Chapter Text
The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting a pale golden hue over the quiet Wyoming landscape. Abby stepped out of the blue semi, her boots crunching against the gravel as she took a moment to adjust to the early morning chill. She slipped into her worn brown jacket, the cool air biting at her exposed skin she made her way toward the trailer office, the place she was supposed to meet at for her new job as a ranch hand.
The lot was deserted, the silence amplifying Abby’s thoughts. Abby took a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves that churned in her stomach. She had been nervous about this job, about working under the watchful eyes and critical tongues of ranch hands who might not take kindly to a woman among them. She pulled out a pack of Winston Reds from her jacket pocket, tapping a cigarette free. Lighting it, she took a deep drag, the smoke swirling around her as she leaned back against the trailer's exterior. The nicotine did little to calm her racing thoughts.
As she exhaled a rattling sound caught her attention. Abby squinted into the distance and saw a busted 1950s Chevrolet pickup truck making its way into the lot. The truck came to a stop, Abby watched as another woman stepped out of the truck, her movements confident and unhurried. She wore a denim button-up shirt tucked into jeans held up by a wide belt, and a black cowboy hat that cast a shadow over her face. Short auburn hair peeked out from under the brim, and her posture spoke of someone who was no stranger to hard work.
Abby tried to avoid the woman's attention, focusing instead on the cigarette between her fingers. She felt the woman's eyes on her, a prickle of awareness that made her skin heat under the scrutiny. The silence between them was thick, punctuated only by the occasional call of a distant bird. Abby's mind raced. She had been prepared to deal with working alongside men and the inevitable judgments they would pass, but now this—this woman, with her intense brown eyes and an air of quiet confidence—was unnerving in a way she hadn't anticipated.
Ellie leaned against the side of her truck, her gaze unwavering as she took in the sight of Abby. The blonde woman was striking, her muscular frame accentuated by the fitted jacket and work-worn jeans and the beige cowboy hat that sat atop her head. Abby’s dirty blond hair was pulled back into a braid, loose flyaways framing her face in the soft morning light.
Ellie observed the way Abby's broad shoulders tensed, the way her fingers deftly held the cigarette. She found herself wondering about the stories hidden behind those blue eyes.
The minutes dragged on in awkward silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts. Abby felt a mix of irritation and something else she couldn't quite place. The intensity of Ellie's eyes made her feel exposed, as if the other woman could see right through her carefully constructed defenses. It was infuriating, yet there was a strange, unfamiliar heat coiling within her.
Suddenly, the sound of another vehicle approaching broke the tension. Abby straightened, flicking her cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her boot. She glanced at Ellie, who was still watching her, and then turned her attention to the new arrival. A car pulled up, and Abby exhaled slowly, bracing herself for whatever came next.
The car parks, the engine cutting off abruptly. Abby shifts uneasily as a man, presumably the foreman, steps out holding a large silver thermos. He doesn’t acknowledge them, moving silently up the trailer steps to unlock the door to the office. He disappears inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive click.
Abby and Ellie remain outside, shifting on their feet in the awkward silence. Ellie steals another glance at Abby, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between them. She’s about to say something—anything to break the silence—when the door opens again, and the foreman steps out.
"If you two think you can handle the work-” he clears his throat. “ ladies. Then get your asses in here," he says gruffly, a hint of disdain in his voice. Abby tenses at the implication but says nothing. The foreman turns back into the office, hanging up his white Stetson as he goes.
Abby and Ellie follow him inside, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. Ellie holds her hat loosely in her hand, while Abby clings to hers, seeking some semblance of support. The foreman drops into his chair behind the desk, the room feeling smaller under his critical gaze.
He wastes no time in giving them the rundown. "Alright, here’s how it works. The designated campsites are three to four miles from where we pasture the woolies. There's bad predator loss if nobody’s there to watch 'em." He looks between them, his eyes narrowing. "The camp tender (abby) stays in camp. The herder (ellie) will set up a pup tent with the sheep and sleep there. You’ll share supper and breakfast together, but the herder must always sleep with the sheep. Oh and don’t want the forest service catching wind of it so you’ll set up and take down every day and no fires” he says looking at Ellie.
He’s interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Abby looks down at the ground, while Ellie’s eyes drifts back to Abby. The foreman’s conversation grows heated, his voice rising in anger before he slams the receiver down.
Turning his attention back to them, he continues, directing his next words strongly at Ellie almost chastising her "Last summer, we had a twenty-five percent herd loss. I don’t want that happening again."
He points to Abby. "You. Fridays at noon, be down at the bridge with a grocery list and the mules. Someone will be there with supplies for the pickup." He tosses a watch towards Abby, which she barely catches as she leans against the wall.
The foreman lights a cigarette and picks up the phone again, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
Abby and Ellie place their hats back on and step outside. Ellie immediately lights a cigarette, offering her hand to Abby. "Ellie Williams," she states, her voice steady.
"Abby," Abby responds quietly, shaking Ellie’s hand. Abby is shocked at her strong grip due to her small form.
Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Your folks just stop at Abby?"
"Anderson," Abby replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ellie nods, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Well, nice to know you, Abby Anderson."
Abby feels her face flush under Ellie. She turns away, taking a deep breath to steady herself. This was not how she had imagined starting this job, but there was no turning back now.
-
The sun had risen higher in the sky, casting short shadows on the dirt road as Ellie and Abby walked towards the nearby bar. The silence between them was thick and heavy, each step screaming of unspoken thoughts. Ellie led the way, her strides confident and purposeful, while Abby trailed three steps behind, her mind still processing the morning's events.
The bar was a typical western joint, with wooden walls adorned with cowboy memorabilia and a long counter stretching across the room. They pushed through the doors and settled on two stools at the counter. The place was almost empty, accept for a few regulars scattered about. The sound of a rough stock event played on the TV, the announcer’s voice blending with the faint hum of conversation.
Ellie ordered a beer, and Abby followed suit. They drank in silence, the cold beer a welcome reprieve from the morning's tension. Ellie took another swig, deciding it was time to break the quiet.
“This is my second year doing this,” Ellie began, her voice casual but edged with something deeper. “Working for Aguirre, I mean. Surprised he let me come back after last year, with all the sheep we lost to some… disease. Mother fucker blamed me, as if I could control it.” Abby was surprised about the mouth on Ellie. It’s rare to hear a woman talk like that.
Abby glanced at her, intrigued but unsure how to respond. Ellie continued, her eyes fixed on her drink. “But it’s better than working with my old man in Texas.” She lets out a sigh, one that suggests it’s a long story. “That’s why I started doing rodeo.”
“You ever rodeo?” Ellie asked, turning to look at Abby. Abby hesitated, her eyes meeting Ellie’s for a brief moment before she quickly looked away.
“Once in a while, when I got the time,” Abby replied, her voice steady but distant.
Ellie nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I would expect so. I mean, you’re fuckin’ built like an ox.”
Abby wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, and Ellie noticed her discomfort. “You from ranch people?” Ellie asked, changing the subject slightly.
“I was,” Abby responded, her voice softer now, she watches as Ellie gently caresses her beer with her thumb, the condensation dripping on to the table.
“Was?” Ellie pressed, sensing she would be doing a lot of prying this summer.
“Well, my mom died and dad… he- didn’t know what to do with himself. Went back to med school in Washington. And with the loans, we had to sell the ranch,” Abby answered, her eyes downcast.
“Shit,” Ellie empathized, her tone genuine. “That sucks.”
“Yeah,” Abby breathed, reaching for another cigarette. She gestured to Ellie that she needed a light, and Ellie quickly fumbled for her lighter, her cool facade slipping for the first time.
As Ellie handed Abby the lighter their hands brushed momentarily, a fleeting connection in the eerie bar. Abby took a deep drag, the smoke mingling with the air between them.
“Thanks,” Abby murmured, exhaling slowly.
Ellie nodded, her eyes lingering on Abby for a moment longer before she turned back to her drink. The silence returned, but this time a little less awkward.
-
Abby and Ellie were busy prepping, packing supplies onto their horses. Each of them had been paired with a German Shepherd—Abby with Alice and Ellie with Bear. The dogs stayed close, their keen eyes observing the bustling activity around them.
Across the field, sheep were being unloaded from trucks, counted, and scanned over by the ranch owner. The air was filled with the sounds of bleating sheep, barking dogs, and conversation among the ranch hands. Abby focused on loading up the mules, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she secured the packs.
A short man, one of the seasoned ranchers, stood nearby, talking her ear off with bits of advice. Abby half-listened, her mind more on her task than his words. She caught a snippet of his monologue, “Only thing, don’t never order soup. Them soup boxes are hard to pack.”
“Good thing I don’t like soup,” Abby replied, standing up and giving the straps on the mule one final tug. Her attention was drawn to a commotion across the field—a loud neigh from a distressed horse.
She spotted Ellie wrestling with a horse she recognized from the ranchers' stories. Shimmer was known for her temper and low tolerance for sudden movements. Ellie was doing her best to wrangle the poor thing without losing her cool.
“Watch it,” Abby called out loudly, her voice carrying across the field. “She’s got a low startle point!”
Ellie shot her a determined look, still grappling with the reins. “There ain’t a filly I can’t handle,” she replied, her voice strained but resolute.
Ellie finally managed to bring Shimmer under control, her hands firm and steady on the reins. “Let’s go, blue eyes,” Ellie nods to Abby as if motioning for her to follow.