Cal figured it would surprise a good chunk of the country to learn that he wasn’t trying to be insolent all the time. At least, not lately. It would certainly be news to his parents.

Something about turning the calendar on 26, a fully developed frontal lobe, and trying to get sober changed a lot about what Cal thought was fun or allowable.

That didn’t mean that he never fucked up. Actually, Cal fucked up often and this time, quite significantly. He’d been planning his exodus from LA since New Years and maybe that’s why, in March, he finally just lost his ability to give a shit. 

The paparazzi was an unfortunate casualty.

While it wasn’t his fault that the paparazzi thought it was okay to hurl slurs at him, he knew it was his fault that his first response to that was to snap around with a heavy right hand, which slipped just over his camera and clocked him square in the jaw. The camera shattered on the pavement and Cal’s label was trying to quietly settle the matter. 

Cal was just glad his tour was over. He was burnt out to shit and sorely missed a bed that wasn’t in the back of a bus.

Twelve Mile Ranch called him home.

His parents were as happy to have him home as could be expected. They’d done a bit to patch up their relationship while Cal was away but being back under the roof where their rift got its legs was still going to be a challenge. The biggest difference now was that Cal could name the dark and bitter feelings of resentment that had been festering in his chest since he was in high school. Now he had to hope that being able to recognize them meant he could tamper them too.

Cal knew they were mostly glad to have him back because they worried about his substance abuse. It didn’t pay to deny that since it was all over TMZ and Daily Mail. Luckily, the more his use became public knowledge, the more they tried to support him for once. Cal was trying to learn how to accept that after 14 years of not having it.

Thankfully, most of the public spectacle of his fall from grace was pretty tame. He’d go out in the messiest way possible, but he’d be able to keep the sharpest hurts closer to the chest.

“Get your ass up, Callahan,” Cal heard his dad from the hallway. “You gotta bring the 33 rotation up with Nash.”

“Who?” Cal grumbled as he let his phone fall to his chest.

“Huh?” His dad shouted.

“What?”

“It’s past 10 am goddammit, you gotta get outside today.” His voice still carried a lot of volume but with some concern now.

Cal needed to get up. He could tell his father was concerned which meant that his mother had sent him to give Cal a chore to get him out of bed, and Ryan wasn’t going to not meet his wife’s directive. He’d been home for five days and had yet to do anything to pull his weight and he was sure that in his time away, that hadn’t become acceptable.

He’d expected to open the door to his father; he hadn’t expected company, but standing next to his father was a tall, tan, and gorgeous cowboy. Ryan sighed when he realized how lacking Cal was in the pajama department, then he cleared his throat, “Really Callahan? You know better - it’s unprofessional to answer your door in your boxers.”

That was just a perk of living in a place that was also a business. Much to his parents’ dismay, Cal hadn’t cared about decorum like that since middle school. “Dad, I doubt anyone showing up in a Canadian tuxedo really cares if they see me in my underwear.” Cal watched the guest for his reaction, but he didn’t budge, just continued to stand next to Ryan. His dark hair was slicked back effortlessly, just one strand of it falling forward near his temple. 

Cal’s eyes lingered just a little too long on his well-kept stubble, from where it tapered into the hair in front of his ear to where there was a hint of salt and pepper along his jaw. He was holding a dusty black cowboy hat, and his pearl snap shirt was a medium wash nearly identical to his jeans.

The stranger’s dark eyes moved slowly over every inch of Cal’s bare skin before coming to rest on his thighs; obviously trying to decipher what the scribbling of tattoos there meant. Cal felt heat bloom in the wake of his scrutiny. He would never tell his father how glad he was to have opened the door in such a state of undress.

“This is Nash,” Ryan nodded toward the stranger, “He needs a hand rotating the group up this morning.”

That got a reaction from Nash, a tiny scoff and a shake of his head.

“Cal,” he said and stretched his hand to shake Nash’s.

“Beckett Nash,” his hand was calloused and his grip was firm and warm.

“And it’s your first day or are you just so incompetent that you can’t bring a couple dozen cows up yourself?”

“Cal-“ Ryan started.

Nash smirked and caught Cal’s gaze, “I’m actually off from ranchin’ today, trying babysitting instead.”

Cal felt the flush fly up his neck so he squeezed Nash’s hand harder than was necessary, which was met with an unshakable grip. The glint in Nash’s eye told Cal he was aware of how Cal was responding to him and the fact that Nash by far had him beat in grip strength.

“Gentlemen,” Ryan pulled their attention. “This isn’t going to be a problem, I trust.”

“No sir,” Nash’s answer was immediate as he dropped Cal’s hand and stepped back slightly so he was no longer shoulder to shoulder with Ryan.

“I dunno, am I going to need to show him how to ride a horse before we leave?”

“Callahan!”

“What, apparently he can’t move one group by himself.”

“Are you going to be this difficult for the indefinite amount of time we’re allowing you to live here?”

