✰ ── 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Jo’s eyes narrowed as she cut a ruthless glare to Colt (as he had the audacity to fault her appearance), one that was more out of habit than anything. Even though being back home had been nothing but a whirlwind – trying to find her place back in a town that had seemed to fill the spot she had left wasn’t easy. Even with nights out at Joe’s, the dingy bar in town, or when she went to the market to grab groceries, the locals talked to her as if they were struggling to keep afloat. Sure, the first few meetings were wholesome and filled with the same questions that tumbled out of their mouth too quickly, at times.

“How have you been?”

“Found a man, yet?”

“Still gonna be helping out your parents?”

“Have you heard how Grace is doing?”

This town, this land, had built her into the woman she was. Gruff, a little temperamental, and too prickly to let anyone past the front door. And yet, she still felt the outcast. The only ones who had seen the girl’s true colors weren’t exactly a fan. Her sister. The ex-boyfriends that turned and tucked tail after a month at the max.

Colt.

While relearning how to mold herself back into home, falling into old habits with Colt had been fairly easy. Too easy. Surprisingly, it was the most comforting thing about home, at the moment. While everyone else had moved on while her life was put on pause, it was refreshing to know that even jackass Colton Walker could still make her blood boil.

As he washed his hands fiercely in the kitchen sink, Joanna toyed with her bottom lip, pulling it into her teeth. She followed the recipe… Or as close as she could. Somewhat. Partially.

Okay, maybe she skipped a few steps and exchanged some measurements between ingredients. Surely it would cancel out in the end, right? Cause and effect, or some shit like that? She figured adding in some eggs and sugar and stirring until her damn arm fell off was far more simple than trying to wrangle a bull or tame a wild mustang. And yet, both were looking mighty enticing compared to the catastrophe that was staring at her from the mixing bowl.

Though, the next words that fell from Colt’s lips were surely more terrifying.

Her mother. Not coming home. Fucking knitting circle.

Her grip tightened on the countertop, knuckles turning white and all color draining from her face. While her spine was rigid, her mouth fell open as panic began to set in. No, no, no. She needed to make these stupid, stupid cupcakes tonight, for tomorrow would be filled with setting up and trying to sell the damn things. Jo was a rotten baker, but even a worse saleswoman. Maybe it was the resting bitch face. Or maybe it was the fact that a ‘hello’ to her was a cock of her head and a middle finger.

Either way, she was royally screwed.

Whipping her head towards Colt, about to throw a curse and maybe a pitiful cry for help, she paused as he raised a now dry hand. Hearing that her mother’s substitute would be the cowboy himself, her body turned taut once more, already preparing for the defense she would have to take up. As he neared her and the bowl, she turned so the small of her back rested against the countertop and threw her head back with another sigh.

“Apparently she knits hats, now. And gloves. And headbands. You’ll probably be getting a sweater for Christmas so you better smile and open it like it’s the best damn thing you ever saw,” Jo drawled, her thick accent creeping in. She stared at the ceiling while Colt inspected the bowl, though she knew exactly what kind of face he was making. She knew the guy too well. There would be a little crinkle of his nose, his lips turning into a frown, maybe even a disappointing click of his tongue, if she was lucky.

After his inspection, he turned to face her, though she refused to meet his gaze. She could change a flat tire, herd cattle, spit at a rattlesnake, and even tackle their wayward goats as they escaped their pens way too often, and yet baking was a feat she could not master.

“Colton Walker if you don’t stop looking at me like that right now I’ll dump that entire bowl over your head.”

He outstretched a hand, giving her an eager wriggle of his fingers for the recipe card as he insulted her precious, hard work. Using her middle finger to scratch her nose, making sure it was in full view of Colt’s gaze, she tossed him the recipe and peered down at the bowl. “You better not be talking about Aunt DeeDee like that – I swear even the Grim Reaper himself is terrified of that woman.”

Aunt DeeDee lived across town in a trailer with a shotgun resting beside her front door. One time a telemarketer stepped up to her home to try and sell window panes or some stupid shit like that.

Somehow the cops were called.

Aunt DeeDee had always been Jo’s favorite. She would have whacked Colt in the back of the head if she heard him insulting her niece’s cooking.

“If that’s the case,” Jo started, grabbing the spatula and bringing it towards Colt’s face, “open up, Walker.” Seeing the putrid expression riddle his features made dealing with his insults worth it, for a sinister smile spread across her mouth. Unfortunately, he snatched the utensil out of her hand, as well as the bowl, and replaced them with clean, fresh ones. Ah, so they were really doing this.

Deciding to face the storm and try and get the job done as quickly as possible, Jo grumbled some off-hand expletives while grabbing the ingredients once more. Flour, baking powder, baking soda (apparently that’s different than the powder), sugar, salt, eggs, and a whole plethora of other ingredients she had skipped over the first time. Apparently, she was supposed to mix the wet ingredients and dry ingredients separately. For what purpose? She had no clue, but Colt insisted. In fact, he had taken over for the majority of the process, only allowing her near the whisk to mix because she “couldn’t possibly mess that up.”

Well, he severely underestimated her absolutely horrific kitchen skills.

It happened a little too fast for her to fully know what went wrong. All she knew was that at one moment, she had an arm wrapped around the bowl, hugging it close to her side, and whisked the wet ingredients as her life depended on it. And then the next…

Colton was wearing Aunt DeeDee’s famous chocolate cupcakes.

The batter was splattered across his face in small, tiny dots, but most of it ended up across his chest. Either he bumped her or she bumped him, but one way or another, the bowl tipped against his sturdy frame before clattering to the floor.

Jo stood there, blinked, and stared wide-eyed at an entirely too-still Colton. Neither of them moved, the kitchen was quiet except for the batter that dripped from his chest and onto the wood floor. Even the chickens had gone silent outside.

She figured she would end up on the Devil’s Shit List for this, but Joanna Emerson was never known for her sense of self control.

“Definitely not edible.”

As a rule of thumb, Colt wasn't one to keep up with all the town's going-ons. There were too many functions and festivals and contests, each more insignificant than the last. Small town pride was a thing, he supposed, but he wasn't one for feeling it. Eat, sleep, work, repeat - that had been his motto for as long as he'd been ready, able, and willing. And if that wasn't morose enough, these past few weeks had put an entirely new damper on his outlook on life - especially his own.

Blindsided wasn't the right word for what Colt was feeling - a girl like her, in a place like this? Never really added up. She'd always been just a little too soft for the harsh reality of farm life, too ambitious for such a stagnant, small town, too restless to be satisfied. Grace leaving for New York had taken him by surprise, but it hadn't taken him aback. Not blindsided, but betrayed? Maybe a little. Hell, he hadn't been dumb enough to think that she was gonna spend her whole life here, content with being a farmer's wife, a mother, a member of the lady's aid society.

But couldn't they have gone on pretending for just a little while longer?

He wasn't heartbroken, not really, but these last few weeks he'd been pretty testy, even for him. Long distance relationships sucked. Their schedules never synced, conversation died out after a few feeble attempts, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe the only thing they'd ever really been good at was pretending they had anything in common. But still he carried on, he sent the good morning and goodnight texts, he listened to the talk about her job opportunities and the people she was meeting and the thrill of city life - he kept on pretending, and so did she.

Walking into the kitchen that night, Colt didn't know what he was getting himself into - when Mrs. Emerson had asked if he could stop by and check on Jo, he'd somehow temporarily forgotten the fact that the girl was about as domesticated as a feral wolf. Why he thought he'd just be stopping by, he didn't know, but now that he was here....well, there was work to be done. He'd been poisoned one too many time by her easy bake oven desserts to subject the public to her cooking.

"Have you seen yourself?" countered the surly cowboy, brushing past Jo on his way to the sink. While scrubbing away the day's dirt and grime, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the disheveled would-be baker.

"She's not comin'." He said, drying his hands off on a hand-woven dishcloth that hung below the sink. "Somethin' about a knittin' circle tonight?" he continued, before tacking on a suspicious, "does she even knit?" with a glance at the dish towel.

The revelation caused Jo to visibly start - he could see first her surprise, then something akin to panic. Tightened knuckles on the countertop, a slackness in her jaw, the ever so subtle furrow of her brow. As the girl opened her mouth to protest, Colt raised one hand. "She sent me instead."

Walking over to stand beside her, Colt looked down into the bowl and frowned. It looked like....well, mud. He half expected to see worms wriggling around in the bottom of the bowl, or a piece of gravel float to the surface. Giving Jo a look, he picked up the bowl and gave it a little shake, but nothing moved. "This is not edible." he said, before giving an impatient waggle of his fingers. "Come on, let me see the recipe. Poor Aunt DeeDee would be rolling in her grave." When Jo objected, his brows furrowed further. "That old broad isn't dead yet? Well, she hasn't had a taste of your cupcakes. You'll fix her yet, Jo."

An ache spread through her while she looked at Colt. It didn’t stem from her hand, didn’t ricochet across her body as she felt his cold stare, rooting her to the ground. It wasn’t dull, it wasn’t something she could have easily brushed off like normal. No, this was numbing, excruciating pain. Something she felt deep within her chest, kissing her soul and racing through her heart. It hurt worse than rope burns, worse the burrs stuck in her palms. These were deeper wounds that needed tending to, but both were far too stubborn to rip off the bandage.

And there was no salve to tend to these injuries. Some she had dealt herself by keeping Colt at an arm's length away at all times -- she knew this. Time could either heal all wounds, or make the worst ones fester even more. And, judging by the pain that still resided in Colt, she figured that healing wouldn’t be in their future anytime soon.

Colt was all edges and corners. Every part of him was raised from the land. Hard, yet beautiful. Calloused, yet nurturing as all cowboys seemed to be. She had seen him be as gentle as the wind while assisting with newborn foals or bottle feeding calves. Jo had heard him murmur sweet, tender goodbyes to her favorite dog as he passed. He was masculine and strong, but she would never forget that Colt Walker was also gentle. And as he stared at her with unyielding eyes, she swore she saw a hint of that softness...

