Chapter Text
Steve thought his stomach would turn if he had to shake even one more hand and fake one more smile as more people filed into the church. He shouldn’t have been surprised though, his grandfather knew nearly everyone in the small town of Hawkins, Wyoming, given he’d been there at least since Steve’s father had been born.
He liked to think that he wasn’t being selfish, standing there in a black suit with a black silk tie, attempting to nod to the next couple who came up and pulled his teary mother into a hug. His grandfather hadn’t liked a bunch of attention or pomp and circumstance either. The whole time Steve had known him, all the man had wanted was to be outdoors.
But a simple funeral wasn’t “worthy” of the Harrington name.
Hence Steve standing there, hugging some old lady who pinched his cheeks and called him handsome, complementing how much he’d grown since the last time she saw him—and boy wasn’t he excited about his upcoming nuptials, how his grandfather would have loved to see his only grandson marry the girl of his dreams.
His mother next to him stifled a sigh behind her handkerchief and Steve did his best to smile at the old woman as he motioned for her to find a seat before the ceremony. As he ran a hand through his hair, he considered that his father’s lectures might be more welcome now than his mother’s displeasure every time his “nuptials” were brought up by the visiting guests. Of of whom of course were people who hadn’t seen him since he’d flown to Jackson more than two years ago to follow his high school sweetheart, the girl he thought he would marry someday.
“It’s embarrassing enough that things didn’t work between you and Nancy,” his father had said days ago when he’d thrown his Bentley in park right in front of his grandfather’s large house on the ranch. The drive from Cheyenne to the small town of Hawkins was a little less than an hour, but had been tense given one of the reasons for his return. “But the fact that Wheeler Senior will likely show up at the funeral? Even more so.”
His mother had put her face in her hands before she climbed out of the car after his father while Steve walked around and grabbed his luggage out of the trunk. It was just what he had brought on the plane. Everything else from his apartment that he had been sharing in Jackson with Nancy had been shipped back prior to his arrival.
Now Steve was standing in an uncomfortable suit he hadn’t worn in at least a year, in the church where he thought he’d marry the love of his life, while she and her family—rival cattle baron grandfather included—sat a few feet away in the wooden pews.
His father was of course over there, kissing Wheeler Senior’s ass while Nancy made puppy dog eyes at him every time they made eye contact. At least she had the decency to leave behind her new boyfriend, the man she’d left Steve for—some nameless photographer she worked with at the Jackson Hole Tribute.
Steve rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a beat, wishing the entire thing was over. He loved his grandpa, was probably they only Harrington in the room who did, which was all the more reason he wanted this spectacle to be done.
The sooner the funeral was over, the sooner his father could quit acting like he gave a damn about anything more than the Harrington name and fortune. That, and his mother could quit complaining about all the wedding related calls she’d have to make to explain to their network that their only son was in fact not getting married but had quit his job in Jackson—and no, not to finally take over the family real estate business for the whole Mountain West area—but instead to move back to his grandfather’s cattle ranch while he figured things out.
The disdain in the way she said the last bit made him want to puke. It wasn’t as if he had even liked his job at the financial firm that his father had set him up with.
He tried to imagine himself elsewhere, draw on one of the memories he had with his grandfather—riding their horses across the open fields, camping under the stars with him, fishing in the river that ran along the edge of the property.
As he took a breath, he felt his mother shift next to him. “Steven, please open your eyes. We have guests to greet.”
Her voice was soft but judgmental in the way it always was, a quiet coldness filtering through her words. Elena Chamberlain-Harrington: co-owner of Harrington Real Estate, six time Cheyenne Rodeo Queen, belt winning barrel racer, and heiress to the Chamberlain oil empire, was not to be trifled with.
When Steve opened his eyes, he saw a welcomed familiar face standing in front of him and his mother. “Hopper!” he exclaimed, feeling more sane in that moment than he had since he arrived. He reached his arms out and hugged the massive burly man, receiving a slap on the back.
“Good to see you, Steve,” the man replied with a gruff tone, but he could sense the smile in his voice. “It’s been a while. Mrs. Harrington,” he added, tipping his black Stetson to Steve’s mother.
He was there in typical foreman fashion, wearing a black suit jacket, a white button up and black jeans that to their credit seemed to be ironed. The boots he wore were not new, but definitely hadn’t been worn out with the cows.
