Rusty (Littlecreek Ranch #6)

CHAPTER ONE

Rusty

R usty Maguire's boots left dark imprints in the dew-soaked grass as he strode across the grounds of Littlecreek Ranch. The Montana sky was just beginning to lighten, painting the valley in soft hues. Rusty was often the first to stir, his internal clock as reliable as the ranch's roosters.

He mounted Midnight, his trusted stallion, and they set off on their morning patrol. The ranch sprawled before them—a patchwork of corrals, pastures, and weathered buildings nestled between rugged mountains and towering pines. A wild creek bubbled nearby, giving the ranch and nearby town their name.

As they rode the perimeter, Rusty's mind wandered to the day ahead. Checking fences, feeding animals, leading them to pasture—none of the work was glamorous, but he loved it nonetheless. Wrangling wasn't just a job, but a calling. The ranch's rhythms were as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

It was one of those golden mornings. A morning where the world felt like it was all in order, like everything was just perfect. The sun was warm, the dew was shining, and everything smelled of life. Rusty and Midnight didn't encounter a single problem on that patrol. Happy animals, sturdy fences, not a single blade of grass was out of place. Satisfied with their inspection, Rusty returned Midnight to her stall. He pitched fresh hay to the eager horses and filled their troughs with cool well water. The cows were next, lowing softly as he tossed them their morning grain.

"Morning, Bessie," he murmured, tipping his hat to the old cow. Her soft low floated on the crisp air.

As he left the barn, Delilah, the furry feline and resident mouser, appeared for her customary ear scratch. "Good girl," Rusty murmured absentmindedly, feeling the soft gloss of the cat's pretty tortoiseshell fur under his fingertips.

He was about to ask Delilah if she had any big plans for the day, when a sharp clang pierced the morning calm.

Rusty froze, scanning the area.

He traced the sound to the newest addition's pasture. Snickers, a beautiful but cruelly neglected Quarter Horse mare, had arrived yesterday. Her mane and tail were tangled, but Rusty could see her potential beneath her heart-breaking condition. As he edged his way closer to her, her deep brown eyes darted nervously, tracking his every move.

"Easy now, Snickers," Rusty said softly, approaching the fence. The mare pawed at the ground, snorting. "Everything's gonna be fine. You're not the first troubled horse I've worked with."

Memories of Midnight surfaced. That horse had been a real challenge when he’d first come into Rusty’s care, lashing out at anyone who dared come close. But with time and patience, Rusty had earned his trust. Now, Midnight was his loyal companion.

Snickers shied away as Rusty drew closer. Despite her fear, there was a dancer's grace to her movements—she was light and delicate on her feet.

As if determined to prove otherwise, Snickers kicked her hooves against the metal water trough. The sharp clang echoed again, and Rusty wondered if she'd been at it all night.

"It's okay," he murmured, keeping his distance. "We've got time, girl. We've got time."

Rusty's heart clenched as he took in Snickers' condition. Her ribs protruded sharply beneath a dull, patchy coat. Angry welts—some fresh, others scarred over—crisscrossed her flanks, telling a story of repeated lashings. Her hooves were overgrown and cracked, evidence of long-term neglect. But it was her eyes that truly betrayed her suffering: wide, wary, and filled with a bone-deep fear that made Rusty's jaw clench.

He thought of Trent, the ranch veterinarian, who had started to tend to Snickers' physical wounds as soon as she'd arrived yesterday. But Rusty knew his own task was equally crucial—to mend the invisible scars, to teach this battered mare that not all humans brought pain. It was a mission he'd faced before, but never with a horse so deeply traumatized.

As he watched Snickers flinch at a sparrow's sudden flight, Rusty silently vowed to be the patient, gentle presence she so desperately needed.

Rusty had an affinity for hurt animals. He was no stranger to heartache himself, having lost the love of his life, Janice, years before. He knew that each creature had its own unique challenges and its own individual path to recovery.

"Reckon you'll need some time and patience, girl," he mused, resting his hands on the wooden fence. "But we'll get you there."

Snickers' ears twitched, seemingly listening to his voice. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Yep," he murmured, watching her cautiously, "we'll get you there."

He watched as Snickers' dark eyes flickered between him and the open pasture, poised for flight.