Right before quiet rage took over.

Him driving the nail home, a sharp crack! echoing across the pasture, made her jump. Made her blink back the man she had remembered, only to be faced with the reality now glaring at her. Right in the face.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to kick up dirt and throw her god damned hat on the ground and curse his name.

Jo watched him tug up the hem of his shirt, revealing a sliver of a tanned, hardened stomach... Her eyes rested on the glimpse of bare skin for far too long and, as he swiveled on his heels and turned towards the barn without so much as a goodbye…

Well, self awareness spread across her like wildfire.

She was in deep, unrelenting shit.

-----------

It had been three long, grueling weeks back home. Things with Colt had stayed stagnant, she had finally grown accustomed to life at home once again, and things had fallen into their old, retrospective habits. Coffee with her dad in the morning, taking the horses around her property in the evenings, even bowls of ice cream at 2am when she couldn’t sleep had returned -- something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. Jo realized that, while she had been spending all of her time tending to her aunt, she had forgotten these small pieces of her life and how even the tiniest of things could make a huge impact.

However, there was one thing that had stayed the same throughout all of these years.

Jo was a rotten cook and an even worse baker.

So, as she stared at the giant bowl of what was supposed to be batter for cupcakes, she felt as if she had arrived to a war unarmed. And completely out of her wits.

Flour dusted her cheeks and her golden hair had fallen halfway out of the knot she had tied it into across the nape of her neck and settled around the sides of her face in a wayward mane. She gripped the countertop as if it were her saving grace and a few mumbled curses drifted past her lips -- intended for the chocolate batter that was absolutely mocking her. She was sure of it.

These were her aunt’s famous cupcakes, practically legendary in her family, and they were requested for the bake sale at their annual town festival tomorrow night. Things needed to be perfect. It was her first festival in years so making a good impression was crucial.

Too bad she wasn’t volunteered for a pie eating competition, because Jo would surely knock that out of the park no problem.

About to toss the whole mess of batter in the garbage, Jo reached towards the crumbled up recipe until a creak in the floorboards stopped her halfway. Whipping her head towards the noise, expecting to beg her mother for assistance, she was surprised to not see anyone from her family at all.

Colt. Sweaty. And looking as if he were in a mood.

Joanna sighed and then groaned to herself. Perfect. Just what she needed. He strode into the kitchen quietly, as usual, and she took another glance in his direction as the air in the room became thick with their animosity.

Grace had left for New York two weeks ago. While Jo had been able to talk to her on the phone every few days or so, she hadn’t dared ask her sister how things with Colt had been holding up. Their relationship was still... A fresh wound for her. Still, with tensions already high between her and the brute, she didn’t want to risk bringing up her sister with him.

“Have you seen my mom?” Jo asked him, turning back towards the recipe she death gripped in her hand before eyeing the batter.

His morning passed by in a blur.

Between the sudden heat wave, the anger still brewing inside of him, and the vast expanse of fence in the pasture that needed fixing up, Colt had his hands full. Literally and figuratively - ie, there was a lot of shit on his plate right now and his hands were quite literally filled with hammer, lumber, and nails.

He tried not to dwell on this morning - he really did. Colt tried to put it behind him and focus on doing his damn job, but every time he tried to concentrate his thoughts kept wandering back towards Jo and the tense moment they'd shared. That girl got under his skin like no other, and he couldn't even begin to understand why. What was it? Bitterness? Resentment? Genuine fear? Colt knew that in a second all of this could be gone if she really wanted it badly enough - everything he had, everything he was, his very livelihood...it all hinged on a decade old grudge and the frailty of their barely preserved peace.

Finding another job, that he could probably do. Sure, he preferred working for the Emersons - they were everything to him but blood - but lots of folks were looking for hired hands. Employment wasn't his biggest issue. But going home? Shit, he hadn't been home since the day he'd turned eighteen. Already with one foot halfway out the door, it hadn't taken much to send him packing. And he hadn't gone back. Not for a single holiday, a birthday, nothing - not even when his old man was sick. Sure, half of damn near every paycheck went directly into an account for his ma and the kids, but everything at a distance. Half a damn decade it had been since he'd crossed that threshold, and the thought of returning still set his heart hammering and his stomach sinking.

Speaking of things that made him feel all dark and twisty inside...up she came, first riding and then leading. Colt did his best to ignore her presence, but the pasture was only so big and no matter the size of the space, it was just never big enough for the two of them. For a minute he thought that maybe they'd make it through without speaking. She'd leave Delilah to graze and him to work and all would be right in the world. But to his surprise, she spoke first.

Colt knew that it must have cost a lot for Joanna to mutter anything in his direction that wasn't laced with venom and raining hellfire; the fact that her sentiment almost resembled some sort of half-assed apology was completely unfathomable. It left him taken aback enough that the young rancher paused, hammer in hand, hovering precariously a few inches above the nail while he stared daggers into the back of his unwelcome companion's head. Those honey-blonde curls were drawn back into a loose braid, her signature look, the stray hairs blowing gently in the afternoon breeze. There was a softness in her voice, but a hardness in her stance - it was stout, defensive.

A walking contradiction that girl, always.

He could bend in the wake of her almost apology - hell, he probably should bend. More than a small part of him was tempted to. It was almost pathetic how habitual it was, how something inside of him softened ever so slightly around the edges at the twinge of unfamiliar vulnerability that laced her words. For half a second he could see something there that wasn't there before, and he almost mistook it as kindness, maybe even a bit of regret. But the more Colt played her words over in his mind, the more he understood that there was no kindness there, there was no extension of friendship in her words - it was pity. Colt bit his tongue, hard, wishing that he'd had the common sense to do so earlier. Why the fuck had he let her bait him? Why had he said anything to her at all? There were a lot of things that he knew he could take from Joanna. But pity? Nah, that wasn't one of them.

And so a strained "Mhm," was all he murmured, driving the last nail into its place in the wooden post. He hesitated for a moment, tongue in cheek. There were so many things that he wanted to say to her, and yet he couldn't form the words.

It wasn't so much the girl's pity -whether direct or subconscious, he wasn't sure- as it was the fact he knew he was deserving of it. He felt like a goddamn dog begging for a handout, tail wagging at the slightest sign of affection, always coming back no matter how many times he'd been kicked. Even now, relief swept through him as she gave a subtle go-ahead. As if he needed her permission, as if his very fate lay in her hands - and it kind of did. He resented the power dynamic between the two of them, the uneven playing field, the fact that he could do nothing about it.

There was everything but also nothing to say, and so he just didn't. Colt stood up, mopped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of an already-soaked teeshirt, and tucked the hammer and extra nails into his tool belt. And then he left. Turned around, walked away, and left her standing there.

After all, he had a leaky roof to fix.

When Colton Walker was angry, it wasn’t like a raging fire or an explosive bomb, destroying everything in his path. That was Jo -- Jo was the chaotic force of nature that acted on impulse and feelings and never liked to sit on thoughts for long. She was an act now, think later sort of girl -- one who heavily relied on her forceful outburst to win her battles, whereas Colton relied on his words. And shit, his words could have wounded someone more than any knife.

He had a steady calm about him when fury was boiling inside of him. The kind where you knew a storm was coming and the anticipation of it was far more terrifying than the actual event. How his false smiles and velvet voice was nothing but a bow on a pistol, a fraud in every sense. Colt had a bite behind his words that always hit a nerve inside of Jo, whether that was regret on making him act out this way in the first place, or the desire to feel the burn.

Either way, she did not falter from his bitterness.

The low blow he sent only caused her to cock her head to the side, for her lips to thin and her eyes to widen. Her family was well off -- there was no denying that. Their house was large and their property was larger. There was always money to spare and they paid their workers well. To treat them as family, like they did with Colt when he first started on the ranch, until he practically became blood. “Don’t you blame me for that. Don’t you talk down on my family when we have given you everything, Colt.”

His broad form began to turn away and Jo thought that their quarrel would be done and over with. That their anger would fizzle out, like it always did, and they would go back into their retrospective corners of still hating each other, but keeping a respectable distance.

But no, Colt returned. Ready for the killing blow.

She blinked at his venomous words and her sturdy stature wavered, ever so slightly. It was no secret that her sister Grace was the golden ray of sun shining down on their small town. That her wings were far too big to be held down by dust and trees and mountains and that she would take flight eventually and leave them in her wake. Grace was kind, driven, and intelligent. While animals were always in her heart, she had never taken kindly to the slow paced life on a ranch. She knew that when people thought of the Emerson girl’s that their minds instantly went to Grace and her light, and not the hard edged, sharp tongued twin that pushed most away instead of drawing them closer.

So, she winced. He found a crack in her armor and it fucking injured her. She had always thought Colt was different -- that he had once chosen her instead of her sister. But, he was just like the rest.

Jo couldn’t even speak, so he continued.

His voice rang out against the stillness of the land. Even the horses in the pastures next to them had craned their head up from their grazing to stare at the battling souls. She crossed her arms, the only defense tactic she could take at this moment as he roared -- spilling his thoughts. The ticking timebomb now exploding. And she was left in the collateral damage.

Her gaze followed his gesture towards the large shed behind the barn -- something she hadn’t even noticed yet, for her view of it from the house was obstructed by the barn. It was nice… fantastic even. And it had Colt’s hard work written all over it. Despite their shortcomings, she knew that he took pride in his work and never rushed into anything. He was meticulous and resilient, and Jo knew how much her stern father adored him.

Eventually, silence sat between them as Colt tired out. His breaths were harsh and telling -- this was the most upset she had seen him in years. He was a composed man, but Jo knew that when it came to their relationship, nothing was off limits.

"You can keep your damn room, Jo. Take your sister back, we had a good run. And the loft? Like you said, all I've got is a toothbrush, a coffee maker, and a bed - enjoy it, leaks and all. "

That caused her eyes to met his, looking at him, no, into him fully. And she knew that they were talking about way more than the loft.

They were talking about his family.

