Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hi everyone, resurge here.

I recently got into the LOZ fandom after a piece of fanart reignited my love for the BOTW game. I've had a bit of writer's block for my Undertale works, so this is a bit of a break from all that. Please note that the Link in this story is based on BOTW because I love that little gremlin. ALSO Link's last name is semi-canonically Link because Mario's last name is Mario and Shigeru Miyamoto (guy who created LOZ) thought it would be funny.

Enjoy!

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. 

Chapter Text

Morning came swiftly, with less fanfare than you would have expected. Sunlight streamed in through the gaps of your curtains, casting your bedroom in an ethereal glow that illuminated the pale yellow walls. You rubbed your eyes, groaning softly, and slid out of bed like the heathen you were. A quick glance at your phone revealed that it was a few minutes from six, which was when you tended to rise. 

Still mourning the loss of warmth, you snagged the grey zip-up hoodie from your chair and pulled it on, inadvertently bumping your prone hip on the nearby desk. “Shit!”

You reeled to the side, hand clutching your grievous injury. Fuck, that hurt. You were no stranger to a bit of pain here and there, but not even you had sinned enough to warrant this fuckery. 

With a hiss, you shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. The coffee maker, an ancient appliance that had been in the family for generations, grumbled as you pressed a coffee pod into it, placing a drink-appropriate mug beneath the spout. 

Yesterday had been interesting. You found a new ranch hand who actually seemed to know what he was doing, even if he didn’t say a single word to you, and the weight of doing this alone had inexplicably lessened, if you could say that without sounding too hopeful. Until now, your animals and neighbors–few and far between as they were–had been the center of your life, but now your horizons had expanded a bit further. 

The coffee machine gurgled, and you fell back into your thoughts

You were loading feed bags into your truck when Link arrived, promptly at eight, wearing the same clothes from the day before. He strode down the road, brow dotted with sweat, and you wondered how he had gotten here. You hadn’t seen another vehicle on your rounds yesterday, so how was he moving around? None of your neighbors had moved and the closest town was ten miles away. 

But nothing was said as he wordlessly began to help you with the remaining bags. A hole in your feed shed had caused an entire month’s worth of pellets to go bad before you managed to patch; you were running dangerously low, which was unwise in a place like this. After the last bag was secured, you closed the trunk and wiped your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m going into town, feed’s running low.”

A nod. 

“You’re free to tag along,” you offered a small grin, twirling your keys in a jaunty fashion. “If only to get Sam to stop bugging me about being antisocial.”

Link stared at you, then looked away, but you were quick enough to catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

You waited a beat, curious to hear a response. As usual, there was none, but it was alright. You’d met people with worse manners. With a short wave, you opened the driver’s side door and settled into the seat. “Suit yourself, but try not to get into trouble, you hear–”

“I’ll go.”

Did he just…?

“You can talk?” You blurted before you could stop yourself. 

Link, who had already made his way into the passenger seat, nodded, leaning back into the seat. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “Yes.”

That’s news to me, you thought, jamming your key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and you were off, speeding down the dusty road to the main highway. Gravel crunched beneath your tires, only overshadowed by the Carrie Underwood blasting from your radio. You quickly turned it down, feeling a bit silly. Link made no comment and the ride continued smoothly. 

“You’ve been to Tacoma?” You asked as if it would alleviate the awkwardness that had settled in the cabin. It was the closest town to Sunnyside, unless he had shacked up with a neighbor of yours. 

A pause. “I live there.”

“Great,” you pressed on the gas, grinning at the powerful hum you received in response. “You’re a real chatterbox, aren’t you?”

Link barked a laugh. His voice was deep in a soft way–though you could definitely tell he was from Arizona–tinged with an undertone you couldn’t dream of identifying. “Not always.”

“I can tell,” you deadpanned. “Do you know how close I was to breaking out the high school ASL?”

“You learned in school?”

Now it was your turn to laugh. “That’s pushing it, but you could say that.”

A less-awkward silence devolved, just as you reached Tacoma’s signature welcome sign: a large granite block with a horse carved into the very center of it, the words “WELCOME TO TACOMA” screwed on in blocky, neon letters that hurt your eyes. You slowed your speed and took the first right into town, rolling past the post and sheriff’s office. Law enforcement was a bit of an inside joke here, but it didn’t matter when there weren’t enough people to commit crimes. 

You snuck a glance at Link. He was leaning against the door, watching the sights through the window, if you could even call the dust-covered buildings and sparse shrubbery that. It had been your home since birth, so you could rag all you wanted. 

The steering wheel shuddered as you maneuvered to your destination; a hulking gray building that looked like it belonged anywhere but this tiny southern town. You drove past the parking lot, rounding the building to the loading bay. Sam was already waiting for you by the door, a stereotypical wheat stalk sticking out of the corner of his mouth. You put the truck in park and hopped out. 

“You’re alive!” called Sam, pushing off the wall and sauntering over. 

You rolled your eyes. “Right back at’cha, cowboy. How’s Rachel?”