Despite this, his mother did an awful job at concealing the distaste on her face. “Foreman Hopper,” she replied distantly with a nod.
“And you remember my daughter Jane,” he motioned behind himself where Steve now saw the familiar curly haired girl that he had only come to know a little before he left for Jackson.
She had always been quiet, but opened up a bit more as Steve got to know her, clinging close to her father and spending most of her time with the animals on the ranch. Now she looked a bit older, more comfortable with herself as she toyed with one of her braids, speaking in hushed whispers to the freckled redhead who stood next to her.
His mother nodded, doing her best to form a smile. “Yes, uh, the adopted one, correct?”
Steve wanted to bang his head against the wall, but instead cleared his throat loud enough to draw his mother’s attention. She paused, raising her brows as he gave Hopper an apologetic look. The man smoothed over his mustache and did his best to form the facsimile of a smile.
“That’s right ma’am,” he replied, though Steve could see the anger, sharp behind his gaze.
Hopper was sensitive about Jane. He’d found her in the woods on the edge of the property one day when he was out watering the herd. Steve had been there when he’d returned on horseback, the small girl in his arms, barefoot and dirty. She didn’t speak for more than a week back then, Steve’s grandfather and Hopper doing the best they could to show her that she was safe.
She’d imprinted on Hopper like a duckling though, following him around as he did his chores, forcing him to join them in the main house for dinner because without him she refused to eat. After talking to the local police and taking her to the doctor, they had found she didn’t match the description of any missing persons in the state of Wyoming and she was in good health despite being a little malnourished.
She never spoke about where she came from, but when she’d nearly gotten herself hit by a car running from the social services who came to collect her, the county gave up and she officially became Jane Hopper.
His grandfather had gotten her a new dress for the occasion and Steve had helped carry in a new bed and vanity into Hopper’s cabin out by the stables. The stoic man who often himself said few words outside of barking commands at the cattle hands, had never looked happier.
And even though his mother had tried to diminish that happiness, Steve knew that the man would still do anything for the girl he thought of as his daughter.
“Uh, and that she’s talking to there is Maxine Mayfield,” he added, turning over his shoulder. He whistled at the two of them through his teeth, drawing the attention of a few other churchgoers and causing his mother to wrinkle her nose in disgust.
The young girls walked up and he took his hat off, running a hand through his hair that seemed to have even more gray than the last time Steve saw him.
“Maxine—”
“It’s Max,” the redheaded spitfire corrected, crossing her arms over the black dress she wore.
Hopper nodded his head and rolled his eyes, Jane giggling to Steve from behind her hand. “Max Mayfield, ma’am. And her brother—” he paused searching over his shoulder, hat in hand now held flat to his chest. “Where’d he go?”
The girl named Max shrugged disinterestedly. “I think he was finishing up another cigarette before coming in.”
Hopper sighed and was about to say something, before he caught a man entering the church out of the corner of his eye and his shoulders fell with relief.
Steve’s hitched up in surprise as he took in the blonde walking towards them. He was probably the same height as Steve, his chest and shoulders far more broad beneath the loose black shirt he wore under his suit jacket, top few buttons undone, gold bolo tie resting against his warm tan skin.
The shirt was tucked into what might have been one of the tightest pairs of black Levi’s he had ever seen, denim wrapped around thick thighs. And what Steve wouldn’t have given to see that ass in a pair of leather chaps. He wore black boots, aged enough for creases in the toe but shining as if recently polished, ostrich wingtips gleaming.
“And this, ma’am, is her brother William Hargrove,” it was Hopper’s voice, drawing Steve further from his observations as the man came to a stop on the other side of the skeptical redhead.
Steve took in his features, blue eyes and full pink lips, blonde curls kissing the back of his neck beneath the black Stetson he wore, longer than most men’s hair around here but not quite styled in a mullet. Steve had never seen freckles quite like his, a constellation of brown sugar stars reflected in his ocean eyes.
“Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Harrington,” he said, voice deep and rich but devoid of a familiar Wyoming twang.
He flashed her a thousand-watt smile and extended his hand, clad in a couple of thick gold rings that matched the small hoops in his ears. A cowboy? With earrings? Steve had surely never seen that before in all his years of living in Wyoming. His mother did her best impression of a smile and reached out giving just her stiff fingertips.