Colton’s father was a rotten man. Jo knew this. She never delved too deep into pressing him about his father, but she had picked up enough pieces along the way to put together that he was a piece of shit and that Colt’s steady nature was one built out of defense. Her hands dropped to her sides and even though rage still sat in her expression, there was a softness in her brown eyes. “Colt…” Jo started, taking a step towards him.

But, he was already leaving.

Anger and regret and fear and every other emotion bubbled up inside of her chest. Jo ground her teeth, her freckled nose crinkling in the rising sun as the ranch slowly began to mend back into its quiet thrum. The horses began to graze again, the chickens began to wander…

And she and Colt fell back into their old habits. Like it hadn’t been two years. Like nothing had even changed.

---------------------

Her ride on Delilah was therapy.

Horses had always soothed her, how their intuition took the reins instead of her and led her exactly where she needed to go, exactly where Jo wanted to be. She often did that, let go of the reins and just let Delilah wander across their acres and acres of property. Delilah had taken her to the creek a ways behind the house, where she and Colt would jump into it in their underwear as kids, where the rope swing they built still sat attached on the large branch on a tree overlooking the water. She stayed there for a while -- listening to the sounds of Delilah’s breathing and the soft ripples of the water until her duties for the day called her home.

Jo let Delilah fully out as they neared their home -- unleashing her full potential on a long, clear plot of land with their home being nothing but a speck on the horizon. Dirt pooled in the air behind Delilah’s thundering hooves as Jo’s seat remained sturdy, gripping onto some of her mane with her hands and giving her slack on the reins. The mountains behind them, her soul guiding her.

This. This was home. And she missed it.

She slowed the horse as they grew near the barn, giving Delilah a couple of good rubs on her now sweaty neck as they ambled towards the pasture, walking next to the fence where Colt currently was stationed. She only gave him a brief glance, catching his eyes until she physically couldn’t look any longer. Jo slowed Delilah to a stop and slid off the saddle as Colt sat behind her back. Even though she wasn’t facing him, his presence was prominent.

Being the idiot that she was, Jo opened her mouth. “You should probably fix those leaks in the loft… You know, if you're going to be staying... ” Nothing in her tone was snarky or wielding herself for battle.

In fact, she almost thought it sounded like an apology.

He knew the second she walked into that barn that there was going to be trouble.

Colt expected her to be upset, sure, but he didn't expect the sheer fury that met him as Jo came tearing back down the ladder, shouting at him and gesturing impatiently. His eyes widened a bit as he watched her, impressed that such a small form could hold so much pure hatred. A toothbrush, a coffee maker, a half-assed bed. Shit, she really thought he was living in the lap of luxury, didn't she?

His lips quirked upward ever so slightly at the girl's outburst, listening to her tick off the things he had apparently stolen from her. As she spoke, Colt worked the flesh on the corner of his lips back and forth between his teeth, until it was raw to the touch and he had the metallic tang of blood flooding his senses, making his stomach subconsciously clench with uncomfortable familiarity.

"Well you know, I figured you had more than enough to go around," he said with a smile he really didn't feel. He ran his tongue slowly along his worn bottom lip until it came to sit restlessly in his cheek, producing a small ball that had his grizzled cheek quivering as he swirled it round and round, trying to keep a hold on the flood of fiery emotion that he felt pooling in his gut. "Just sorta lucky that way, aren'tcha?"

It was a low blow, maybe. Was his bitterness because it was -and always had been, to him- so glaringly obvious that the girl had so much more than he did, or resentment that she felt she was still entitled to -and might very well be, in all honestly- even the most basic aspects of a future he'd busted his ass trying to cultivate? When she'd been away, it had been easy to step in and fill in the void left behind. Now that Jo was back, there was no denying that Colt had come by everything he had second-handedly and maybe only out of necessity ; Grace, the Emersons, this job, his very vitality around here. Was any of it really even his to begin with? Now that she was home, who knew - maybe this was where it all started to unravel for him.

Colt knew he should walk away, and he tried, but the second he started to he suddenly found himself rounding on her once more, shaking his head slightly to himself. "And I'll have you know, I didn't steal jack shit. Your sister? She found me - all these years and I didn't even cross that goddamn bridge once, Jo, and we both know that I wanted to." He said, giving her a pointed look. It was true - there wasn't a twenty-something man around this town who didn't know of Grace Emerson, who hadn't been completely captivated and transfixed by her beauty, her kind nature, her infectious warmth. But Grace had always been off limits to him, or at the very least just out of reach - at first because he'd never really thought twice about her and then, later, because he hadn't wanted to pour gasoline on the dumpster fire that was his and Jo's rivalry. It had taken a little bit of convincing and a whole lot of second glances for Colt to consider Grace, even after all of this time.

He should have stopped, he knew that, but he was on a roll. He threw his arms out in exasperation, gesturing vaguely towards the farm around them. "I've spent my whole life busting my ass around this place for next to nothing - happily! - without asking for a goddamn thing in return. And then on top of it, two years of breaking my back to find the time and money to fix that goddamn loft up. It was rotting, termites, the whole nine - your pops didn't want to pay to replace it. Was gonna tear the whole damn thing down and build a shed; which we did-" he gestured fervently to the large storage shed half-hidden behind the far side of the barn. "Shit, I borderline begged your daddy to let me fix it up, spent most of my days from dawn till dark workin' around here, and you know that man put me through my paces. So no, I didn't steal that loft; I earned it. "

He was running out of breath a little bit here, but not steam. Colt could have gone on forever, he felt, ranting and raving about all the shit he'd done and the value he held here and the entitlement oozing off of his not-so-friendly counterpart. But Colt knew that if he kept talking, he was going to say shit he shouldn't, and the last thing he needed was to do anything to risk what little bit of good he had going for him here.

"You can keep your damn room, Jo. Take your sister back, we had a good run. And the loft? Like you said, all I've got is a toothbrush, a coffee maker, and a bed - enjoy it, leaks and all. " Colt emptied his pockets, throwing the shingles and nails at her feet. He'd chewed through his cheek by this point, knuckles aching and white, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. What it was about this girl, he just didn't fucking know - how was it she did this to him every single time?

Colt held his hand up defensively, giving a shrug that was meant to be careless but came off as jerky and agitated. "But if you'll excuse me, I've got a goddamn job to get to, and listening to you bitch at me isn't in its description." He turned and walked away from her, not caring that it was still an hour early, not knowing what he was going to do today that involved walking in the opposite direction of the barn, but he'd figure it out.

Colt ground his teeth together and ran a jerky hand through his already-tousled hair, making it stand on end. Twelve hours - they'd been thrown back together for twelve hours and already it was all-out war. Maybe he'd have time to comb over his strategies while rebuilding the old pasture fence on the farthest edge of the property. Yeah, that sounded like just the thing to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of Joanna Emerson.

Jo wasn’t exactly sure what pissed her off more -- the fact that Colt had already wriggled his way under her skin so early in the morning, or the fact that she damn let him. That same, crooked smile he had always worn nearly sparkled in the rising sun, showing off pearly white teeth against the soft brown scruff he never failed to have. She remembered when he first started growing a dusting of hair across his chin, he didn’t shut up about it for a month straight.

Still, she wanted to wipe that cocky grin right off his face. It was too early for this shit.

His greeting only fueled her animosity and Jo practically stomped the rest of the way towards the barn. Dust kicked up behind her boots, following the trail of chickens close on her heels. She finally reached him, standing an arm’s distance away, and placed her hands on her hips and jutted her chin out in defiance. “Don’t you even start with me, Colton Walker,” she protested. Unfortunately, her words didn’t seem to hit home, for he continued on his trek towards the back of the barn. He also didn’t forget to add in some accusations on his departure, assuming that Jo was out here bright and early to merely watch paint dry or the damn grass grow rather than take care of the place.

His form grew smaller as he continued towards the back of the barn. Flustered, she gritted her teeth and shouted, “You have leftover toothpaste on the corner of your mouth, asshole!” A petty move. Still, it was all she had for ammo.

Wait…

Leftover toothpaste meant having a toothbrush at the ranch, having a toothbrush at the ranch meant staying overnight at the ranch… She surely didn’t see him inside of her house that morning, which only left one other option at hand.

Praying to the good Lord above, while also adding in a few inappropriate swear words and grumbles, Jo frantically rushed into the barn. A pair of Colt’s shoes sat in the corner, next to a bale of hay. Along with a thermos, most likely filled with coffee. She examined the barn, every nook and cranny that had faded from her memory the two years that she had been gone. Everything was mostly the same, except for the wooden ladder leading up to the loft -- the loft that had been filled with hay and supplies when she left.

“Oh hell no,” Jo grumbled to herself before sprinting towards the ladder and hauling her lithe frame over the steps. Her head peered over the landing of the loft, finding no bales of hay or boxes of supplies. Instead, nestled in the corner, sat a hammock-style bed along with a dresser, a table, and a damn coffee machine. The old sink had been refurbished and hooked up to a water line. And, in a stupid little cup on the porcelain lip of the sink…

Was a damn toothbrush.

Fury took over and Jo barely recalled throwing herself down the ladder and practically sprinting out of the barn and winding around to the back of the large structure. Outside, the faint hum of cicadas and whickers of horses could be heard over the roaring in her ears. She was panting profusely once she reached Colt, who was already high up on the large ladder, fixing what looked like something on the roof.

“You have a toothbrush,” she exclaimed, nearly out of breath. Jo was forced to catch herself for a moment, letting her anger build before she spoke again. “And a coffee maker. And a bed.” At the latter, she flailed her arms to the side as she glared up at Colt. “Jesus Colt, first my sister, and now my barn? What’s next, you gonna steal my room while you’re at it?”

If he'd thought that nothing could possibly be worse than last night, the morning came along -much to quickly- just to send Colt a big fuck old you from the universe.

For starters, the roof was leaking. Colt woke up with a splitting headache, thinking the rhythmic pounding against his skull was nothing more than a hangover - nope, it was the steady drip drip drip of rainwater leaking in through the cracks in the old barn roof. It must have rained during the night, but either his drunken ass hadn't noticed as he crossed over from the house to the barn, or he'd been so conked that he'd slept right through it.