In addition to being your best friend, Rachel Waters also had the misfortune of dating the biggest (lovable) asshole on this side of the state. 

Sam tossed his brunet head in a poor imitation of a hair flip, leaning against the hood of your truck like it was his job. You glimpsed Link leaving the passenger seat, closing the door with a soft thud. “She’s fine and dandy, I’ll have you know– who the hell are you?”

“He’s Link,” you cut in before Link could answer (not that you expected him to). “My new ranch hand.”

“‘Bout time, that last guy–John, right?--was a real piece of work. ” Sam nodded sagely, pushing himself up to shake Link’s hand. “I’m Sam. Sam Weister.”

“Link,” said the blonde-haired man in the same soft tone he used on you earlier that morning, though there was nothing weak about his quiet tone. 

“You’ve got the feed, Sam?” you asked when the silence had stretched on for a bit too long. “I’ve got mouths to feed, you know.”

“Yeah, you and your thirty-something children,” Sam snorted, pushing back the brim of his cowboy hat. You cocked your eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest, and he coughed. “It’s back there,” a glance was shot at Link, who had remained quiet thus far. “C’mon, pretty boy, gotta pull your weight somewhere.”

The farm hand nodded, and you both followed Sam into the loading bay. As promised, a large stack of burlap sacs lay on a pallet in the center of the space, nearly as tall as you were. You grabbed one of the topmost bags and halted it over your shoulder, b-lining for the back of the truck. Link wasn’t far behind, grunting softly as he shouldered two sacks on his left side. You threw your sack into the truck bed, sliding it as far back as you could. Link followed your example when he arrived, stacking his sacks atop yours. 

This went on until all thirty sacks had been acquired. You closed the hold door with a huff, wiping your sweaty forehead with your sleeve. The sun had only gotten hotter as the day progressed and you were eager to return to the cabin’s air-conditioned bliss. 

That is, until Sam came up behind you, smacked the shit out of your back with one blow of his hand, and fled, calling “Snitches get stitches!” behind him. 

“Oh, fuck you too!” you shot a very crude gesture at his retreating backside. “It was ONE time!”

“I have a girlfriend!” Sam yelled before he was gone. 

“That son of a…” you took a moment to collect yourself, then turned to Link, who was undoubtedly lost on the hidden meaning behind the prior exchange. “Thanks for the help, I’d have been here all day without you.”

There was a noticeable pinkness coloring the tips of his lightly-pointed ears when Link nodded in response, but you dismissed it as a side-effect of the weather–it was pretty hot, after all. 

You opened the driver’s door and slid in, jamming the keys into the ignition with an almost desperate flair. Link climbed into the passenger seat without a sound, hands primly folded in his lap. The air conditioning roared louder than the engine when you cranked it as far as it would go, blasting your face with sweet, sweet air. 

All was quiet as you pulled out of the lot, maneuvering onto the open road with practiced ease, the stereo blasting Journey. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at Link in between checking the road and mirrors; there was something mysterious about him that you couldn’t help but want to uncover. 

“So,” god, even your voice sounded awkward. “How long have you lived in Tacoma?”

There was a pause and your face felt hot when Link turned his gaze to you, mouth drawn in a hard line that looked more guarded than anything. “A week.”

A… week?

You raised an eyebrow, even though it really wasn’t your place to judge. Not that you were, but it was surprising that he had decided to come here of all places. You wondered if it had something to do with his previous job in Arizona, but decided not to question it. “Still settlin’ in, huh?”

“It’s… different,” was Link’s quiet response, his expression unreadable. You briefly wondered if you had hit a nerve, but quickly remembered that was just how he looked. 

“Well, we’re no bustling city,” you paused to chuckle at your own joke, ruefully staring at the shrinking “WELCOME TO TACOMA” sign through the rearview mirror. “But there’s still charm.”

There was a nod from Link, and silence devolved yet again, only broken by the soft blare of the radio, providing a temporary blanket over your awkwardness. The road seemed to stretch on forever; the flat, sandy vistage interrupted only by the intermittent road signs. 

But there was still something to be said about the dry, humid beauty that you’d known all these years. It was home, sparse as it may seem, and you sooner run into a rake than forget the fragmented rock and harsh sky. 

You couldn’t help but smile, pulling off the main road to continue down the smaller gravel path. The barn came into view shortly after, all peeling paint and generational memories. You wondered if you could persuade Link into putting a fresh coat of burnt orange on the ancient wood–you had to use those spare cans sometime. 

You parked the truck by the side of the barn. A gust of hot wind blasted your face as soon as you swung the door open, and you lamented taking a holiday in one of the northern states. Legend has it that temperatures dropped below 40 degrees there, which was almost as prevalent as the myth of ‘snow’. 

Wordlessly, you opened the trunk and grabbed a feed bag. Link wasn’t far behind, hauling two of his own and following you to the feed shed, which was basically a glorified garage that connected to the main barn via a small door. You nudged the door open with your foot and set your bag on the large pallet in the center of the floor. “Just drop ‘em off here, okay?”

