BEAU Dallas in the dust
BEAU
Dallas in the dust
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
Friday Night
"Sometimes you have to go back to the beginning to find your way forward."
– Unknown
***
The barn smelled like home now. Not the dusty allergy-trigger from three weeks ago, but something grounding—hay, leather, horses settling in.
I’d pulled Winnie in here deliberately. Away from the porch light and Pops’ eyes. The things I needed to say were too big for an audience.
Her hand was warm in mine, calloused and small. When she let me pull her deeper into the aisle, something in my chest clicked into place.
She leaned against Daisy’s stall, tipping her head back. That half-smile—the one driving me insane—played on her lips. Her crop top left her shoulders bare, skin glowing gold, and those cutoffs… Christ. I was officially out of willpower.
I was in deep shit. Not just attracted. Drowning.
“So?” she prompted, arching an eyebrow. “You dragged me out here. Spill, city boy.”
I swallowed hard. Pops’ advice from the cemetery rang in my ears. Jump, and hope she catches you.
“Yesterday. What I said on the porch.” I stepped closer until the air between us felt charged. “I wasn’t just flirting. I wasn’t trying to get a rise out of you.”
Winnie’s breath hitched. “Beau…”
“I meant it. I think you’re incredible.” My fingers grazed her jawline, watching her eyes flutter shut. “I think I’m falling for you, Winnie. After hearing Pops talk about Nana today, about building something real…” I swallowed past the lump. “I want that. With you. Even if it’s messy. Even if—”
My phone erupted.
Not a normal ringtone—the shrill, demanding trill I’d set for “High Priority” contacts years ago. It cut through the moment like a chainsaw.
“Shit.” I fumbled to silence it. “Sorry. Ignore that—”
Buzz. Buzz-buzz.
“Jesus.” I hit decline. “I was saying—”
Buzz buzz buzz buzz.
“You sure that’s not important?” Winnie asked, stepping back. “That sounds persistent.”
“It’s spam. I’m turning it off.”
I yanked the phone out.
INCOMING CALL: SOLENE
Winnie saw the name. I watched the light die in her face.
“I…” I stared at the screen, paralyzed.
“Answer it,” Winnie said. Her voice went flat.
“No. I don’t want to—”
“Beau, if she’s calling four times, answer the damn phone.”
I hit accept, anger spiking. “What?”
“Beau Sterling?” The voice was unmistakable—sultry, entitled, Dallas drawl. “Oh my god, finally. Your dad’s secretary was such a bitch about giving me this number.”
I froze.
Solene.
“How did you—why are you calling?”
“Because I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. Your dad finally caved when I told him we were basically back together.” She laughed. “Which we kind of are, right? Before you went full Yellowstone.”
Winnie was backing away. I reached for her but she stepped out of range, arms crossing. She mouthed, Your dad?
I nodded helplessly.
“Why would my dad give you my number?” Desperation clawed at my throat. “Why would he tell you where I am?”
“Because he agrees with me. He thinks this little detox has gone on long enough.” Solene sighed. “Look, I know you’re having a moment. Finding yourself. Whatever. But fashion week is coming up, and I need a date who doesn’t look like a thumb. And I missed you, Beau.”
Her voice dropped, husky. Intimate. “I missed your hands. The way you taste. It’s been weeks since I’ve had that thick cock inside me, and frankly? I’m starving.”
The barn went silent. I hadn’t put it on speaker, but the volume was high. Winnie heard. I saw her flinch.
“Solene, stop,” I hissed, face burning.
“Don’t be a prude. Remember the Joule? The balcony?” She laughed. “I packed a bag. I’m an hour out on I-35. GPS says I’m close to something called Pawhuska, which sounds like a sneeze. I brought the silk sheets.”
My blood turned to ice. “What?”
“I said I’m almost there. I’m coming to rescue you. Get ready to sweat, baby.”
“Turn around. Solene, do not come here.”
“Too late. I see a sign for the ranch.”
Click.
I stood frozen. The silence wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was suffocating.
Winnie was halfway to the door.
“Winnie, wait—”
“No.” She didn’t turn. Her spine was steel. “Your real life is literally driving up the driveway. You’re in here playing cowboy.”
“It’s not like that—”
“What is it like then?” She spun, hurt gutting me. “Because from where I’m standing, you had a nice three-week vacation. You got to pretend. Flirt with the local girl. Feel rustic.” She spat the word. “Now your girlfriend’s here to pick you up because Daddy sent her.”
“She is not my girlfriend—”
“She’s close enough! Did you hear her? She thinks she owns you. And your father gave her the address, Beau. That means he approves. That means she’s the plan. I’m the distraction.”