"Nice," growled Colt, wiping the back of his hand across his wet forehead. A brief moment of almost relief, and then another splatter against his skin. "Just fuckin' perfect..."

He grumbled to himself as he rolled out of bed, half-sliding out of the hammock style setup he had going on, eyes not even opening until both feet were planted firmly on the floor. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Colt stumbled in the general direction of the coffee maker. His fingers pushed the little button, found the little pod, and popped it into place. Only when the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of its welcome stream filled the small room could he bear to glance up towards the leaky rafters.

It had been a little over a year now since Colt had moved into the barn - he was lucky that Mr. Emerson had allowed him to renovate the loft, fix it up enough to call his own. Shit had taken hours upon hours, lots of late nights and early mornings and working overtime to afford the materials, but he'd made it work. If he was being honest, he put a lot of pride into his humble little abode. Sure, maybe it wasn't technically his, but it might as well have been. The majority of his life had been spent on this ranch. Shit, he could remember the days when he and Jo would sneak out before the rooster crowed and only come home at the first sight of fireflies. Even after...everything, he'd worked on the farm - all throughout highschool, through college, and even now. It was the only place that had ever really felt like home, the only thing that was stable. Hell, why sugar coat it? It was the only thing he knew how to do, and the only thing he ever would do with himself.

The loft was more than livable, a few things ocassionally needed patching up. They hadn't ever checked the roof before. Could be a couple of loose shingles, hell, maybe the whole damn thing needed replacing. Who knew? He'd have to go up there and take a look at it. Colt checked his watch, noting the time and recoiling - why the hell was he up so early? Oh, right....He popped a couple of tylenol and chased them with black coffee so hot it burned his tongue and had him grumbling to himself all over again.

A few minutes later he was rummaging through the old tools, trying to find some spare shingles from when they'd redone the house the summer past. He let out a heavy sigh and dropped a handful of nails into his toolbelt. As if he didn't have enough shit to try and get through today...Picking up the newly found shingles in one hand and hoisting the rickety old ladder up onto his shoulder with the other, he started to head around the back of the barn.

Of course she was the first person he saw. Colt was convinced that the pounding in his head was to the beat of that girl's voice, and this idea was only spurred on by her greeting. If you could call it that.

"Mornin', sunshine." He cocked his head to the side and gave her a smile, his only consolation the knowledge that she was just as miserable right now as he was. "Oh me? You know, singin' hymns and dancing the conga - the usual at the ass crack of dawn."

He continued on towards the back, giving her a droll look over his shoulder. "Workin', Jo. Always workin'." He was long gone from sight when his voice called out behind him, "You gonna do some real work around here, or do those chickens need to be hand fed?"

Jo had realized that pissing off Colt Walker was an art form within itself.

It was definitely a power play -- the two foes sitting inside of the lemon yellow kitchen with nothing but a bottle of Jack to keep them company. Colt always pushed back to her taunts, and likewise her with his. His anger about the truck only ignited something inside of her. Whether that was mere petty satisfaction that she had finally gotten under Walker’s skin, or if it was the slight curl of a smirk before her admittance, she wasn’t certain. She felt his grip on her hand tighten and she sent him a warning glare.

But, what she didn’t expect was to see the soft, warm light that had entered Colt’s eyes when they met her own. He seemed just as caught off guard as she was about it and Jo was thankful that his hearty laugh echoed through the room, ceasing that glimmer of something foreign once and for all. “I’m sure Kyle Anderson deserved the ass beating, anyways. He was always looking at women how he looked at your truck, you know.”

She knew the whiskey was helping the underlying tension between them -- how as soon as their laughter ceased, they fell back into old habits, catching themselves before drifting into the unknown and unfamiliar.

He held her hand and Jo watched him do so, how he examined it as if she were fragile, but not in the ordinary, expecting way. Fragile like those pieces of shattered glass, like a snake ready to strike, like a bomb waiting to erupt.

Colt finally released her hand and Joanna instinctively clutched it to her chest, the pain now only a dull throb. He stumbled and she couldn’t even blame him, for she half expected herself to do the same. She shook her head at his words, scoffing at his accusations of ‘manhandling’ before she pushed herself off from the counter. “When have you ever known me to be gentle, Walker?” Jo then finally moved her gaze from the floorboards to meet his eyes.

And his stupid, lopsided grin nearly made her falter backward. She immediately reached for the whiskey, knowing that she would definitely need it for the rest of the night and completely ignored the first aid kit being shoved towards her.

“Yeah, yeah, you better go,” she uttered, eyes drifting away and darting across the room as she took a deep, much needed breath. He backed away and she nearly had to nerve to reach out to him, to stop him from passing the threshold of the kitchen and stay inside the warm nostalgia they had just fallen into. Before cruel dares and broken hearts ruined things. He called to her, bidding her a goodnight, and her mouth parted, spilling out the first words she could as he left the scene.

“Night… Um, thank you, I guess.”

Jo was then finally alone, left with only a bottle of whiskey, images of a crooked smirk, and far more than a hand that needed healing.

----------------------

She was usually a morning person, craving the light dusting of dew that coated damn near everything but the horses. How the sky faded from grey into bursts of orange and gold as the sun rose to greet them, promising warmth and the idea of a fresh start. That was her favorite part -- how helpful a clean slate could be.

However, this morning was a rare expectation. She had a headache. The bottle of now empty Jack sat perched on her nightstand as a deadly reminder. And her damn eye-sore of a hand would certainly hinder her barn duties for the day.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Welcome home. The only thing that could make her morning more enjoyable was her mother’s blueberry pancakes -- the one switch the syrup already inside and practically covered in powdered sugar. While she may have the rough-n-gruff attitude of an eighty-year-old cowboy, she had the palette of a toddler. And damnit she wouldn’t apologize for it. If one ever had the chance to eat her mother’s pancakes, they surely would understand.

With a grumbled curse and a rub of the eyes, Jo pulled herself out of bed. Her first night back in her old bedroom had been a blurred concoction of guilt, grief, nostalgia and, unfortunately, stupid, crooked smirks belonging to traitorous cowboys that happened to be dating her twin sister.

It explained the empty bottle of whiskey. And she, surprisingly, didn’t regret it.

Pulling on a pair of jeans, a plain shirt, and tossing her hair in a braid, Jo then finally clambered down the stairs after freshening up, only to be greeted with the intoxicating scent of pancakes.

She wasn’t embarrassed about the pitiful groan that escaped her lips as she sat down at the table and started to dig in without so much as a ‘hello’ to her sweet mother. The older woman only laughed, kept refilling her daughter’s plate until she was stuffed like a turkey, and then warned Jo that she would be gone into town for most of the day with Grace -- some sort of business for the summer fair.

“No worries, I’ll probably take Delilah out around the bend,” Jo said, scrubbing her plate clean in the sink and trying to ignore the first aid kit still sitting on the counter. An eyesore, for sure. Last night Jo’s mother nearly lost her boots after realizing that she had cut herself. The fact that Colt had stitched her up was a chapter that she had purposefully left out of the conversation, for she had been trying to forget about it, as well.

Kissing her mother on the cheek and thanking her for breakfast, Jo quickly shuffled out the door and rushed to the barn. Morning strolls around the acres and acres of property they owned were one of her favorite things about living on a ranch. However, breakfast must also be served to the other animals before any fun was to be had. Chickens fluttered around her boots and Jo began sprinkling feed out of her good hand as she walked towards the barn.

She was nearly to the doors when she caught sight of an all too familiar truck and then an all too familiar face stepping out of the barn.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she reached the large barn and, unfortunately, Colt.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she called to him once he was in earshot. Usually, the ranchhands didn’t start rolling in until a little after 8:30 in the morning, so why Colt was here an hour before, she was clueless. As well as pissed off.

There wasn't a voodoo doll? That in itself was almost as surprising as the fact that the girl was sitting here willingly making conversation with him. Colt glanced up at Jo, catching her eye for half a second before she was preoccupied once more by the whiskey bottle gripped in her good hand. His lips had just barely begun to curl upwards into the faintest trace of a smile when she mentioned his truck.

"You didn't," the revelation lit some sort of fuse in him, anger coursing through his veins white hot, suffocating. His grip tightened on her hand ever so slightly, reflexively, and Colt hand to remind himself that he was playing doctor and couldn't further maim his patient. "Do you know how long it took me to build that damn thing? Shit, Jo, I saved up for like six months-"

But then he looked up at her, saw that devilish glint in her eye and the smirk on her face, and it was like he'd been hit by a fucking freight train. Something foreign and warm, but somehow bittersweet - longing, yearning - bubbled up inside of Colt. The anger ebbed away, replaced by...something. And then, all he could do was laugh. Why not? Hell, it was in the past.

"I kicked Kyle Anderson's ass for that, you know. Fucker was always lookin' at me sideways....hmm. Oh well."

He finished placing the last few bandages on Jo's hand, holding it up against the light once more to make sure that everything was as evenly patched up as his drunken ass could manage. It looked alright to him. Her hand was soft in his, oddly light - of all the things he figured she'd be, soft wasn't one of them. The girl was about as rough on him - and everyone else - as a goddamn brillo pad, and yet her skin brushed against his like silk. You know, like silk infused with rattlesnake venom - beautiful, enticing, deadly.

With things between them wrapped up, Colt wasn't counting on a thank you - he'd spent enough of his life waiting on the girl to know that there was no point in hoping for more than Joanna was willing to give; some things that just never came around.

"Well then," he said, taking one step backwards and then another. He stumbled ever so slightly, the alcohol clouding his mind and making his body feel heavy, sluggish. But the distance those few steps put between him and Jo was steadying. "All patched up, darlin'. Try not to manhandle everything you touch from here on out, yeah?"

Colt gave her a lopsided smirk, gaze cast downwards as he packed the medical supplies back into the little plastic kit. The hinges snapped shut and he gave it an affectionate pat, pushing it towards Jo. "I'll just see myself out." He told her, stifling a yawn as he moved away from the girl and towards the exit. He was more than ready to get the hell outta Doge.