“My friends just call me Billy, ma’am,” he added, dipping down to kiss the ring on her finger. He smiled again and his mother nodded, unimpressed with the motion.
“Billy’s the junior foreman Harrington Senior hired about eight months ago,” Hopper continued, and Billy’s gaze roamed over to catch Steve staring.
The blonde winked at him quickly, grinning like a shark circling its prey. Steve looked away promptly, trying to digest the words Hopper was saying. “He’s living in the second foreman’s cabin now with his sister, so if you’re on the ranch you may see him around.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hargrove,” his mother replied, her tone clipped because it wasn’t really a pleasure at all. Elena Harrington did not socialize with the help on her father-in-law’s ranch, especially not the cattle hands. “Thank you for coming.”
“I didn’t know Dean long,” Billy said casually mentioning Steve’s grandfather by name, hand on his hip. “But I owe him a lot. Thought the least I could do was show my face to pay my respects.” He reached up and took his hat off in a swift motion, revealing more of his sun kissed blonde curls.
She nodded and glanced around them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some more guests to greet before things get started in a few minutes.”
Steve watched as his mother flitted around them to a couple entering the church doors. As if dismissed, Jane and Max ran off to find a pew to sit in. Hopper patted him on the shoulder and stepped after them, nodding to a few other familiar faces in the room.
“And who might you be pretty boy?” Steve turned and found Billy standing in front of him, taking him in from head to toe. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, somehow feeling like he was the one dressed inappropriately for a funeral when he stared down at his own shoes.
“Uh, Steve Harrington,” he replied, straightening his back and offering a hand to the man. The blonde kept his hat pressed to his chest and smirked, eyes lingering on his face. “I’m Dean’s grandson. I’ve been living in Jackson Hole the past two years but—”
“Ah,” he said with a slow nod as if recalling something distant, his gaze never leaving Steve’s face. “The engaged one.”
He felt a ripple of frustration in his blood and dropped his hand, clearing his throat. “Well, uh not actually engaged anymore. I’ve moved back to Hawkins for the time being, so I’ll be up in the main house on the ranch.”
Billy chewed on his bottom lip as he raised a brow as if trying to swallow down a laugh at his misfortune. Steve squashed down the fire simmering in his chest as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “The prodigal son returns, it seems. Cattle hands mentioned you,” he bobbed his head. “Never said you were so pretty though.”
Steve choked on his own breath and sputtered, coughing for a moment, drawing a glare from his mother who was standing a few feet away, undoubtedly wondering why he was still talking to the new cattle hand. Why was he still talking to the new cattle hand?
“Guess I should be saying, good to have you back instead of nice to meet you,” Billy added, smug grin on his lips and in his eyes, and Steve suddenly felt stupid for being teased by the help. He tapped Steve’s chest with the brim of his Stetson, scanning his face once more. “I’ll be seeing you around, pretty boy.”
He winked quickly again before walking around Steve, heading down the aisle toward where Hopper sat in the pew with the girls. No matter how badly Steve wanted to look, he refrained from glancing over his shoulder to watch the man walk away.
After his engagement and heart being broken, not to mention learning about the death of his grandfather, the last thing Steve needed to deal with right now was someone like Billy Hargrove.
~
Thanks to some deity he didn’t believe in that must have been watching out for him, Steve managed to make it all the way through the funeral, burial at the cemetery, and back to his grandfather’s house for the final gathering without bumping into Nancy.
But by some cruel sliver of fate, she caught him after sneaking out the back door through the kitchen, half bitten tiny sandwich in one hand as he rustled through his pockets for a cigarette with the other. Steve was rounding the side of the house, taking a deep breath and trying to find his footing again after the last few hours.
People kept asking him how he felt, and he smiled and told them I’m fine, because that’s what Harrington’s did. His mother wept tastefully, not too loudly but with obvious enough tears, into the arms of all of their family friends. James Harrington, ever the rock of his family, guided them through the events of the day with a steady hand and wasn’t he always such a leader, Dean would be proud.
Steve had scoffed at that. His father had used their cattle baron name to carve his path out in life, but once he met his mother all those years ago, he’d abandoned the family ranch to strike out on his own in real estate.
Spending as much time as he had over the years with his grandfather, Steve suspected that the man was disappointed by his father’s decision not to continue the family business cattle ranching, but being the quiet, kind soul he was, meant he never voiced it. Steve wished his own father would take a note out of his grandfather’s playbook.
