#outer range fic

you've been staring too long. you stand up, straightening your shirt as you walked through the glass doors, and out into the small waiting area. he stands immediately, pulling his hat off. 

"abbott," you say, "what brings you in?"

he looks almost conflicted for a moment, like maybe he's rethinking his decision to walk in here. you can hardly say you blame him. your families have been feuding for years, long before either of you'd been born. 

"i, uh," he starts, then clears his throat. "i'd like to commission something... if you have time."

now that, surprises you even more. you'd known rhett socially in high school. he'd been friends with some of your friends, and their boyfriends. it was inevitable that you'd cross paths, well, that and you'd lived next door to his family your whole life. you'd been the weird tillerson girl; the quiet one covered in paint, sketchbook like an extension of you, barely rooted in reality. even two of your older brothers had made comments about you making your other brother, billy, look normal. you didn't care about ranching, the politics of it, or the money. you especially didn't care about the money. 

after high school, you'd took off to new york to study art. but, four years later, you returned to wabang. you'd felt like you'd left half of yourself behind when you left, and that had nothing to do with the ranch, or, selfishly, your family. you'd just missed wyoming. wabang was your home. so, begrudgingly, with your trust fund, you'd purchased a building in town, and turned it into an art studio, a non-profit that helped bring art back to your hometown. you'd helped fund the severely lacking art department at your former high school, and helped build a warm, caring community for the next generation of artists. 

you'd crossed paths with rhett and the other abbott's upon your return, but it was different. while before, most people respected you solely for your last name, tillerson's weren't to be fucked with, much less you, the whimsical, soft spot of your down-right scary older brothers. but now? you weren't just the weird tillerson girl. you were an active, loved, member of the community. you stood on your own two legs, not propped up by your family's legacy. you were consciously carving your own path forward. 

the abbott's had always been kind to you, especially cecilia, and later, amy. who frequented your art classes, a trail of questions about shading, technique and many other things falling from her, that you'd answer patiently, and warmly. rhett you'd seen around; nights at the bar, or bull riding. but, this might be the first time he'd looked you in the eyes and actually spoke to you since high school. 

"i've got time," you reply, tilting your head. "why don't you follow me,"

you turn, walking back into the main office. you quickly gather your paperwork up into a stack, and tuck it away. you bend sideways, pulling your portfolio out from one of the desk drawers as rhett settled, uncomfortably in the chair in front of your desk. 

"i don't often get commissions anymore unless they're huge ass murals for the town," you admit, setting the binder down. "what were you thinking?"

"it's my parents wedding anniversary in a couple of months," he says, eyes trained on your hands, which are folded on top of the binder in front of you. "my mom, she, uh,"

his blue eyes flick up to meet yours. 

"y'know those live painting's that they do now adays?"

you nod, "sure, i've done a few of them over the years,"

"i overheard her talking to rebecca, and she'd really wished she'd known that was a thing when she and my dad got married. so i was wondering, if i got the video of their wedding, if you might be able to recreate their first dance or something,"

your eyes light up, "yes. oh i'd love to do it."

he chuckles at your enthusiasm, lips quirking up, "my only concern,"

you know where this is going, "cost?"

he nods, "what's the damage gonna be?"

you take a deep breath and sit back, "that kind of depends on three things. medium; acrylic, oil or water colour. detail. and what exactly you're looking for. i can do mock up's, uh, sketches to give you an idea of what it could look like, but it'll be vague because you won't be able to see how the paint looks."

"sure," he's chewing on his bottom lip as he mulls over what you've said.

rhett is way out of his depth here, you know that, and so does he. so you lean forward, and flip open the binder.

"i can show you some finished examples. again, it'll give you an idea of what it could look like." he nods again, focusing in on your hands ghosting over the plastic lined pages.

you flip to an acrylic painting you'd done years ago, it was actually of rhett. something in your chest flared, embarrassment maybe? at the time, you hadn't realized it was him. you'd been sitting in the stands snapping pictures, and sketching what you saw. you'd gotten home that night, and stayed up until dawn. billy had come into your room to fetch you for breakfast when his eyes landed on the finished painting sitting on your easel. he'd tilted his head to the side, "why'd you paint rhett abbott?" he'd asked.

your eyes had flashed to the cowboy's back, scrunching your face up. "it's not... what?" billy had stepped up to the drying canvas, and pointed to the dark blue shirt, and then to the number. "abbott was the only one wearing blue last night," he'd said it so matter-of-factly that it left your face burning. of course billy of all people would notice that rhett was the only bull rider in blue that night. billy hadn't teased you, he'd just mutter "breakfast" and left, a melody following him as he swept out of your room.

your face is hot, as you flick past the page, settling on a different page. dear god, did he notice that? did he recognize himself? it was a long time ago. hopefully he hadn't. okay, maybe you'd noticed rhett a bit more than you were letting on, but you'd been warned about the abbott's your whole life. so, your pull towards rhett had been shoved down, ignored. you'd broken all kinds of family rules, shattered expectations, but getting close to the abbott's wouldn't break a rule, it would be setting your life on fire, and probably mean losing your brother's in the process. there'd be no coming back from that betrayal.

anyway, who's to say that rhett even saw you. you were strictly off limits in his family too. royal was polite to you when he'd occasionally pick amy up from class, but you could see the distain in his eyes clear as day. it was the same way he looked at your brothers, and father. you can't force your eyes up to see, you just tap the page, and turn the binder so he can see it better. it's your eldest brother luke, sitting on his favourite horse, staring out over one of your family's pastures.

"this would be an example of what water colour might look like," you say, wanting to disappear into the floor.

"wow," he mutters, leaning forward to get a better look. "you painted that?"

your chest tightens, "uh, yeah... it was for luke's graduation."

you lift a chunk of pages up, and flip it over, stopping on a family portrait you'd done of your family last year. your mother had been dropping hints about wanting one of all six of you to hang up over the fireplace for months, so, you'd forced your brothers into posing for reference shots, and then for her birthday you'd given it to her.

"this is from last year. i used oil paints. heavier canvas, and longer drying times."

you're barely getting through this consultation, and you're praying that your assistant, ivy would hurry her ass up. at least you'd have a buffer. you can feel his eyes on you again, and you flip to another print, the last one.

"this," you say, trying really hard to keep the nerves from leaking into your voice. "would be acrylic."

his eyes trail back down to the binder, and the silence that stretches has your heart in your throat. you'd just flipped. you didn't look. your eyes snap to the page, and your heart slams into your ribcage. good god. it's a piece you'd completely forgotten about all together. it's... well, you and rhett, and few other friends. an example portrait you showed in your intermediate classes, a group photo. it had been the best photo of yourself you'd ever seen. you were tucked into rhett's side, free arm tossed casually over your shoulder as he tried to make room for everyone.

it wasn't how you normally saw yourself in the slightest; you were smiling big, radiant beside him. if anything, it was how you wished to be seen. your reference photo for this one had been from yours and rhett's senior year. and if you remember correctly, rhett had taken it. a throw away group photo you hadn't thought about in years.

it was early june, you were at a field party your friends had dragged you along to and you'd stood on the outskirts taking pictures for the yearbook, trying to keep it pg. when rhett had snuck up behind you, stolen the camera from your hands and had called over your friends to get in. "you're always takin' pictures tillerson, you should be in some," he'd winked at you. winked. it had caught you so off guard that you'd laughed, and he'd managed to capture that moment. you still had the original photo stuck to your fridge, a small memento of simpler times.