And still, politeness won out, or maybe it was that last little shred of hopeful stupidity - either way, he called to her over his shoulder as he walked away, "Night, Jo. Welcome home."

Even though pain was throbbing throughout the palm of her hand, it was Colt’s touch that made her still in place, the water from the sink still running at full force. She attempted to yank her hand away, thrown off by his touch as well as the stinging sensation it provided, but the harsh cut of her name across his lips reined the girl in. There they stood, now inches apart due to him yanking her closer. The faint smell of domestic beer and the remnants of blueberry pie wafting between them. It should have be a comforting smell, one that Jo had grown fond of throughout her years on the ranch. And, yet, as Colt loomed over her hand, tending to her wound as if it were such a normal thing like the weather, she had never felt so out of place.

And her name… When he said her name…

“... You're bleedin' all over your momma's clean floors."

That made her brown gaze narrow and her lips purse. She tried to pull her hand away one last time, partly due to his scolding and another part due to how her name running off his tongue felt more like a wound than the blood on her palm. Her teeth grit in frustration, for the pain of the cut was no match to her rampant feelings taking control now. “You’re one to talk,” she growled quietly. “Walking around here with those muddy boots.” Her eyes flicked to the shoes on his feet, ones that she vaguely remembered him wearing constantly -- nearly every day. It solidified something inside of her, that while so much change may have happened, Colt Walker was something constant in her life, despite her feelings towards him.

As he lifted her hand towards the light, Jo’s eyes followed the movement. However, instead of inspecting her cut, as he had done, she had inspected him. While two years may have not been that long, she could spot the subtle differences in his appearance. There was stubble across his strong jaw, his shoulders were broader, making his height and build even more grand next to her lean frame. Joanna wasn’t short by any means, but next to Colt she felt so, so small.

He hummed, the sound low and deep enough that Jo practically felt it, and his blue eyes finally met hers. She held his stare, unwavering, as he spoke. While she knew that he was speaking to her, she hadn’t grasped onto a single word that came out of his mouth. A long time ago she would have willingly gone to him to tend up her wounds, as she so often did before. Joanna was nothing short of clumsy and Colt had a natural tendency to try and fix things -- people included -- so it felt like stepping into old ways. Finding comfort in the now bitter difficulty that wedged its way in between them. Colt’s gesture to the counter made Jo blink away the nostalgia and she furrowed her brows in confusion before catching up to his meaning. Oh, right, her hand.

She needed out of this kitchen, and fast. Her hand she could deal with, it was probably no different than picking out burs from a horse’s mane or a thorn stuck in Sadie’s paw. Her lips parted in protest, ready to challenge him like always, but his large, soapy hand cut her off. As well as the harsh ‘shhhhhh’ that passed his lips.

Did he… Did he just shush her? Like a child?

Her fury flashed across her brown eyes as he opened his damn mouth again. While he rattled off his annoyance, among other accusations of voodoo dolls and whatever the hell else that mind could come up with in that thick skull of his, Joanna merely obeyed dramatically to his wishes. She made a show of snatching the towel from him and raising her hand to show just how much pressure she was putting against the wound. It also helped that she was imagining kicking Colt Walker in the shin while doing so. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“You order me around one more time and I’m not the only one whole will be needing the first aid kit, Colton,” she warned him as he left the kitchen. Alone, Jo hoisted herself up (quite awkwardly because of, well, the one good hand situation) and eyed the cut. She was a rough n’ tough girl and not much phased her, but she would have been lying if she said that the sight of blood didn’t make her quite woozy, so she took a couple of deep breaths for good measure. Thankfully, that tactic also made her anger reduce to nothing but a simmer and by the time Colt returned, first aid kit in hand, she was more willing to let him patch up her hand so they both could call it a day. He was right in that department, but obviously she would never give him the satisfaction of admitting that.

He snatched her injured hand once again and, before she could protest, dumped a splash of her favorite whiskey across her palm. Jo gasped and writhed in pain as the alcohol sent a wave of fire up her arm and she squinted her eyes shut at the contact. “Fuck you, Colt Walker,” she hissed through clenched teeth, sending him a lethal glare. “You’re lucky I only have one good hand right now.”

Still, he had a damn decent idea about taking some of the whiskey for his own good measure, barely wincing as he swallowed. She took the bottle from him willingly, taking a swig of her own, relishing in the burn the whiskey brought her, rather than the other on her hand. Jo took a long sip, took a look at Colt, and then quickly snagged another. The alcohol made her shoulders loosen, made her lean back on the counter, her head resting against the cabinets. Instead of a fist at her side, her uninjured hand sat dormant against her thigh, picking at her denim jeans. She didn’t want to look at her hand, knowing that no amount of alcohol could make her have a stronger stomach. So, she looked at him.

“There was no voodoo doll, you know,” Jo admitted after a generous amount of silence. She cleared her throat and took another sip from the bottle. “Although…” A slow, proud smirk unfurled across her lips. “I did key your truck in college.” His accusatory gaze met her own satisfied one and she simply shrugged, having no regrets. “It was an ugly truck.”

Pain against her palm made her wince, finally having the courage to take a glance down at his work. Sunlight streamed through the white, linen curtains, sheathing her hand entangled with his as he worked, placing butterfly bandages across the cut. The bleeding had stopped, for the most part, and she was pleasantly surprised at how delicate and intricate his large, work-worn hands could be. He placed the last bandage across her palm and she looked up, meeting his eyes as he finished.

She knew a 'thank you' was in order, that her momma had raised her better than to dismiss a man who had just patched her up. However, Jo found it hard to wade into a space of respect and comradery with Colt, for hatred and revenge had fueled her for so long. She was wading in uncharted waters and she didn't think she was able to stay afloat. His hands continued to rest against her palm, callouses caressing the soft skin of her own. Only the light murmur of the party outside was heard through the kitchen and Jo didn't trust herself to take a breath.

The silence was so, so loud.

The sound of glass shattering had his head whipping towards her, and Colt found himself torn between laughing at the absurdity of this teeny tiny angry girl shattering a wine glass in her hand, and groaning at the thought of anything -yes, even an injured friend turned....? - prolonging this already painfully drawn-out night.

Nevertheless, his first instinct was to reach for her. Whipping the dish towel off of his shoulder, Colt stepped forward and grabbed unthinkingly for her bloodied hand. Her recoil came as no surprise - any other time and the cowboy might have shrugged it off, let her fend for herself if she wanted to be so stubborn. But five beers in and surrounded by a daunting sea of glistening, crimson-tinged crystal, blood-splatters covering the toes of his new work boots, Colt just didn't have the time or patience to humor her.

"Joanna," snapped Colt. He wrapped his fingers around the wrist of her uninjured hand and yanked her close, pressing the wadded up cloth firmly against the gash. "Come on now. You're bleedin' all over your momma's clean floors."

That seemed to soften her resolve a little bit, at least enough to keep her from fighting against him. What a nice change of pace. For a few moments all he could do was stare down at her, fingers clenched tightly around the cloth in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Such an angry little thing, with that untrusting look in her eye and those pursed lips. Was she grinding her teeth together out of pain or frustration? He couldn't tell, but at this point you had a 50/50 shot either way.

Brows furrowed, Colt pulled the towel back ever so slightly and lifted her hand up to the light. "Hmm," he murmured to himself, assessing the damage. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, the damn thing was gushing a helluva lot more blood than was probably warranted. Judging by the way her palm sparkled, someone was going to have to pick out the splintered pieces. Judging by the lack of current volunteers, it was going to have to be him - yay, happy day.

He'd done it once before, and had nearly lost an eye - and that was when she'd actually liked him.

"Don't need no stitches. That glass'll need to come out though." He heaved a heavy sigh and gave her an expectant look. When she failed to react, he gestured towards the counter behind her. "Well go on, get on up there."

He expected her resistance, but as the blonde opened her mouth to object, he raised one hand -now covered in red, soapy streaks- and shushed her. Just one long, drawn out, shhhhhhhhhhhh.

"Listen, sweetheart. It's been a long day for everyone. The sooner we get this squared away, the sooner I can get the hell outta here and you can go back to sticking pin cushions in your Colt voodoo doll, alright? Now I know you aren't wantin' to go see the doc about that, and I sure as shit don't wanna spend an extended period of time in your gracious company, haulin' your stubborn ass to the ER," said Colt, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Now tighten up the pressure on that while I go find the first aid kit."

Colt left the kitchen and made his way down towards the bathroom. First, he washed his hands off in the sink and then tiredly ran some water over his face, just for good measure. A few moments of rummaging around in the medicine cabinet produced a first aid kit, much to his relief, and soon enough he was on his way back towards the scene of the crime.

He was kind of surprised they'd been left alone this long - the sound of breaking glass must have been overshadowed by the half-dozen voices out on the front porch. Part of him wished someone might come in and do this part of the job for him, another part reveled in the fact that when it was just the two of them, at least they didn't have to pretend to like each other.

"Alright, I found the kit," said Colt, holding up the little white box as he moved towards her. "Bad news is, there wasn't any alcohol. So," he swiped up a half-drained whiskey bottle from the counter and quickly splashed its contents against the palm of her hand, giving the girl no time to object. Always better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

Wiping the excess off of the counter, Colt took a long swig from the bottle before he passed it off to Jo, grimacing. "Let's get started."

Her mother always told her that she was as rooted as the mountains and yet as free as a hawk. Joanna had always prevailed in her stubborn ways, either that or maybe most just grew familiar with it. She wasn’t the type to change herself and whether that was good or bad, she didn’t bother herself with it, either. Grace was the sun and she had always been the moon. Light and dark. Night and day. It was about as familiar as the feel of Jericho’s mane or the soft hum of the land right before the sun had finally hidden itself.

That stubbornness always seemed to grow heightened when it came to Colt, now. Years ago, that boy could have talked her into doing just about anything -- a rare occurrence and a title only reserved for him. He managed to pull smiles across her usual stoney exterior and she always wore it freely with him. There was nothing getting past him when it came to her, nothing at all.