Your ranch hand nodded, and there were two distinct thuds. You turned on your heel and headed back out to the truck, snagging another two bags. 

This continued until only two bags remained. “Hang on,” you said just as Link reached down to take them. He paused, glancing up at you with those big blue eyes of his. “Those are for the horses, it’s nearly later afternoon.”

Due to the feed shed incident, you’d fed the remaining pellets to the animals this morning, but it hadn’t been nearly as much as what you regularly gave them. You practically hear the overjoyed stomping when you re-entered the barn, setting your bag on the floor while you fetched their feed buckets and scooper. “I usually give Rala and Jake 2 pounds of pellets and beet pulp, but they’ve had a pound of each already. Scout gets half that because I don’t ride her as often, and Meera gets the same because she’s thirty-three.”

A grunt of acknowledgment came from Link, and he easily opened the bag as you set the buckets down, scooping the correct amount of feed into each one. You lifted the two of the buckets and hung them inside Jake and Rala’s stables, returning seconds to do the same to Scout and Meera. Once all the horses had been fed, you turned to Link, standing solemnly in the sinking sun. “You’re free to leave,” a pause, then you added: “I can’t thank you enough for all your help, feels like forever since I haven’t been the only one here.”

For a moment, a familiar silence blanketed the space. It didn’t bother you, because you knew he was just like that; it wasn’t your place to question Link any more than he questioned you (which was none). 

Until a large, rope-scarred hand came into view, planting itself on your shoulder. You stiffened–how long it had been since anyone had touched you with such care–but not from fear, rather mesmerization as cerulean eyes stared into your soul. You hardly paid attention to physical features nowadays, but it was hard not to when he was this close, barely a foot from your warming face. He smelled like horse feed and hard work. 

Link opened his mouth, closed it, and finally murmured. “It’s my pleasure.”

You stood there as he retracted his hand, backing up a few feet. There was a distinct tint blanketing his cheeks, but you were too distracted to bother reading into it. No one had gotten this close to you since you were a child, and it was…

Well, it was indescribable. Unforeseen. 

How could you have known? How could you have reacted? Not that it was particularly important, he was simply responding to your thanks; nothing more, nothing less. 

You were so busy thinking that you didn’t notice Link’s gaze moving to the opposite side of the barn, where a whiteboard list of to-do’s hung, nor the calculating expression that encompassed his features. 

That is, until another pat on your shoulder dragged you back to the present. Your eyes snapped up to meet his retreating back, just barely catching the slow wave he threw over his shoulder. 

“‘Night!” you called, even though it could hardly be considered dusk. 

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the barn.

A beat passed, but the rising flush on your cheeks had yet to dissipate. If anything, it only seemed to grow stronger, flooding your face with heated color. 

Rala neighed, stamped her foot, and eyed you knowingly with her big brown horse eyes. 

“Shut up,” you hissed, pulling your hat further down your face and grabbing your trusty broom. There was still work left to do, and you could only hope it would be enough to distract you from the rising conundrum you’ve found yourself in. 

Chapter Text

You knew something was off when you stepped onto your house’s porch, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. The sun had already risen above the horizon, bathing you in a crisp, sweet light that didn’t match the cloying scent of paint flowing through the air. 

What the–

You wrinkled your nose at the offending smell, but it all became moot when you laid eyes on the barn before you. What was once a weary, dust-washed structure was now a burnt orange bastion, further enhanced by the brilliant ginger backdrop. 

You had to physically force your mouth closed, abandoning your coffee on the thick banister. The closer you drew, the more impressed you were with the craftsmanship; no streaks or bald spots to be seen. 

Almost in a daze, you ran a hand over one of the planks, quickly withdrawing it when you touched wetness. You wiped your hand on your jeans and slunk around the corner, where the golden-haired perpetrator lay, propped up against a spare barrel with an oil lamp still clutched in his large hand. 

“...Link?” You ventured, so quiet it might as well have been to yourself. That is, until a sky-blue eye cracked open and he seemed to become aware of where he was. You watched with barely contained bafflement as his expression changed from surprise, confusion (or was it apprehension), and sheepishness before it finally settled into the familiar mask. 

You gestured to the barn. “Did you do this?”

Aaand the sheepishness was back. Link rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his head with a hand, and seemed to be avoiding your gaze. After a beat, his voice, rough from what had to be a very uncomfortable night of sleep, croaked out: “Yes.”

There was silence. 

You began to laugh–not chuckles or titters, but full-on guffaws that wracked your entire body, forcing you to lean on your knees for support. The expression Link regarded you with–the most tragic eyes you’d seen with a slightly pouty mouth–didn’t help in the slightest, especially when he mumbled: “You don’t have to laugh…”

Your knees buckled and you nearly sank to the ground, barely able to speak. “This is– the best , you’re– oh my god – you’re the best–”

After a bit, you clapped a hand over your mouth and steeled your resolve. With a much calmer tone, you said: “Sorry ‘bout that, I was just surprised.”