Rusty stood still for a few minutes, letting Snickers get used to his presence, then he smiled gently and took a step forward, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"Wouldn't mind if I got a bit closer, would ya?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Snickers shifted uneasily, her hooves digging into the soft earth beneath her. Rusty could see the tension in her body, ready to bolt at any moment. But he didn't let that deter him. With each step he took, he offered calming words, hoping they would reach her.

"See? Nothin' to be afraid of, darlin'," he murmured, now only a few feet away from her quivering form. "Might smell a bit funky, but I assure you I ain't toxic."

But just as Rusty reached out a hand to gently touch her muzzle, Snickers reared up, her front hooves flailing in the air as she whinnied loudly.

He instinctively stepped back, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Easy, girl, easy," he said urgently, trying to regain control of the situation. His heart raced with adrenaline, and he knew he needed to tread carefully to avoid spooking her further. "Didn't mean to scare ya," Rusty whispered, watching as she slowly lowered herself back to the ground, her breaths coming in short, shallow pants. "We'll take it slow, alright? Slower than slow."

As he uttered those words, Rusty felt a pang of sympathy for the frightened mare. He knew he'd have to be patient and give her the time she needed to heal.

Same way he'd needed time all those years ago.

"Time and patience," he repeated to himself, watching as Snickers' trembling began to subside. "That's what it'll take.” He paused. “How about you and I just have a chat at a distance, then? Might be a bit unusual for you to speak to a human, but we don't bite.”

Snickers stopped whinnying and kept her eyes locked on him.

“Atta girl,” said Rusty soothingly. “Now, tell me, how do you like the new pasture?”

"Rusty!" The deep, familiar voice of Chuck North rang out.

Rusty turned, a crease forming on his forehead as he took in the sight of Chuck's flushed face and disheveled appearance.

Chuck was a burly man, a few years younger than Rusty, with a shock of blond hair peeking out from under his well-worn cowboy hat. He wore faded jeans, a plaid shirt, and scuffed boots, the uniform of a man who spent his days working under the Montana sun.

"Chuck," Rusty acknowledged with a nod, trying to hide his annoyance at the interruption. "I'm just getting to know our newest resident. Hope this is important."

"Sorry to intrude, but it is," Chuck said, catching his breath. "Got a call first thing this morning from someone you know. Thought you'd want to hear about it."

Rusty's curiosity was immediately piqued. He eyed Chuck warily, wondering who could have possibly contacted him. "Who?" he asked, his tone cautious. “Wait a minute. Hold that thought. Let’s go chat under that oak. Don’t wanna speak too close to Snickers or she’ll get spooked.”

“How’s she settling in?” Chuck asked as they made their way to the old tree.

“It’s early days,” Rusty replied. “And she's in a bad way. Hard to believe that a rancher treated her so badly. Had to be a fucking sociopath. Still, I’m positive I can help her. Seen horses in worse states than her before—but not much worse. She’ll need a lot of care and attention. And quiet. We should keep the Littles away from her for a while at least. Any loud noises could set her off.”

Chuck nodded. “I trust you to do what’s best, Rusty.”

Once they had reached a secluded spot beneath the sprawling branches of an old oak tree, Chuck turned to face Rusty. The seriousness in his eyes made Rusty's heart pound with anticipation. He braced himself for whatever news Chuck had to deliver.

"Alright, I'm listenin'," Rusty said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Okay," Chuck sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was Janice who called. Janice Jameson."

Rusty felt as if the earth had suddenly shifted beneath him. The mention of that name sent a torrent of emotions flooding through him: surprise, longing, and a deep, aching sadness that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

"Janice?" he whispered, barely able to say her name.

Rusty and Janice had been high school sweethearts, their love fierce and wild as all young love is. They'd planned on getting married, starting a family, and growing old together on a ranch somewhere. Over time, Janice and Rusty had fallen comfortably into the roles of Daddy and Little. It had felt like they were soulmates.

But then, everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

They parted ways, their dreams shattered, and Rusty had tried to throw himself into work to mend his broken heart. It had been nearly a decade since he'd last seen her.

"Yep," Chuck confirmed, his expression sympathetic. "She asked if she could come stay at the ranch for a while. Said she needed sanctuary."

