WINNIE
Why can’t anything go right
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"I'm every woman—it's all in me."
– Whitney Houston
***
I didn’t think a Wednesday morning could go from peaceful to catastrophic in the span of a single phone call, but here we were.
I was sore. Yesterday’s riding session with Elise had been brutal.
My thighs ached in places I hadn’t felt in years, and my lower back felt like I’d been thrown from a horse instead of riding one.
Elise was a perfectionist—every turn scrutinized, every pocket dissected, every breath timed.
But I wouldn’t complain. Regionals were fricking soon, and if anyone could get me to that podium, it was her.
I’d been sitting on the porch, coffee in hand, watching Beau fix the fence line in the distance. He’d been out there since dawn, shirt already soaked with sweat, looking like he belonged there. Looking like he’d always belonged there.
And that scared the hell out of me.
It had been a month. One month since he’d shown up useless and terrified of Pickles.
One month of watching him transform from a spoiled rich kid into someone who could muck stalls without complaining, who woke up at 5 AM voluntarily, who looked at this ranch like it was salvation instead of punishment.
This didn’t make sense how fast he adapted. As if he was meant for this.
One month of falling for him so hard and fast it felt like being thrown from Bandit at full gallop.
And I didn’t know if that was real or just… proximity. Convenience. The romance of someone choosing a different life. What if he woke up and realized he’d made a mistake? That he’d given up a luxurious life for dirt and early mornings and a girl who couldn’t promise him anything but hard work?
What if I was just a phase?
My phone buzzed, jolting me from my spiral. Unknown number. I answered anyway—could be a rodeo official, a vet, someone important.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ms Jameson?” A woman’s voice, crisp and professional.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“This is Patricia Whitmore from Dallas Society Magazine. I’m working on a piece about Beau Sterling III and his…
extended sabbatical in Oklahoma.” The way she said “extended sabbatical” dripped with condescension.
“We’ve heard through sources that he’s been staying on your property.
I was hoping to get a quote from you about his time there. ”
I froze. “How did you get this number?”
“We’re journalists, Ms. Jameson. It’s what we do.
” She paused, and I could hear the smile in her voice—the kind that wasn’t friendly.
“Now, our readers are very curious about Mr. Sterling’s sudden departure from Dallas society.
Some speculate it’s a publicity stunt. Others say he’s having a breakdown.
And there are… rumors about a romantic involvement with a local woman. Would you care to comment?”
“No comment.”
“Come now, Ms. Jameson. Surely you have something to say. You’re running a cattle ranch, correct? I imagine the financial support of someone like Beau Sterling would be quite… beneficial to your operation.”
She’s insinuating I’m using him for money.
“I said no comment. Don’t call this number again.” I hung up, my hands shaking.
Elise appeared in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. “Who was that?”
“A reporter. From Dallas. Asking about Beau.” I set my phone down like it might explode. “They’re writing a story about him. About us.”
Elise’s expression darkened. “Did you talk to them?”
“No. But Elise…” I looked up at her, the panic finally breaking through. “They found me. They have my number. What if they show up here? What if they start digging into the ranch, into our finances, into—”
“Into whether you’re dating him for his money?” Elise finished, her voice gentle but firm.
“I’m not! I’m not even dating him!”
“I know that. But you’re worried other people will think that.”
I buried my face in my hands. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I’m not… I’m not equipped for this, Elise. I don’t know how to handle reporters and society magazines and people who think I’m some gold-digging ranch girl who got lucky.”
“Hey.” Elise sat down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “First of all, screw them. Second, you need to talk to Beau about this. Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I exhaled shakily. “Because it’s only been a month.
One month, Elise. How do I know this is real?
How do I know he’s not just… caught up in the novelty of it all?
The romance of escaping his life and playing cowboy?
What if this is just a fantasy for him, and I’m the idiot who might be falling for her childhood friend? ”
Elise was quiet for a moment. “Did you just say you’re in love with him?”
“I—” The words stuck in my throat. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think so. But it’s too fast, right? A month isn’t enough time to know someone. Not really.”
