Depressed Cowgirl in Pink

Chapter 2

Hope

The Next Morning

I woke to the smell of coffee and something frying in a pan. For one blissful second, I forgot I was in a stranger’s house, wearing a borrowed t-shirt, with a dog beside me who had no complaints about the accommodations.

The blanket was soft. The couch was warm. I sat up slowly, trying not to disturb Daisy, and glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Just past six.

Rhett was in the kitchen, flipping eggs with one hand, holding a chipped mug in the other. He wore a fresh flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hair still damp from the shower. Morning light spilled through the window, catching dust in golden streaks. He looked like he belonged in a movie.

“You’re up,” he said, glancing over. “Didn’t want to wake you. Figured you’d need the rest.”

“This is early?” I muttered, stretching my arms with a groan. “I thought cowboys were up before the sun.”

“Some of us are polite,” he said, grinning. “You want coffee?”

“I might love you just for that.”

He poured me a cup without comment, setting it on the island. I shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” I asked, nodding toward the back door. Beyond it, I could already hear distant lowing and the soft cluck of hens waking up.

“Breakfast first. Then we’ll feed the animals. I’ll show you where everything is. After that, we’ll see if we can tow your car.”

“Fair warning,” I said, sipping the coffee. “I’m not great at mornings. Or manual labor. Or, you know, functioning like a proper adult.”

“Perfect,” Rhett said, sliding a plate toward me. “You’ll fit right in.”

The First Chore

By the time we stepped outside, the sun had climbed over the hills, casting everything in soft gold. The grass was still damp, and the air smelled of hay, dirt, and something sweet I couldn’t place — maybe clover or old wood.

I tugged Rhett’s flannel tighter around me. My damp hair stuck to the back of my neck. Daisy trotted beside me like this was the best day of her life. Bolt zigzagged across the yard like a furry bullet, making her bounce with excitement.

“Alright,” Rhett said, pausing by a faded red barn. “Let’s start simple. Chickens.”

“Simple,” I repeated, eyeing the squat, clucking beasts through the wire fence. “They look like they’re planning a coup.”

He chuckled. “They’ll only peck you if you act like you don’t belong. You gotta own the space.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to assert dominance over poultry?”

“Exactly.”

He opened the gate, handed me a small metal bucket. “Collect the eggs. Carefully. No cracks, no fear.”

The hens regarded me with beady suspicion. I stepped inside and crouched toward the first nesting box, heart pounding like I was defusing a bomb. One of the chickens squawked and flapped her wings.

“Okay, girl, relax,” I muttered. “Just stealing your future babies, no big deal.”

Behind me, Rhett laughed low under his breath.

I somehow got through it — a little scratched, slightly traumatized, but with six uncracked eggs. I held them up like a trophy.

“How’s that for poultry dominance?” I asked, breathless but proud.

“Impressive,” he said, leaning against the fence. “You’re a natural.”

“I’m absolutely not.”

He smiled. “You showed up. That counts.”

Next Stop: The Cows

The barn smelled like hay and... cow. Warm, earthy, overwhelming. Rhett led me to a stall where two cows waited patiently.

“They’re used to the routine,” he said. “Just watch me first.”

I did. He moved confidently, gently, like he respected the animals — and they respected him back. When it was my turn, I tried to mimic his calm touch, his steady hands. It didn’t go quite as smoothly.

“She’s staring at me,” I whispered.

“That means she trusts you.”

“Or she’s judging me.”

He grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”

After Chores – A Moment to Breathe

We sat on the porch steps with two mason jars of lemonade Rhett pulled from the fridge like it was 1952. My arms ached in ways I didn’t know they could, and I was 80% sure I had hay in my bra.

Daisy was sprawled in the shade with Bolt snuggled against her, both dogs panting and content.

“I haven’t worked this hard since... ever,” I said, sipping slowly.

“You didn’t complain once.”

I looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “I complained a lot. You just chose to ignore me.”