"i remember this," rhett says, finger siding over his face, and then yours. "you were takin' pictures for the yearbook."

you swallow hard, trying and failing to calm yourself again. embarrassed seems to be the theme for today.

"yeah," you mumble, face burning. "uh, anyway,"

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, and then snap the book closed. need to fuckin' strip your portfolio of everything. you'd never been this embarrassed in your life. you'd shown these pieces to everyone who'd ever been interested in your art, and had never. never. felt this way about it. you finally lift your eyes up, and he's already looking at you. you're trying so damn hard to be professional, but you know the minute he leaves you're going to start throwing things.

"what were you thinking? do you have a preference?" you ask, voice small as you tear your eyes away from his, busying yourself with tucking your portfolio back into the drawer.

"i think i liked the oil paint, but you said that was more time consumin' so i'm guessin' that means more expensive?"

you nod, scrunching your face. then you hear a loud crash from the back of the studio, and you're on your feet, all but running, rhett hot on your heels. ivy's standing by the back door... well at least there used to be a door there. now, it's laying flat on the floor just a few inches from the doorway. ivy's got her arms hooked through bag handles, and a cardboard tray of iced coffees in her free hand. 

"shit! sorry," ivy says, staring at you wide eyed. "i just, i tried to open the fuckin' door and it came off it's hinges. 

you sigh, "it's fine. are you okay?"

she nods, "scared the shit outta me, but yeah, all good... uh, who's your shadow?"

she tips her chin forward, gesturing to rhett, who you're now hyperaware is directly behind you. he slips past you, hand brushing your lower back as he goes. you step forwards easing some of the bags out of ivy's grip. setting them down on the counter by the doorway. she flashes you a look that says he's hot. and you just shake your head sending her a pointed, not now look. rhett bends down, in the doorway, and then scoffs. 

"the wood around the frame looks like it's rottin', it's gonna have to be replaced." rhett straightens, picking the door up off the floor and setting it back into place. "it can stay like that, but you're gonna have to use the front door 'til it's fixed."

you groan, rubbing your temples, this is the last thing you need right now. you've got a gallery coming up, and then the town gala afterwards. you've really got no time to be chasing down a handyman or contractor, or whoever you're going to need to come in to fix this until later. and having a back door that falls in when you try and open it, means you're more likely to get broken into. not that the studio has much money floating around, but your art supplies are pretty pricey. especially when you live two hours from the closest art supply store. 

"great," you laugh humorlessly, "just fuckin' great." 

"i can, uh, fix it. for you?" rhett offers awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

your head snaps over to look at him, "seriously?"

"yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"you do this, i'll wave the cost of your commission." 

his eyes widen, "really? wait— no. i couldn't—"

"rhett, i need this back door fixed, and i really don't have any time to call around and find someone. you'd really be helping me out."

"ok, uh, just, this is gonna take a couple hours, i don't think that's really fair."

"we have other things that are falling apart if you're that worried about fair," ivy cuts in, and you cast a sideways glance at her. "what?"

you mull it over. ivy's not exactly wrong. there's plenty of stuff that needs fixing, tables falling apart, cabinet doors that have long since fallen off. your concern is having rhett this close, for an extended period of time. you can already hear the small town gossip, and the heated arguments at your family dinner table over it. the back door needs fixed. rhett can't afford your services. win-win. sort of. you sigh, against your better judgement you nod. 

"she's right, we can trade. i'll give you a list of shit that needs fixin' and i'll do the painting's."

rhet smirks at you, "i think that'll work,"

you stick your hand out towards him, and he shakes it. 

"you got somethin' to put in front of this in the mean time? somethin' big." rhett asks, and you turn, eyes scanning the room. 

you settle on a paint cabinet, you gesture to it, and he nods. he follows you over, and while ivy scoots out of the way, the pair of you slowly shift it over to be in front of the doorway. once it's secured, you hear your eldest brother luke's voice echo from the front of the studio. damn it. damn it all to hell. what is my fuckin' luck today? you glance at rhett who's smile has disappeared, and you shuffle out to the front, ivy and rhett trailing behind you. he's standing in the hallway between the office and the waiting area. 

"luke," you say, trying to gauge his mood based on his posture. 

what ever mood he was in is instantly soured when his eyes land on rhett.

"what's he doin' here?" his voice is laced with venom, as he glares you down. 

"he's a customer," you snap back, meeting his energy. "he was placin' an order when the back door nearly took ivy out,"

luke relaxes ever so slightly, eyes landing on ivy, "you okay, sweetheart?"

she nods, "yeah. fine."

"what are you doin' here anyway?" you ask, annoyance dripping from your voice as you cross your arms over your chest.

"came to pick my girls up for lunch," he says, and you check your watch. 

it's noon alright. you'd entirely forgotten you'd agreed to going to lunch with ivy and luke. you really don't feel like going now. not when you'd already been dreading family dinner tonight, much less the third-degree you were likely going to get over lunch. you're not hungry now. 

"luke, i have to finish this consult, and honestly i'm not very hungry. you and ivy go ahead," 

he sighs at you, but ivy ducks back behind rhett and then reappears with her purse. she hooks her arm through luke's, sensing the hostility. ivy's always been good at reading your brother, you think that's part of the reason they work so well. she shoots you and rhett an apologetic smile, and mouths "i'll bring you back some fries," with a wink before tugging luke out of the studio to his truck.

you relax, arms dropping to your sides, "fuckin' hell, today's been goddamn interesting."

you sigh, and turn to head back into your office, jumping slightly because you'd managed to forget that rhett was standing right behind you. 

"jesus, sorry." you laugh, "i forgot you were here,"

"i can see that," he chuckles, as you side step him to go back into the office. 

"so, uh, if you can get me the video before the end of the week, i think i can get you some sketches by mid next week and we can finalize everything before i start. how's that sound?" you ask, sliding back into your seat to grab your planner to start marking your timeline in. 

"sounds good. when do you want me to start on the door frame?" he asks, sliding back into the seat across from you, picking his hat back up and setting on his lap.

"uh, i guess that depends on when you're free. i know you're busy with the ranch and, training?" you mumble, glancing up at him. 

"yeah, usually have a clear schedule around 7-8ish?" he says, his gaze set firmly on you.

"okay, well, i live upstairs, so, whenever you're free you can slide by."

his eyebrows pull together, "you don't live on the ranch anymore?"

you inhale sharply, shaking your head, "uh. no. i moved out six months ago. couldn't handle everything going on with dad, and trevor and luke. besides, i really liked living by myself after i left new york. craved the freedom of being able to walk around no matter the hour without anyone breathing down my neck."

he chuckles at that, "that i get."

he shifts in his seat, and you nod. 

"so, i guess that's everything. unless you have any questions for me?" 

he shakes his head, then pauses, "can i see your portfolio again?"

your blood runs ice cold, as you nod. it feels nervous, it probably looks awkward from the outside as you slip the binder back out from it's spot, passing it over the table. at this point, you doubt you could get any more embarrassed. duking it out with luke wiped out the last of your energy. you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye as he flips through the pages. your heart's in your throat when you see see the page he stops on. oh fuckin' christ. he knows. he smirks to himself, and then hands you the book back, and your heart slams into your ribcage. 

his fingers brush yours as you take it back, and snap it closed. then he stands, placing his hat back on his head. he steps around the chair, resting his hands on the back at he looks down at you--towers over you. 

