Chapter 12 Rumors in Blackthorn
Whispers
The first whisper reached me before I realized there was a problem.
At first, I thought I was imagining it.
A glance that lingered too long.
A conversation that stopped when I walked past.
A look exchanged between strangers when Ryder and I entered the same room.
Small things.
Easy to dismiss.
Easy to explain away.
Unfortunately, the pattern kept repeating.
And patterns were hard to ignore.
The realization began during one of our regular supply runs into town.
Blackthorn wasn't exactly a large place.
The town sat only a few miles from the ranch, and most residents seemed to know one another.
They also seemed to know everything about one another.
An unfortunate quality.
Ryder parked outside the feed store while I climbed out of the truck.
The morning sun already felt warm against my skin.
A few local residents stood outside nearby businesses drinking coffee and talking.
Normal small-town stuff.
At least, it looked normal.
Until I noticed them watching.
Not just watching me.
Watching us.
The attention felt subtle.
Nothing obvious.
Just enough to trigger the uncomfortable sensation of being observed.
I glanced toward Ryder.
The cowboy either hadn't noticed or didn't care.
Knowing Ryder, probably the second option.
The man could walk through a hurricane without changing expression.
Meanwhile, I was overanalyzing eye contact.
Life wasn't fair.
We headed inside.
The feed store smelled like grain, leather, and old wood.
Several customers browsed shelves while employees moved inventory around the building.
The moment we entered, I noticed it again.
The looks.
The whispers.
The curiosity.
A woman near the front counter glanced toward us.
Then immediately leaned closer to her friend.
A quiet conversation followed.
Both women looked in our direction several times.
My stomach tightened slightly.
Maybe it wasn't about us.
Maybe I was imagining things.
The possibility lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Then another customer looked directly at Ryder.
Then at me.
Then back at Ryder.
The expression on his face carried unmistakable interest.
Not friendly interest.
Curious interest.
The kind people wore when discussing gossip.
Wonderful.
I suddenly missed living in a city.
Cities had many flaws.
At least strangers minded their own business.
The feeling followed me throughout the entire trip.
Everywhere we went, someone seemed to be watching.
Not everyone.
Just enough people to make me uncomfortable.
When we finally returned to the truck, I couldn't ignore it anymore.
"Do people always stare this much?"
Ryder loaded supplies into the truck bed.
"What people?"
I gestured vaguely toward town.
"People."
His expression remained blank.
Helpful.
"Small town."
That was apparently his entire explanation.
I stared.
"That's not an answer."
"It kind of is."
Then he shut the truck door and climbed inside.
Conversation over.
Typical.
The problem was that the attention didn't disappear.
If anything, it got worse.
Over the following week, I noticed more whispers.
More looks.
More conversations that seemed to stop whenever Ryder and I appeared together.
Part of me wondered if I was becoming paranoid.
Then reality removed all doubt.
It happened at the local diner.
One of the few restaurants in town.
The food was good.
The coffee was excellent.
The atmosphere had always felt welcoming.
Until that afternoon.
Ryder and I stopped there after a supply delivery.
Nothing unusual.
We grabbed a booth near the window and ordered lunch.
For a while, everything seemed normal.
The waitress chatted with us.
Customers came and went.
The usual rhythm of small-town life continued.
Then I went to use the restroom.
The mistake took less than five minutes.
On my way back, I passed two older women seated near the rear of the diner.
Neither noticed me approaching.
Unfortunately, I heard enough.
"...always thought Ryder would settle down eventually."
The first voice sounded disappointed.
The second woman laughed quietly.
"Not with that boy hanging around."
My footsteps slowed.
Unintentionally.
The first woman lowered her voice.
Not enough.
"He's young enough to be Ryder's son."
Heat rushed into my face.
The second woman sighed dramatically.
"Whole thing feels strange."
The words landed harder than they should have.
Maybe because they confirmed every suspicion I'd been trying to ignore.
The whispers weren't imaginary.
The looks weren't imaginary.
People were talking.
About us.
About Ryder.
About me.
I forced myself to keep walking.
Every instinct screamed at me to disappear.
To leave.
To pretend I'd never heard any of it.
Instead, I returned to the table.
Sat down.
Picked up my drink.
Tried acting normal.
The effort lasted approximately ten seconds.
Ryder immediately noticed.
Of course he did.
The man noticed everything when it mattered.
"What happened?"
I shook my head.
