𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓 || BWWM

"You fucking cheater!"

The accusation comes flying across the poker table, loud enough that a few people at the bar turn their heads.

I don't even bother looking up right away.

My eyes stay on the pile of chips sitting in front of me, the little towers of plastic proving exactly how this game ended. A slow grin pulls at my mouth before I finally look across the table.

"I didn't cheat."

The guy staring at me looks like he's trying to find the evidence of some great crime.

There isn't any.

He just lost.

And losing tends to make people really creative, I guess.

A few of the men around the table start laughing, throwing out their own comments and accusing each other of being worse than the last person who played. That's how mornings like this usually went. Just a few drinks, a few bad decisions, and a whole lot of pride nobody wanted to admit they had.

I collect the last of the chips, stacking them together before sliding them toward myself.

Poker was never just really about the cards.

No, anyone could get lucky.

The real trick was knowing people.

By knowing when someone was bluffing. By knowing when they were too confident. By knowing when they thought they had you cornered.

People showed more of themselves sitting around a table than they realized.

I've always liked that.

The truth usually comes out when money is involved.

I push myself away from the table and glance toward the windows. The morning sun is already creeping through the dusty glass, filling the old bar with a golden light that makes the place look better than it actually is.

The smell of old beer, wood, and cigarette smoke hangs in the air.

Not exactly pretty.

But it has its charm.

This place has been here longer than most people around town. Men have been sitting at these tables for years, making promises they probably wouldn't keep and telling stories that got bigger every time they were repeated.

One of the guys points at me.

"You got lucky."

I grab my hat from the back of my chair.

"That's what people say when they lose."

A few laughs follow.

He shakes his head, still annoyed.

I don't take it personally.

Nobody likes losing.

Especially men who spent half their lives convincing everyone they were good at everything.

I make my way toward the bar, grabbing a beer before I leave. The bartender already knows what I want, sliding it over without needing to ask.

A cold drink wasn't going to fix anything.

But it wasn't hurting either.

Two women sitting near the counter notice me walking by.

Blonde hair, bright smiles, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing people are looking.

One of them tilts her head

"Hey, cowboy."

I stop because ignoring people completely is usually more rude than just answering.

"Yeah?"

She smiles.

"Buy us a drink?"

A younger version of me probably would've entertained it.

Maybe.

These days, I just don't have the patience.

I lift my beer slightly.

"Not today."

She laughs.

"Busy?"

"Something like that."

It isn't a lie.

There was always something waiting for me.

The ranch didn't care if I wanted a quiet morning. The horses didn't care if I stayed out late. Animals had a way of reminding you that life wasn't built around your schedule.

"See you around, cowboy."

I nod toward them.

"Take care."

Then I walk out.

The second I step outside, the noise of the bar fades behind me.

That's what I liked about mornings.

Not the drinking.

Not the poker.

The leaving.

The quiet that came after.

My truck sits where I left it, covered with a thin layer of dust from the road. I open the door and slide into the driver's seat, the familiar smell of leather filling the cab.

The engine came to life beneath me, settling into its familiar rumble as I pulled away from the bar and headed back toward the ranch.

Home.

That was where my thoughts always ended up.

The bar had been fun. Poker usually was. There was something entertaining about watching grown men convince themselves luck had cheated them out of a win they never deserved. A few laughs, a cold beer, and somebody swearing they'd get their money back next time.

But those mornings always came to an end.

The ranch never did.

There was always another fence to repair, another stall to clean, another horse waiting for breakfast. Life out there didn't slow down because I'd decided to spend a few hours playing cards.

Then there was Bucker.

The smile I'd been carrying since leaving the bar faded as my thoughts returned to her.

She hadn't looked right for days.

Most people probably wouldn't have noticed the difference, but I'd spent enough years around that mare to recognize when something was off. She wasn't eating the way she normally did, and the fire that had always lived behind her eyes had grown dimmer with each passing morning. Every time I walked into that barn, I hoped she'd look more like herself.

Every morning, I walked away disappointed.