"your number still the same as in high school, or did you change it?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he looks at you. 

you're certain he knows your flustered, you can feel the heat creeping back up your neck as you shake your head. "nope, still the same."

"great, i'll text you when i'm on my way over," he winks at you, fucking winks, before heading out of the studio. 

you wait until the door clicks closed, and drop your head down on top of the desk, smacking your forehead against the glass. you want to scream. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running. It could be hours or days and you’d be none the wiser; your feet move without thought, aching and blistered and bleeding on the soles. Fallen branches and thorned bushes have battered you from head to toe, scratching you up all over. For the duration of your frantic expedition, your vision continually fades in and out, speckled black around the edges — a growing vignette. Blood has crusted over against your skin in a long trail of burgundy that streaks down to your ankles like the swift swipe of a paintbrush. 

Eventually — after all that running — you break through the dense treeline to discover lights scattered across the distant horizon. A sigh of relief escapes you. Finally, civilization. Help. Someone that can save you. Someone to free you from this aching pain in your body, the cold creeping in that feels too much like death. 

You’re so distracted by the sight of those distant lights that you don’t notice the thick tree roots sticking out of the ground. They snag your foot, and your hands shoot out to catch yourself to no avail; with a startled cry, your forehead knocks against a flat stone wedged in the grass. You promptly lose consciousness, landing face-first in the tall grass. 

. . .

Something tickles the back of your neck. Heavy, warm breaths dampen the skin. Memories flash behind your eyes — hands snatching you up in the dark, a snarl, teeth sinking into your neck, hot breath, and a wet mouth. 

You roll away fast, tumbling through the grass. When you open your eyes, you wince — the sun shines far too brightly, burning your retinas as you try in vain to adjust to the light. Your hand hovers over your eyes to shield you, then, as you take account of your surroundings. 

Behind you, there’s the treeline you came running from. Ahead, there’s a field of yellow grass as far as the eye can see. Further away, you can make out the shape of sheds and a house — a farm, you presume, given that, when you glance to your right, you discover that the thing breathing on your neck was just a cow. It languidly munches on the grass, paying you no mind now that it has determined you’re not to be eaten.

You pull your hand away from your eyes, squinting in the blinding sunlight. There’s a bit of dried blood on your forehead; you prod at the ache, wincing from the tenderness. When you glance down, you see the stone in the grass and frown. That explains some things.

With weak legs, you push yourself onto your aching feet. There’s a dip in the field that indicates you’re on a hill. You start to walk again, feeling eerily like a newborn. Every other step has you stumbling and falling to your knees, muscles weary from exhaustion. The further you go, the more tired you become; eventually, your weak legs can’t carry you any further. You collapse in the grass again like a helpless, wounded animal. The combination of the heat and your aching muscles causes you to briefly drift into a nap. 

Only moments later, a voice rouses you awake. 

“Hey. What are you doing?” 

You jolt, the grass rustling as you slowly push yourself halfway up, struggling even to do that. Once you’re awake and staring up at the man before you — an older gentleman, bearded and sitting atop a horse — the man’s eyes go wide. 

There’s another, younger man beside him, also on a horse. His mouth drops open.

“Shit,” the younger man mutters.

For a second, you’re not sure why they give you such a strange look. Then you glance down and remember that you’re covered in your own blood — your previously white T-shirt is soaked and splattered all over with it, and your jeans are no better. 

Your hand shields your eyes from the sun as you look between the men, struggling to find your voice. Eventually, in a raspy, dehydrated voice, you settle on: “I could use a hand.”

Your head spins. You start to slump over in the grass again.

Startled, the men exchange a look. The older man seems more hesitant than the younger one, who doesn’t waste another minute. He hops down from his horse and jogs over to you with his hand out for you to take. You stare at it — not for a lack of gratitude, but because you’re afraid your legs won’t work when you try to stand.

“It’s okay,” the young man says, seeming to register your hesitation as distrust. “I don’t bite. Are you hurting?”

Slowly, you nod, swallowing what little spit you have in your mouth. “My legs, they’re… It’s hard to walk.”

With a nod of his own, the man holds his hands out before warning you of his every touch. “Okay, that’s alright. Gonna pick you up and we’ll get you on my horse, okay?”

You accept his help. As the cowboy scoops you up in his arms, your eyes land on the older man, who has now hopped off his horse to help you and the younger man. They have to put you back on your feet so you can mount the horse, holding you up and guiding your every step.

“Careful, now,” the older man says, kneeling down for you to use his knee as a step up to the horse. Rhett steadies you with a hand on the small of your back — he slides it up a split second later, as if trying to maintain a level of decency. After a bit of struggling, you successfully make it onto the horse, feeling somewhat awkward as the men stand beside the mare to talk, their voices coming quick and urgent.

“Listen, Rhett — take it easy on the ride back. Don’t jostle ‘em too much — that’s a whole lotta blood. I’ll go ahead and tell your mother and Perry. I don’t want Amy seein’ this,” the older man explains. It almost feels embarrassing to be talked about like this — as if you’re a sick dog that’s about to be taken out back and put out of its misery — but your exhaustion is stronger than any other emotion at the moment. 

The younger man — Rhett, apparently — nods in understanding. The men mount their horses; Rhett settles in behind you while the older man (his father, if you’ve gathered correctly) rides away. 

“Alright,” Rhett murmurs behind you, taking hold of the reins. Your senses feel off kilter, made obvious when his arms wind around your body. Every brush of skin and fabric feels uncomfortably sensitive; you can clearly smell the salt of his sweat, plus something animal-like — he must have a dog at home, you think. For some reason, it makes your mouth water. 

In any case, you’re thankful that Rhett can’t see your wrinkled nose as the sensations take over you. As if blistered feet and the overpowering sunlight aren’t bad enough, things just have to get worse. 

“You got a name?” Rhett finally asks after he gets his horse going; she neighs and trots down the same path that his father took.

With a touch of trepidation, you offer your name. At least you can remember that.

“Rhett Abbott,” he says, replying with his own. “You just hang on and we’ll set you right.” 

You don’t reply. You feel tired again, closing your eyes and nodding off while he rides away with you.

. . .

“You don’t think it’s strange?”

Rhett is in a trance, too busy staring at your sleeping form on the couch to hear his brother’s question. His mother, Cecilia, was in a fit when he and his father brought you in the day before; she had a bath ready for you, practically dragging you upstairs to clean up before little Amy could get nosy and see your harrowing appearance. It probably isn’t best for his ten-year-old niece to witness this kind of thing.

It took quite a while to get anything out of you after that: according to you, you don’t remember much from before you ended up in the Abbott’s field. Your memory is fuzzy and scattered at best. Even a visit to the local clinic couldn’t determine what happened to you besides a concussion from the fall you took; for now, the family has agreed to keep an eye on you while you (hopefully) regain your memories and motor skills, which are equally dismal. When you walk, you’re weak on your legs, as if you’re still learning how to use them. Even holding up a fork during breakfast this morning was difficult for you. It reminds Rhett of when Amy was two, and his brother was constantly having to make sure his daughter was gripping her plastic spoon correctly. 