So of course, after tolerating both of his parents, not to mention all the wayward glances and whispers when it came to the Wheeler family’s attendance and his wedding being canceled, Steve needed a moment. Hell, he needed several moments.
He’d tossed the other half of the sandwich in his mouth and swallowed it down quickly as he rounded the house and came screeching to a halt right in front of Nancy, who was standing there anxiously, clearly hoping to catch him.He stopped dead in his tracks, dress shoes kicking up dust as he took her in.
She looked much the same, and of course she did. Their time apart really hadn’t been that long in comparison to how long he’d known her. Steve had gotten back to Hawkins a few days ago, after he’d gotten word about his grandfather’s passing and the funeral, but he’d been living alone in their apartment in Jackson for about four months now.
He still slept on his side of the bed even though it was empty, like maybe leaving the space for her meant she’d find her way back.
“Steve,” she said softly, doing her best to smile.
It wasn’t like the smiles he had grown used to, the ones that accompanied her laugh, where she showed all of her teeth and her cheeks grew rosy. But what did he know? Maybe those weren’t really her smile either. Just another thing he didn’t really know about her.
He didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on the cigarette in his hand. Steve dug through his pant pockets and eventually found his lighter in the pocket inside his suit jacket. He studied the lighter, hell bent on getting the flame to burst free so he didn’t have to look at her or think about the way his hands trembled.
“I-I’m sorry…” she said, voice quiet, almost drowned out by the spark of the lighter. He pulled the flame close, cupping it to the end of the cigarette until the cherry glowed.
Steve bit down on the filter of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. His lungs burned but he held the smoke in, wondering if maybe he could just pass out altogether if he never came back up for air. “A-About your grandfather. I know how close you two were, how much you loved the ranch.”
She was toying with her hair now, brown ringlets falling to her shoulders. She’d let it grow out since he saw her last. The smoke floated up towards the sky as he tilted his head back, tongue sitting on his lip as he let the nicotine mix into his blood. It softened the chaos of the world around him into a faint buzz in the back of his mind.
“And of course about everything else…” she continued calmly. Much calmer than Steve felt. “I know we haven’t really gotten to talk since—”
“So you ambush me at my grandfather’s funeral?” Those were the first words he spoke, acidic and spiteful. He stared down at his shoes as he toed at the dirt, ashing his cigarette before he took another breath. When he managed to look up, Nancy was gazing back at him.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe something that looked a bit like remorse, regret even. What he got was pity.
“You’ve not been the easiest person to get in touch with Steve…” And there it was, her need to always argue. Steve thought it was cute when they were in high school. Admired her for always standing up, speaking truth to power. It really wasn’t cute anymore.
Taking a drag he shook his head and held his breath for a moment before letting the smoke seep out between his lips. “You left me Nancy, remember?” She pursed her lips, eyes still unwavering.
He hated seeing that pitiful look in them. Like he was pathetic, like he should be embarrassed, like he hadn’t tried to give her the world and she threw it in his face. “I don’t even know why you came honestly,” he added. “It’s hard enough having to explain things to my parents without my dad trying to kiss your grandpa’s ass.”
She sighed as if this conversation was painful for her. And wasn’t that the rub? As if she hadn’t been the one to come home to Steve cooking dinner in their shared kitchen, trying to treat her because he could sense the tension in the relationship, trying to patch things up, to give her a reason to smile—as if she hadn’t stood there with her packed bag on her shoulder as he dished up his grandmother’s recipe for potato au gratin that Nancy always said was her favorite, onto a plate next to the steaks he’d hand selected from the butcher in town, and looked at him with that same pity in her eyes and said: “Steve…this is over.”
“Of course I was going to come,” she replied indignantly, taking a step towards him. “Steve, contrary to what you may think, I do care about you. I know how hard this has to be for you. Your grandpa w-was everything to you. I know how strained things have always been with your parents, I know you.”
Reaching up she put a hand on his arm and Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. He glanced down to her delicate hands, thinking about how much he had once loved them. How small and feminine they were in his, their light touch across his skin and through his hair. They touched someone else like that now.
