes."
"Then pay attention," he instructed, the authority in his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
You nodded quickly, eager to please.
"Yes, Father."
The devotion continued, yet for the first time, the sacred words that had always brought you solace felt distant and unreachable.
Your gaze dropped to the delicate cross around your neck—a symbol of faith that suddenly felt like a reminder of your transgressions.
Then thoughts of Ellie flooded your mind once more, and you grappled with the inexplicable guilt that wrapped around your heart.
How could something so joyful come with such a heavy price?
When the final prayer came to an end and everyone stood from the table, it felt as if a weight had been lifted, even if only slightly.
Your father rose first, a man of authority with his eyes set on duty.
"Finish the laundry before you do your nightly prayers," he instructed, withdrawing into silence.
You nodded, the resolve clenching tightly in your chest.
"Yes, Father."
He walked away, his presence leaving an echo of disappointment behind.
Your mother lingered for a moment beside you, a silent understanding passing between you.
For a fleeting moment, she looked as if she might offer words of comfort, but instead, she simply squeezed your shoulder gently.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," she said softly, her love shining through the fog of discontent.
"Goodnight, Mama," you whispered, watching as she vanished upstairs.
Left alone at the table, you found your eyes drawn to the family Bible, the pages now filled with unsaid words and heavy burdens.
You reached up to touch the small cross around your neck, a small comfort amidst the turmoil.
Outside, the soft whinny of a horse echoed in the still evening air, a small reminder of freedom that stirred a smile from deep within you.
But your father's words came flooding back, washing away the warmth of your fleeting happiness.
You stood slowly, walking toward the laundry room, the weight of your father’s authority heavy on your shoulders.
As you began folding the clothes, your thoughts drifted back to Ellie, and an unsettling realization took root within you.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that Ellie was a distraction.
Maybe the real problem lay in the fact that you didn’t want to be distracted from her at all.
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