You’re wearing fresh clothes now — a plaid button-up and a pair of old jeans, courtesy of Cecilia’s rummaging. You look strangely at peace now that you’re passed out on the Abbott’s couch; you’ve been laying there all morning. It’s nearly four in the afternoon now. You’ve only been woken once by Cecilia so she could get some food in you. For his part, Rhett can at least attest to the comfort of the couch — he’s crashed on it many nights after trips to the bar. It’s convenient when he can’t manage the stairs. 

When Rhett finally turns to glance at Perry, barely having acknowledged his brother’s earlier question, Perry just raises his brows, gesturing to you and trying again.

“They’re still asleep. Thought they’d have woken up by now,” Perry mutters, keeping his voice low just in case you hear their conversation.

“They’re just tired,” Rhett shrugs, sipping a beer and letting his eyes fall upon you again. Your cheek is smushed against the couch cushion, and your arm dangles over the side. The dog keeps coming up to sniff and lick your hand, but you still haven’t moved. It’s admittedly a little concerning in Rhett’s head; you sleep like the dead.

The older brother runs a hand down his face, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I heard ‘em up and walking around all last night. Floorboards creakin’. It scared Amy.”

“Like hell it did,” Rhett snorts, narrowing his eyes. “Amy’s not scared of anything, you fuckin’ liar. You’re the one who’s actin’ all jumpy.” 

Perry looks sheepish, but quickly turns the conversation back to you. “It’s not just me. Mom and dad are uneasy, too. We’ve got no clue where they came from, who they are, what they were up to — you’re blind if you don’t see there’s somethin’ up with that kid.”

“They were in the woods, Perry,” Rhett huffs, quick to defend you. “Blood all over ‘em. If they don’t remember what happened, it’s for a good reason. Who knows what kind of fucked up shit they’ve been through?” 

“Or they’re lying.” Perry’s suggestion drops between them like a ticking time bomb. “Don’t tell me you haven’t considered that possibility.”

Across the table, Rhett’s jaw clenches. He’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind — there’s certainly something off with you that he just can’t place. There’s a strange smell in the air that he’s sure his brother and father have caught a whiff of, too. 

Even so, Rhett doesn’t believe that you’d lie — especially not for nefarious purposes. Whatever the case may be, he’s taking your side until it bites him in the ass. 

. . .

Despite your strange crash-landing to the Abbott Ranch, you’ve been a gracious guest.

You’ve taken up a bed on the couch. You fold the blankets up nice and neat every morning (or afternoon, more like, since you tend to sleep in late). You help Cecilia in the kitchen and do the dishes after. You’re clean and polite, albeit a bit quiet, but you’ve become a welcoming figure in the week since the family took you in. The Abbott’s are afraid to leave you alone with Amy — she’s too young to be left at the house with a stranger — but you’re very accommodating to her childish whims, playing with her and keeping her secrets. Rhett keeps an eye on you; he thinks it’s sweet that you get along with his niece so well. 

Cecilia thinks you’re much like her husband, Royal; she tells you the story of how he, too, miraculously wound up on her family’s farm without any memory of his previous life. Royal seems a bit uncomfortable to hear the story retold to you, but it fascinates you. You figure that must be why they’re so accommodating. Even with Royal’s apparent discomfort towards your presence, he doesn’t see you as a threat — at least, you hope not — and he’s been alright with your staying so long as you clean up after yourself and don’t cause any trouble.

After dinner one night, you sit outside on the porch steps. The Abbott family — aside from Rhett, who missed dinner — are heading to bed by now, but you’re still in the habit of staying up late and sleeping past noon. You twiddle your thumbs, nursing a beer between your palms. Your gaze wanders to the sky, mapping every star under the dark sheet of night. 

Admittedly, your own circumstances have been weighing on you greatly; you keep having terrible nightmares that leave you in a cold sweat. They feel disturbingly real, like memories of something you’ve forgotten or have chosen to hide away. Every time you try to grasp ahold of the memories from before, you’re left with a splitting headache and a pit in your stomach.

The more the days wear on, the more you wonder if you’re overstaying your welcome. You’re terribly afraid to take advantage of the Abbott’s kindness; despite Cecilia’s story about her own husband’s strange beginning, you don’t want to become a deadweight in their lives. On top of everything, you’re starting to feel sick with a hunger you can’t keep down, no matter how much you eat.

A pair of faded yellow-white headlights swing past your vision. When your gaze drops from the midnight sky, you find Rhett pulling up in his truck. He parks crookedly out front before killing the engine; the man stumbles out of the driver’s seat, clearly inebriated. You don’t say anything, watching him walk an uneven path towards the porch.

He pauses abruptly a few feet away from you. “Oh,” he mutters, eyes widening. He must not have seen you hunched on the steps.

You lift your half-empty beer in greeting. “Hey.” A beat of silence passes before you gesture vaguely behind you. “We fixed a plate for you.”

Rhett watches you, nodding slowly. “Right. Thanks.” He lingers in front of you for a moment, swaying on his feet. He looks like he’s trying to muster up the courage to get any closer to you. “Mind if I…?”

When Rhett gestures to the spot beside you, you nod, brows furrowed. It’s his home, after all. He shouldn’t feel like he has to invite himself, but you don’t verbally question his actions. 

The cowboy steps closer before heavily dropping down beside you. His shoulder bumps against yours; the touch startles you, mostly because you weren’t expecting him to actually sit so close. It’s not unwelcome, though, so you don’t think to comment on it. 

Rhett doesn’t say anything for a while. You sip your beer in anxious silence, trying to ignore the nauseating scent of alcohol clinging to his clothing. Strangely enough, your stomach burns with hunger when you smell his sweat, too, and the taste of salt on the air. This hunger is starting to distress you more by the hour. 

“I’ve been trying to figure you out,” Rhett eventually says. His voice makes you jump.

You turn your head, staring at him dumbly. “Huh?” 

He shrugs, slowly leaning back on his elbows. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it. You’re just a bit of an oddball. No offense.” He cracks a small smile and angles himself to look up at the stars, as you were moments ago. Before you can question his train of thought, Rhett starts up again.

“You remind me of Rebecca.” To save you from inquiring about the name, Rhett explains: “Perry’s wife. Former wife. Amy’s mom. She went missing ‘bout a year ago, now. Good woman.”

Rhett drags a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble clinging to this jawline. 

“The wound is still pretty fresh for ‘em all. They’d never admit it, not one of ‘em, but I think they’re all still hoping she’ll just wander through the door one of these days. Just like you. Just like my dad.”

You stare at Rhett for a long while, searching his expression. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.

“What about you? Were you close with her?” You wonder. 

Rhett’s jaw tightens. He licks his lips, staring pointedly at the twinkling stars. “Sort of, yeah. We were friends. She didn’t think I was an idiot like everybody else does, so that was nice.” He swallows, then straightens up, rubbing his hands on his legs, then his exposed arms. “Fuckin’ cold out. You need a blanket?” He clearly doesn’t want to linger on the subject of his sister-in-law any longer.

You shake your head. You hadn’t even realized it was cold out.

Rhett hums, glancing your way. He meets your eyes, and for a second, this whole moment feels far too intimate. His gaze unabashedly lingers on your face before he suddenly reaches up, brushing his thumb over your cheek. 

“Where the hell’d you come from?” His question comes out as a low, reverent murmur. “It’s like you just fell outta the sky.”