That made Nash laugh. Cal bristled.

“We’ll be fine, sir,” Nash offered. “I’ve broken my share of fillies in my day.”

Cal felt hot, indignant fury replace the heat Nash’s gaze had left. His teeth were grating. “I’m gonna assume you didn’t mean that as an insult to my sexual preferences.”

Nash nodded briefly, and to his credit, did look a little remorseful.

“I’ll be down in five.” And with that Cal stepped back in his room and slammed the door.

An intentional fifteen minutes later, he made his way to the kitchen. Nash was sitting at the counter with two thermoses of what had to be coffee.

Cal grabbed a tinfoil wrapped breakfast sandwich from the warmer and walked straight past Nash to get his boots and chore coat. He watched Nash approach in his peripheral vision and pretended to be more interested in his coat than he actually was.

Nash cleared his throat.

“Ready to go?”

“Horses are tacked up.”  He lifted his chin in the direction of the door. “After you.”

It was weird coming back now, eight years since he’d left. Not much changed and yet everything seemed different. He’d spent his childhood being so proud to be a fifth generation rancher and he didn’t know anything but the ranch for his whole life until he got his driver’s license and an itch to get out from under his parent’s thumb.

As he rode behind Nash, he was just trying to be grateful that Nash wasn’t a big talker. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk while some stranger acted like he needed a tour of his own goddamn ranch.

Admittedly, Nash wasn’t actually acting like that. He wasn’t acting like anything really and Cal couldn’t help but wonder where his brazenness had come from this morning when he was obviously checking Cal out in front of his father before trading insults with Cal.

After about thirty minutes of riding, they were approaching the southwest pasture, and Cal tapped his heels against the flank of his beautiful sorrel mare. She was tall and agile and rode with Nash’s mare like they were familiar. Nash had a handy grey mare who was leading their way with a smooth gait. When he caught up to Nash he cleared his throat. “33’s still orange?”

“Yep.”

They used a number and color system for sorting cow rotations. Group 24 was the first calving rotation of the year, coming due around the final week of February. They had red ear tags marked with a 24 on the back and a unique identifier on the front.

Group 33 was the second rotation and since it was the first week in March, it was time to bring them up to a maternity pen. They had orange ear tags and freshened in near the third week of March. 

In general, the groups were on a spring to fall grazing rotation that kept them separate from each other but in the winter, groups were combined and the colored tags helped with sorting them back out at the beginning of February.

Each rotation had about 30 cows and there were 12 rotations. Nash should have easily been able to bring the whole group in himself. A novice rider would need a partner or a dog, but Cal could tell Nash was not a novice rider.

“How many 24s haven’t freshened yet?”

Nash glanced over at him. “Just two. We’ll turn the group out tomorrow.” There weren’t enough maternity pens that every group could be up at once so after a group got their legs under them, they rotated out to make room for future groups. At the peak of calving season, they’d have a new group hitting the ground every other week which meant a two group rotation every week. Right now they were only rotating every other week.

Cal had friends who ranched too, and they called this operation over engineered. That had always made him feel defensive, but the critique rolled off his father’s back in a way that Cal should aim for. “And what do you think of the system?”

“It works.”

Nash’s response gave nothing away which made Cal desperate to know what he really thought. “How long you been here?”

“Ryan brought me on three years ago.” Nash slowed on his horse before sliding off to lift an electric fence connector. His horse walked through the new opening and Cal’s did the same. Nash closed the connector and remounted.

Some of the cows in the pasture were taking notice of their presence and were migrating in their direction.

“We passed the junction on the ride out. ‘Bout quarter mile back. We’ll bring them all through there then push them one more junction. Opened it all up this morning so when we get there should be easy through.”

Cal was nodding along and his horse was instinctively following Nash’s.

Cal had seen many people on horseback. He grew up around cattle hands, and he was friends with people in his school’s rodeo club. Some of the people he met when he moved to LA were even cosplay cowboys and he’d spent a few weekends on what he supposed could pass as ranches.

He’d never seen anyone who looked so right on a horse.

Nash in his dusty black hat and well-fitting jeans that pulled tight over his thighs was a sight to behold. He was wearing a quilted flannel chore coat and yellow leather work gloves and he moved on his mare like it was second nature.

Cal fell back into the routine like he’d hardly been away - reading the cows’ movement just right and pushing them forward without causing chaos and stress. Nash was doing the same and they were making a cohesive pair.

When they’d moved the herd through the final gate, he pulled up next to Nash. “So, how’d you get babysitting duty?”

Nash glanced sidelong at him. “Ryan hates how I move cattle.”

“Thought we did a decent job.”

That made Nash grin. “He figured we’d make a good pair. Said he hated doin’ it with you too.” His horse trotted ahead, leaving Cal to catch up to him.

