Chapter 4 Beau
FOUR
BEAU
The April wind slams the back door open, then shoves a familiar shadow ahead of it.
Rhett Calder is leaning against my truck, jaw working a blade of grass and arms folded across his t-shirt like he’s got nothing better to do.
Always some smartass smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, eyes a little too quick and amused.
Even from here, I know he’s about to piss me off.
”There he is,” Rhett calls, as I push through the back door. “Was starting to think you’d died in there.”
I grunt and check the load—three bales in the bed, all steady. “You get bored with town already?”
Rhett shakes his head, grinning. “Town’s boring unless you need stitches or a hangover. Figured I’d make myself useful.”
“Since when?”
He swings up beside me, boots thudding on the flatbed. “Since word got around that you got a new neighbor. Hell, the whole county’s talking.”
I slam the tailgate and haul a bale to the ground. “People in this county have too much time and not enough sense.”
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “What’s she like?”
I consider lying. But there’s no point—Rhett hears everything, and what he doesn’t hear, he invents. “She’s not from around here.” I leave it at that.
He laughs. “Wouldn’t guess it by the way she’s working that land. I saw her up by the main road, alone, shoveling gravel into a washout. Like she’s trying to dig her way to China.”
“She’s stubborn,” I admit, hosing down my boots. “But she knows what she’s doing.”
Rhett leans close. “She looks alright, too. Did she get to you yet?”
I glare at him. “I don’t care what she looks like. She’s a problem, not a solution.”
“That’s not what Buck says. I saw that little traitor coming over from her place as I pulled into your drive.”
“Buck’s nosy.” I try to brush him off, but I can feel him watching me with that shit-eating grin.
Are you going to keep acting like she’s a fence post?” Rhett asks, “or are you going to do something about it?”
The question hangs there, and for a second, I imagine the possibilities.
“I’ll let her settle in,” I say. “She doesn’t need me poking around unnecessarily.”
Rhett thumps me on the shoulder, not unkindly. “You could try being nice. Just once.”
“Don’t push me, Rhett.”
He backs off, hands up. “Alright. Anyway, want me to help with the fence line?”
I nod, relieved he’s dropped it.
He does the whole stretch with me, both of us working the posts in silence. At lunch, he pulls out two beers he’s hidden in his truck—early, even for him, but we’ve earned it. We sit on the edge of the open tailgate, boots caked in reddish clay, and watch the sky try to decide if it’s spring yet.
After a while, Rhett says, “You ever think about moving?”
“Why would I?”
He shrugs. “Place is lonely, Beau. Not even your phone works half the time.”
I pop the cap off my beer and chuck it past the fence line. “I like it that way.”
He rests his elbows on his knees and watches the wind skitter broken stalks across the dirt. “Sometimes I wonder what you’d do if you woke up and there was nothing left to fix.”
I don’t answer. What would I do? I can’t picture it. There’s always something—fence down, tractor in need, some leak under the sink. If the problems weren’t there, neither would I be.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time Rhett drives off, tires kicking up riverbed dust that settles on his tailgate like snow.
I do a few more chores, but can’t find my rhythm.
For no good reason, I saddle up and let Buck lead us down toward the creek.
The sun’s gone watery behind thin clouds, and the air has that smell of cold grass and old stone.
Buck picks his way along the waterline, nose to ground, tail held high at the scent of muskrat. Then he stops short, ears pricked.
Willa sits on the far bank, boots off, jeans rolled to the knee, feet in the water.
She’s hunched over a battered paperback, hair half out of its tie and falling soft around her jaw.
Her work jacket’s off, folded like a pillow beneath her elbow.
For the first time, she isn’t building or fixing or arguing with the world. She just sits.
It’s strange to see her so still, doing nothing, and stranger yet to feel a kind of relief about it.
I watch her for a while—longer than I should—listening to the creek gnaw at the banks, and the crows fight over something on the gravel bar.
Buck slinks over and noses at her calves until she looks up and sees me.
We nod. That’s enough.