The road stretched across open fields, broken up by wooden fences and patches of grazing land that seemed to go on forever. Some folks would've called it boring, but I'd never seen it that way. There was comfort in knowing every bend in the road, every pasture, every weathered fence post. This land had shaped my entire life, and I couldn't picture myself belonging anywhere else.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the sun had climbed a little higher over the ranch. I shut the truck off and looked across the property for a couple of seconds before climbing out

Dad would already be working

Nash would probably have something smart to say before we'd even started the day.

The horses wouldn't care about either one.

Work came first.

Stepping inside, I kicked my boots off by the front door and headed into the kitchen. The house was quiet, exactly the way I liked it before the day truly got going. I grabbed a can of sardines from the cabinet, opened it, and ate while standing at the counter with my eyes fixed on the pastures outside.

Even then, my mind refused to leave Bucker alone.

She'd always been the toughest horse on the ranch. Half the county knew her because she'd throw just about anybody cocky enough to climb into the saddle. That mare had earned every bit of her reputation, and watching her lose that spark felt wrong in a way I couldn't explain.

The empty can landed in the trash.

"Damn it."

The words slipped out before I even realized I'd spoken them.

Maybe I should've caught it sooner.

That thought had been following me around for days.

Every veterinarian I'd talked to told me the same thing.

Give her time.

Keep her comfortable.

Watch her appetite.

None of it sounded unreasonable.

None of it gave me any peace either.

They weren't the ones standing in that barn every sunrise, watching a horse that usually cleaned out her feed barely touch it. They weren't checking on her before bed or wondering whether she'd make it through another night without getting worse.

They got to leave after giving their advice.

I was the one staying behind with the waiting.

After finishing breakfast, I rinsed the can, set it beside the sink, and made my way upstairs.

A shower wasn't going to fix what was waiting for me outside, but it gave my head a chance to settle before the day really began.

Once I was dressed, I stopped in front of the mirror.

Jeans.

Boots.

A worn plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to my forearms.

Everything I'd worn a thousand times before.

The last thing I reached for was my grandfather's hat. It had seen more years than I had, and every crease in it carried a story I'd never get to hear. Pulling it onto my head had become a habit somewhere along the way. It reminded me where I came from, who raised me, and the kind of man I wanted to be.

The ranch had already come alive by the time I stepped outside. Horses called to one another from the pastures, chickens wandered across the yard without much purpose, and the barn doors stood open, waiting for another day's work.

Bucker noticed me the second I walked inside.

She lifted her head and flicked an ear in my direction before settling again.

That wasn't enough.

Normally she'd walk over before I ever reached her stall, hoping I'd brought something worth eating or looking for attention she'd never admit she wanted.

Today she stayed where she was.

"Morning, girl."

My hand moved along her neck before resting against her shoulder.

"Father. Nash."

My voice carried through the barn.

"Morning, Wells," Dad answered.

He finished stacking hay nearby. Nash, on the other hand, had somehow found the only place in the barn where a man could look comfortable without doing much of anything.

My attention returned to Dad.

"How's she been?"

He looked over at Bucker before answering.

"About the same."

I frowned.

"'About the same' isn't what I was hoping to hear."

Nash glanced over

"You always know how to brighten a morning."

I let that one pass without answering.

Walking around Bucker, I checked each of her legs before running my hand across her back and along her sides. Her coat still looked healthy enough, but her eyes lacked the stubborn spark she'd always carried.

"We're calling the vet again."

Dad looked at me.

"They already came out yesterday."

"I know."

"They told us to keep watching her."

"I know.”

My hand rested against Bucker's neck again.

"But they're missing something."

Dad didn't argue

Even Nash stayed quiet.

Bucker gently nudged my arm, and instead of reassuring me, it only made the knot in my chest grow heavier.

I gave Bucker another scratch along her neck before stepping away from the stall.

"I'll be back later."

She watched me leave without taking a single step.

Dad were already gathering supplies while Nash stood nearby with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like he'd somehow managed to work less than the rest of us already

We headed toward the north pasture where part of the fencing needed replacing after the last storm. Dad started unloading fresh posts while I grabbed the wire. Nash picked up the toolbox with the kind of expression you'd expect from a man carrying the weight of the world instead of a few wrenches.

"You know what this ranch needs?"

Dad didn't even look up

"What?"

"Women."