And you were about to be once again, because Link straightened from his sheepish curl, rolled his eyes, and, in the sassiest tone you’d heard from him, sighed like you were a child caught fibbing. 

Um??

Then it hit you. “Wait–... All night?”

A nod. 

You tried not to gape, you really did. “ Why ?”

“Was on the whiteboard,” came Link’s response, punctuated by a hearty shrug. At your bewildered stare, he gave you a short smile, patted the top of your head, and exited the barn in the suavest sequence you’d seen in your life. 

That…!

You noticed the clouds first. 

Large cumulonimbus clouds swept in from the east, heralded by a heavy, dry wind that came in harsh blasts. The sky had gotten darker with each minute, until the be sky had all but been swallowed up in puffy blackness. 

And, when thunder began to rumble in the distance, you made the executive decision to lock the chickens in their coop and usher the sheep to the protected pasture. Per usual, Link was nowhere to be found, but you saw subtle signs of his presence; in the painted barn, the mended hole in the fence, and the various other improvements around the farm. 

The air was hot and humid, ruffling your hair and clouding your lungs. It smelled like cut grass and heavy rain, making you hasten your quest. It was at this point that you caught your first glimpse of Link since the barn incident. He had shed his jacket, revealing toned, golden arms that shone with a thin layer of sweat. There was a bleating sheep swung over his strong shoulder, likely an escapee of the paddock you placed them in half an hour earlier. 

You stepped up to him. “Just that one?”

A sigh. “Three,” never before had you felt more embarrassed about something breaking. “I’ll patch the hole before the storm.”

You glanced at the sky and sighed. “Thanks. You’re free to go after, I’m holing up when the lightning starts.”

As if on cue, the sky rumbled once more, and a fat raindrop plonked itself on the middle of your cheek. You wiped it away and adjusted the brim of your hat to protect yourself from further assault. More droplets fell, and you gave a short wave. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be–”

A sharp shout of your name rang through the air. You whirled around just in time to see Sam and his dunn stallion, Butterball, skid into the yard, stopping just a foot from you. “Thank god you’re here, it’s Mr. Brunning–his cattle escaped again.”

You stiffened. “ Again? ”

Sam nodded solemnly, though the look in his eyes was borderline frantic. “Believe me, I’m judging, but they’re heading for the gorge and he can’t stop them on his own. All hands on deck, copy?” You missed the way he eyed Link expectantly. 

If there was one good thing to be said about the residents of Tacoma, it was that they never failed to come together when one of their own needed help. You couldn’t count the number of times they rallied to track down runaway animals, patch sinkholes, or pull stuck trucks out of the mud. 

“Give me five minutes,” you said, turning on your heel and making a break through the rain for the barn. Another, heavier set of footsteps trailed after you, but you didn’t notice Link’s presence until you made it inside. His expression was set, and you knew what he was going to say before the words even left his mouth 

“I want to help.”

“Take Jake,” you pointed to the black quarter horse in the stable over. Rala seemed to know something important was happening when you pulled her out of the stall, standing perfectly still as you replaced her bridle and saddle. Within two minutes, she was tacked and ready to go, adn you were pleased that Jake and Link weren’t far behind. You swung yourself into the saddle, grabbed the reins, and shouted over the storm. “Follow me!”

With that, you set off, easily nudging Rala into a gallop down the wet road. Brunning’s ranch was the closest to yours in the matter of distance, less than half a mile down the road. You’d been on the property before, and had a decent lay of the land, especially of the gorge at the very edge of his lot. This wasn’t the first time his herd had escaped, but it was the first time they had headed in that direction. It was a large herd– at least one hundred cows–and you knew it would be a challenge to get them all to turn around. 

Not that you were scared–this wasn’t anything new. What was new, however, was that it wasn’t just you, Sam, and whoever else lived close enough to intervene–you had Link, who had already proven himself to be a capable young man. 

At last, you came across the high gates of the ranch, slowing Rala to a canter before coming to a stop in front of the farmhouse. Mr. Brunning was on the porch, cell phone in hand. His expression brightened amidst the pouring rain at your and Link’s appearance. “Thank goodness you’re here, the cattle–”

“We know,” you cut in through the ring of thunder. “Who else is here?”

“Just Sam, the others are coming–”

You didn’t let him finish, kicking Rala into a gallop in the direction of the gorge. With luck, Sam had already reached the herd, so all you needed to get there before they did. A series of plateaus bordered the west side of the property, a narrow road hidden between them that you knew would get you there faster than the route the cattle had inevitably taken. 

You hazarded a glance behind you, sighing in relief at the sight of Link and Jake at your heels. The rain was coming down now, thoroughly soaking the tops of your shirt and pants. You could only imagine how Link felt, clothed in only a shirt and pants. You really should have offered him a hat…

“We’re going to take a shortcut,” you yelled over the roaring weather. “You’re doing great!”

It was far too loud to hear Link’s response–if there was one–but you liked to think he appreciated the encouragement. 