You blink, baffled by his strange behavior and touchiness. Then, as quickly as it occurred, Rhett clears his throat and stands, towering over you on the porch steps.

“Full moon soon,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. He gestures vaguely to the house. “Headin’ in yet?”

You stare up at him, still trying to make sense of it all. “No,” you mutter confusedly. “Staying out.”

The man nods, and his cowboy boots thud against the creaky steps. “Don’t be out too late,” he warns, not looking over his shoulder as he reaches the door. “Gets the whole house jumpy when you’re walkin’ ‘round at night.”

The front door shuts behind him. The silence blankets around you like a heavy sheet of snow. 

Unable to sit still after that odd conversation, you abandon your beer bottle to wander around the ranch. It’s all you can do to ease your mind; even then, you know you’ll be up for hours, as you always are, burning new tracks into the grass with every step you take.

Somewhere amidst all your aimless wandering and pondering over your place amongst the Abbott family, you hear twigs snapping. A rustle of grass. Feet skittering across dirt.

For whatever reason, your hunger makes itself known once more. This time, though, there’s no resisting the way your mouth waters. At dinner earlier, you ate more than your fill — enough to make your stomach feel tight, enough that Perry joked that you must be going through a growth spurt like Amy — but the empty ache in your stomach is still there. 

This is a different sort of appetite. Even in that blank space of your life before you stumbled upon the Abbott Ranch, you’re absolutely certain you’ve never been so hungry in your life. 

Something rustles again. Despite your better judgement, you venture further into the darkness, your own (borrowed) boots crunching over dirt and dry grass. You smell something delicious the further you walk — there’s a drumming in the distance, too, like a kickdrum beating into a taut rhythm. Your curiosity gets the better of you. You walk and walk and walk, following your scattered senses until suddenly you’re dropping onto your hands and knees, crawling through the grass like a cat on the prowl. 

You don’t even think about whatever the fuck is happening to you right now — your body has a mind of its own, following a primal sense that you’ve never before given into. Every smell, every touch, every sound is more than it’s ever been. It’s like someone reached inside you, turned a dial, and notched your senses up to ten.

Suddenly, you freeze. You crouch down as low as you can go. Your pupils are blown wide in the dark, taking in your surroundings. The grass sways to your left; you wait and watch. You’re salivating, so much so that it dribbles down your chin and sways with every breath you take.

Another movement, closer now. The kickdrum beats faster, faster, faster—

You pounce. 

Something wriggles between your hands, scratching and shrieking. Little claws drag lines into your palm, leaving a vaguely painful sting. You don’t acknowledge it; you barely feel the injury. Instead, you focus on how your teeth tear into something soft and juicy, so tender it falls apart in your hands; a warm, tangy flavor fills your mouth, and you unintentionally moan. Finally, finally, the starvation that has left you weak and weary for the past week is being satisfied. You indulge until there’s nothing left to take, and even then, you start licking the sweet nectar that spilled down from your hands and to your elbows. An animalistic greed overwhelms you, urging you to devour every last drop. 

Once you’ve finally gotten a grip on your senses, you slump down in the grass, heaving in every breath. You didn’t realize you had devoured whatever-that-was so hungrily that you didn’t stop for oxygen even once. With a sigh, you roll onto your side, regaining control.

Your heart stops.

The small, barely recognizable body of a mouse is wholly deformed beside you. You back away in horror, gasping when you see the little bits of fur and bone ravaged in the grass. When you lick your teeth, you find a small chunk of flesh. It doesn’t take an idiot to realize what you’ve just done. You turn away from the rodent’s mutilated body, hunching over in the grass, trying not to vomit. You touch your fingers to your lips, disturbed to find that your canines feel unnaturally long and pointed. The smell of the mouse is still lodged in your nostrils, the taste of it still sliding around on your tongue.

And worst of all: you’re still starving.

fancy some more?

"You doin' alright?" he asked, softer in his curiosity while raising one hand to rest on the behind his head while you continued to rock diligently against his bulge. The wet patch on his jeans could have been from either of you, or perhaps both. It didn't matter anymore. He let you decide the pace, allowing the frantic grinding motion that was somehow still too slow and light. It was teasing. A taste. But the sight of your panties blooming with a slick wetness was enough to satisfy. "Hey," he tapped your hip when there was no reply except the squeezing grip on his abdomen where your hands were splayed. "C'mon, you alright?" He grasped your jaw with one hand, forcing you to lift your head. He was no doubt ensuring there was no regret with the shy demeanour that anyone would have noticed from the moment he had set his eyes on you. His fingers dug in just a little hard, almost mean. He stares at your face for a moment, his other hand gently caressing one of your thighs before creeping under the waistband of your thong. "Hmmm.... Yeah," you nodded slightly, leaning into his touch with eyebrows furrowed tightly and your lips part just a little while breaths left in short pants. "Fuckin' knees are aching."

A soft pat to your hip has you pressing down eagerly. It felt a little condescending, that connection of his hand upon your skin to get you moving quicker. "Yeah?" he chuckled, keeping your face close enough that the soft breath was a shared expression. "That's part of the charm. C'mon," he coaxed, voice gaining a slight raspy tilt while his fingers pressed firmly into your hip while his pelvis pressed up against you, seeking out friction. There it was. The thick length of him kept behind a barrier of denim, the shape of it obvious and enough to force an excited thrum throughout your body. You wanted more of it. You wanted to feel every twitching inch until you were full. "That's it. Atta girl, keep going."

Your hands were still pressed firmly against his abdomen, feeling it tense underneath. Every shift was a signal of just how much he was enjoying it. The thick bulge beneath denim straining against your panties and creating the perfect bump to grind against. The crease on his jeans had a delicious rough texture. The slight ridge of his zipper and fly had become a jolting presence. A warm flush curled up in your chest and started to rise to your cheeks, the tightening in your belly that felt like a thousand stars were forming a tornado of bliss. "Rhett," your nails firmly press into his skin, drawing welts as you try to stay upright. The pressure was too delicious, the grinding motion almost slowed down completely for a split moment when it all became too much. Every breath was a short gasp, hips rocking in short, and slow frantic motions as if to take in the exact feeling of denim beneath. It was almost painful, an overbearing feeling that made you jolt while chasing the growing warmth. It was tipping.

"There we go, that's it," Rhett kept one hand on your hip, a gentle guidance and chuckled at the way your mouth was half-parted with short breathes. "Good girl." He squeezed your jaw lightly, reminding you that he was holding you up with that simple pressure.

Shit. Of course he said that. "Fuck," You tumbled down the rippling sensation that was thrown over your body; the tingling feeling of heat that crawled up your neck until your head was wrapped in a numb state, clit throbbing, hips cantering in a last ditch effort to prolong the euphoria. Your eyes squeezed closed, trying to control your breathing while focusing on it all, as if to grasp it forever for those lonely nights back home.

"Good girl," he repeated, chucking when your hips jolted at the easy praise. The words sounded so sweet, so encouraging. A sharp sting landed on the curve of your ass, a blooming warmth erupting. You gasp sharply at the pull back into reality. "Asshole," You huffed, shifting slightly and sitting up straighter. There was no doubt that his hat was tilted a little too far forward on your head; a ridiculous sight, you were sure, but from the look on his face it seemed a delightful one. "You know what that does to me."