“Winnie, Nana and Pops got engaged after three weeks. Plus You’ve known each others ever since yall were 4”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Elise turned to face me. “Love doesn’t run on a schedule. It doesn’t care if it’s been a month or a year. The question isn’t whether it’s too soon. It’s whether you trust it. Whether you trust him.”
“I want to. But what if—”
My phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.
Elise grabbed it before I could, answering with a voice that could freeze fire.
“This is Elise Jameson, and if you’re another reporter looking for a story, here’s your quote: The Jameson family does not comment on personal matters.
Any further harassment will result in legal action. Do not call again.”
She hung up and turned off my phone entirely. “There. Handled.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Thank you.”
“Now.” She stood, pulling me up with her. “You’re going to talk to Beau. Right now. Because running from this isn’t going to make it go away.”
“Elise—”
“Winnie.” Her voice softened. “He deserves to know that reporters are calling. And you deserve to know if he’s serious about this. About you. Stop hiding behind Regionals and finances and fear. Have the conversation.”
***
I found Beau in the south pasture, wrestling with a stubborn fence post. He looked up when I approached, his face breaking into that smile—the one that made my chest ache.
“Hey,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You okay? You look…”
“We need to talk.”
The smile faded. “That’s never good.”
“A reporter called me this morning. From Dallas. Asking about you. About us.”
His expression went from concerned to furious in a heartbeat. “What did they say?”
“They wanted a quote. About your ‘extended sabbatical.’ About whether we’re… involved.” I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling exposed. “They implied I might be using you for financial support.”
“Jesus Christ.” He dropped the post puller, closing the distance between us. “Winnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I should’ve known they’d come looking.”
“It’s not your fault. But Beau…” I looked up at him, forcing myself to be honest. “This is what your life is. Reporters. Scrutiny. People who will assume the worst about me because I’m… me. And you’re you.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know if I can do this.” The words came out in a rush. “It’s been a month, Beau. One month. How do I know this is real? How do I know you won’t wake up in six months and realize you made a mistake? That you gave up your whole life for a fantasy?”
“A fantasy?” He looked genuinely hurt. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I think you’re running from something, and I’m convenient.
I think you love the idea of this life, but when reality hits—when the reporters won’t stop calling, when your family gets involved, when you realize what you actually gave up—you’ll leave.
And I’ll be the idiot who let herself believe it could work. ”
“Winnie—”
“I can’t be someone’s phase, Beau. I can’t be the girl you look back on fondly when you’re back in Dallas marrying someone who actually fits into your world.”
He stared at me, jaw tight, eyes blazing. Then he spoke, his voice low and intense.
“You want to know if this is real? If I’m serious?
” He stepped closer. “I wake up at 5 AM now and I don’t hate it.
I’ve got calluses on my hands from actual work, and I’m proud of them.
You think I’m running from something? Maybe I am.
But I’m also running toward something. Toward this. Toward you.”
“Beau—”
“I’m not done.” His hands found my shoulders, gentle but firm.
“You want to know the difference between you and every other woman I’ve ever known?
You don’t need me, Winnie. You don’t need my money or my name or anything I can give you.
You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.
And yeah, maybe it’s only been a month, but I’ve learned more about who I actually am in that month than in twenty-four years of being Beau Sterling III. ”
My throat was tight, tears threatening. “What if it’s not enough?”
“What if it is?” He ducked his head, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“I can’t promise you that reporters won’t call.
I can’t promise my family won’t be assholes.
But I can promise you this, I’m not leaving right now.
I’m staying here, whether you want me or not, because this is the first place I’ve ever felt like I belong. ”
“You can’t know that after a month.”
“Yes, I can.” His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “Winnie. I know it’s fast. I know it’s terrifying. But it’s real. And if you need time to believe that, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”
The words hung between us, raw and honest and impossible to ignore.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“I know. Me too.”
“I don’t know how to do this. How to trust this.”
“We’ll figure it out. Together.” He rested his forehead against mine. “But you gotta let me in, Winnie. You gotta stop running.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his words, the truth of them settling into my bones.
“After Regionals,” I said finally. “After Regionals, we’ll figure this out. But Beau… you have to mean it. You have to be sure. Because if you break my heart, I don’t know if I’ll recover.”
“I mean it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear to God, I mean it.”
And for the first time in a month, I let myself believe him.