BEAU
Stone Cold
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"Funny how a melody sounds like a memory / Like a soundtrack to a July Saturday night" - Eric Church
***
I woke up to a cold bed.
It was a stark contrast to the fire that had been running through my veins for the last three days. The house was quiet—too quiet. Pops was already out in the south pasture, his truck nothing but a speck on the horizon from the kitchen window. And Winnie? Winnie was still at Cassie’s.
She’d texted me ten minutes ago: Be back soon, but I’ll be training Bandit. Miss me? ;)
Attached was a photo of her and Cassie mid-karaoke, holding microphones like weapons, faces flushed with laughter and alcohol. I stared at the picture, zooming in on Winnie’s smile, then lower to the curve of her neck where I desperately wanted to put my mouth.
Miss her? My dick was so hard it hurt just looking at pixels on a screen.
I forced myself to move, pouring a cup of the motor oil Pops called coffee. I leaned against the counter, the silence of the house pressing in on me. No boots on the stairs. No off-key humming. No stolen glances that made the air in the room thin.
Then, my phone buzzed again. Not Winnie.
Dad.
The text sat there like a ticking bomb on the screen.
You have one month to reconsider. After that, the offer expires. Accounts will be frozen. Choose wisely.
One month.
Four weeks to decide if I was willing to trade the man I was becoming for the safety net of Sterling Corp.
Four weeks before he cut the cord completely.
When I’d told him I needed time on Friday, he’d agreed with a suspicious amount of grace.
Now I knew why. Richard Sterling III didn’t give extensions out of kindness.
He gave them because he wanted me to sweat.
He wanted me to feel the fear of the unknown and come crawling back.
He’s a master manipulator, I thought, taking a bitter sip of coffee. Must be where I learned it.
But I wasn't panicking. Not yet. I had savings—a stash of cash I’d kept hidden for years.
Poker winnings from college I’d never deposited, birthday checks from guilt-ridden relatives, emergency funds I’d pulled out before coming here because I was paranoid about digital trails.
It was enough to float me for a few months if I lived lean.
Enough to prove I didn't need his blood money.
Still, the words gnawed at me. Choose wisely. Like there was a correct answer that didn't involve ripping my heart out.
I shook it off, draining the mug. Winnie was coming back to train for regionals, and I’d promised Pops I’d handle the feed store run. We were low on grain and mineral blocks, and with the heat picking up, the cattle needed supplements.
I grabbed the keys to Winnie’s truck—her baby. The manual transmission that had nearly humiliated me my first week here now felt natural in my hand.
The drive into town was a meditation of gear shifts and open windows. The Oklahoma landscape stretched out in endless gold and green, wheat fields bowing under the sun. But my mind wasn't on the scenery. It was on the barn.
I thought about the way Winnie had grabbed me yesterday. The sheer, unadulterated confidence of her hand squeezing my ass. The memory tightened my jeans instantly. I’d had plenty of women—faceless, nameless nights in penthouse suites that left me feeling nothing but empty. But this?
I felt like a fumbling virgin, desperate and aching.
I didn't just want to sleep with her. I wanted to ruin her.
I wanted to strip her bare, pin her to the mattress, and drive into her until she forgot her own name.
I wanted to brand myself onto her skin so deep that even when I wasn't there, she’d feel the ghost of my hands on her body.
The possessiveness was ugly, primal, and terrifyingly real.
I pulled into the feed store lot, the gravel crunching under the tires. Earl Miller’s place was a local institution—faded red siding, the smell of sweet hay and dust hitting you the second you opened the door.
Earl, a man whose mustache was wider than my future, looked up from the counter.
"Well, if it ain't the city boy! Beau, right? You're lookin' more like a hand every time I see ya."
I chuckled, grabbing a heavy-duty cart. "Trying my best, Earl. Need the usual grain and mineral supplements for the herd."
"Good man. Heard Winnie broke her record the other day. Sixteen-nine. That girl's runnin' like she’s got wings." Earl moved to the back, tossing fifty-pound bags like they were pillows. "You two an item now? Whole town’s buzzin'."
My face heated, but I didn't dodge it. "Yeah. Something like that."
Item? We were a raw nerve ending waiting to spark.
"Good. She deserves someone who’ll stick. Last guy didn't know what he had." Earl loaded the dolly.
Tyler. The name soured my mood instantly. Boring, safe, reliable Tyler.
"That's four bags, two blocks. Anything else?"
I paused near the display by the counter. My eyes landed on a black Stetson. It was sleek, high quality—similar to the one I’d lost in the meadow weeks ago, which was currently serving as a luxury condo for field mice.
I picked it up. It felt right. "This too."
Earl rang it up, the archaic register dinging loudly. "That’ll be $347.82. Cash or card?"
I pulled out my wallet, fishing for the Sterling black card. The heavy metal rectangle that had opened doors in Paris, Tokyo, and New York. I handed it over without a thought.
Earl swiped it.
Beep.
DECLINED.
The red letters on the terminal screen felt like a slap in the face.