What Cal really wanted to know was how much his father liked Nash and how pissed he’d be at Cal if they hooked up. Something about that was a delicious challenge and it would sure as hell teach his father to give him some fucking space. He caught up to Nash. “So, how do you get on with Ryan?”

Nash shrugged. “He’s a good boss. Wouldn’t be around for years if we didn’t get along. Why are you home?”

It was a fair question especially since Cal had opened this exchange digging for information of his own. Still, Cal focused on anything but answering - the rhythm of his horse, the pressure of the saddle against his thighs, and the nip of the air against his face. Oklahoma’s weather in March could be scorching one day and freezing the next. Today fell to the chilly side. 

The truth was he hadn’t figured out how to answer that question yet. 

“Don’t you watch the news?” Cal bit back; he wondered what Nash heard in his tone. He wanted to be able to laugh at the whole situation, but he knew the whole truth, and that was nothing to laugh at. Did his attempt at a chuckle land as dismissive? Indignant?

“Sure…” they followed the cows into their final pasture. Nash dismounted again to close the fence behind them. “But that ain’t the whole story.”

It rubbed Cal a little bit the wrong way that he said it with such finality: like Nash could possibly know the full extent of Cal’s exit from Los Angeles. Unless… “What did Ryan tell you?” Even that wouldn’t be the whole truth; Cal had to shield his father from some of his fall from grace.

“Honestly?” He said with a grunt as he saddled up again. “Nothin’ really. Think he wanted to respect your privacy.”

Cal nodded but then he was on autopilot, following Nash toward the barn, now moving only half as fast as Nash was. Nash left his mare tacked up outside the barn. She was standing politely and drinking from a bucket.

He slowed more when he heard voices. He recognized Nash’s, “and the fuck we all sitting around for?”

Cal dismounted and led his mare into the barn, passing Nash and three other cowboys he didn’t recognize.

“We wanted to meet the superstar,” one of them commented.

They continued to talk amongst themselves while Cal removed and stored his tack before making his way back over to them.

Their conversation halted with his approach.

“Hey,” Cal said. He awkwardly shoved his hands in his coat pockets and stood next to Nash.

“Sup, Superstar?” There was a young man sitting on a stack of bags of lime. The lack of color or traces of sunspots on his face told Cal he hadn’t spent a summer on a ranch yet. He had a choppy dirty blond mullet and a lopsided grin that made Cal instantly weary.

“Enough, Kade.” Nash instantly scolded. “His name is Cal, you know that.”

Kade’s grin shifted to Nash and Cal felt his stomach roil. “Easy boss man. Collins and I were just making bets on how long Superstar is actually gonna stick around.”

“Dude,” the cowboy Cal assumed to be Collins shifted his weight and slugged Kade in the shoulder. Then he turned to Cal. “Sorry, Cal…” he stuck out his hand, “Will Collins.”

Cal met his handshake and studied him for his sincerity. He found echoes of it in his dark brown eyes and crinkles of dark skin when he smiled.

“We’re still making bets on if you stick around,” the third man said. Cal felt indignant at first, thinking he was the subject of the criticism.

Then Kade crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Cal realized then that Kade was the subject of his ribbing.

The third man nodded towards Cal; hands still firmly tucked in his pockets.

“That’s Hector,” Nash told him. “Just try not to piss him off.”

When Cal realized that Nash was teasing the other man, he relaxed. Hector tipped his hat to Cal, a soft smile on his well-aged features. “That’s one of the only good ideas I hear from a white man.”

Cal chuckled, unsure of if he should take offense to the joke as well. Nash was laughing and he reached forward and squeezed Cal’s shoulder. Cal’s skin somehow burned through the three layers he was wearing. “If you have any questions about how things are running here now, I’m your best bet. Then Hector and never Kade.”

That made Hector and Collins laugh, too.

“You’re the whole crew?” His father used to have dozens of hands come springtime.

“For now,” Nash’s voice was pinched. “Lost a handful of them over the last few weeks.”

After he told his dad he’d be coming home, Cal realized.

“We make it work,” Nash said, shooting Cal a tight-lipped smile. “Speaking of, thought I told the three of you to get vaccines for 24s ready this morning.”

“Sure thing, boss man.” Collins was immediately off, heading further into the barn. Hector followed him eventually and Cal heard him getting some horses geared up.

When Kade stood, Nash stopped him, grip firm on his shoulder. “That fence on the east side fixed?”

Cal watched Kade shake Nash’s grip with an ease that told Cal Nash wasn’t trying all that hard to hang onto him. Kade stomped off like a petulant child.

“End of day, Kade.” Nash hollered after him, “I fucking mean it!”

“Gonna break another nose?” Kade shot back.

Nash sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets with an urgency that had to mean he thought that would help him avoid socking someone.

“You broke someone’s nose?” Cal asked.

Nash turned and started walking out of the barn and back to his horse.

“Nash.”

Without turning around he said, “Don't worry about it, Cal.”