“You are not a distraction! You’re the only real thing that’s happened to me in years!”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “You need to warn Pops. The guest house needs fresh linens. She won’t sleep on anything less than 800 thread count, right?”
“Winnie, please—”
“I have work to do.”
She walked out. Not running—walking with the dignity of someone who’d just realized she was standing in mud.
I slammed my fist against the stall, startling Daisy. “Fuck!”
Pops was on the porch, nursing a beer. He took one look at my face and set the bottle down.
“Trouble?”
“Disaster. Solene’s coming. An old… flame. Ten minutes out.”
Pops’ eyes narrowed. “How’d she find us?”
“My dad gave her the address.” The betrayal tasted like bile.
Pops exhaled slowly. “He’s twistin’ screws. Checkin’ if you’ll break.”
“I don’t want her here. This is my place. I was happy here.”
“I know, son.” Pops grabbed my shoulder, grip hard. “But she’s comin’. We’re Jamesons. We don’t turn away travelers, even unwanted ones. But Winnie’s watching. She needs to see what you choose. Not what you say. What you choose when it’s standing in front of you in a silk dress.”
“I choose Winnie.”
“Then make damn sure Solene knows it. Quickly.”
Winnie appeared, face professionally blank. Hair pulled into a tight bun, stripping away softness.
“Guest house is ready. Fresh towels, extra pillows.” All efficiency. “What time for dinner?”
“Within the hour,” I said quietly.
She nodded, already moving to the kitchen. Walls so smooth I’d never see her climb them.
An engine cut through the evening. We all turned.
A black mercedes rolled up the gravel, sleek and monstrous, violently out of place. It stopped in a cloud of dust.
Solene Duval stepped out like she’d taken a wrong turn to Fashion Week.
Cream silk slip, strappy stilettos sinking into dirt, oversized sunglasses in perfect blonde hair. She scanned the yard with curiosity and a faint nose-wrinkle.
“Beau!” She picked across the grass like the ground might bite. “Oh my god, look at you.”
She launched at my neck before I could brace. Chanel and old money wrapped around me. “You look rugged. Like farmhand porn. Did you grow muscles, or is this a really good shirt?”
“Solene.” I pried her off, stepping back. “Knock it off.”
She pouted. “Don’t be grumpy. I drove two hours in heels for you.” Her voice dipped. “I’m so turned on. Those jeans should be illegal. Take me inside.”
“Solene.” I glanced toward the porch. “There are people.”
She finally noticed the others. Her gaze skimmed Pops, then Winnie—boots, cutoffs, work shirt, dirt-smudged hands. Her expression dismissed what it registered.
She turned to Pops, smile snapping into place. “Hi! Granddad, right? I’m Solene. Rescue mission. Someone has to remind Beau about air conditioning.”
“Ma’am,” Pops said evenly.
“This is rustic. Very authentic.” She waved toward the barn. “If someone could grab my bags? They’re Vuitton. The dust here is brutal.”
She held out keys.
To Winnie.
The air went razor-sharp. Winnie’s jaw flexed. Pops’ eyes went flinty.
I stepped forward, taking the keys.
“Winnie’s not help. She runs this place. She owns the ranch.”
Solene blinked, laughed lightly. “Oh. Sorry, I just assumed…” She shrugged. “That’s cute. Girl boss farmer?”
“Grew up here,” Winnie said smoothly. “Nana left me the ranch. So yeah. It’s mine.”
“Adopted?” Solene echoed. “Very heartland documentary.” She turned back to me. “So where are we staying? Please tell me there’s a tub. I need to wash this state off and let you get me dirty again.”
“Guest cottage,” Pops drawled, steel underneath. “Clean. Comfortable.”
“And Beau?” Solene slid her arm through mine.
“Guest house is separate,” Winnie said, stepping between Solene and the porch. Polite smile. Hard eyes. “More private. More guest-appropriate. I’ll show you.”
Deliberate positioning—blocking Solene’s path.
“Bring your bags,” she added.
Solene pouted. “Can’t Beau—”
“Guest house,” Pops repeated. “Best we got.”
Solene huffed, shot me a look, and clicked toward the car. Winnie fell into step.
As they walked, Solene’s voice drifted back. “It’s adorable. You playing cowgirl, him playing cowboy. Summer camp with abs.”
“Some of us aren’t playing,” Winnie said lightly. “This is life.”
“Must be nice. Can’t get fired from family jobs.”
“Ranch doesn’t care I’m adopted if I screw up. It dies. Everything on it dies.”
Pops clapped my shoulder. “You did right. Now the hard part.”
“Which is?”
“Provin’ ‘no’ ain’t just a word for when someone’s watchin’.” He nodded toward the guest house. “She didn’t come here to lose.”
“She’s not the one I’m letting win.”
“Then make damn sure everybody knows it.