Rala nickered as you neared the makeshift canyon, ears flicking back against the pouring rain. You patted her neck and urged her forward, pulling on the reins until her gallop slowed to a canter. Huge rock walls extended on either side of you, dripping with water and small debris. The sound of hooves clashing against rock echoed through the space, only overshadowed by the thunder itself. 

After a few tortured minutes, the claustrophobic walls gave way to the plains you knew so well, the rolling drop of the gorge a few hundred feet away. The herd was nowhere in sight, but even you could feel the tell-tale rumbling that heralded an incoming stampede. 

You slowed to a stop, giving Rala a much-needed break while you planned–though time was running short. Link was beside you in a flash, expression expectant like he was waiting to be ordered around. You cleared your throat, shouting over the roaring wind, arm extended in the direction you wanted him to go: “The herd should be coming in from there, go help Sam and the others contain them. I’ll stay here to stop them from going into the gorge.”

There was a noise of agreement over the thundering sky, and your ranch hand took off in the aforementioned direction. You spurred Rala to the edge of the gorge, coming to a stop less than ten feet from it. Your work boots squelched in the muddy ground as you dismounted, steeling yourself against the shrieking weather. You reached into the saddle bag and pulled out your prize: a large red emergency flare, which had been sitting there since Mr. Jenkins had gone missing in a thunderstorm last year. 

There was a distant rumble in the distance, heralding the herd’s approach. The ground shook with the impact of hundreds of hooves, stirring up tremors that rocked you in your boots. A series of tense moments passed as you waited for them to draw closer–this wouldn’t work without it. 

At last, you could make out the blurry shapes of the cattle on the darkened horizon, and hear their loud bellows amongst the torrent, approaching at full speed. Rala snorted and stamped, clearly nervous, but you merely popped the cap off of the flare and struck it against the exposed top. Almost immediately, a harsh red flame ignited, followed by a thunderous BANG that rattled the very air around you. 

You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes until you opened them, only to see a wave of cattle streaking out on either side of you, parting like the Red Sea. A harsh wind followed, nearly striking you down where you stood, and a terrible rumbling had overtaken the general vicinity, punctuated by piercing moos and bellows. 

And yet, you were still alive, cradled in the eye of the bovine storm–alive, shaking, and soaked to the bone. The last of the cattle passed you, taking the trembling with them. You heard Sam’s victorious whoop as he undoubtedly began to lead them back, and forced an exhausted smile. Rala reached her head down to nibble at your damp shoulder in a comforting manner, nickering when you ran a hand down her cold nose. 

It was over. 

Mostly. 

With a breath, you mounted Rala again, nudging her in the direction of the herd. The sky was the darkest you had ever seen, but it somehow felt lighter than the perilous gloom you noticed before. Relief flowed through you like a drug as you cantered after the cattle, brisk and bright. Even the rain felt lighter, though you were still bothered by the profound dampness of your person. 

The herd went easily, considering it was still actively thundering. Sam, ever the overachiever, led them, while you brought up the back and Link did god knows what. You were bone tired when the familiar lights of Brunning’s Ranch came into view. Mr. Brunning was waiting for you, wrinkled face scrunched in gratefulness. He already had the paddock gates open, so all you had to do was make sure all the cattle were accounted for. 

Sam nudged the gate closed as you slowed to a stop. Mr. Brunning came running up, looking even more soaked than you; he must have been sick with worry. “I can’t thank you folks enough, these here cattle are my life.”

“Anytime,” said Sam, who had pulled up less than a second earlier. Butterball snorted, pawing the ground, and your friend patted his horse’s neck. “We’ve got to be going… but hire a contractor, will you?”

“Already done,” Mr. Brunning sighed. “This’ll be the last if I have anythin’ to do with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” you commented with a smile, gathering the reins in your hands. “I’ll see you again–hopefully under better circumstances.”

“That’ll be just fine, come ‘round sometime and I’ll thank you the Texan way!”

You all laughed, which is when you realized Link was here too, positioned just to the left of you. He looked a bit worse for the wear; waterlogged blonde hair with raindrops pelting his dripping clothes. You looked a bit longer, which may have been weird if not for the deep red staining his  right sleeve. “You’re hurt?!”

“He took a horn straight to the arm,” Sam said solemnly. “Didn’t even make a sound.”

While that did sound like Link, it did nothing to quell your worry. You gave the wound another once-over. “Can you ride home?”

Your ranch hand nodded, which you took as a sign of him being at least a little okay. Sunnyside wasn’t far and there was no way you were letting him walk back to Tacoma in this weather. 

You called a short goodbye, then kicked Rala into a canter down the ride. You knew Link was close judging by Jake’s soft whinnies, and the ride home continued without an issue. 

A wave of relief washed over you as you guided Rala into the dry barn, dismounting her in a flash and beginning the untacking process with shivering arms. It was cold out and you were wetter than a lake at this point. 

“Hold it right there,” you held up a hand and fixed Link, who had also dismounted, with an insistent look. “I’ve got Jake–sit yourself down and I’ll be over in a bit.”