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed.
The same look he always got when he knew I was lying.
I focused on my food.
Conversation died.
The lunch ended quickly afterward.
Neither of us mentioned it again.
At least not out loud.
The comments remained stuck in my head anyway.
Following me through the afternoon.
Through evening chores.
Through dinner.
By bedtime, they felt impossible to escape.
The age difference.
The judgment.
The curiosity.
The whispers.
I understood why people talked.
Small towns thrived on stories.
Especially stories involving people like Ryder.
Everyone knew him.
Everyone had opinions.
The problem was that their opinions suddenly included me.
And I wasn't sure how to handle that.
The following Saturday made things worse.
The town hosted a small community event near the fairgrounds.
Food vendors.
Live music.
Local businesses.
The kind of gathering that seemed mandatory in places like Blackthorn.
Several ranch hands attended.
Ryder showed up too.
So did I.
At first, the event felt fun.
Relaxed.
Normal.
Then I started noticing the looks again.
People watched whenever Ryder and I stood together.
Whenever we laughed.
Whenever we talked.
The attention felt impossible to miss.
I tried ignoring it.
Failed.
Several times.
Eventually, I wandered away from the main crowd.
Needing space.
Needing air.
Needing a break from feeling like everyone's favorite topic of conversation.
A few minutes later, I stopped near one of the vendor booths.
The area looked quieter.
Less crowded.
For a moment, I relaxed.
Then someone spoke.
"You're the college kid from Ryder's ranch, right?"
I turned.
A local man stood nearby.
Middle-aged.
Slightly drunk.
The smell of beer practically announced itself.
"Yeah."
The answer felt harmless.
The man's smile wasn't.
Something about it immediately made me uncomfortable.
He looked me up and down.
Slowly.
Judgmentally.
Then he laughed.
Not kindly.
"You know, people are talking."
My stomach dropped.
The man didn't seem interested in subtlety.
Or manners.
Or basic human decency.
"About what?"
His grin widened.
"About how long you'll stick around before getting bored."
The comment stung.
Not because it was particularly clever.
Because part of me had worried about the same thing.
Before I could respond, he continued.
"They always leave eventually."
The words hit harder.
Much harder.
The smile disappeared from my face.
The man shrugged.
As though discussing the weather.
"People like you don't stay in places like Blackthorn."
Something twisted painfully inside my chest.
People like you.
The phrase carried meaning.
Judgment.
Assumptions.
Dismissal.
Every insecurity I'd been fighting suddenly resurfaced.
The city boy.
The outsider.
The temporary visitor.
Someone who didn't truly belong.
The man walked away before I could answer.
Leaving the words behind.
Leaving the damage behind.
For several seconds, I stood there alone.
Staring at nothing.
Thinking too much.
Feeling too much.
The noise of the fairgrounds seemed distant now.
Muted.
Unimportant.
Because for the first time since arriving at Blackthorn Ranch, doubt had returned.
Sharp and unwelcome.
The question settled heavily inside my chest.
What if he was right?
What if I didn't belong here?
What if Blackthorn would never truly be home?
And as the whispers continued around me, I found myself wondering whether the future I'd started imagining was nothing more than a beautiful fantasy destined to disappear.
Nobody Talks About Him
The first time I heard someone talking about Oliver, I ignored it.
Not because it didn't bother me.
Because gossip was as common in Blackthorn as dust.
People talked.
They always had.
They always would.
Most of the time, the smartest response was letting them get bored and move on.
Unfortunately, boredom didn't seem interested in helping.
The rumors kept growing.
Small at first.
Then larger.
Then impossible to miss.
By the middle of August, it felt like half the town had developed an opinion about my personal life.
An impressive achievement considering it wasn't any of their damn business.
I was already irritated before the feed store incident.
The previous week had been full of whispers.
Looks.
Conversations that suddenly stopped whenever I walked into a room.
I'd spent most of my life in Blackthorn.
I knew exactly what people sounded like when they thought they were being subtle.
The answer was not very subtle.
Still, I kept my mouth shut.
For Oliver's sake.
The kid was already struggling enough with the attention.
The last thing he needed was me starting a public war.
Then came Thursday morning.
And everything changed.
I drove into town alone to pick up a feed order.
The trip should have taken twenty minutes.
Instead, it nearly ended with me getting thrown out of the store.
I entered through the front doors and immediately noticed several familiar faces.
Nothing unusual there.