"Huh," Earl muttered, frowning. He swiped it again, slower. Beep. DECLINED.
"Machine’s acting up," Earl said kindly, though we both saw the screen. "Or maybe the bank flagged it for fraud. You got another one, son?"
"I..." My throat went dry.
It wasn't fraud. It was Dad.
He hadn't waited a month. He was squeezing me now. A warning shot. See how far you get without me.
"No," I managed, my voice tight. "No other card. Cash is fine."
I forced a laugh that sounded jagged in my own ears, pulling the wad of bills from the hidden compartment of my wallet. Thank God I had it. Thank God I hadn't trusted him. I counted out three hundred and fifty, my hands steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my blood.
"Keep the change, Earl."
"Appreciate it." Earl gave me a long look, sensing the shift in the air, but he was too polite to ask. "You sure you're alright?"
"Never better. Just... banking glitches."
I shoved the useless black card back into my wallet, feeling the weight of the lie settle on my shoulders. I loaded the truck in a haze of anger. This was real now. The safety net wasn't just frayed; it was gone.
"Beau?"
I froze, a grain bag on my shoulder.
Tyler stood by the tailgate, holding a clipboard, wearing a feed store polo and that easy, nice-guy smile that made me want to punch him.
"Tyler. Hey." I tossed the bag into the bed, turning to face him.
"Didn't expect to see you doing the grunt work. Winnie usually handles the runs." He glanced at the supplies. "She doing okay? Haven't seen her around."
"She's great," I said, my voice clipped. "Training for regionals. Broke her record."
"Damn. Sixteen-nine?" He whistled low. "Impressive. But then, she always was talented." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as they focused on my neck.
His smirk turned sharp. "Looks like she’s been riding more than just horses lately."
I instinctively reached up, my fingers brushing the spot just below my jaw where Winnie’s teeth had grazed yesterday in the barn. It was tender. A mark.
Possessiveness roared to life in my chest. I didn't cover it. I dropped my hand, letting him see it. Letting him see exactly who she belonged to.
"Yeah, well," I said, holding his gaze, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "She's enthusiastic. Can you blame her?"
Tyler’s smile faltered. The 'nice guy' mask slipped for a second, revealing the jealousy underneath.
"Right," he laughed, hollow and short. "Good for you, man. Just... don't mess it up. She’s got a big heart."
I'm not you, I thought viciously.
"Not planning on it."
He nodded once, stiffly, and walked back inside. I watched him go, feeling a savage sense of victory that did nothing to fix the declined card burning a hole in my pocket.
The drive back was slower. The cash in my pocket felt lighter. The reality of the situation was settling in—feed runs, vet bills, competition fees... it all added up. And if Dad was freezing accounts now, I was on a countdown clock.
But I couldn't tell Winnie. Not yet. Not when she was finally looking at me without walls. Telling her meant admitting I was a liability.
I pulled up to the ranch, the truck rattling. And then I heard it. Her voice.
"Good boy, Bandit! That's it!"
She was in the round pen, dusty and focused. The knot in my chest loosened instantly. Just the sound of her was enough to ground me.
I parked and started unloading the bags, stacking them in the shed with a punishing rhythm. Sweat soaked my t-shirt, turning it transparent, my muscles burning. It felt good. It felt like honest work. This life—the dirt, the sweat, the struggle—it was worth a thousand black cards.
"Ayee, City Boy."
I turned. Winnie was leaning against the doorway of the shed, hair wild from riding, cheeks flushed pink. She looked like heaven and trouble wrapped in denim.
She jogged over, eyes bright. "You survived the feed store. Proud of you."
"Barely," I panted, wiping my forehead. "Earl interrogated me about us. Said the whole town is talking."
"Of course he did. Earl is worse than the church ladies." Her eyes drifted to the truck seat. "New hat?"
"Yeah. Figured it was time to replace the one I lost." I grabbed the black Stetson, settling it on my head. I tilted the brim down. "How do I look?"
Winnie bit her lip, her gaze dropping to my chest, then back up to my eyes. The air between us crackled, hot and sudden.
"It looks good," she whispered, stepping into my personal space. "Really good. The cowboy thing... it suits you."
"Yeah?" I reached out, my hands spanning her waist, pulling her flush against my sweaty body. I didn't care about the grime. I needed to feel her. "What else suits me?"
"Me," she replied, bold and breathless.
She surged up, kissing me. It tasted like sunshine and sweet tea and promises I was terrified I couldn't keep. I kissed her back desperately, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, my hands gripping her hips like I was trying to anchor myself to the earth.
For a moment, the declined card didn't exist. My father didn't exist.
There was only Winnie, pressing against me, her heart beating against my chest.
When we broke apart, she was smiling, totally oblivious to the storm brewing behind my eyes.
"Come on," she said, tugging my hand. "Pops made lunch. And I want to hear about your manual driving skills—tell me you didn't kill my baby's transmission."
I forced a laugh, following her toward the house.
One month. I had one month to figure out how to choose her without losing everything—or how to lose everything and make sure she was enough.