Nancy wasn’t wearing her ring anymore. And why would she? She wasn’t his. She never had been. Maybe he was worth pitying…He was engaged to his high school sweetheart and he felt their relationship floundering, knew it had been for years given the way Nancy looked at him. So he’d listened to her, was willing to do anything when she suggested they try being open for a little while.
While he was doing his best to give her what she asked for—floundering at bars trying to talk to people because he hadn’t needed to since high school and back then he was the King—trying to do whatever the fuck “open” was in a relationship, she was touching some other man with those hands. And Jesus, wasn’t the whole point of a relationship that it was closed, that it was exclusive, and like, he still didn’t really understand it, that suggestion of hers.
But at the time he listened to her because he thought it would save them, because she said opening things up might make them only want each other more. And even though his heart had pounded while strong hands threw him up against filthy bar bathrooms and he learned what it felt like to have the brush of a beard against his face, between his legs, like he’d always secretly wondered about—it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t Nancy. It felt good, being held by strong arms, firm chests pressed against his, and of course he’d never tell her that, because it wasn’t this, it wasn’t love.
But he let it happen anyway. And he ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Ignored the pit in his stomach that opened up when she didn’t come home at night, when he was walking on Main Street getting coffee with a colleague who pointed to the window of the cafe they were going to and said “Hey isn’t that Nancy? Who’s that guy she’s talking to?”
He ignored it, stuffed it down and said,“Oh just a guy she works with at the Tribune…” even though the way Nancy looked at him with light in her eyes told Steve that the man across from her, hunched forward seemingly slightly unsure of himself, wasn’t just a guy.
Nancy had looked at him like that once, hadn’t she? Or had the whole thing just been bullshit like she’d told him when he tried to stop her that night, food gone cold and congealed? I did what you asked. I did what you wanted. I tried to save this, and still…
It was bullshit. Bullshit.
Steve licked the cut on the inside of his cheek, the metallic tang of blood bringing him back to where he stood now. The air here was cleaner than in Jackson, the world quieter even though just beyond the wall they stood next to about 100 people gathered in his grandfather’s house.
She was looking up at him, big round eyes projecting sadness as she squeezed his wrist. She wasn’t wearing her ring.
“How’s Jonathan?” he asked.
He couldn’t even remember the last thing Nancy had said to him. Didn’t want to remember. None of it mattered anyway. As long as she could pity him, she could feel superior.
The way her face contorted, a flash of shame and embarrassment flitting across it, gave him a pang of satisfaction followed by a sinking dread.
“Steve…” she sighed, like he was a child who didn’t understand. She withdrew her hand and it burned where she had been touching him.
“You wanted to talk,” he shrugged his shoulders and took another drag, turning his head and blowing the smoke off to the side. “Let’s talk. How is ‘ole Johnny, huh? You tell him you were coming back for a few days to play nice with the guy you left for him? Did you say, poor Steve, he’s bullshit but he’s still going through a rough time?”
She had the audacity to look hurt when he said that, throwing her words back in her face. “Is that what you two do when you’re together?” he continued past the lump in his throat.
“Laugh at poor bullshit Steve, think about how stupid he had to have been to let you be together right under his nose? Bet you’re in stitches laughing about how much of an idiot I am—you know Steve, smarts aren’t everything,” he flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, parroting her voice back to her the same way she’d said it all those years ago reading his college applications when they were still in high school.
“And Jesus,” he exhaled, putting his face in his hands. “I really am…I’m really so fucking stupid.”
“Steve,” her voice wobbled like she was going to cry and he sighed again, looking up at her now feeling the pinpricks sting behind his own eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want—”
But before she could continue they both turned to see a now familiar face round the corner. Billy Hargrove, the new assistant foreman that Steve had met at the funeral walked up, brows raised as if he suspected he stumbled on something important.
Steve cleared his throat and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck he was sure was red like the rest of his face. Nancy collected herself and sniffed, brushing her lashes on her sleeve.
“Uh sorry to interrupt, but are you Nancy?” He pointed to her and she glanced over to Steve before turning back to the blonde who surveyed them with knowing blue eyes. He’d heard them. “Your family is looking for you, your brother in particular.”
She furrowed her brow, studying the man in front of her who leaned against the house, posture relaxed. “And who are you? How do you know my brother?”
He gave her a snarky grin. Steve could tell it wasn’t anything like the wooing smile he’d given his mother earlier this morning. This was one that smelled blood in the water.