Dad laughed under his breath as he hammered the first fence post into the ground

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm serious."

Nash set the toolbox down.

"Not one girl works around here."

I kept pulling the fencing wire into place.

"There's a reason for that."

"Oh, come on."

He looked between the three of us.

"Y'all don't ever get tired of lookin' at the same ugly faces every day?"

Dad chuckled.

"I've been lookin' at yours for years."

"And?"

"And it ain't improved."

Bill laughed loud enough that a couple of horses lifted their heads from the pasture.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about.

He pointed toward me.

"Might finally get Wells to smile."

"I smile." I said, defending myself.

"When?"

I thought about it.

"...Sometimes."

Nash grinned.

"Exactly."

Dad shook his head.

"Less talkin'. More work."

None of us argued after that.

The next couple of hours were spent repairing fences, moving feed into the storage shed, filling water troughs, and hauling hay into the barn. The work wasn't difficult. It just demanded time, and there was never any shortage of that on a ranch.

The last bale of hay was finally stacked when Nash decided he still had enough energy left to bother me.

That was one thing about him. The man could find a reason to talk even in the middle of hard work. Give him a quiet barn and a little free time, and somehow he would turn it into a conversation I never asked for.

My shirt stuck slightly against my chest from the work, and I reached up to wipe the sweat from my forehead before grabbing another piece of hay.

Nash leaned against the wooden post nearby, watching me with the kind of grin that usually meant he had something to say.

Nash leaned against the wooden post nearby, watching me with the kind of grin that usually meant he had something to say. "You know," he said, crossing his arms, "the dance at Old Sam's ranch is coming up."

I kept putting the tools away, not needing to look at him to know where this was going. "The one they have every year?"

My hands slowed as I set the wrench down.

"Nash."

He ignored the warning and pushed himself off the post. "You're finally gonna ask Samantha this year, right?"

I looked over at him. "No."

The answer came too quick, and his grin only grew.

"I knew it."

"You don't know anything." I reached for another tool and put it back in its place.

"I know you." He shook his head, looking far too pleased with himself.

He shook his head.

"That's the problem. Everybody around here knows you. You walk around acting like you're too busy for everyone, but the second Samantha walks by, suddenly you forget how to talk."

I picked up another tool from the ground and placed it back where it belonged.

"Don't start." I reached for another tool, keeping my attention on the work.

"Why not?" Nash pushed himself away from the post, already looking far too entertained.

"This is the most entertaining thing you've given us in years." He folded his arms as he watched me.

Bill, who was finishing up nearby, glanced over with a small grin. "Nash, leave him alone."

"No way." Nash pointed at me. "This man spends all day talking to horses and chickens, but one pretty woman walks by and suddenly he's nervous."

"I'm not nervous." I put another tool away and gave him a look.

"You're absolutely nervous."

I shook my head. "You're annoying."

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Bill laughed quietly from where he stood.

I looked over at him. "You're laughing too?"

Bill lifted his hands. "Didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

Nash laughed harder and pointed between us. "See? Even Dad knows."

I reached for my hat where I'd left it and settled it back onto my head. "I'm not asking anyone."

"You will.

"No."

"You will."

"No."

"You will."

Choosing not to answer was easier than giving him another reason to keep going.

The barn door opened before Nash could continue.

A man from town stepped inside, his boots carrying across the wooden floor.

The look on his face told me he wasn't there to chat.

"Wells."

I turned toward him.

"What's going on?"

"There's a woman stuck out past the bridge."

I frowned.

"Stuck?"

"Car broke down."

He nodded toward the road behind him.

"Fancy thing too. Doesn't belong anywhere near that dirt road."

Nash immediately looked interested.

"A fancy car?"

I ignored him.

The man continued

"She needs someone who knows the area. Said she's been waiting out there."

A sigh almost left me, but I stopped myself.

Another job.

Another person who thought their problem was the only one that mattered.

"Alright."

I grabbed my gloves.

"Bill, Nash, keep an eye on Bucker."

Nash raised his eyebrows.

"Fancy lady, huh?"

I looked at him.

"Don't."

He lifted his hands.

"I'm just saying."

"Don't say anything."

That only made him smile wider.

I walked past him and headed toward my truck.