However, now, it seemed as if she were looking at a mere stranger and he most likely felt the same way. She could see the wheels turning in his mind as he gazed at her back inside of the barn, could see his attempt at trying to smooth things over, once and for all. Jo had to admit, it was exhausting, festering on all of this hatred. But if she didn’t have hatred in her heart, all that was left was weakness.

And she damn well wouldn’t allow herself to be weak.

So, instead, she tried her best to ignore everything, at least until her party was over. Her family had gone through all of the trouble so she really shouldn’t spoil their hard work with her personal feelings. This was supposed to be a happy and yet reminiscent time. They did, after all, lose a family member as well as brought one back home. A bittersweet reunion. She couldn’t ruin it. Jo tried to leave Colt and their history back inside of that barn, right where she left him as she stomped her way back inside of the bustling house. At dinner she sat on the opposite end of the table, for dessert she ate outside on the porch with her grandparents. It was only when the party slowed and guests started to congregate outside that she was left once again in the crossfire.

Grace and Colt had made their way into the kitchen as Jo was scrubbing off blueberry pie from one of the dozen plates piled in the sink. Her mother would have scolded her if she found her daughter cleaning at her own party, but she needed the busy work. Sitting alone in the quiet would have made her mind roll back into the shadows -- she needed to remain positive for just a little longer. Sadie was resting at her feet, body pressed against the cabinets down below, snoring softly. It was now dark outside and only the lone light from above the sink illuminated the yellow kitchen as the scent of dessert still lingered in the air.

Joanna stiffed as Grace spoke, talking nonsense about her and Colt finishing up the job. She nearly dropped a plate in the sink at that, but kept her mouth shut despite her want to offer some smart retort. Colt and Grace bickered behind her back and it was only when she heard the retreat of her sister’s footsteps did she glace at Colt as he appeared at her side. “Fine,” she told him as he offered to dry the dishes and didn’t dare to say anything more, not fully trusting herself with the potential words that could stumble out of her mouth if she wasn’t careful.

On the counter, a beer sat next to her -- one that happened to be the same kind Colt favored. Throughout his time working on the ranch and spending years with her family, it had been no secret that their taste in alcohol was similar. Grace preferred spritzers or wine while they always preferred beer or whiskey. Now it almost seemed like some sort of mockery. At his closeness, Jo’s scrubbing of the dishes may have turned from harsh to feral and she reached out a soapy hand to finish her beer before slamming it back onto the countertop.

She picked up a wine glass and began to scrub, the silence in the air speaking enough for them both. It was awkward, it was tense, and curse scheming Grace for leaving them alone together.

Her movements were rigid and rash as memories of her and Colt unwillingly resurfaced once more. Soap fights in this kitchen when they were children as they once did dishes together, long ago. How laughter once filled the space and not a tense quiet that caused goosebumps to prickle her skin.

Jo grit her teeth. “Let’s just hurry up and get this -- ” just as she was about to hand the soapy glass over to Colt it shattered in her hand from her firm grip.

“Shit!” she hissed through her teeth as shards of glass clattered to the floor. Sadie jolted awake and backed out of the kitchen with her tail wagging leaving the pair now completely alone. Joanna stilled in place, not wanting to step on the pieces and also because a clean, long gash ran through the middle of her palm. Blood dripped from the wound and pain flashed across her face.

Colt stood there staring after Jo long after she had walked away. As much as he hated to admit it, her words had struck a chord with him - and not the good kind.

Is this another one of your sick jokes, Colton Walker? Ten whole words from Joanna Emerson - a whole sentence, even - the most he'd gotten out of her in just about as many years, and it left the cowboy too tongue-tied to respond. Not to say that Colt would have dared; even he wasn't stupid enough to play with the fire burning behind that golden-brown gaze; not tonight, anyways. A lifetime together had taught him that if she was fire, he was gasoline - or was it the other way around? Had been so long now he could hardly remember. Either way, it wasn't a good combination.

What really stuck with him was that twinge of rawness in her voice when she spoke to him, the steely glint of deep-seated hatred when her eyes met his, a hesitant tension in her body language that was reserved for him alone.

Still, after all this time.

The idea of hurting Grace wasn't one that had occurred to him until just then. It really should have, in hindsight - in a town like this, things could only end in one of two ways: heartbreak or holy matrimony. In truth, Colt hadn't given too much thought to where things were going with Grace. It was easy, it was fun, it was familiar and comfortable and all of the things that it should be - why complicate that? There was nothing malicious in his affection for the other Emerson girl, there was no ulterior motives. He was too old for that shit now, and she should be too.

Goddamn it, why did she have to cling so hard to this feud between them?

Colton didn't necessarily dislike Joanna (her stubbornness aside). There was a time when he'd enjoyed her company above all else, a time when he would have rather died than hurt her, a time when he could never have imagined an end to their friendship. But shit changed and people either grew together or grew apart, and it was clear that they'd done the latter. He'd come to terms with it, so why couldn't she?

Jaw clenched, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Patience, that was what he'd have to have.

As the night wore on, his patience wore thin.

It'd been a long time since he'd been this bothered. Generally, Colt liked to think of himself as a level-headed guy. But the second that Emerson girl walked into a room..

He'd long since made peace with her hatred of him. There was far too much shit on his plate to leave room for wallowing in regret, but even if there wasn't he probably wouldn't give things another thought. Sure, a time or two he'd tried to patch things up between them, but it had been years since he'd stopped trying. What more could he do? The wall between the two of them was one he'd helped to build, and hey he didn't mind staying on his own side of the damn thing - it was when their lines got blurred and crossed that shit got messy between the two of them, and never by choice.

They'd settled into their routine of fire and ice, so why was shit bothering him so much tonight? Every look, every accidental meeting of their eyes that ended in dropped smiles and grinding teeth, the way they re-routed themselves to stay apart and circled each other all night like caged dogs. It wasn't new, it wasn't unexpected, but tonight it felt...hell, he didn't know how it felt. All he knew was that his life had been pretty damn peaceful these last few years (as far as she was concerned, anyways) and now shit was getting stirred back up and by the end of the night, his feathers were more than well-ruffled.

Above all else, though, it was Grace's meddling that really sent him over the edge.

"Oh, why don't you two finish up the dishes?" chirped his girlfriend, with a knowing look in her eyes that he had come to both love and loathe.

The party was coming to a close, and any stragglers were most likely family friends with no intention of calling it a night any time soon. They'd gradually migrate towards their own homes, but at a snail's pace and never without half a dozen goodbyes.

Colt had been leaning against the wall in the living room, beer in hand, trying to gauge how long it would be before things died down enough that he could head home. As a sort of honorary family member, he'd have to offer to help with cleanup, and then he'd probably have to stick around for another round of blueberry pie as his thank you...it was looking like it was going to be a long night, a night that immediately worsened at his girlfriend's suggestion.

"Grace, I really don't-"

She cut him off with a look that made every muscle in Colt's body tense. It wasn't even a bad look - if anything, it was pleading. It was that "I'm-Grace-and-I'm-just-doing-my-best-to-make-everything-right-in-the-world" look. Endearing usually, but not tonight. It shouldn't have frustrated him as much as it did, and his irrational frustration at her only frustrated him further.

"Fine." Heaving a heavy sigh, he moved towards the kitchen sink. Reaching into a drawer to the left of the sink, he pulled out a dish towel and tossed it over his shoulder. "I'll dry."

There had been a time when the steady lilt of Colton’s voice brought her a sense of security -- when all it took was one of those slow, easy smiles of his and she was fully rooted back into herself, no longer stressing about the outside world. It didn’t exist between them back then. There was simply Jo and Colt and the horses and the ranch and that was all they needed. They would stay out until the crickets called them home and would rise when the sun had barely kissed the earth. Jo had never paid much attention to other boys her age, because there were simply none that understood her as well as Colt did. How he refused to eat peanuts around her because she was allergic, how he treated animals better than most people. How he never judged her for the dust that always seemed to coat her face and the fact that she never cared. It was a quiet but fierce sort of bond, one that Jo had once thought would be impenetrable.

However, as she now stood inside of the barn with nothing but the steady breathing of horses and Jericho’s mane in between her fingers, the sound of Colton Walker’s voice gave her nothing but a twisting feeling in her stomach. She physically stilled as she heard him echo through the barn -- her back growing taut and straight, matching the thin press of her lips while she continued to work through Jericho’s mane. She had brought him and Delilah to her Aunt’s and kept the horses in the small pasture behind the woman’s house. Just a few days prior to her departure she had them trailered up and on their way back home, for her Chevy wasn’t the most reliable vehicle, after all. No matter how much she adored her hard work in making the piece of metal run.

Still, those few days without her horses were some of the worst days she had in a long time, especially because the silence in Aunt Eliza’s home wasn’t the comforting kind that she often enjoyed. Emptiness had filled her, but, still, Joanna felt so, so heavy.

Right before Colt had interrupted, she was whispering to the dappled grey gelding, asking him for advice. Jo knew that horses had all of the answers and were the best listeners. How many times she had sat in this barn and just simply talked to the creatures, she would never know. They were very intelligent and mindful -- it was people that always seemed to make messes out of the world instead of studying it. Respecting it. She figured humans could learn a thing or two from the animals, Jo sure as hell knew that she had.

Jo knew that she should be back inside the bustling house. Should be helping her mom set the table and making conversation with family. Not to mention checking on her sister…

Two years and not once did she mention Colt to her. Didn’t even bring up that she was seeing anyone. And although she knew that her reaction was wrong, that she shouldn’t have left the house and sheltered herself in the barn as she had always done, it still did not change the fact that Jo had spent the last two years of her life watching a woman die. A woman that had a bond with her own sister that Joanna couldn’t even dream of. Stumbling back home and into, well, everything was a lot.

All of it was so disheartening, but this was the icing on top of the cake.