Christmas Eve, 20 years ago

Snow compacted under your winter boots as you stomped away from your screaming parents. It was Christmas Eve, and they were having another fight, maybe it was about money, maybe it was about the move, whatever it was you didn’t care enough to stick around to find out. You didn’t know why your dad suddenly packed the family up just to move to the middle of bumfuck nowhere five months ago, but here you were, wandering the small boring town of Wabang, Wyoming while snow silently fell all around you. That was one good thing about this place, it was always silent, it gave ways to daydream the stories that you were sure you were going to write someday. Silence was all you needed to write, and this town gave you enough…

“Leave me alone.”

Maybe not silent enough.

The voice a young boy screeched for solitary, and before you knew it, your feet were carrying you towards the sound. The closer you got, the more you could see. The old run-down house and that faded for sale sign with a huge oak tree looming behind it, with three boys that were familiar from school. Trevor and Luke Tillerson stood across from Rhett Abbott who even though he was outnumbered, still stood his ground and refused to show weakness. Despite being new to town, you still knew about the Abbott and Tillerson rivalry. It was one of those things that the whole town knew and decided to ignore. This time though, you couldn’t ignore it, not when the older Tillerson put his hands on Rhett’s shoulders and shoved him into the tree. He grunted when his back and head slammed into the bark, and the Stetson he had perched on his brown locks fell to the snow-covered roots. It was then that you decided to make yourself known to the group with all the courage you could muster, you called out, “hey, he told you to leave him alone.”

All three boys turned to look at you as you walked closer to the conflict that you just interrupted. Trevor and Luke took a few steps towards you before one of them chuckled, “look at that, Abbott here needs the new girl to stand up for him.”

“No, what he needs is for you two to leave, so do it.” You crossed your arms over your chest to look and sound both older and braver than you actually were. Both brothers had a few inches on you, and they spent their time on a farm, so you knew they were stronger than you were.

“This doesn’t concern you, so you should run on back to your big city life and learn to mind your own business.” Trevor sneered as Luke stepped in front of him but still a few feet away from you.

At this point you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You had already inserted yourself into their argument, and you couldn’t back away now, not without making it worse for Rhett. You glanced at Rhett who had sat in the snow with his hand pressed to the back of his skull, trying to put pressure on the bump that was no doubt forming there. “You can leave him alone, or I can tell everyone in town why mommy left daddy.” You didn’t know the reason for them splitting up, no one did, but it was another unspoken rule of town, whatever you do, don’t bring up the divorce.

The look on their faces told you why that rule was in place, Trevor’s jaw clenched and anger roared to life behind his eyes. Luke on the other hand was a bit more volatile; he rushed towards you, hurling expletives that you only heard from angry adults. The first thought that came to you was to swing, and before a second thought could pass, you did it. With a balled fist, your knuckles hit him square in nose. You heard a crack and with the pain blooming in your hand you thought it might be a finger until you see blood streaming from his nose. Luke tried to swing back but you rushed past to make your way towards Rhett and Trevor held him back to examine the damage done to his brother’s face. “You broke it, you broke my brother’s nose, we’re going to tell the sheriff.”

“Yeah, tell her, tell everyone how your brother got his ass kicked by a girl.” You knew your dad would ground for swearing but it didn’t matter much. You threw a look back before they started walking off mumbling about some lie to tell their dad to save Luke from the embarrassment of you being the one to cause that much damage. After a few more steps, you stood in front of a wide-eyed Rhett. Picking up his hat and brushing the snow off the brim, you hold a hand out and ask, “you okay?”

Rhett took your hand and pulled himself to eye level, his blue one staring at you before blurting out, “marry me?”

“Woah,” you laugh out a little confused by his sudden marriage proposal, “my mom and dad say only grownups can get married so maybe ask me in twenty years.”

“‘M sorry, musta hit my head a little too hard, don’t know why I asked that.” He mumbled softly.

Shaking your head, you hand him back his Stetson, “Nah, it’s okay, my mom was a nurse before we moved out here, and she says hurt heads are no joke. Maybe she can take a look.” You were sure that your parents’ fight would be over by now, and that each parent would be tucked away in their own corner of the house. Even if it wasn’t, a sure-fire way to end it was to show mom a kid in distress. She would always stop what she was doing to help a child who needed it.

“Okay, lead the way, new girl.” Rhett laughed, and that was it, that was the start of the greatest friendship anyone could have ever asked for.

Christmas Eve, 10 years ago

It had been ten years since you met Rhett, and you meant that exactly. 3650 to the day. Christmas Eve again, more snow covering the ground and here you were, shivering under the oak tree. Same house, just even more run down than it had been 10 years ago. That same for sale sign aged from the weather, the realtor in charge never cared much for the place, so it was never seen as a prospective buy for anyone. But it meant something to you, it was where you spent every important moment with Rhett after that first meeting. Birthdays and holidays always included hours of you and him sitting under the branches before you had to spend time with family. It was where you cried on his shoulder after a boy broke your heart, and it was where you would always meet up when you had important news to share, like today. When Rhett had gotten back to town after a family trip, he had called you immediately saying he had something super important to tell you, and you agreed to meet him here after mentioning you also had huge news.

“God, it’s freezin’ out here,” you heard Rhett speak from behind you and you turn to see him rubbing his gloved hands together trying to find a semblance of warmth, “I think we need to stop meeting out here when it’s freeze your ass off cold.”

“No can do, its tradition as the point.” You pull him into a hug that you didn’t want to let end. Despite his complaints of the cold, he still ran hot, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him through the layers of clothes.

Rhett laughed as he pulled away, eyes screwed shut in joy, and a smile that always caused heat to flood your cheeks. Every time you saw him like that, you were reminded of the simple fact that you loved Rhett. It was obvious to everyone, the same way that grass was obviously green and the sky was obviously blue. Obvious to everyone but him, to no fault of his own, it isn’t like you confessed your feelings to him. People always assumed you two were together, but Rhett was always the first to make it clear to everyone that he was just your best friend. It wasn’t a bad thing, being “just” his best friend was still important to you, you just couldn’t help the fantasies that would run rampant in your head when you thought about him. It was the only secret you kept from him, breaking the no secrets rule that the two of you made in your youth.

“So, you gonna tell me about your big news or should I go first,” Rhett’s voice pulled you from thoughts.

“Yeah, I almost forgot. Here, rock paper scissor to see who goes first.” You suggest. You both hold out your fist and bounce it three times before you throw out scissors and him paper. You can’t help but smile at him and pull out a sheet of folded up paper which you hand to him. “Okay, so you’re the first person to see this, not even my parents know.”

He slowly unfolded the sheet and read quietly, “congratulations, on your acceptance to…” he pauses before looking back at you, “you got in?!”

“I GOT IN!” You cheered and found yourself wrapping your arms around him again. It was always your dream to go to Columbia University to study creative writing and Rhett was always the first to encourage you and now you finally got to share the news with him, “I wanted to tell you immediately but you were gone and I didn’t want to do it over the phone so I waited to tell you first like I promised.”

Rhett knew this day would come, the day when you’d leave Wabang. In his world it was written in the stars, you’ve spent the last ten years studying, working to get the best grades and doing everything in your power to increase your chances of getting into your dream school, and Rhett would’ve done anything in his power to guarantee it no matter how much it would hurt him to see you leave. He lifted you effortlessly, your feet flailing as he spun you around, “Darlin’, I’m so proud of you, you’ve worked so hard for this,”

“Put me down, Rhett,” you laugh out and he complies. “Now it’s your turn, what’d you want to tell me?”