“Black hair and freckles, skinny? Pain in the fuckin’ ass?” Steve snorted and Billy’s eyes flicked up to him, gleaming as he grinned. He’d described Mike Wheeler perfectly. “Mouthy and always looking to pick a fight?” Billy raised a blonde brow and took Nancy in from head to toe like he was sizing up a heifer for a show. “Seems like it runs in the family apparently…”
“Do I know you?” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean, you’re interrupting a private conversation.”
“Billy Hargrove, ma’am,” he tipped his Stetson toward her sardonically and pushed himself up from the wall. “Your brother Mike is in school with my shitstain of a little sister Maxine. She runs around with their little group along with the foreman’s daughter.” Nancy’s shoulders sagged a bit as she listened. “And I didn’t mean to interrupt you two love birds, I was just doin’ my job relaying a message on my way to the stables.”
Steve stepped to the side, taking the opportunity when he saw it. “Nancy you should go find your family,” he took a breath, scanning her face. He could tell that she wanted to argue with him, but she glanced toward Billy who smirked, giving her a two fingered salute.
“But Steve, I—we still need to talk—”
“Seems like pretty boy here is fresh out of things to say,” Billy chimed in, patting his pockets down and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He jerked his head, motioning back towards the house where people were gathered. “Why don’t you move along now dove? Don’t want your family worrying about you.”
The glare she was giving him was a familiar one, and normally Steve wouldn’t let someone talk like that to her, but he was done with this conversation, done with Nancy, done with apologies that she didn’t mean.
When she realized that Steve wasn’t going to jump in, defend her or continue the conversation, she hesitated, turning toward him like she wanted to reach out, but smoothed her dress down instead.
“I’ll call you,” she replied, as if saying the statement aloud made it more true. She nodded to him and Steve stared down at his shoes and the space between him, unable to meet her eyes. The ones he used to drown in, but now was terrified they’d swallow him whole.
Nancy turned facing Billy and pushed her jaw forward. “I would say it’s nice to meet you Mr. Hargrove…”
Billy grinned, ashing the cigarette in front of him. “But then we’d both be lyin’ Miss Wheeler.”
With a huff she shouldered her way around him, glancing once more at Steve over her shoulder before disappearing back toward the crowd in the main house.
After a moment of silence between the two of them, where Steve tilted his head up toward the sky and took a deep breath, the breeze ruffling his undone tie and carrying the scent of Billy’s cigarette toward him, he heard the blonde whistle in a low tone.
When he opened his eyes, Billy had his brows raised and was shaking his head. “She always like that? Big ‘ole stick of holier than thou shoved up her ass? Man, I can see why it didn’t work out between the two of you.”
Steve narrowed his eyes at the man. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that. You don’t know shit, Hargrove.”
There was a moment where the man seemed almost surprised by Steve’s response, taken off guard like he thought the comment would be received better. But it was quickly replaced by a smug look, one eyebrow cocked. “Wow, princess has still got your balls on a leash even though things are over and she’s shacking up with someone new.”
He wasn’t sure if Billy knew about that because he’d overheard them talking, or word about Nancy’s new beau had already reached him. He wouldn’t be surprised, the small town of Hawkins loved gossip and a funeral was no exception. If anything, it was the prime place to get the most up to date information.
“Fuck off, I don’t need your interference in my relationship,” he bit back.
Billy took a deep drag off the cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it in the dirt with the heel of his boot. “Noted, pretty boy. Next time she’s got you cornered I’ll let you stick it out on your own.”
Steve took a deep breath, realizing that Billy had intended to rescue him from the conversation with Nancy. He wondered for a moment, if her family was even looking for her or if that was just something he’d made up.
“I’ll be at the stables if anyone needs me,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Steve hesitated as the blonde turned on his heels and walked toward the path that would lead them down the hill toward where the main stables and the rest of the ranch was. Steve watched him walk away this time, Levi’s hugging his thick thighs, boots kicking up dust behind him.
Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him away from the house until he caught up with Billy in a few strides. Like this, side by side, he could tell that there was only a couple inches height difference between the two of them, largely made up for by Billy’s black hat.
Annoyed, the blonde glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can I help you?” he asked, wholly unimpressed.
Steve shrugged, burying his hands in his pockets. “I’m not too eager to go back in there and be gossiped about and cried on. My parents are handling things anyway.” They walked a few more beats silently. “Anyway, if he were still here, my grandpa wouldn’t want all this shit. He’d probably be in the stables himself.”
Billy chuckled at that and gave a gentle nod. “Yeah, even when his health wasn’t that great Dean was always asking about stuff. Making sure all the horses were good and nothing was out of place with the cattle.”
They walked along and Steve thought to himself as the cool breeze blew through his hair and ruffled Billy’s collar. The irony is that out of all the people in his grandfather’s life, it was the staff like Billy and Hopper who probably knew him the best. More than his parents, more than business associates like the Wheelers. Maybe even more than Steve, who had been too caught up in his life falling apart at the seams in Jackson Hole to visit very often in the last few years.
“How’s Ruby?” Steve felt himself ask. He wasn’t sure why he was continuing his conversation with this guy, they clearly weren’t friends.
Billy nodded solemnly and lit up another cigarette, offering one to Steve. He took one from the pack, taking the lighter when it was proffered.
“She looks for him,” his voice was gentle, somber, following the smoke that floated up from his mouth. Steve felt the lump swell up in his throat again at the thought of his grandfather’s old horse Ruby.
His grandmother had named her, since her coat was a beautiful reddish brown. When Steve was just a kid and the horses seemed as tall as sky scrapers, his grandfather used to lift him up into the saddle and sit him in front, between his legs.
He’d let Steve hold the reigns, gently guiding her as they galloped across the ranch. Steve had always felt the best when the wind blew through his hair and there was nothing in front of them but the rolling green fields and the endless sky. It was at that age that he understood why they called Wyoming “Big Sky Country.”
“I think she knows,” Billy added, tilting his head back as he walked, taking in the sky. “Horses are smart like that, smarter than some people. She watched him age, she knew his rides became more infrequent.” Steve chewed on his lip and took another drag. “Hop and I used to bring him down here with his chair. Wheel him out to the stable and bring her out.”
Billy pointed to the pen the were coming up on as they descended what was left of the hill. “He had me park him right at the edge and then he’d tell me to saddle her up and do a few laps.”
Steve scanned the dusty pen, its metal bars looking well maintained despite it being there from the time he was a child. It was in that small arena that he first learned how to ride, his grandfather guiding ponies in a neat circle while he got used to the saddle.
He pictured Billy sitting tall and proud on Ruby’s pack, his blonde curls sparkling in the sunset while he raced her around, took his time prancing her and trotting all while his grandfather clapped and laughed from his wheelchair, one of his grandmother’s quilts on his lap.
“Thank you,” Steve whispered turning back to Billy. He sniffed and ran a hand through his hair and the blonde eyed him for a moment, taking a drag unbothered. “For doing all that for him. You’re just a foreman, so,” Steve shrugged. “That’s not really a requirement of your job. But I bet he appreciated it a lot…getting to see Ruby like that.”
“Me and Dean,” Billy said smoothly, staring off toward the pen, eyes focused as if recalling something far away. “We had an understanding.” Steve watched him as he paused before taking another drag and veering toward the right toward the main stables.
“What was that?” Steve asked, following him. “Your understanding?”
Billy took Steve in over his shoulder and raised a brow, unimpressed. “Yeah, wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart? Let’s just say it was an understanding between men, not something a brat from the city like you has to worry about.”
His jaw dropped as he stood there dumbfounded, face heating as Billy cackled and continued toward the stable. Steve rolled his eyes and regretted even thinking for a moment that he’d managed to find some common ground with Billy.
“You know I was raised here fuckwit. I only moved to Jackson a few years ago. It’s kinda my family’s ranch, or did the bleach go to your head and you forgot who you work for?”
Billy laughed again, stopping in front of the stables with his hands on his hips. “Just because your name is on the gate don’t mean you know shit about running things princess.”
Steve cocked his head, taken off guard, fists at his side. “P-Princess? Me?”
“And the blonde is au natural,” Billy said with a grin. “A good set of DNA and twenty-plus years in the California sunshine’ll do that to you. But I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that, Bambi.”
By the time Steve could even stutter out a comeback, Billy already had his back turned, middle finger held high over his shoulder.
And of course his initial sentiment had been right, fuck whatever he had been thinking for the last few minutes: the last thing Steve needed to deal with right now was someone like Billy Hargrove.