Chapter 7 - Willa
SEVEN
WILLA
Iwake up to the sound of something heavy hitting the porch railing.
It’s a sharp noise, wood on wood. I know it’s Beau before I even get out of bed—no one else in Sagebrush County starts their day with that kind of energy.
I stay under the quilt I took from the main house, listening to the livestock moving and the wind clicking through the dry grass.
If I squint, Beau’s porch almost feels close enough to be a neighbor’s.
I let myself feel annoyed that he’s already up and working, then finally get out of bed and head to the kitchen for coffee.
Baking helps. It feels homey and maybe wastes some eggs, but kneading dough makes my arms ache and covers my hands in flour.
I remember last night’s almost-kiss—his jaw tightening, his steady hands, the look in his eyes that said more than words.
I try to ignore how much I want him. The dough doesn’t care if I’m embarrassed, so I punch it hard and leave it to rise.
Buck shows up first, as usual, nose pressed to the back door, tail beating a small hurricane against my screen. I feed him a piece of heel bread, and he acts like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. I scratch him behind the ears, grateful for the excuse not to think too hard.
With Buck following, I walk the back fence and check a busted post from yesterday.
There’s no sign of Beau, but his truck’s parked at an angle by the barn, as he left it partway through another argument with himself.
I yell for him. Nothing. Just Buck, nudging my hand for another treat.
I decide to head over, because the only thing worse than wanting is pretending you don’t.
He’s in the workshop, but I notice right away he’s not alone.
A woman with long blond hair stands next to Beau’s workbench, holding a Mason jar filled with something red.
She leans over the table, relaxed and close, and laughs at something Beau says.
It’s a laugh I’ve never heard from him before—lighter, different.
Buck, impatient as always, runs ahead and jumps on Beau, who catches him with one arm and quickly steps sideways, blocking the woman’s view of me as I come in.
“Hey,” I say, because I have nothing else.
Beau looks up. The laugh is gone, replaced by his usual careful study. “Hey, yourself.”
The woman eyes me like I’m a stray. “You must be the neighbor,” she says, not even bothering with a greeting.
I nod. “That’s me. I was just—” I hold up the Tupperware I raided from my own cabinets, still warm from the oven. “Brownies.”
The woman clocks the gesture. “Cute,” she says, but doesn’t move to take one. Her smile is practiced, the type you use on kids or charity cases.
Beau wipes his hands on the back of his jeans. “What’s up?”
I want to tell him the truth: nothing’s wrong, I just needed a reason to see him. But I can’t say that. Instead, I set the brownies on the bench and let Buck’s begging and the silence fill the space between us.
Beau nods, but his eyes stay on me a second longer than they have to. “Appreciate it.”
The woman sets her Mason jar on Beau’s workbench.
She walks over and puts her hand on his arm for a moment, the move careful and obvious.
She says, “I should be going,” looking at Beau instead of me.
Her eyes pass over me, pausing just long enough to size me up before she decides I’m not a threat.
Then she leaves, head held high, her exit smooth but not quite friendly.
Buck whines as the screen door snaps shut. Now it’s just Beau and the dusty scent of his workshop.
“Friend of yours?” I ask, but it comes off as more pointed than I want.
“Cousin,” he says. Then, “She’s in town for the weekend. She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
It shouldn’t matter, but there’s relief anyway. “Got it.”
He grabs a brownie and takes a big bite. He eats like he does everything else—fast, decisive, zero ceremony.
I keep myself busy by looking around the counters. There’s a row of tools, lined up from biggest to smallest, and a pair of worn gloves that must be his, the fingers stuck in a half-closed shape.
He steps up behind me, and I feel his heat before I hear his breath. “You didn’t have to bring those,” he says, voice low. “But I can’t say I mind.”
I turn. He’s close. I want to tell him to back up, but I want him right here, with just us and the charged air between.
“Can’t eat them all myself,” I say, even though I absolutely could.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then lowers it, carefully, to the edge of the counter near my hip. “Willa,” he says, like the words are hard to come by.
The silence drags on, and my chest tightens. I hate how just being near him makes my heart race, how my body wants to give away everything I’ve tried to keep to myself.
“All right?” I ask.
He nods. Then, quietly, “Been thinking about you.”
I want to tell him he’s not the only one, but I know what it costs to give in. If I let him see even a hint, he’ll push until he gets through. He always does, and I’m not sure what would be left of me after that, so I keep my face steady. I have to stay strong.
As Buck rummages noisily through a trash bag, I seize the lull to move away from Beau.
I skirt around him, head over to the hook by the door, and grab Buck's leash.
“Dog needs a walk,” I say, even though Buck would trail after me anyhow.
I clip the leash on, purposefully shifting my attention from Beau to the dog.
