Chapter Text
Sadie hadn’t meant to wake up early.
But when she heard the chickens going crazy, the goats bleating in harmony, and the sound of boots stumbling through hay, she’d thrown on her coat and hurried outside barefoot, already knowing what she was gonna find.
“Well I'll be damned,” she muttered under her breath, arms crossed, watching him from the porch with a smirk.
There he was—Arthur—the mysterious drifter, trying to feed the livestock with all the grace of a city drunk on stilts. One of the goats lunged at him. Startled, he dropped the feed bucket on his toe.
“Ow! Goddammit,” she heard him grunt.
“You’re gonna waste the feed, cowboy!” Sadie called, stepping off the porch.
Arthur turned with a start, face already red from cold and frustration. “These damn goats are tryin' to bite me.”
Sadie laughed. Loud, free, amused. “That’s ‘cause you’re feeding them like you’re throwing dynamite. Here—let me.”
She strode over, graceful and fast. Her hands were practiced, efficient. The goats calmed down almost immediately under her watch, and Arthur took a step back, watching her with a quiet kind of admiration he didn’t bother hiding.
“I ain’t much of a farmer,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“No kiddin’,” she teased, throwing him a crooked grin.
He chuckled.
That damn smile again. It made her stomach do something stupid.
The rest of the morning unfolded with awkward efficiency.
Mr. Edwards—a sharp-eyed, gruff voiced man who fought in the Civil War—insisted Arthur earn his stay by helping around the place. His wife, Mrs. Edwards—a kind woman with blonde hair who smelled like cinnamon and dandelions—welcomed him hesitantly yet still handed Arthur a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.
Their eldest daughter, Sarah Edwards, barely said a word, her eyes flicking between Arthur and Sadie like she knew something was up.
Sadie hated that.
She hated how obvious it felt. How everyone suddenly seemed to be watching.
Arthur, meanwhile, just rolled up his sleeves, nodded respectfully, and got to work like he was born to please people he barely knew.
It was... endearing.
“Where’d you learn to chop wood like that?” Sadie asked as she leaned against the fence, watching him swing the axe with steady, practiced rhythm.
He wiped sweat from his brow. “From someone who wasn’t near as nice as your father.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. “Still crooked.”
He stopped mid-swing. “Crooked?”
She walked up, took the axe from him without asking, and showed him how to plant his feet. Her hands touched his arm—just briefly—but it was enough to light his skin on fire.
“You tryin’ to fix me?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Only if I’m real bored,” she shot back.
He laughed.
“Hey,” Arthur said after a few minutes, quieter now. “I meant to ask… You folks see a man around here recently? Young, early 20s. Black hair. 'Bout as tall as me. And dumb as he looks." He added that last bit because he just can't resist roasting the idiot. "He goes by the name John.”
Sadie looked up from the firewood she was stacking. “Can’t say I have. That a friend?”
Arthur hesitated. “Somethin’ like that.”
She didn’t push.
Instead, they talked about her life. Her family. Her father's limp for when he got injured while in the army. Her mother’s apple pie recipe. The winter storms that knocked the roof off the barn three years back. She told him about Jake—how they’d grown up together, how he was practically family to them.
She didn’t mention that Jake had once tried to kiss her. Or that she hadn’t let him.
Speak of the devil…
“Afternoon,” Jake called as he walked up the path, hat in hand, smiling politely.
Sadie straightened.
Arthur, ever polite, nodded. “Hey.”
Jake returned the nod but didn’t smile. “Didn’t expect you to still be around.”
“Storm’s still bad up north,” Arthur said simply.
Jake looked to Sadie. “So you’re just letting him stay?”
Sadie bristled. “We’re being neighborly. It’s called hospitality.”
Jake’s frown deepened. “Since when do you do that for strangers? I thought you don't trust drifters.”
Sensing the tension, Arthur turned to walk away, to give them space. He went back to chopping wood. But he was still within listening range.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Jake lean closer to Sadie's ear, his voice lower now. “You and him... did somethin' happen last night?”
Sadie’s eyes snapped to his. “Nothin' happened.” Her answer came out harsher than she intended.
He paused, studying her face, trying to read the truth in her sharp tone. He didn’t press. Just looked down and kicked a bit of dirt with his boot. “A-alright, then. I’ll come back soon.”
Sadie watched him walk off, guilt stirring in her gut.
Behind her, Arthur cleared his throat.
She turned, startled. “How much of that did you hear?”
He gave her that damn almost-smile again. “Enough to know I owe you a second thank-you.”
She shook her head and turned back to the fence. “Don’t go readin’ into things, cowboy.”
Arthur walked up beside her. Close enough to make her heart skip a beat.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled, voice low and steady. “Just grateful, is all.”
They stood there a while. Watching the wind move the trees. Pretending not to notice how close their hands were.