“Selective hearing,” he said, tapping the brim of his hat. “One of my best cowboy traits.”

I laughed. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t forced.

Later That Night

The rain had just stopped, leaving the world thick with the scent of wet earth and blooming mesquite. The sky still hung low and heavy, but there was a softness to the air now—like the land had exhaled. I sat on the porch steps, warm coffee mug in hand, with Daisy curled up at my feet. Her ears twitched at every distant birdcall, but her body stayed relaxed, at peace.

Rhett stepped out onto the porch and handed me a second mug without a word. Then he settled into the rocking chair beside me like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Thought you might want somethin’ warm,” he said eventually, nodding toward my cup.

“Thanks,” I murmured, wrapping both hands around it. The heat seeped into my fingers. “Smells better than anything I’ve had in days.”

He gave a soft smile, barely there, eyes fixed on the open land like he was waiting for it to tell him something.

“You always pick up stray women and their dogs off the side of the road?” I asked, the teasing edge in my voice gentle.

He chuckled low, the sound like gravel and comfort. “Not usually. But you looked like you belonged to the road—and like you were finally tired of walkin’ it.”

That hit harder than I expected. I glanced down at Daisy, ran my hand slowly down her back, needing to touch something familiar. Something real.

“You ever get tired of staying in one place?” I asked, my voice quiet.

He was silent for a beat, then nodded slowly. “Used to. When I was younger. Thought I had to chase things to feel alive. Turns out, some things don’t need chasin’. They just need you to stay still long enough to find ‘em.”

I looked over at him then, and he met my gaze. His eyes held no pressure, no question—just a calm steadiness, like he saw right through the noise and didn’t mind the mess.

"I think I’ve been running so long," I admitted, "I forgot what still even feels like."

Rhett didn’t look at me, but his voice was steady when he said, "Maybe this is a good place to remember."

And just like that, the silence between us didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt like a pause—a breath held between strangers who might not be strangers much longer.

Daisy let out a soft sigh and shifted closer, pressing her warm body against my leg. It grounded me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. I took a slow sip of the coffee—warm, a little bitter, exactly right.

“I used to think if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t have to feel anything too deeply,” I said after a while. “Like if I never stayed anywhere long enough, nothing could really stick. No roots. No pain.”

Rhett didn’t interrupt. He just rocked gently, one boot tapping the edge of the porch rail, like he had nowhere else to be.

“But lately,” I went on, “it’s felt like I’ve been circling the same ache over and over, hoping it would disappear if I just changed the scenery enough.”

He glanced over at me then, and his eyes were steady—open and kind in a way that made it harder, somehow, to hold everything in.

“Some hurts,” he said, “they follow you no matter how far you run. Doesn’t mean you’re not strong for trying.”

I looked down into my mug, blinking hard. No one had ever said it like that before—no advice, no quick-fix comfort. Just truth, plain and steady.

“I lost someone,” I said softly. “A while back. Someone I thought would be my always.”

His jaw flexed slightly, and he nodded like he understood more than he let on.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That kind of loss… it carves deep.”

I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “After that, the road felt safer than standing still. But now, here, with the quiet and the sky and you—” I stopped myself, heat rising to my cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s the first time in a long while it hasn’t felt so heavy.”

Rhett didn’t say anything right away. But his hand brushed against mine—just barely, just enough. And that silence? It felt a little like being seen.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes on the open fields.

After a long moment, he finally spoke.

“Maybe it’s not about runnin’ from what broke you. Maybe it’s about finding someplace—and someone—that helps you remember who you were before it did.”

The words landed between us like a second kind of rain—gentle, patient, the kind that sinks deep and coaxes things to grow.

I reached down and ran my fingers through Daisy’s fur, grounding myself in her soft, steady presence. Then I looked at Rhett—really looked. His hat was still damp from the rain, his jeans worn at the knees, that quiet steadiness radiating off him like heat from the earth.

Maybe stillness didn’t have to be scary.

