Page 25 of His Big Hometown Cowboy
“Definitely.” He took a step closer to the edge, his gaze sweeping the horizon. “You own all this?”
“Pretty much everything you see this side of the creek.” I pointed west. “And down to the county road over there.”
“It’s incredible.” He sounded genuinely impressed. “It’s… huge.”
“My father used to bring me up here.” I moved to stand beside him, our shoulders brushing. The familiar weight oflegacy settled on me, heavier sometimes than others. “Said a man needs to stand back and see what he’s responsible for every once in a while. Reminds you what all the sweat is for.”
Timmy glanced at me, his expression serious. “Is that what it feels like? Responsibility?”
I thought about it.
The fences that always needed mending, the calving season stress, the market fluctuations, the weight of keeping something afloat that generations had built.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “It’s work. Hard work. But other times—” I looked out over the land. “—it feels like the only thing I was ever meant to do. It’s part of me.” I hesitated, then added, “Doesn’t mean it’s not lonely, though. Or that I don’t screw things up.”
He studied my face. “You’re good at it. Travis says you’ve turned things around since your dad…”
Pride flickered, warm and welcome. “I made some changes.” I looked out at the valley, articulating something I rarely voiced. “Want it to be something that lasts. Dad poured his life into this place. Don’t want to be the one who lets it slide.”
“You won’t,” Timmy said. “You’ve got that same stubborn streak he did. Are you happy, Wyatt? Really?”
The question hung in the clear air.
“Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” I answered honestly. “Especially right now.”
His answering smile lit up his face.
He stepped closer, fitting naturally against my side as I draped an arm around his shoulders. We stood there for a while, just looking. Him seeing it perhaps for the first time, me seeing it fresh through his eyes.
I spread out the old wool blanket I kept in the truck, and we sat, unpacking the simple lunch. Sandwiches, apples, cold beers.
“So,” I started, handing him a beer. “You said you weren’t ready to go back to California. What does that mean, exactly?”
He popped the top off his beer, taking a long swallow. “I don’t exactly have a job to go back to.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You quit?”
He shook his head, looking slightly sheepish. “Didn’t tell Travis. Didn’t tell anyone. That startup I poured four years into? It went belly-up. No money left. They laid everyone off.” He picked at the label on his bottle. “Honestly, it was almost a relief. The pressure was insane. Felt like I was drowning.”
“Shit, Timmy. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He managed a wry smile. “I’ve got enough to live on, for a little while at least. Figure things out.” He met my gaze, his expression more open, vulnerable. “Problem is, I don’t know what ‘figuring things out’ looks like anymore. All my plans revolved around that career path.”
“So you’re staying? Here?” Hope, sharp and insistent, flared in my chest.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so. Can do some freelance design work remotely, maybe pick up some projects online.” He hesitated. “If… if that’s okay? Me just… being here?”
“Okay?” I leaned closer, setting my beer down. “Timmy, Iwantyou here.”
His smile turned a little mischievous. “Might need some convincing to stick around long term, though.”
“That so?” I brushed my thumb across his lower lip, feeling the faint tremor that ran through him. “What kind of convincing did you have in mind?”
“Well,” he tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Regular home-cooked breakfasts are a good start. Maybe guaranteed access to a certain cowboy’s bed whenever I want it?”
“Think that can be arranged.” My voice dropped lower. “Anything else?”
His expression turned serious again, his eyes searching mine. “I feel like I’m starting over in a lot of ways. Might take me a while to figure out where I fit.”