The drive out toward the bridge wasn't long, but it was enough time for me to wonder what kind of person would bring a vehicle like that onto a road most people avoided.

The answer became obvious when I saw the car.

It sat halfway off the road, one tire caught near the edge of the ditch, the hood lifted open with smoke drifting from the engine.

A vehicle that expensive had no business being out here.

I parked nearby and stepped out, my boots pressing into the dirt as I walked closer.

A woman stood beside the car, pacing back and forth. Heels. A perfectly put-together outfit. Hair straight enough that it looked untouched by the wind. She turned when she heard me approaching, her eyes moving over me before settling on my face.

"Finally," she said, frustration edging her voice. "Do you have any idea how late I am?"

I glanced toward the car. "I just got here?"

She pointed toward the engine. "This thing needs to be fixed.

I walked toward the front of the car and lifted the hood. One glance was enough to know this wasn't going to be a quick fix.

"I have an important meeting," she said behind me.

I ignored that and checked the engine. "Could you maybe hurry?"

The way she said it made me turn toward her. "I'm not a miracle worker."

Her eyebrows lifted. "What?"

I wiped my hands against my jeans. "I said I'm not a miracle worker."

Annoyance seeped into her posture. "I didn't ask you to be."

"Sounds like you did."

She stared at me. "I need to get there."

"And I need you to stop standing over me while I figure out what's wrong."

Her mouth opened. "I don't have time for this."

I nodded toward the car. "Neither does your engine."

That clearly wasn't the answer she wanted. She stepped closer. "Listen, I really need to be somewhere."

"Fix your attitude first," I said, turning back toward the engine. "Then maybe I'll be able to fix your car.

"Until then, stay out of the way."

For a moment, she just stared at me before looking away, clearly irritated.

I had a feeling this wasn't the kind of help she expected.

And judging by the look on her face, I wasn't the kind of person she expected either.

She opens her mouth, stepping forward. "Can you just hurry the fuck up! I need to get there! Important meeting!"

Enough.

I had reached my limit. Every word that came out of her mouth seemed to carry more frustration than the last, and somehow she still found a way to argue like she wasn't standing beside a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere. Most people would've realized they needed help and accepted it.

She was stubborn, loud, and completely unwilling to admit when she didn't know what she was doing.

I turned my back and started heading toward the house, leaving her and the car behind.

"Wait!"

Her voice stopped me.

"Please, you have to help me!"

Slowly turning around, I found her rushing toward me. The frustration was still written all over her face, but there was something different underneath it now. The confidence she had been carrying moments ago had faded, replaced by the realization that she actually needed someone.

My eyes moved over her expression as I crossed my arms.

"Not until you learn you can't just yell at people whenever something goes wrong."

She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then stopped herself. Her hands moved nervously as she looked down at the ground.

"I... I'm sorry."

That caught me off guard.

She looked back at me, her voice quieter than before.

"Could you maybe look at my car?"

The change in her tone was enough to make me hesitate. The irritation was still there, but now there was also a small amount of curiosity. Maybe she wasn't always going to come at people with a fight already prepared.

I looked toward the car, then back at her.

"Fine."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

"I'll look at it."

I pointed toward the vehicle.

"But no more yelling. If something is wrong, you tell me. You don't scream at the person trying to help you."

She pressed her lips together before nodding.

"Okay."

That was the first reasonable answer I'd gotten from her since she arrived.

Walking back over, I lifted the hood again and started looking through the engine. The smell of smoke was still there, mixing with the faint scent of perfume that followed her everywhere she went. Even standing beside a broken car in the middle of nowhere, she somehow looked like she belonged somewhere completely different.

"Don't touch anything," I told her while checking the engine.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

I continued looking, tracing where the smoke was coming from and checking the parts I could without proper tools. It didn't take long before I knew this wasn't something I could solve right there. Whatever was wrong needed more time, more equipment, and a proper place to work on it.

Standing up, I closed the hood and looked over the engine one last time before shaking my head. "This isn't getting fixed today."

Her face changed immediately. "What?"

"It's not something I can patch up out here. It needs tools and probably a shop."

She turned back toward her car, staring at it like it had personally betrayed her. "I need to leave."