Maybe it could feel like... home.

“Let me grab you a blanket,” he said, standing. “It’s getting chilly now that the rain’s let up.”

He disappeared inside while I scratched behind Daisy’s ears and watched her and Bolt circling each other like they’d been best friends for years.

When Rhett returned, he didn’t just hand me the blanket—he crouched down and wrapped it around my legs himself. His big, warm hands brushed over my hips as he tucked the edges in, and my whole body lit up like a match.

Oh, no. Too warm. Too close. Too much. Too good. Especially for my hungered pitying self.

The heat spread straight through me, and I was suddenly grateful for the cover of night. I had to be beet red.

“Thanks,” I managed, trying to sound casual. “You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate the hospitality.”

He gave a little shrug and leaned back into his chair, arms crossed, one boot tapping lightly on the porch rail.

“So... how come Montana?” he asked. “Is this just a stop on the road?”

I smiled, holding the mug tighter in my hands.

“What can I say? I always wanted to see the mountains. Took all kinds of odd jobs in different states, just drifting. I guess my red Toyota decided it was time to take a break and strand me here for a while... maybe to help me get to know this place a little better.” I laughed softly. “Honestly, I’m just glad you found me. With my luck, I’d probably have been eaten by a coyote.”

Rhett’s grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Nah. Daisy would’ve made friends with it first.”

I snorted. “Exactly. She loves anything with fur and a heartbeat. Me? Not always as lucky.”

He glanced down at Daisy, then back at me, something serious flickering behind his eyes.

“I can’t imagine she’d let anything happen to you. She might be a sweetheart, but I bet she’d rip the throat out of anything that tried to hurt you.”

The way he said it—low and certain—sent a different kind of warmth through me. Not from embarrassment. From something deeper. Something steadier.

And that silence between us? It was starting to feel like safety.

“Now you’re just buttering her up,” I said with a grin, glancing at the two dogs curled up together. “She is a sweet girl, and it looks like Bolt agrees.”

Rhett smiled but didn’t answer right away. We sat in a comfortable silence, sipping our coffee and watching the sky. The moon hung full and low, casting pale silver light over the fields. It was strange, how peaceful this moment felt—sitting here with a man I’d just met, warm mug in hand, a sleepy dog at my feet.

But hell, I wasn’t complaining. It was either this or sleeping in the backseat of my broken-down car, wrapped in the smell of wet fur and despair.

Then the dogs stiffened.

A low growl came from Bolt, followed by Daisy, both of them now focused on something beyond the edge of the porch, out where the shadows swallowed the grass. I jumped slightly, heart kicking up in my chest.

Before I could process it, Rhett’s arm came around my waist—solid, steady. He pulled me closer without hesitation, anchoring me against what could only be described as a wall of muscle. Warmth radiated off him, and instead of pulling away, I leaned in—just a little.

Okay. Maybe a lot.

His scent was all fresh-cut grass and woodsmoke, softened by the lingering rain in the air. Normally, I hated it when people got into my space, but Rhett didn’t feel like people. He felt like peace. Like a cold beer on a hot Friday afternoon.

“So...” I murmured, still tucked against him, “you don’t have a wife hiding out back somewhere, ready to stab my boobs with a hay fork, do you?”

He choked on his coffee.

“No, ma’am,” he said, coughing, laughing, shaking his head. “You?”

“Nope. No wife either.” I smirked.

He gave me a nod, amused but clearly watching me closely now. Not in a bad way—just... seeing me. Like he could tell I’d just let a wall slip down and was quietly grateful not to be called out for it.

This was all so strange. The clean air. The quiet. This man who didn’t fill the space with noise or charm, just calm. Everything here felt different. In a good way.

I looked out across the fields and realized—for the first time in a long while—I didn’t feel like my past was right behind me, waiting to catch up. Here, it felt like maybe I could breathe. Start over. Be still.

Maybe I’d finally landed somewhere I could stay.