Chapter Text
The first thing you noticed about the man in your stables was his eyes: blue like the summer sky, neither rainswept nor clouded.
“Can I help you?”
Blonde hair, tied at the base of his head with slightly puffy bangs. Tall. Blue eyes. Jeans with creme patches sewn at the knees. A cerulean jacket with a white undershirt. He wasn’t outwardly threatening, but he was far from the safest person to walk past your gate.
A beat passed. The man held up a flier, the words “Ranch hand WANTED” written in big black letters over the paper, overshadowed only by the picture of Rala, your Appaloosa mare, in the very center. You didn’t bother reading the contact info because you hadn’t been kicked that hard by a horse. Yet.
Either way, he was here for a job, not to steal your cash or chickens, which was a step up as far as you were concerned. You glanced around. All the horses had been fed, their stalls mucked before the sun rose, an you were sure the chickens and sheep would be fine for another fifteen minutes, so you might as well get it over with.
“Do you have any experience?” It wasn’t that you weren’t willing to teach him, but prior knowledge just made things easier in the long run.
The man produced another slip of paper from his jacket, stepping forward to hand it to you. You took the offering and realized it was a resume. One look at the paper had your eyebrows raising.
“...Your name is Link Link?”
He nodded, expression stony, and you had to force a cough so as to not laugh at his unfortunate name. “Alright, and you worked as a ranch hand for three years in Arizona under…” you squinted at the miniscule font. “...Mayor Bo?”
Another nod.
Okay…
Your feed bucket clunked as you set it on the floor and pocketed the resume. He already looked promising, but there was still one thing left to do. “You don’t mind it I keep this?” he shook his head, “I’ve just got one task for you before I make any decisions.”
Link cocked his head, to which you couldn’t help a small chuckle, motioning him further into the barn. “Nothing impossible, I promise. We have a bit of a coyote problem here in Texas; they keep sneaking in and I can’t find the hole for the life of me. Fix it and you’ve got the job.”
You used to have a livestock guardian dog, Lily, but she had passed a month prior and ou hadn’t gotten around to getting another puppy. Reinforced chicken wire and masking sprays had been your defense against the coyotes thus far, until they weren’t. It had been John, your previous ranch hand’s, idea, but he left not long ago upon being offered a cushy job at a feed lot. Traitor.
It was why you put up flyers in the first place–running a five-thousand acre ranch by yourself was not all it was cracked up to be. You needed help, and it had finally come. If he finished the task, that is.
You turned your head at the sound of footsteps, only to see LInk striding outside the barn. He rounded the corner and disappeared from view. You let him go, it wasn’t like he could steal much anyways.
You were tacking up Rala when Link returned an hour later. He had shed his jacket, revealing a pair of strong, sunkissed arms, a thin sheen of sweat blanketing the skin. Not that you were looking, of course. “How goes it?”
No response, but you did catch the thumbs-up he sent you.
It was beginning to dawn on you that he may be mute–or extremely antisocial, but that didn’t seem to be the case–which you didn’t mind; he could talk as much or as little as he wanted so long as he could do his job. You did know a bit of sign language from school…
A loud whirrling noise alerted you of Link’s recent access to your power tools, followed by the clanking of chicken wire and heavy footsteps, but all you did was tighten the girth of the saddle and let him do his thing. You could always buy more, though something inside you told you that wouldn’t be necessary. It was probably because he hadn’t asked you how to plug in a drill like the last guy.
You grabbed the bridle from around your shoulders, slipping it onto Rala’s nose with practiced ease, tightening the straps accordingly. Her ears flicked as she nickered, and you smoothed the back of your hand down her creme-colored nose.
Swinging yourself atop Rala felt like home. Not that you didn’t like Scout, Jake, or Meera, but she was your first horse, and would always have a special place in your heart. You nudged her into a trot, beginning your midday rounds. The sheep pasture was a short ride from the barn, while the chicken coop lay just outside. You typically let them roam–they were smart enough to not stray too far from food–but it was supposed to storm later and you were looking forward to curling up at home with some mutton jerky and buttery popcorn, the TV blaring louder than the thunder.
But the sky was largely blue, flecked with fluffy clouds that looked sooner to explode than hold any amount of rain. You weren’t a stranger to the forecast being off, but it was better safe than sorry.
You rode on the outer edge of the fence, watching the grazing sheep with a keen eye. They all looked healthy, and you couldn’t make out any recent coyote massacres, which meant you could spare the kill wagon for a day. There was still no sign of Link, the second reason you were out here, but you were sure he’d be around somewhere since none of the sheep had been stolen.
You raised a hand to adjust the wide brim of your cowboy hat, fashioned from stiff leather and tied at the base with a strip of crimson fabric that flapped in the dry breeze. The sun was high in the sky, bearing down on you like you owed it money. You passed the sheep herd, heading to the very edge of the pasture.
And there Link was, crouched over a section of fencing. His expression was that of stony determination as he drilled the chicken wire into place. Another, more worn, sheet sat beside him, a nigh-imperceptible, coyote-sized tear in the material.
You blinked and squinted at the damage, wondering how the hell he had found it so quickly. You’d lived on Sunnyside Ranch your whole life and not even you had been able to spot it.
The drilling stopped just as you dismounted Rala, boots crunching against the rough dirt of the ground. Link stood to his full height, stepped aside, and looked at you almost expectantly. You examined the craftsmanship for a minute, unable to deny the clear skill before you.
“I don’t know what to say…” you trailed off, running a finger over the newly drilled seam and glancing at the man. “…other than that you’re hired.”
Link smiled and bent to pick up the discarded wire sheet, heading in the direction of the barn. You caught his jaunty wave and couldn’t help but crack a grin of your own, even as you mounted Rala, nudging her into a trot, to continue your rounds.
The buzzing of cicadas and subtle ringing of the harsh sun in the sky brought your thoughts to a halt, swirling ribbons of sound in the dry, cracking breeze. You rounded the inner corner of the fence, swinging back around to check on the sheep, who bleated softly at your return. A few even rose to their hooves, studying you with sharp eyes unbefitting of their reputation as prey animals.
The day dragged on as you wandered about, almost mindless in your quest to do something. Feeding had concluded hours ago, the horses had been brushed and watered (Rala was especially grateful when you gave her a good brushing down), and the fences looked stable, so you elected to turn in for the night. There was no sign of your newly-hired ranch hand, but you did notice a sheet of paper shoved in the screen door of your house that definitely hadn’t been there before.
Thank you for the job, was written on the note in barely legible handwriting, followed by a vaguely smaller: see you at 8 .
You tried not to chuckle, you really did, but it bubbled out like soda in a shaken bottle. It wasn’t hard to picture Link writing it, brow furrowed in concentration, in your mind’s eye. Did he smile when he stuffed it in your door, or had he kept up his stoic facade? Either way, you couldn’t deny your anticipation for tomorrow, because, for the first time in years, you felt just a little less alone.