Unlike what you expected from him, no argument came from Link. Granted, he did stare at you for a moment, as if weighing his options, but he eventually trudged over to the plastic chair in the corner of the barn, only to hesitate and ask. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Hush,” you waved him off. “I’ll take care of it, you’ve done enough.”

There was a short grunt and that was the end of it. You finished with the horses in record time, snagging the first-aid kit from the shelf before walking over. Link had shed his jacket to blot the wound with the sleeve. You kneeled and took his arm; the wound was large and caked in dark blood, likely from one of the bigger bulls, but it didn’t appear terribly deep. 

After snapping on a pair of latex gloves, you grabbed a bottle of sterile water from the kit, popped the cap off, and dribbled a small amount on the wound. A small towel found it’s way into your hand, and you used it to blot the area clean. It didn’t look especially dirty, but you weren’t taking any chances when the nearest hospital was over fifty miles away. 

Link hissed when you splashed a bit of chlorhexidine on his wound, causing it to bubble and hiss like boiling water. A white foam consumed the area, spreading like a mini wildfire, and you waited patiently for it to properly fizzle. “You’re doing great. I got gored last time that herd escaped–right on the leg. Hurt like hell, too.”

“Ouch,” said Link, though his voice sounded more pained than anything. You ignored the twinge in your heart and blotted the wound again with the towel. Though it still looked inflamed as hell, the blood was gone and you knew it was clean enough that infection probably wouldn’t set in. A half-used tube of antibiotics was the next thing you grabbed, spreading it generously over the affected skin, almost immediately pressing a thick square of gauze over the clean wound. At last, you wrapped Link’s arm in bandages, tying it off with a flourish. “You’re good to go, you lucky bastard.”

Link chuckled and gently flexed his arm, testing the bandages. As if on cue, a flash of lightning illuminated the barn in crackling white light, completely blotting out the warm orange glow from your lamps. You looked at the thundering sky, then back at him. “I know you walk to Tacoma and all, but I’m not letting you ruin those dressings. I’ve got a spare bedroom with your name on it.”

For a moment, all was quiet. Not even the roaring sky or pouring rain could interrupt the rush of heat that ignited within you when Link cracked a smile. He was soaking wet, injured, and yet the gentle curve of his mouth and sultry flash of teeth could have blinded the sun itself. You were no artist, but you were sure, in that sliver of time, you could have created a masterpiece from the cerulean of his eyes and shining plains of his face. 

There was another flash of lightning, bathing the area in harsh light. You blinked, torn from your trance, and did the only thing you could, the only thing you’d been taught. 

Shooting him your best finger guns, you squeaked. “Save it for the admirers, cowboy!”

And, like that, the moment was gone, leaving you half alone in the red brick barn. 

Chapter Text

You couldn’t sleep. 

The rain had let up hours ago, leaving behind a blissful silence that should have lulled you to sleep long ago. Minutes ticked by, diligently tracked by the scarlet display of your clock. You couldn’t begin to describe the relief you felt upon changing into warm pajamas and retiring for the night, which made this situation even more absurd–every bone in your body was practically begging for rest, so why could your brain get with the program? 

You looked over at your clock and felt distinctly attacked by the neon 2:03 am on the screen. It was easy to shift over and face the wall, but you were far too stiff to manage that kind of movement. It was as if your adrenaline was still turned on, pumping liters of toxic shots into your bloodstream. 

The good thing was that you knew exactly how to deal with toxic shots, being the responsible adult you were. 

The bed creaked as you slid from your blanket cocoon, wobbling on your feet in the dark like a newborn lamb. You crossed your room, fumbling blindly for the doorknob, and sliding into the hallway as quietly as you could–you didn’t want to wake Link with your antics. 

Speaking of your guest, you were becoming increasingly suspicious of his living arrangements, whether it be that he walked to Tacoma instead of driving, like any reasonable person, or that he showed up in the same clothes each morning (though you were half-convinced it was just a man thing). It was concerning how easily he fit into your little life, and you were half-sure he was fibbing about living in Tacoma and actually had a home somewhere on the plains, if any. 

Not that it was any of your business, but it also was. As his manager, it was your duty to provide him with what he needed to work. That was why you found yourself slipping a few extra dollars into the envelope containing his pay for the week–Link hadn’t contested the price on the flyer so you chose a rate that seemed appropriate for the work he did. 

The kitchen was silent as you stepped in, robotically opening the fridge to fix yourself a warm mug of milk. It had been your solution for insomnia since childhood, especially considering the milk was courtesy of your neighbors. The microwave screeched when you pulled the door open and set the cup within, violently whirring to life as you jammed the correct buttons. 

You found yourself wondering if Link was sleeping as well as you, or if he was awake, plagued with the same ailment that occasionally tortured you. 

And, as if on cue, the stairs answered your query in a set of soft creaks, signaling the descent of the only other person (you assumed) in the house. 

“You should be resting,” you said, not looking up from the microwave. “It’s 2:00.”

A sliver of moonlight illuminated Link’s face as he shuffled in, still dressed in the clothes you met him in, save for the undoubtedly ruined jacket. I could say the same for you , his eyes said, which, conveniently, were also the words that came from his mouth. 

