#yellow stone

When he finds you, you’re standing on the porch of your house, watching the sunrise in the distance, a mug of coffee clasped to your chest. You’re clad in nothing but his plaid shirt and cowboy boots. The tattoo of his name stands stark against your upper thigh, a symbol of your love for him, your commitment.

This thing between the two of you was never meant to have a future.

In the beginning he didn’t see how it could work, you were a deputy in the sheriff’s department and he was a land enforcement agent/cowboy who did some goddamn shady shit. The secrets you kept from one another should have strangled the life out of this thing but instead it had flourished, because there has always been a mutual understanding. He’s got shit he can’t tell you and you’ve got shit you can’t tell him.

“We should talk about it.” He says quietly as he comes to lean against the wooden strut that supports the gable.

You set your coffee cup down on the railing before you turn your attention towards him. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the orange light from the sunrise plays over his bare chest, highlighting the brand that’s seared into his skin.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.” You say as you lean against the pillar opposite him.

Ryan wants to tell you it doesn’t have to, that he’ll be true to you out there in Texas but he can’t ask you to wait a year for him, no matter how much he may want it. His fingertips trace over your name, the italic scrawl inked into his inner forearm.

Katalina…

The love of his life.

The woman whose about to become Sheriff of this county.

You can’t go with him and he can’t stay…

“I love you.” He says quietly as he looks out across the landscape. “I will always love you, the distance doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” You say softly as you come to stand beside him. “I keep asking myself what’s one year in the space of a lifetime?” 

“And what’s the answer?” He asks you, the back of his hand brushing lightly against yours.

Your fingers capture his, entwining them and for the first time since this conversation started he allows himself to hope.

“Marry you.” You say, squeezing his hand a little. “So you’ll know you’ll always be mine, wherever you go.”

If that isn’t the most romantic shit he doesn’t know what is.

“Are you asking me that honey?” He murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the strut. He can feel the heat of your body through the shirt, he wants to unbutton it, take it off, fuck you right here on the porch. “Are you asking me to marry you before I head off to Texas?”

Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the light curls. His hair has gotten a little long this season. He’s been meaning to cut it but he likes the way your fingers feel when you tug it just right.

“I guess I am cowboy.” You whisper against his lips. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee