Sage

The early morning light filters through the trees as we prepare for the ride to the abandoned ranch. Today’s trip is more than just a break from camp—it’s a chance to check the ranch for any old piping or supplies that might be useful for the water diversion project. Branson’s one of the leads on the job, and he’s roped Mara into coming along. Dash and I volunteered, too, both for the chance to help and… well, to escape camp, even just for a few hours.

Branson is focused on triple-checking the saddles, while Mara gives him grief, her voice carrying a teasing edge. I share a grin with Dash, who’s already settled behind me on our horse. His chest presses against my back, and I can feel his warmth through the layers, steady and comforting. As he adjusts the reins, his arms brush along mine, and I have to remind myself to breathe steadily.

He leans close, his breath warm against my ear. Comfortable? he signs over my shoulder, fingers brushing my hand. We’ve taken to signing more as he continues to teach me. I find he is often more comfortable with this form of communication, especially around others.

I nod, barely able to keep the smile off my face. “Couldn’t be better,” I say softly, only loud enough for him to hear, the intimacy of his closeness more intense than I expected. The way his hand stays just a second longer on mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles—it’s these little gestures that feel so new, even though they should be familiar by now.

Up ahead, Mara and Branson’s banter bounces back and forth. I feel Dash shift behind me, leaning forward just enough that I can feel the rise and fall of his breath, steady against my back. He murmurs near my ear, “We’re not keeping track, right?”

His voice is so close that it sends a shiver down my spine. I suppress a grin, managing to keep my tone casual. “I would never.” But we both know we’re absolutely counting how many times Branson glances at Mara, and judging by his pace so far, we might be up to double digits before we even reach the ranch.

The trail is rough in places, winding around patches of old growth and leading us through the open fields toward the ranch. Mara turns, still grinning from whatever last quip Branson threw her way, and she catches sight of Dash and me signing back and forth.

“What are you two plotting back there?” she calls, narrowing her eyes.

I shrug innocently, fingers flying through another quick sign to Dash, Keeping track. He hides his smile behind me, signing back, Not even subtle.

Mara narrows her eyes, mock-annoyed, but gives up and turns back to her own banter with Branson.

The ranch is deserted, a skeleton of its former self. We tie up the horses and start exploring, moving through the overgrown grasses and the remnants of old fencing. Branson leads the way toward a collapsed barn, his gaze sharp as he surveys the land. He gestures for us to spread out and check for any intact piping or supplies.

Dash and I search around the back of an old shed, prying up weeds to see if any buried lines might still be intact. I catch his eye, and he gives me a quick wink, a silent joke passing between us. I grin, nudging him as I sign, How many times do you think he’s looked at her by now?

Dash raises an eyebrow. At least five, he signs back, smirking.

After a while, we regroup, gathering by an old oak tree where Branson spreads out a map, laying out what he found. “Looks like we’ve got some buried piping leading east,” he says, tracing a line on the map. “It might still be usable, but it’s going to need a lot of digging.”

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I nod, studying the map with him, while Mara picks at the old rusted pipe she’s found nearby. “Guess we’ll need a couple trips out here to really see what’s salvageable,” she says, glancing over at Branson.

He nods, his expression a little softer than usual. “It’ll be worth it if we can get this working. Plus, saves us a run to other towns if we don’t have to source new pipes.”

After a while of talking through logistics, Mara suggests a break, so we settle under the shade of a big oak tree for a quick picnic.

Mara takes a sip of water, then brushes her hand over her shoulder suddenly, shuddering. “Ugh. Does anyone else hate it when you think a bug’s crawling on you, and it’s just… your own hair?” She laughs, her nose wrinkling.

Branson chuckles, but then he mutters, almost too casually, “Well, that’s why you hold it up above your head while you sleep. Keeps it off your neck.”

A quiet beat settles over us as Mara’s laughter fades, and she blinks, caught off guard. I can see the dawning realization in her expression as she processes what he just said. She arches an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “Oh? And just how do you know that, Branson?”

He clears his throat, looking down at his hands a little too intently. “I, uh… just noticed, is all. You are, ya know, right next to me when you sleep.”

There’s a hint of confusion in her eyes, like she doesn’t quite know what to make of his noticing. Her late husband hasn’t been gone that long, and I can see the tug-of-war within her—she’s touched, maybe even flattered, but at the same time, she’s wrestling with a sense of guilt for letting herself feel that way.

Dash catches my eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I press my lips together to keep from laughing, and Mara glances over at me, her eyes wide. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

Dash’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he can feel the awkwardness of this moment just as much.

Mara stares, her usual sass gone, her cheeks tinged pink as she fumbles with her food. I can’t resist leaning over, grinning as I murmur to her, “I’m going to have so many questions for you later.” She shoots me a glare, but there’s no real heat to it.

Eventually, I bring up a totally benign topic, and the vibe relaxes, the earlier tension easing into an easy warmth. The sunlight filtering through the trees feels warmer than usual. Mara laughs over something Branson says, and Dash leans close, signing to me, Feels good out here, huh?

Yeah, I sign back, meeting his gaze. Feels like… normal.

It’s a simple moment, easy and free of the tension that’s weighed us down in camp. Dash’s hand rests on my knee, a small gesture, but one that feels significant. I let myself relax, leaning into him just a bit more, savoring the quiet comfort that, for once, isn’t marred by anything looming over us.

Mara catches my eye across the blanket, giving me a look that says she’s noticed everything between Dash and me. I roll my eyes, and she laughs, the sound ringing out and filling the quiet spaces around us.

As we start packing up, folding blankets and clearing the last of the food, Branson slips off his jacket and steps over to Mara. The wind has picked up slightly, carrying a chill that’s settling as the sun dips lower.

“Here,” Branson says, holding out the jacket. “It’s getting colder.”

Mara shakes her head, giving him a small, polite smile. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But Branson doesn’t budge, his expression resolute. “I know you’re fine,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “But take it anyway.” There’s a quiet determination in his eyes, a kindness that feels unexpectedly tender.

Mara hesitates, clearly caught off guard, glancing down at the jacket. After a pause, she takes it, slipping her arms into the sleeves. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and though her face is mostly neutral, there’s a subtle softness around her eyes, a hint of something conflicted but touched.

I catch Dash’s eye, and he signs, See that?

Yes, I sign back with a small smile. It’s clear Mara’s unsure of how to react, but she doesn’t brush Branson off. Her fingers linger on the edge of the jacket, almost like she’s testing its weight, like she’s wondering how much she should let herself accept this kindness.

As we gather the last of our things, I watch Mara and Branson move toward the horses, the silence between them filled with an understanding that’s slowly taking shape. Whatever it is, it feels real, like maybe they’re both allowing themselves, for just a moment, to lean into something more than survival.