"Sanctuary?" Rusty repeated, a feeling of great sorrow washing over him. A big part of him yearned to see her again and help her through whatever difficulties she was facing. But another part, an equally big part, feared it could be impossible to be near her without reopening old wounds for the both of them.

"Yeah," Chuck nodded solemnly.

“She in some kind of trouble?” Rusty asked, knowing that it was probably a bad idea to ask and get involved.

“She didn’t say. But she sounded pretty desperate.”

Chuck was a big-hearted man. The ranch at Littlecreek was home to lots of Littles who needed refuge from abusive partners or complex situations, and they all thrived here under the guidance of a group of firm but fair Daddy Doms.

Janice would love a place like this. If it weren't for Rusty.

“She can’t come,” Rusty said through gritted teeth. “No matter how much she needs it.”

His mind was racing. He pictured Janice at the hands of a frightening lover, wondering if she was being abused by a bad Daddy Dom. His fists clenched at the thought.

"Don’t worry,” Chuck said. “I told her no, Rusty. With everything that happened between you two, it wouldn't be right to have her here. Might not be much of a sanctuary for her at all."

"Good," Rusty murmured, his gaze fixed on the ground. “And you’re right. Janice and I can never be in the same room together, let alone live on the same ranch. There’s just no way.”

He tried to force down the bitter disappointment that welled up inside him, reminding himself that this was for the best. No good would come of their paths crossing again. It would only lead to more pain and regret.

"Are you okay?" Chuck asked, concern etched across his face.

"Y-yeah," Rusty stammered, forcing a smile. "I appreciate you tellin' me about this, Chuck. Really, I do."

"Of course," Chuck replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "I know it can’t be easy for you to hear. If there's anything I can do . . ."

"Thanks," Rusty said, his voice barely audible. "But I'll be fine. I just . . . need a moment to myself, if that's alright."

"Sure thing," Chuck agreed.

Rusty nodded. A gust of wind rustled the leaves above his head, as if nature itself was whispering its condolences. "Tell me something, Chuck," Rusty said hesitantly, his voice cracking slightly. "Did you . . . did you tell Janice I'm here? At the ranch?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, Rusty. I didn't think it'd be right. I just told her the ranch was at full capacity."

"Good," Rusty muttered, his eyes drifting to the horizon. "That's good."

As he stared out across the rolling hills and pastures that made up the ranch, Rusty couldn't help but let his mind wander to what might have been if things had turned out differently. He imagined Janice standing beside him, her red hair glowing like fire in the setting sun, her Scottish accent lilting through the air as they shared stories and laughter. The way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. She always laughed a lot. A part of him longed to hold her, to forget all the shit that had happened and find a way forward.

"Wouldn't that be somethin'?" Rusty mused, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. The thought of seeing Janice again, of holding her close and feeling her warmth, sent a thrill through his chest followed by an overwhelming sense of longing.

But then, Rusty caught himself. He clenched his jaw, quickly pushing away those thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to indulge in such fantasies. It was too dangerous, too risky. He had made his choice all those years ago, and he would have to live with the consequences for the rest of his life. Seeing Janice again could only bring pain—to both of them.

"Rusty?" Chuck's voice pulled him from his reverie. "You alright?"

Rusty blinked, refocusing on the present. "Yeah," he said, his voice steady once more. "I just . . . need some time alone, is all."

"Understood," Chuck replied, nodding. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Chuck," Rusty said, forcing a faint smile as he watched his friend walk away.

Left alone with his thoughts and the gentle rustling of leaves, Rusty let out a deep sigh, his heart heavy with the knowledge that there could never be a reunion with Janice. He had chosen this path, and it was now his duty to see it through, no matter what temptations might come his way.

"Ah well, life goes on," Rusty whispered to himself, steeling his resolve as the sun disappeared completely, leaving only the soft glow of twilight in its wake. "Life goes on."

And with that, he pushed off from the fence and squared his shoulders. There were fences to mend, cattle to move, and a hundred other tasks waiting for him. He couldn't dwell on the past, not when the ranch needed him. With one last glance at Snickers, Rusty strode towards the barn, ready to tackle the day head-on.