She pats the ground beside her, and Buck settles in, his whole body a sigh. She doesn’t wave me over, but the invitation is there. I cross the footbridge and lead my horse to graze.
She looks up once, catches me watching. “You planning on working at some point today?” she asks, dry as the cottonwood leaves.
I deadpan right back. “I am working.”
She glances at my boots, then at her own bare feet. “Looks really demanding.”
I lean against a boulder. “I manage.”
She marks the page in her book, thumb holding the crease. “Hard to believe.”
I let myself settle, back pressed against the sun-warmed stone. I can smell the soap on her skin, sharp and resinous, and underneath it, hay dust and sweat. She flips a page. We haven’t talked for a while.
Then, without looking up: “Why aren’t you married?”
Caught off guard, it takes me a second to answer. “Don’t leave much room for it.”
She tilts her head. “Work?”
“Work’s enough.”
She makes a humming sound. “Not a lot of women signing up for this?”
I smile, for the first time in days. “Not that I’ve met.”
She pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around her shins. “I don’t know. I’ve heard cowboys are all the rage.”
Something in her tone makes me look. There’s a ghost of a smile on her mouth, but her eyes are serious. A ripple of quiet tension builds between us.
We sit there, both waiting for the other to move first. The creek’s louder than before, or maybe our silence makes it seem that way.
Then a sound—high and dry and wrong—splits the air. Buck snaps upright. There, two feet from Willa’s boot, a thick-bodied rattler curls out from the grass, triangular head raised.
I don’t think. I move.
She’s too close. In one motion, I hook her under the arms, haul her back, and twist us away from the water’s edge.
She’s lighter than I expect, the bones of her shoulder sharp under my palm.
She bumps hard against my chest, breath knocked out, hands braced on my forearm.
I don’t let go until I see the snake is gone—slipped back to the rocks, tail twitching.
She looks up, startled, then angry at her own surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Snake wasn’t leaving you a lot of options.”
She laughs, chest still tight. “Guess not.”
We’re closer now than we’ve ever been. Her hair is in my face, and her hands are still clutching my arm above the wrist. For a second, neither of us lets go.
The wind changes, and I smell her breath, warm and faintly sweet. My hand is still at her waist. Something shifts—the world goes sharp at the edges, alive with possibility. If I wanted, I could pull her the last inch. She blinks, eyes wide but not scared.
But I don’t.
Instead, I step back and let her go. Her hands slide away slowly, like she’s testing the ground.
Our shadows stretch together across the silt and grass, merging in the dusk.
She stands, brushes dirt off her jeans, and grins at me. “Guess I’ll have to watch my step.”
“Makes sense,” I say. My voice sounds different—rougher.
She picks up her boots and tucks them under her arm. “You always jump in like that?”
“If I have to.”
“I could get used to it,” she says, but there’s a smile tucked in with the words. She nods at Buck, who’s still on high alert, tail rigid.
“Thanks,” she says—soft but direct.
“Don’t mention it.”
She starts up the trail, boots dangling, and I watch her go. The sun is almost down, and the whole creek bottom glows gold. I let my breath out, slow and careful, like setting down a heavy box.
On the way home, I realize I don’t mind that she’s here. Not anymore.
Next morning, Rhett’s at my door again, this time holding a box of donuts and grinning like a man who’s just won a bet. “So,” he drawls. “You and the neighbor girl get along?”
I raise an eyebrow, not bothering to answer.
“Because I heard about your little snake dance at the creek.” He shoves a donut toward me. “People are starting to talk.”
I take the donut. “People need to get a hobby.”
He laughs, shakes his head. “You’re something, Beau.”
I don’t reply, but when I look out the window, I see Willa walking her fence line, head down, focused, alive. Buck runs ahead, looping back every few feet like he’s trying to keep up with her and the sunrise at the same time.
I watch them, coffee in hand, and realize I like the view.
Maybe Rhett’s right. Maybe letting go isn’t the end of the world. Maybe it’s the start.
Somewhere in the distance, a coyote yips, and the hills echo back. I finish my coffee, call for Buck, and step outside.