"Not today."

Her eyes moved toward me, clearly not liking that answer. "And what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"You stay at my place."

The look she gave me made it clear she had already misunderstood where this was going. "What?"

"My house is close." I grabbed my hat and put it back on. "You can use the guest room."

She stared at me, searching my face before her expression shifted into suspicion.

"Mister, I don't know what your plan is, but I'm not sleeping with you."

I looked at her, genuinely confused by the conclusion she had jumped to. "Seriously?"

Her cheeks changed slightly as she realized how it sounded. "I didn't me-"

"I know what you meant."

Shaking my head, I adjusted my hat. "Relax. You're staying in a bedroom. That's it."

She looked away, clearly embarrassed by her own assumption.

"Fine."

"Good."

The walk back to the house was quiet, though not uncomfortable. Her heels clicked against the dirt path, standing out against the boots and work clothes that belonged around here. Everything about her seemed out of place. The way she dressed. The way she talked. The way she carried herself.

A city girl who somehow ended up on a ranch.

After a few minutes, I glanced over at her, the question coming to mind when I realized I still didn't even know her name. "I don't even know your name."

She looked over at me, seeming to weigh whether she wanted to answer before finally saying, "Italia."

"Italia," I repeated quietly, looking back at the road as I let the name settle in my head.

It was such a weird name. She was named after a country. I mean, it was precisely pronounced Ital-i-a. I hadn't heard that before, but then again, those fancy cities had the most outrageous names. Brooklyn, Bristol, Fanny. After a while, I wasn't even surprised anymore.

She looked ahead again, not explaining anything else, and I didn't push.

When we reached the house, I waited until the person who had helped bring her there left before opening the door.

"Guest room's down the hallway." I pointed toward the hall as she stepped inside and looked around.

"The bed is already made?" She glanced toward the room before looking back at me.

"Yeah."

Her eyes wandered through the living room before settling on the hallway again. "It's colder than I expected out here. I figured Texas would be warm all year."

"It cools off at night." I set my hat on the table.

She nodded slowly and glanced toward the window. "I guess it's peaceful, though."

"It is."

Her attention moved around the room again before she asked, "So... do you actually like living all the way out here?"

I looked up from the table. "Can I stop you right there?"

She blinked. "...Sure."

"I'm not really interested in doing this." I motioned between us. "The conversation. The questions. Getting to know each other. All that."

She looked genuinely confused. "I was just trying to be nice."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is I don't know you." I kept my voice matter-of-fact as I looked at her. "And I'm not looking to."

She stared at me.

"You'll be here until your car gets sorted out. After that, you'll leave, and that'll be the end of it."

Her eyebrows lifted. "So that's it?"

"That's it."

She folded her arms. "You don't seem very welcoming."

"I'm not trying to be." I picked up my hat again. "This isn't a bed and breakfast."

A quiet scoff left her. "Where I come from, people usually treat guests with a little hospitality."

I looked at her. "I picked you up off the side of the road."

"I know."

"I gave you a place to sleep."

"I know."

"So don't confuse that with me volunteering to entertain you."

She stared at me as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I wasn't asking you to entertain me."

"Good."

"Because I don't need you to."

"Even better." She shook her head as she watched me.

"You really are rude."

"That's your opinion." I picked my keys up from the counter.

"No." She gave a short laugh, though there wasn't much humor behind it. "I think that's just a fact."

I slipped the keys into my pocket. "Believe whatever helps you sleep."

Her mouth opened slightly, and she stared at me for another couple of seconds before letting her bag drop beside her foot. "I expected basic manners."

"You expected too much."

That answer earned another scoff as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and started walking down the hallway without another word.

"The room's on the left."

She stopped halfway down the hall and slowly turned her head toward me. "What?"

"The guest room." I pointed down the hallway. "Left."

She glanced at the door on the right, then back at me. Without saying another word, she turned around, dragged her suitcase to the other side of the hallway, and opened the correct door.

The door closed behind her.

I shook my head, already amused by how quickly she'd managed to get under my skin. This woman had been in my house less than ten minutes, and she was already exhausting.

A quiet chuckle left me as I grabbed my hat again.

Yeah.

This was going to be a long week.

.