“Ya know that big rodeo down in Colorado? Pikes Peak or Bust,” he bites his lip before continuing, “They invited me down to compete.”

“RHETT, OH MY GOD. THAT’S AMAZING!” You cheer. You had seen Rhett compete in so many small-town rodeos, but to be invited to one that big was huge news. All the sweat, blood, and tears he had put into bull riding was finally coming to fruition. His hard work was finally paying off, and you couldn’t help the joy filled word vomit that came out. “You’ve been working and training for this since I’ve known you. Seriously, this is great, and you already know I’ll be there to cheer you on, I wouldn’t miss it for the world, doesn’t matter when it is, I’ll be there. God, I’m so proud of you and I love you…”

Before you can even comprehend your own confession, Rhett lips are on you. Your eyes flutter shut and warmth fills your body. You have never understood what people meant when they talked about fireworks until now. The way Rhett’s hand moved to cup you face sent sparks coursing though your veins and the way his mouth moves against yours makes it feel like the fourth of July, not Christmas Eve.

Rhett was the first to pull away. Both of you were breathing heavy, gray puffs with every exhale from the freezing temperatures and two more words leave your lip before you can stop yourself, “marry me?”

“Hold on there darlin’. Let me take you on a real date first.” Rhett chuckled and there it was. Another ten years miles stone, the move from a friendship to a relationship with Rhett.

Christmas Eve, Present day

Ten more years had passed since the first kiss you shared with Rhett, twenty since you first met him, and now here you were back in Wabang. You had promised Rhett that you would move back to the small town after college, it was home after all, no matter how much you hated it in those first few years. It was hard, being away from Rhett during the university years, only being about to see each other during summer or holiday breaks put a strain on the relationship, but you both always worked through it with promises to see each other again, and calendars counting down the days you could see him again. But then you moved back as soon as you graduated and focused on your writing career. You had started independently before getting picked up by a publisher in a neighboring city and launching your career into the stratosphere and Rhett had been with you through it and you with him. During every rodeo, you stood with his family, cheering him on till your vocal cords ached. You would patch him up after each fall and he’d kiss you like the first time after each win.

“Damn it, its sold!” Rhett’s shocked voice pulled you from your thoughts. In front of you was the house that you and Rhett shared all your most important moments, except this time, it wasn’t worn down. It looked how you imagined it did when it was first built. Standing tall and beautiful, bricks no longer cracked, shattered windows from rocks thrown were replaced, with a yard that was no longer over grown. You had known someone was fixing it up, it was the talk around town. A mystery to everyone about how the old broken-down home was finally being repaired. But that wasn’t the only difference, the for-sale sign was finally replaced with a new sold sign. That wasn’t talked about in town, it was so new that no one else, but the realtor and the buyer knew about it. It broke Rhett’s heart to see that sold sign. After your first anniversary together, he promised you that it would be the house the two of you grew old in. A promise he had repeated every time you were there.

“Rhett, what’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’, lets just head back…” he started before you cut him off with a glare, “I had somethin’ important for you an’ I wanted to do it here like we always do, but it’s been sold.”

You shrug, “we can still do to here.”

“Darlin’, it’s trespassin’.”

“Look around Rhett, there’s no cars or anything around, so no one has moved it yet, we won’t get in no trouble, besides, it’s still tradition.” You grab his hand and pull him to the oak tree behind the newly improved house.

You hadn’t been to the oak in a while, not since you had told Rhett that your newest book had sold over a million copies and would be going on your first book tour, and that was three years ago. Since then, nothing big happened to require you to meet here, but no matter how long it had been, it still felt like no real time had passed at all. You found the carving that Rhett did right before you left for college. “RHETT + Y/N 4EVER” It was cheesy and you loved it and ran your fingers over it in adoration. You turn to Rhett to see if he remembers carving it but he’s not at eye level. Instead, he is down on one knee, holding a small velvet box with a small diamond ring inside.

“Darlin’, Twenty years ago, when we was nothing more than a couple of kids who had no idea what the future could hold, I asked you to marry me and you told me to wait twenty years. So here I am, all that time later, askin’ you. I love you, more than I could ever explain. Ever since you punched Luke, I’ve known you were the one for me. It’s just a simple fact, like how the grass is green, or the sky is blue. It’s simple, I love you. So, darlin’. Will you marry me?”  

You nodded with tears welling in your eyes before speaking. “Yes, Rhett. A million times yes.”

He slowly took the ring out of the box and slid it on your left ring finger. As he stood from the kneeling position, he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you close to him. His smile was impossible wide, looking like he had just won a million dollars. Nothing could compare to the feeling he had now. No rodeo or bull riding championship could live up to this moment, the moment where his girl agreed to marry him. He reached a hand up to wipe a tear of joy that had fallen before he pressed his lips to yours. The fireworks you had felt during your first kiss felt like nothing more than sparklers during this kiss. It was pure, raw fiery passion. Words that you wanted to tell him died in the metaphorical flames that were so hot it could’ve melted the snow that had started falling from the sky.

“So,” Rhett mumbled against your lips before pulling away. “You think the new owners will let us keep our tradition?”

“I don’t think we need to worry to much about that.” You whispered to yourself so Rhett couldn’t hear you.

“Just wished she would’ve called me.” Rhett said which confused you.

“Who would’ve called you?”

Rhett sighed, “the realtor. She agreed to sell me this house at a discounted price so long as I fixed it up. But someone clearly beat me to buyin it”

“I bought it,” Rhett looked at you confused before you continued, “I saw that someone was fixing it. I didn’t know it was you, Rhett. But I thought that meant it was close to being sold, and I knew how much this place meant to you, to us. So, I went to the realtor, offered the original asking price, and paid up front. I signed the papers yesterday; she put the sign up before she left town this morning. I was going to tell you Christmas morning, but it seems tradition had other plans.”

“You bought it for us?” Rhett cupped your face in his hands, looking at you like you had personally hung the stars for him, “Marry me, darlin’.”

Rhett doesn’t take his mouth away from you, even as you stumble into your bedroom and practically fall back on the bed. You knew he would be like this when he got home and it was exactly why you hadn’t put on any underwear that day. He rubs his hands up and down your thighs, pushing up your dress and then he pauses, lifting his head to look at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the way that his eyes light up and the way that his lips twitch into a wicked smirk before he pushes his head between your thighs.

Like always, Rhett doesn’t start off slow, he wraps his arms around the top of your legs, just below where they connect to your hips and he pulls you in, rough and quick.

You wrap your legs around his neck without him even having to say anything, you know that he’s not gonna be moving anytime soon and that you might as well get comfortable. Not to mention that you know, he wants to be as close as possible, and if he has any trouble breathing, he’ll let you know.

He wasted no time in shoving his tongue into you, moaning, loudly, at the taste of you. Rhett had never been quiet in bed, not unless the situation absolutely needed it and even then sometimes you need to cover his mouth just to remind him. Now was not one of those times.

You can't help but push your hips up into his face, whining as he removes his tongue and latches his mouth to your clit, sucking roughly with his own grateful moan. He brings his right hand down from where his fingertips were no doubt bruising your thighs and shoves two thick fingers into your tight cunt with no warning.