“Right back’atcha, cowboy,” you snorted, retrieving your cup of milk from the microwave. “Want one?”

“Please,” said Link, quiet as a whisper. 

“Thought so,” you poured a second cup and stuck it in the microwave from hell. “I hope you know I ain’t lettin’ you walk home today.”

Link was silent, until he wasn’t. “...Why?”

Warm steam bathed your face as you took a sip of milk. “You’re injured and I'm not that mean.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I have half a mind to put you on medical leave.”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me, cowboy.”

Then…

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, Link cracked a boyish, exhausted smile, and the two of you began laughing uncontrollably. Peals of exuberant sound rang through the kitchen as you clutched your mug and tried not to collapse. There was no doubt in your mind that if you fully understood why you were laughing in the first place, you’d be doing so even harder. 

After a few minutes of hearty guffawing, you stalled, coughing into your palm. “Sorry ‘bout that, I haven’t had a laugh since yesterday.”

There was a chuckle of agreement from your ranch hand, but it wasn’t enough to stop the silence that followed. The microwave beeped in completion, and you handed Link his steaming mug of milk. Whisps of steam fanned his face, swirling up to the popcorn ceiling. You found yourself staring without reservation–it was 2 am and you were far too gone to consider the social acceptability of your actions. 

“Why Tacoma?” the question slipped out before you could stop it. “Why here, of all places?”

Link continued to smile at you, though it seemed a bit strained at the corners. It made no sense why he would abandon a job in Arizona to come to a little backwater town in Texas, so why was he here?

“...It’s the only place I could go.”

Though cryptic and quite possibly the longest thing he had said to you, you felt as though your words were getting somewhere with him. Concern was a funny thing, and it was even funnier how much of it you had for a man you’d only known for a few days. 

Your chest blossomed with warmth when you finished your mug, pushing at your ribs like flames of fuzz. “Be honest with me, do you have a bed to go to at night?”

“...Yes.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

There was more silence. You turned on your heel to put the milk back in the fridge, prepared to let the conversation go–

“Motels count.”

Abruptly, you spun around. 

“You’re living in a motel ?” You knew the housing market was daunting, but this was Tacoma , of all places. “For how long?”

“A week,” whispered Link, managing to look simultaneously sheepish and offended at the same time. You, on the other hand, wore an expression of shocked realization–how oblivious could you be?

“... That explains so much, ” you immediately coughed, realizing how judgy that sounded. “But it’s not a bad thing–” it was. “–do you have anyone you can stay with?”

Link shook his head, taking a deep sip of milk. His cheeks were flushed pink, and you immediately felt bad for being nosy. “It’s okay, I ain’t judging.”

But it was already implied that you were , probably because your filter had gone completely out the window. It was beginning to get awkward again, and you desperately wanted to salvage the moment. 

And then, as if a divine being had taken pity on you at that moment, an idea came to you. As if possessed, you slammed back the last of your milk, placed your mug down on the counter, and pointed at Link like he owed you money. “I’ll give you the guest room!”

There was a moment of absolute quiet. 

Then. 

“...You mean that?” Link asked, his expression simultaneously hopeful and disbelieving. 

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t–we can stop by the motel tomorrow to pick up your stuff.”

Every nerve in you was vibrating with excitement, fizzling like soda beneath your skin. You had been dreaming of a roommate since Rachel moved in with Sam a while ago, and now it was finally here. 

You were so busy thinking about the future that you didn’t notice Link setting down his mug and walking over until his arms were around you, trapping you in a crushing hug. Your hands, frozen in a curved position at the knuckle, closing him into a hug of your own. He smelled like hard work, horses, and blood-soaked copper, wrapped in a ribbon of something unadulterately wild.  

No words were said–they didn’t need to be. You hadn’t known Link to be linguistically expressive, but he showed his gratitude in the gentle warmth of his hug, the way his hands covered your mid-back in calloused comfort, and the whisps of appreciation dancing between the two of you. 

It was with a heavy heart that you separated, standing but a foot from each other. You saw a million more things as you looked into Link’s eyes; regret, hopefulness, and another, softer emotion you didn’t dare place. It was as if you were looking at him–the real him–anew, like someone peeking through the cracked blinds of a house. 

You wanted to learn his secrets and be there if he collapsed under their weight, even though it was about the most inappropriate thing an employer could think about their employee. 

“You need rest,” the words flowed from your mouth like butter. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Link watched with dark eyes as you waved goodbye, climbed the stairs, and disappeared into your room. For a long moment, he remained in place, but the silence brought forth the dark red flush he’d been trying to stave off since you began talking. Never in his wildest dreams had he considered ending up in Tacoma, but there was no way in hell he would back out now. `

You noticed the note first. 

It was a little later than 6:10 when you trudged downstairs after a measly four hours of sleep, half awake and yawning. The scent of food had plagued you since you rose from bed–the plated eggs and bacon on the table were most certainly the culprit–but you were far more interested in the note on the counter, your name scrawled on the folded front in shaky handwriting. 