Beau doesn’t move to stop me. He just stands there, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, eyes pinned to the floor like he’s afraid that if he meets my gaze again, something will break open between us.
I walk Buck down to the creek and sit on a flat rock, watching the light on the water.
Buck wades in, shaking off and splashing mud everywhere.
I think about Beau’s hands—how they hovered at my waist when we lifted the bucket, how he held my wrist last night, gentle, like if he tried any harder, I might break.
The whole point of running this place solo was not to need anyone. But now, when I make coffee, I measure out an extra scoop for him. When I fix a fence, I hear his voice in my head giving shit advice. Whenever Buck barks at shadows, I half-hope it’s Beau coming up the road.
I toss a stick. Buck ignores it and comes to sit next to me, all warm dog and contented sighs. I rub his ear and say, “He’s trouble, your owner.” Buck leans in harder.
When I get back, the house is quiet. I dry Buck off and drop the leash at the door, but I don’t go inside. Instead, I walk to the south fence, where the grass is thin and the posts lean over. I kneel and dig at a bindweed root—not because it matters, but because it’s better than doing nothing.
I’m so deep in it, I don’t hear him coming. His boots stop a few feet behind me.
“We need to talk,” Beau says.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, refusing to turn. “Okay. Talk.”
He waits, lets the silence stir up more nerves than words ever could.
“I know what you think,” he starts. His voice is thick, like he’s been chewing it over all afternoon. “That this is still about the land.”
I throw the tangle of weed aside. “Isn’t it?”
He shakes his head, short and sharp. “Not anymore.”
I stand up and face him, my hands clenched at my sides. He looks tired in a way I haven’t seen before—more than just worn out. He presses his lips together, and I don’t like the look on his face. For a moment, I want to step back and let him pretend everything’s fine.
“I told myself I could get what I wanted if I just waited you out,” he says. “That you’d leave, or sell, or… something. But you’re still here.”
I cross my arms, suddenly cold. “Congrats. You wore me down.”
He closes the gap between us. “That’s not what I mean.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just stare at his boots.
His hand lands at my jaw—careful, soft—and tips my face toward his. “I don’t want your land if it means losing you.”
I laugh, then, small and bitter. “That’s a hell of a line, Beau.”
He nods, accepting it. “I mean it.”
When I stay silent, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded envelope. He opens it, tears the paper cleanly in half, and holds both pieces out to me. “I’m not buying you out. Not now, not ever.” His hand stays outstretched, steady, forcing me to see what’s in his palm.
It’s a copy of the offer, still sharp at the crease. My name, his signature, a number that once felt like an insult. It’s nothing now. His hands are steady when he passes it over, but I see the tremor in his jaw, the shallow breaths.
I hold the scraps in my palm, not sure if I want to throw them at his chest or tape them together and frame them out of spite.
He doesn’t look away. “I’d like you to stay,” he says. “With me.”
It’s not a long speech, but it’s so honest I have to look away. I want to believe him. Maybe I do. But feeling like second best is something I’m used to, and I can’t just forget that because it’s only us now. I don’t know if I’m ready to take that risk. I’m not sure he gets what that means.
“You sure?” I ask, voice cracked.
He nods, earnest. “I’m sure.”
I stand there, waiting for the catch, but there isn’t one. It’s just Beau, steady and still, like he’d wait in this patch of dry grass forever unless I tell him to leave.
Buck circles us, tail whipping my leg, sensing the new tension.
I could end it right here. Tell him I’m not interested, force him back behind his own fences. But I don’t.
Instead, I step forward and kiss him, hard and desperate, a little angry and a little sweet. His hands grab my waist, steadying me, and for the first time since I got this place, I don’t feel like I’m falling.
The kiss is quick at first, then slows down and softens. He lets me lead, lets me take what I want, and I take all of it. He runs his fingers through my hair, holding my head, his thumb brushing my cheek. I press against him and feel him steady himself with me.
When we break apart, we’re both breathless. Beau’s mouth hovers at my ear. “I won’t push you,” he says. “I messed that up enough.” His voice is low, shaky. “But if you want this…”
I do. I want it so bad it makes my hands shake, so I fist his shirt and drag him back to the house with me. We leave Buck barking at our heels, and I don’t know if I’m laughing or crying or just finally alive.
Inside, I leave the lights off. I let the dusk settle, hiding the mess, the cracked plates, and my dirt-stained hands. Beau feels bigger than the room, bigger than my doubts, and when he pulls me close, he’s so gentle it almost breaks me.
He kisses my neck, my jaw, everywhere but my lips, until I lift my chin and kiss him. His mouth is rough and real, nothing careful or stiff. There’s no pretending, no holding back. Just heat, longing, and for the first time since I came to Sagebrush, I want to stay.