Colt spoke to her as of she was a horse that had been spooked, slow and carefully, but still with enough of that playful taunt that always lingered in his words. She didn’t turn to face him, but her back went rigid as she heard the crunch of his boots in the dirt. Heard the stall door creak as he leaned his weight against it. She could feel his eyes on her, boring into her back like a brand and stinging her all the same. Jo refused to fall prey to his tactics on ‘keeping the peace’ -- he tried to before and was surely only doing it because he was now involved with her sister. She desperately tried to find some sort of security still, but with Colt in her barn and now dating Grace, she didn’t think that she would ever find it here again.

Her mother always told her that people were stronger where they had been broken, as one of her favorite authors, Ernest Hemingway, had said. That it was a sign of true resilience -- of true life. Joanna liked to think that about herself. That she had turned into a different girl than the one Colt Walker knew years ago. She was rash and blunt and had far too many sharp edges that urged most to stay away.

And yet, as he said her name, weakness coated every piece of her.

She finally turned to him, fingers unleashing themselves from Jericho’s mane as they fell to her sides in defeat. Jo looked at him -- really looked at him, unlike the brief glance she passed him in the kitchen. He still towered over her, although with more muscle and wear and tear from the land. She had always that they were cut from the same cloth, that she and Colt were more alike than she and Grace ever would be. Both wearing their struggles as armor, rather than a safety net.

They stared at each other and Jo finally understood the complexity of grief. She had grieved Aunt Eliza for weeks, just as she did for her grandmother.

But, as she stood there facing him, she wondered how on earth she could be grieving someone that was still alive -- just no longer hers.

“Is this another one of your sick jokes, Colton Walker?” she finally growled, standing her ground and not straying away from his eyes, no matter how badly she wanted to. It was no secret that their animosity towards each other was about as regular as the sunrise and just as concrete. There was never any chance of changing it, Jo made sure of that. But, if Grace ended up getting caught in the crossfire of this battle, she would never forgive him. Or herself. She sighed, hating that she had to even speak the words. “If you hurt her…” Her thought couldn’t even be finished, for any idea of Grace getting her heart broken made a chill travel down her spine.

Still, Jo knew that she would have to face Grace, as well. To talk about all of this. Her expectations of Colt had been scorched long ago, but her sister… This betrayal… Coming back home after caring for a dying family member…

It was just too fucking much, to say the least.

She considered his offer to leave, her head cocking in a predatory stance. Through it all, she saw the sincerity lacing his words. Saw the small white flag he was raising, offering not surrender, but to put whatever they had on pause. At least for tonight. “I’m afraid that if I ask you to leave it will only stir up more talk.” It was true. Colton was here every day, practically spent more time on this property than on his own. He was near family and, even though she hated to admit it, he belonged here. Not for her, but for the rest of Emerson ranch.

Jo strode towards the stall door and kicked it open, not caring that Colt was currently using the wood as an armrest. She gracefully sidestepped him as if he were nothing but a piece of furniture, another object in her way of returning back to the party. Her party. “Listen, if you’re looking for some sort of truce, you won’t find one. Not with me.” She pushed the sliding barn door open, sheathing more of the stalls in the warm glow of the setting sun. From deeper into the barn, Joanna heard Delilah whicker.

Colt stood there, haloed by the golden rays looking exactly how she had always remembered him. And exactly how she had always viewed herself.

Broken, but not fragile.

He hadn't wanted to come to this goddamn party to begin with.

Hell, Colt didn't really even know why he'd said yes - this wasn't his sort of scene, not really, not anymore. He'd blame it on all of Grace's badgerin' these last few weeks, or maybe on Momma E's promise of that blue-ribbon winning blueberry pie - but the truth was one that even he didn't want to ponder, wouldn't even attempt to tackle anymore.

There were niceties and how ya beens, as if they didn't all live within the same teeny tiny ten mile radius, and had all of their lives ; balloons and streamers and gifts piled up in one corner, the scent of blueberry pie filling the house with warmth and the sense of home ; the same old faces they'd grown up seeing, the same stories being retold and songs being sung....in short, it was everything you'd expect to find at a party like this.

Grace was in her element. She thrived in situations like this, surrounded by family and friends and laughter and curiosity - she was the epitome of a social butterfly, and how he'd landed her, Colt would never quite understand. Grace was everything beautiful and delicate and warm and sophisticated and good and intelligent and full of potential - his opposite in every way, and yet somehow these last six months had been some of his best. After twenty-two years of tentative friendship, here they were: the farmer's daughter and the hired hand, the start of every other beautiful Lancaster love story. Brought together by proximity, familiarity, and the comfort of convenience.

Stop being such an asshole, asshole, he lectured himself, bringing an amber-colored bottle to his lips and taking a hearty swig. His nerves were on edge tonight and it was no secret why. Of all the places someone would expect to find him, Joanna Emerson's homecoming was the absolute last; if not for his recent attachment to Grace, Colt wouldn't have been caught dead welcoming the other Emerson girl home.

Their rivalry was one that had been ongoing for about as long as anyone could remember. It was what, the seventh grade? Eighth? He'd asked Jo to one of their school dances, on a dare - even at the tender age of fourteen, everyone knew that Grace was the 'it' girl, and it made Jo, with her sharp tongue and rough edges, a prime target. She'd never forgiven him, and he'd never asked her to. The last decade had seen ongoing feud between the two of them that had at times threatened to bring the whole of Lancaster crumbling down around them. She was stubborn, that one. She stuck to her guns and sometimes she gave him a real run for his money. How they'd ever been best friends, Colt couldn't even imagine - that comfort thing again, he supposed. Close families, a tiny town. Well, shit sure had changed since then...and right now, he was about three beers deep trying to brace himself against the storm surely brewing along the old dirt road into town.

You couldn't mistake the sound of her truck. Beat up old chevy, one she'd insisted on trying to put together herself. The sound of tires kicking up dust made his stomach contract sharply, and Colt took one final gulp of his drink before abandoning the bottle all together. Running a hand through his permanently-tousled locks, making the short strands stand on end, he drew in a deep breath through his nose and headed off to find his girlfriend. Wandering through the familiar old halls of the home that had once been his escape, his second home of sorts, he found her old bedroom, still decorated the way it had always been, with Grace sitting at her vanity, as fashionably late as ever.

As always, she was prepping herself to be the Belle of the Ball, something that made him smile to himself as she dusted herself with powders and perfumes that he had no knowledge about. After the third 'almost done,' Colt chuckled to himself and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll keep myself busy," he promised her, before venturing back into the depths of hell, where the guest of honor was now busily making the rounds. It took every ounce of stealth he had to avoid her, something that proved harder when you were three bottles in, but somehow Colt managed to avoid the woman for the entirety of her "thank yous," until the time came that Grace made her presence known.

He watched their reunion from across the room, guilt flickering up from somewhere deep inside of him as he saw the genuine joy on his girlfriend's face, and what seemed to be returned excitement on her sister's. Colt knew that things were about to go downhill, fast. He hadn't really thought about what his getting with Grace would mean in the grand scheme of things. With Joanna gone for so long, it had seemed like maybe they'd never have to tell her....now, the reality of it was looking him in the face, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to explain the fact that hey, he'd really chosen her twin sister this time, but no hard feelings, right?

Their gaze met and he blinked, body moving before his brain had time to react, pushing him forward to come to stand by his girlfriend. The moment he wrapped his arm around Grace's waist, something sank inside of him. His blue gaze melted into those familiar pools of chocolate-brown, and he found himself trying to find the words to say to explain, to maybe make this a little less awkward and hurtful. But how? He watched the warmth in Jo's eyes fade, saw the tension in her body the moment he entered the equation, and he knew that this wasn't going to be as easy as any of them had hoped.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before she excused herself.

"Hey, hey. It's fine," Colt pulled Grace tighter into his side and soothed her gently. "Ain't no secret how the girl feels about me. I think it went pretty well." He laughed, but it was short and hollow.

There was a small debate about who should go out and fetch her. Grace was pretty well in shambles by this point, her eyes flushed with tears and her lips puckered up in a pitiful type of way that had Colt rubbing her back and offering her a handkerchief. Momma E offered, but she was the hostess, and her husband probably would have been the next best choice...but for whatever reason, Colt felt that this was probably something he should be doing.

"It'll be fine," he assured them all. "We're grown now."

But he sure as shit didn't feel grown as he made his way out into the warm summer's night. He felt like a little kid again, like a little boy standing all alone off to the side of a crowded room, watching a pair of warm brown eyes search eagerly for him, excitement fading into resignation. He knew that when he walked through the doors of that barn, it wasn't excitement that was going to greet him, but he'd steeled himself against that a long time ago.

And of course that's where he found her, with the horses.

"Bailin' on your own party, huh?" there was a slight smirk curving the edges of his lips as he leaned forward, arms crossing over the stall gate.

She was less amused, and so there was silence between the two of them as they took up their respective stances, him leaning casually against the stall and her, muscles rigid but hands deceptively gentle as she drew the brush through the horse's mane.

Colt found himself thinking about time, how much just two years could change a person. The woman standing in front of him was so familiar, and yet so different from the freckle-faced kid he'd known growing up; taller, stronger, her build a bit more filled out in the best of ways and that freckle-coated skin tanned almost to perfection. Nearly every of her best attributes credited to a lifetime of exposure to life on the farm. It amazed him how different still she was from her counterpart - how could these two girls have grown up on the same farm, but look and act so differently? Grace was soft, she was petite, delicate in both her looks and mannerisms. She had a taste for the finer things in life, she had goals and ambitions that could never be contained within the four walls of this old, faded barn, much less the twenty-mile radius of Lancaster, Montana.

But why the hell was he even thinking about this right now?

"Jo," her name on his tongue was strange, hoarse - it tasted like a memory he couldn't quite place, the kind you want so badly to understand but then it's gone again, the moment fleeting. He cleared his throat. "You say the word and I'll head home. I'm not here to crash your party, honest."

And he meant it; he wasn't here to fight, to hash up old wounds, to fuel this petty fight. Not tonight, anyways. There'd be time for feuding tomorrow, but tonight was her night - and really, he didn't have any sort of place being here, ruining that for her.

She felt like a stranger in her own home.

Even the dust kicking up behind her truck felt like it was mocking her -- coating the Chevy with a thin layer of grime as she made her way down the dirt road. The kiss of twilight was beating in through the window, dousing her in shades of gold and haloing the large, wooden barn that grew closer with every roll of her tires. Behind that barn sat a quaint, white farmhouse and the large birch tree with the swing still attached, just how she left it two years ago. She should feel overjoyed to be back. Excited, even. Everything she had ever loved was greeting her with open arms.

And yet… Joanna Emerson felt nothing but dread as she slowed to a stop and stared at the house, gripping her steering wheel with every ounce of strength she possessed. The leather of the wheel groaned in response as her knuckles turned white from the contact. She quieted the radio, leaving her in nothing but a calm silence, as if the land was waiting for her to step foot on its soil once again. Pulling and dragging her into familiarity and leaving the past two years behind her.

It wasn’t that Jo regretted caring for her Aunt -- a woman called Eliza who was the twin to her Grandmother Helen and just as stubborn. Helen had passed close to five years ago, from the same sickness that had then claimed her sister. It was cancer that destroyed the woman’s body, but Jo swore that it was heartbreak that sent her to greet her sister once again. Eliza always told her that part of her died when Helen had. Joanna wondered if the relationship the older twins obtained was something far more extraordinary than what she shared with her own sister.

She hated to admit it, but the time away from Grace had been more like a breath of fresh air than a hole in her heart.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her sister, either. Everyone loved Grace. She was the burning light in the small town of Lancaster, Montana. Grace was Homecoming Queen and Valedictorian. Grace had more friends than their family had animals and her infectious laugh was practically heard throughout the mountains that resided behind their home. She was outgoing and friendly and a force to be reckoned with. Jo had spent her entire life falling prey to her sister’s shadow -- not that she minded, though. She had never been a fan of drawing attention to herself and had grown used to falling into the reserved, quiet mold her sister had set out for her.

In reality, Jo felt more like herself when she was alone or with the animals. People were complicated, Montana was not.

Joanna kicked the door open and slid out of the old truck. The crisp and fresh chill of an early summer night kissed her freckled skin as she slammed the door behind her. Silence still sat in the air, not even the faint whickers of horses in the barn could be heard.

After savoring her homeland for a brief moment she snagged the large suitcase from the bed of the truck, wiped off the layer of dust that coated it, and set towards the front door of the house. She hadn’t expected a full entourage of friends and family, but the silence and barrenness of Emerson Ranch were… abnormal. Usually, ranch hands were running around the pastures and chickens were wandering about the lawn with Sadie nipping at their feet. And yet, the property resembled a ghost town. Joanna sighed once before she continued her trek onto the porch.

The slight groan of the wood as she stepped onto the white porch comforted her. Maybe some things never change…

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured to herself as she stood face to face with the front door, the first time she had seen it in two years.

She opened the door and was bombarded with streamers, the smell of blueberry pie, and a loud boom of voices saying “Welcome Home!”

Joanna jumped, a loud gasp escaping her lips as the grip on her suitcase faltered and went crashing to the floor. A hand landed on her chest as her brown eyes swam over the room filled with every family member that lived in Lancaster, along with friends that felt more like blood. Her mother, a short woman who had passed down her golden locks to Jo, ran forward. Tears brimmed the older woman’s eyes as she wrapped her arms around her daughter and kissed her cheek lovingly. Jo instinctively hugged her back as her father appeared as well, more wrinkles and grey hair on him than she remembered.

“I missed you,” Joanna whispered to her mother and father as her small frame was crushed by both of them. The rest of the guests in the room sniffled and laughed -- pleased to have the missing piece of Lancaster back home once more. “But, what the hell is this?” she said with a grin, pulling back from her parents and taking in the room. Her other set of grandparents were beaming at her while aunts and uncles from both sides smiled and waved while a slew of younger cousins bustled about the room, chasing Sadie who barked happily. As if finally realizing that her owner had returned, the collie-mix hurtled towards Jo and licked her hand profusely with excited whines.

“Just a little get together,” her mother teased. “I’ll let you make your rounds while I go finish dinner, alright?” And with that, Fiona Emerson was back in the kitchen, like always. Jo’s father passed his daughter another smile and kissed the top of her head before following his wife.

Joanna then spent well over a half-hour greeting and thanking every last person inside of her home. It was the most socialization she had done in years and by the time she had spoken to the very last person, she knew she wasn’t done yet.

“Where’s Grace?” Jo asked her mom after she snuck away into the kitchen.

Before Fiona could answer, a high-pitched gasp sounded from the stairs. She didn’t have to turn to know who it belonged to.

“Joey!” Grace squealed, rushing over to her and flinging her arms around her twin. While Joanna had honey-colored locks, Grace had always dyed hers a warm, chocolate brown. They definitely looked like siblings, but Grace’s pale face was free of the slew of freckles that dusted Jo’s and the other twin’s features were far softer than the harsh, rugged look that adorned the blondes face.

She hugged her sister back tightly and Joanna could tell that Grace was holding back tears. She still smelled the same -- like their mother’s perfume that she always “borrowed” and sweet, green apples. “Hi Gracie,” she whispered into her ear before pulling away.

Jo stepped back, taking in everything that Grace Emerson was. Tall, put together, and a diamond in the rough. While she knew that Grace would always appreciate the lifestyle out on the ranch, the girl had always been more drawn to the adventures of the city and a fast-paced life. To be honest, Jo was surprised that she was still here in Montana and not in some Manhattan-based loft.

“You won’t believe what I have to tell you,” Grace giggled, looking over Jo’s shoulder at something. No, someone.

Curious, Jo turned over her shoulder, only to be met with the cold, blue gaze of none other than Colton Walker.

Jo froze where she stood with her jaw locked and hands balling into fists.

His tall and sturdy frame brushed past her, only to land right next to Grace.

And then put an arm around her waist.

Colt, the boy that had humiliated and broke her heart all those years ago, as well as the boy she had once planned to do everything on earth with. She hadn’t been expecting a welcome home party to begin with, but adding him into the mix was something unearthly.

And now he and Grace had obviously grown… close.

Joanna cleared her throat and sent her sister a wide eyed look. Of course, even with the dispute between Colt and herself, the Walker’s were very close with the Emerson’s. Practically neighbors, at that. She remembered spending just as much time over at their place as her own. She and Colt were unstoppable back then. Closer than she and Grace ever were.

“We’ve been together for a while now…” Grace started, looking fearful as well as hopeful. She bit her lip gingerly while staring at him with lovestruck eyes. “About six months. It just sort of happened. We both weren’t expecting it,” she added with a giggle.

Neither was I, Jo wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut instead. The smarter option.

Too many emotions were infiltrating her thoughts. Was this another one of Colt’s sick, twisted jokes? Like the one he had done to her all those years ago? Was Grace actually into him or was he the only guy available in Lancaster? She had never seemed fond of him when they were young -- she was far more interested in her barbies or braiding the manes of the horses. Jo knew a lot could have changed in two years.

But she never expected this.

“I’m going to go to the barn -- check on Jer and Lilah,” she uttered quickly, not meet either of their eyes before rushing out of the back door. The fresh air that had hit her when she first arrived was refreshing.

Now it was nothing but a reminder that maybe home wasn’t as comforting as she remembered.

n a m e || colton tyler walker 
p r e f e r r e d   n a m e || colt 
a g e || 23
g e n d e r || ♂
o r i e n t a t i o n || ♂
p l a y e d  b y || scott eastwood 

h e i g h t || 6' 3"
h a i r  c o l o r || dirty blonde
e y e  c o l o r || blue 
W e i g h t || 235 lbs
t a t t o o || hmmmm idk yet 
b i r t h m a r k s ||
o t h e r || scars included faded cigarette burns located in various, random spots and a jagged, puckered slash mark across his right bicep. 

b r i e f  p e r s o n a l i t y || wouldn't we both like to know
l i k e s || thunder storms, horses, hard work, wild flowers, building things, simplicity 
d i s l i k e s || liars, disrespect, the word 'no'  
s t r e n g t h s || dedicated, loyal 
w e a k n e s s e s || impulsive, hot-headed 
r e p u t a t i o n || good ol' boy, small-towner
o c c u p a t i o n || farm-hand
j o b  d e s c r i p t i o n || "pretty straight forward, ain't it?" 

m o t h e r || Annabelle Walker ; aka the greatest woman alive
f a t h e r || "good goddamn riddance"
s i b l i n g s || Thomas (20) ; Landon (19) ; Ana (17) ; Skye (14) ; Jason (12) ; Jackson (9) ; Quinn (6)
o t h e r || his father died when he was 17; drunk driving accident
h i s t o r y || "s'not like everyone don't already know it"

#79aa87

─── 𝐉 𝐎 𝐀 𝐍 𝐍 𝐀 " 𝐉 𝐎 " 𝐄 𝐌 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 ───

𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 ✰ 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗 ✰ 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍

• APPEARANCE: Jo stands at about 5'7'' with an athletic build. She has a good layer of muscle built up after working day in and day out on her family's ranch and has a more lithe, nimble frame. She always seems to have a good tan across her skin, which complements the wide array of freckles that appear everywhere on her body -- but mostly across her face. Joanna has warm, brown eyes and honey blonde hair that is usually pulled back into a braid. Fashion wise, Jo doesn't take too much consideration. She wears what she is comfortable in, which is always a pair of well-worn jeans and some sort of flannel or button up. She prefers more neutral colors such as browns and tans with a pop of blue. Jo has a few tattoos (one, two, three) as well as her ears pierced.

• PERSONALITY: self-contained, quiet, loyal, driven, blunt, assertive, sharp-tongued, reserved, hard working, tough, selfless.

• BACKGROUND: tbd.

• PETS: Multiple barn cats Harry, Penelope, & Kit, two goats named Ronnie & Rudy, a collie-mix named Sadie, and her two horses named Jericho and Delilah, although her family owns more.