Golden Plateau Motel , the note proclaimed in proud, blocky letters, followed by a more squiggly: Thank you . 

…You looked at the food, stared at the paper some more, and practically sprinted to your truck when the meaning struck. 

By the time you caught up to Link, he was walking down the highway like some hitchhiker, seemingly unbothered by your earlier threat. As soon as you can within seeing distance, you flash your high beams, causing him to whip around in shock. 

You pulled closer, rolling down the passenger window. 

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Even with the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, you saw his flush of embarrassment a mile away. You parked the truck and waited, fixing him with your best mom glare, not that it took particularly long for him to cave and hop in. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” you said as soon as he was buckled in. “I reckon you remember what I told you?”

There was silence, so you decided not to push the issue. It was early and you wanted to get this over so you could have your breakfast. “I’ll leave you be, but know that you’re doing no favors to anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” said Link, looking even more sheepish than he had when you initially flashed him. “I’ll be more considerate.”

“Damn right you will,” you hazarded a grin in his direction. “Do you know the kind of willpower it takes to resist a home-cooked meal in the morning, because I sure as hell do.”

Link’s gaze snapped to you. “You didn’t eat?”

“Not when I realized you’d sprung the coop,” you responded in a sassy tone. The truck rumbled as you maneuvered over a particularly rough patch of road. “Don’t worry, the microwave still works.”

You both fell silent afterward, soaking in the dusty road ahead. You arrived in Tacoma soon enough, pulling into the parking lot of the Golden Plateau Motel, a stout, L-shaped building right off Main Street. You killed the engine and hopped out of the cabin. “How much stuff you got?”

“Not much,” responded Link, retrieving a silver key from his jacket and leading you down the complex to door #7. The door swings open, and he steps inside. You hesitate at the foyer for a moment, but enter when he calls your name. 

The room is small and eggshell-colored, a haphazardly-made twin bed shoved in the corner, flanked by a small oak nightstand. A black futon lays at the foot of the bed, directly opposite the minuscule kitchenette and bathroom. Other than the bed, the room is startlingly clean, half lived in and none loved. 

A faded beige suitcase sits atop the futon. Link reaches to hoist it up, and you glimpse a sky-blue backpack hanging off his shoulder. With a speed typically reserved for your job, you snatched the suitcase, dragging it from his reach. “Nice try, cowboy, but you’re gonna have to be quicker than that.”

Link huffs in a semi-irritable fashion, but makes no attempt to reclaim his bag. He adjusts the backpack and sidesteps your grinning form, heading for the lobby area. You chuckle after him, too far to catch the brewing redness of his cheeks. 

You take a minute to examine the room after he leaves, though it feels significantly more dull now that you’re alone. A bit of breeze filters in through the still-open door, ruffling your hair like an affectionate lover. It was both cool and warm, bringing you back to the toils of life and forcing you to make for the exit. 

That is, until you saw it: a folded square of paper in the corner of the room, innocent as can be. You dropped the suitcase and gingerly picked the note up, stuffing it in your pocket to examine later. God knows how awkward if Link walked in on you going through his stuff. 

You grab the suitcase and haul it outside to the truck, tossing it in the open back with more care than usual. Link joins you shortly, slipping into the passenger seat with a grateful nod in your direction, and slinging his backpack into his lap. In return, you offered a small smile and took your place in the driver's seat. It took hardly any brainpower to maneuver back on the open road, and even less to navigate back to Sunnyside, curiosities on your mind and stale air conditioning on your skin. 

The day passed quickly. Link disappeared with his luggage, presumably to unpack, as soon as your tires hit the Sunnyside gravel, leaving you to your own devices. You saw him a few times afterward, but there was nothing to be done that required express communication–especially since his discovery of the to-do board. It was midday by the time you managed to feed and turn the horses loose in the pasture, and late afternoon when the sheep had been appropriately wrangled into their pens. The chickens strutted their stuff around your feet when you arrived to feed and water them, clucking incessantly when you retrieved their eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast. 

By the time you had the eggs in the fridge, Rachel was blowing your phone up with texts. Not bothering to read them, you dialed her number and prepared for the worst. 

“ You’re rooming with a guy?! ” Was the first thing you heard when the line connected–you’d almost forgotten how quickly word travels in a town like this. 

“You hear that from Sam or do I need to dig some wires out of the wall again?”

“ Don’t even try that with me ,” the line crackled as your best friend cleared her throat. “ Now what’s all this I hear about you moving in a stranger from Arizona? ”

Well, when she says it like that . “It’s called ‘work housing’.”

“ Honey, I practically invented that ,” touche, you guess, “ You’re not getting out of this without a damn good explanation. ” 

“And if I don’t?” You tried, injecting as much southwestern sass as you could muster. 

“ Then you better believe I’ll ride over and find out for myself in front of your new boytoy ,” god, she would. 

“He’s not– fine ,” you relented. “You do this to everyone or am I just special?”

“ Both, now tell me everything . ”

Well, you were in for it now.