While you're busy crying out in pleasure, your back arching up off the bed, Rhett is removing his mouth from you and kissing the inside of your thighs. Of course, you had noticed the prickly hair that had been growing out of Rhett's jaw and chin; you knew he hadn't shaved while he was away, but you hadn't thought about how that prickly hair would feel against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

The slight burn of it makes you moan, squeezing your thighs tighter against his head just to get a little more. As he got more into it, the burn got hotter, brighter, and the prickling of your skin only added to the pleasure as you writhed against Rhett's mouth, whining out "Gonna cum"

The ramifications of Rhett not shaving and then spending what felt like hours between your thighs didn't hit you until the next day. You woke up, the inside of your thighs still burning as you wobbled to the bathroom and flicked on the light.

Looking down, you could see two bright red patches on the upper insides of your thighs, tiny little cuts left by Rhett's sharp stubble. You place your hand over one of the patches and hiss at the sensitivity, your skin warm to the touch.

Rhett steps up beside you, sucking in a breath through his teeth almost sympathetically. "Shit, I guess I should break out the razor, huh?"

Despite the fire on your skin, you spin around to look at him, placing your hand on his jaw, rubbing it back and forth against the short beard. "Hell no," You smirk. "I recommend you throw it out."

——

Maybe sometimes you exaggerated in your mannerisms, feigning surprise and disbelief every time a boy flirted with you or you laughed softly, blushing when you heard a dirty joke as if the possibility of imagining that didn't exist in your mind.

Oh you, always so adorable and helpful, you helped feed the animals, collected the eggs and helped in the kitchen, sometimes you even offered to carry the heavy alfalfa and tried to watch over the pigeon nests that were on the tin roof of your house despite your height.

But when you walked by that cowboy, your whole facade fell apart because with just one look, you two knew how naughty you really were. But that was a secret, of course. That cowboy wasn't very popular with many people. He was the kind of man who would take advantage of others, or the kind who always had that "all in control" and sarcastic attitude. And your family wouldn't let you get near him for anything.

Gosh, what would the townspeople say if they heard you screaming Rhett's name at night like an unhinged beast? It would be a calamity. Or seeing you "casually" walk past him in a sinfully short skirt only to have him dragged behind the barn? Oh no, God forbid!

No, no one could imagine that behind that sweet appearance hid an absolutely nasty girl, and that amused Rhett. He enjoyed imagining people's faces if they saw you riding him like a wild beast, uttering the filthiest things in his ear that shot out of your sweet little mouth like snake venom.

They also couldn't tell how you walked by him, savoring a lollipop and looking at him through your thick eyelashes, or how you bent over to pick a daisy to take to your mother, accidentally revealing your butt and your under-dress. Or how Rhett, clenching his jaw to contain himself, suddenly snapped and easily lifted you up to sit on the fence, kissing your neck and behind your ear, and how whenever that happened, you'd slyly ask him to please leave some slightly visible hickeys.

Only he knew the real you. And how many times has he laughed mockingly or rolled his eyes at you performing that absurd pantomime like a play where you played the role of a virgin, pure, and perfect girl.

"Why can't I wear a man's cowboy hat?" you asked, pouting.

Your older brother laughed modestly but sympathetically, shaking his head at his sister. As if she couldn't reason with something like that.

"That's a story for another day...or another life."

And Abbott couldn't help but remember all the times he had you on top of him just because of that hat rule.

His cerulean eyes darted from your tits to your face, unable to focus on one spot. He watched them bounce with each thrust you made on his cock, then looked at you, your proud smile lifting one corner higher than the other and your hand holding the hat on your head. His hat

"You are a very dirty girl, I wonder what others would say if they saw you like this right now, doll" He laughed between grunts as he felt your walls tighten.

You laughed sarcastically. "I don't care if I can keep riding you like this."

Your hips rocked back and forth as if you were riding a mechanical bull, following a controlled rhythm so you wouldn't tire. Rhett threw his head back and dug his fingers into your thighs and butt.

"Ngh Jesus doll, look at you taking me so well. But fffuck what will your family say about this?" he teases you because he knew you really didn't care otherwise you wouldn't be with him.

You leaned your body over him and grabbed the hair on the back of his neck, pulling it back. Rhett let out a guttural moan.

"Shut that pretty fucking mouth of yours unless you use it to eat my pussy, huh?"

You daydreamed about telling people and pictured their reactions. Your stomach got small fluttering butterflies when thinking about Rhett decorating a spare room. You thought about this very scenario, right here in the bathroom, of Rhett crouching beside you, as you both awaited the results with baited breath.

Every way that you looked at it, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world right now.

You and Rhett had been together for over three years. Two years ago, it wouldn’t have been right, but since then you’ve both toyed with the idea of spending forever together. For the past year, you’ve been saving for your own home together. Last week you contacted the local estate agent to move ahead with these plans. By the time you would have moved in together, your nine months would soon be up.

“…It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world right now.”

Rhett replied in a beat. “I agree. It wouldn’t.”

His response made your face light up. You quickly shot a hopeful look at him, your heart rising with relief that he too thought the same as you. “Maybe two years ago…”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t have been right. We talked about it, I remember. But now, wi’ the house ‘nd everythin’…” Rhett was so eager to agree with you.

It came from a place of wanting to reassure your racing brain (because he could see in your eyes how you were pacing around in your head) and because he too, was just as giddy at the same prospect.

“It could work. It could work, right, Rhett?” Your gaze widened at him, as you internally double-checked that he was onboard with you and this exciting opportunity.

“Yeah, darlin’. Absolutely.” He nodded with a hopeful smile matching your own, his eyes crinkling up in the corners, in familiar lines. He pressed his forehead against yours and you stayed connected like that for a moment, letting the telling silence wash over you both.

You were both pulled out of your little world when you heard Cecilia’s voice booming up the stairs.

“Rhett?!”

“Yea’, Mom?!” He hollered back.

“Dinners on th’ table.” Her voice faded away as she hurried back to the kitchen.

“Be there in a minute.” He half heartedly called out, knowing that she was already gone.

He brought his head back to yours and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands found yours in your lap and his thumb rubbed those little reassuring circles over your skin.

He broke the silence once more. “C’mon, let’s go eat.”

You had forgotten for a moment that you were still sitting on the toilet with your underwear around your ankles. Rhett slipped them up your legs as you let out a quiet snicker.

Once you were fully dressed again and that the pregnancy test had been buried deep enough into the bin, he drew you into a close and loving embrace, in the small and quiet space of the bathroom. You could hear his heartbeat thrum rhythmically under his cotton t-shirt, as he held your head against his broad chest.

“Can we talk about this more later, baby?” You mumbled against the fabric, trying to burrow yourself deeper into him.

“Sure, my darlin’.” His large hand smoothed over the back of your head, with careful reassurance. “You got baby names ready, or somethin’?” He lightheartedly joked with a chuckle.

You pulled back to look at him with snorted laughter. His lips had quirked up into a playful grin.

This was a side of Rhett that anyone was rarely privy to. He was humorous and so deeply loving. Any laughter that came from him sang like a sweet serenade to your ears.

This was the Rhett that you wanted to share a home with, share a child with, and share the rest of your life with. When you would go downstairs to eat dinner with his family, a large portion of him would shut off. You wanted to see him be whole.