Fallow Fields

I slump against the passenger side door, exhaustion hitting me all at once. My muscles ache, my clothes are damp with sweat and horse fluid, and I’m pretty sure I smell like a barn. But I can’t stop smiling.

“You were amazing,” I say, turning my head to look at Willa. Her face is in profile, the early morning light highlighting the strong lines of her jaw, the smattering of freckles across her nose. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

She shrugs, but I can see the corner of her mouth tipping up. “It’s just part of the job,” she says. “You weren’t so bad yourself. I was impressed.”

“Me?” I let out a surprised laugh. “All I did was stand there and try not to pass out.”

“You kept her calm,” Willa says, her tone serious. “That’s half the battle in these situations. If the mare panics, it can be game over for both of them.” She glances at me, her eyes warm. “You’ve got a way with animals, Immy. You always did.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck at the praise. “Thanks,” I mumble, looking away.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the truck bumping over the rutted road. The cab is warm, the air thick with the smell of sweat and barn, but I find it strangely comforting.

When we pull up in front of the farmhouse, Willa doesn’t immediately move to get out. She sits for a moment, her hands resting on the wheel, staring out at the overgrown fields stretching toward the mountains.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for, Immy,” she says quietly. “This life. The uncertainty, the hard work. The…” She waves a hand between us. “The weirdness of our… arrangement.”

I look at her, really look at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. She looks tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her gaze that takes my breath away.

“Willa–” I start, but she shakes her head.

“Let me finish,” she says. “I just… I want you to know that I appreciate you being here. Stepping up like this.” She turns to meet my gaze, her brown eyes dark and serious. “I know it’s not easy. But having you here… it makes it easier. For me.”

My throat tightens, a wave of emotion washing over me. “Willa, I–”

I’m interrupted by a massive yawn, my jaw cracking with the force of it. Willa laughs, the tension broken.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” she says, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “Let’s get you to bed before you pass out on me.”

We head inside, kicking off our boots at the door. As we climb the stairs, Willa in the lead, I reach out to touch her arm.

“Willa, wait.”

She pauses, turning back to look at me. “What is it?”

“I just…” I swallow, suddenly uncertain. “I wanted to say thank you. For letting me help tonight. For… for being you.”

She smiles, a real smile this time, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “You’re welcome, Immy.”

Impulsively, I step forward and wrap my arms around her in a quick hug. She stiffens for a fraction of a second before relaxing into the embrace, her arms coming up to pat my back.

“Get some sleep, Rossi,” she murmurs into my hair.

As I pull back, my hand lingers on her upper arm, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. Her own hand comes up to cover mine, her fingers calloused and strong against my knuckles.

For a long moment, we stand there, frozen in the dim light of the hallway. My heart hammers against my ribs, my skin prickling with sudden awareness.

Then Willa clears her throat and steps back, breaking the contact. “Good night, Immy.”

“Good night, Doc,” I whisper.

I watch her disappear into her room, the door clicking shut softly behind her. I stand there for a long moment, the ghost of her touch still tingling on my skin, before turning and heading into my own room.

As I collapse into bed, my body aching with exhaustion, my mind is wide awake, replaying the moment on the stairs over and over.

Friends, I remind myself. Just friends.

But as sleep finally claims me, it’s with the image of Willa’s smile dancing behind my eyelids.

The first test of our newly-minted marital bliss comes two weeks later, in the form of the annual Sweetgrass County potluck. It’s a long-standing tradition, a chance for the far-flung ranching community to come together and catch up before the busy summer season kicks into high gear.

I’d forgotten about it entirely until Willa reminded me over breakfast that morning, her tone deceptively casual.

“So, the potluck is this afternoon,” she says, not looking up from the farm report she’s reading. “We should probably put in an appearance.”

I freeze, my spoon halfway to my mouth. “We?”

Willa finally looks up, one eyebrow arched. “Yes, Immy. We. As in, you and me. As in, the newlyweds.”

I swallow hard, the bite of oatmeal suddenly tasting like sawdust. “Right. Of course.” I set my spoon down, my appetite vanishing. “I just… I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

Willa closes the report, her expression serious. “I know this is weird,” she says gently. “But people are going to be curious. We need to present a united front. Make it look real.”

I nod, my stomach churning. “Okay. Yeah. United front.”

She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “It’ll be fine,” she says. “Just follow my lead.”

I try to take comfort in her words, but as we pull up to the community center a few hours later, my palms are sweating, my heart racing like a jackrabbit.

The parking lot is already packed with trucks and SUVs, the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the open doors. I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands down the front of my sundress. It feels strange to be wearing something other than jeans and a t-shirt, strange to be playing the role of Willa’s wife.

“You look nice,” Willa says as we climb out of the truck.

I glance over at her, my breath catching. She’s wearing a dress too, a simple cotton shift in a shade of green that brings out the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Her hair is down, falling in soft waves around her face. She looks… beautiful.

“Uh, thanks,” I stammer. “You too.”

She smiles, a genuine smile that lights up her whole face. “Ready?”

I take another deep breath, squaring my shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”

Willa takes my hand as we approach the doors, her fingers intertwining with mine. The touch is comforting, grounding, and I find myself relaxing slightly.

The next few hours are a blur of handshakes, hugs, and curious stares. News travels fast in a small town, and our sudden marriage is big news. We’re swarmed almost immediately, surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers and gossips.

“So, when’s the baby due?” asks Mrs. Gunderson, a sweet little old lady who lives down the road. She winks at me, her eyes twinkling. “You know what they say about married couples and ranches.”

I choke on my lemonade, sputtering. Willa pounds me on the back, her own cheeks pink. “No babies yet, Mrs. G,” she says firmly. “We’re just focusing on getting the ranch up and running.”

“Well, don’t wait too long,” Mrs. Gunderson says sagely. “Clock’s ticking, you know.”

We exchange a look over her head, and for a moment I’m afraid I’m going to burst out laughing. Willa’s lips twitch, her eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

“That’s very true,” Willa says solemnly. “We’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

We move on, still holding hands, our shoulders brushing as we navigate the crowd. Everywhere we go, the questions are the same. How did you meet? How long have you been together? Was it love at first sight?

We spin a careful web of half-truths and omissions, painting a picture of a whirlwind romance rekindled after years of friendship. It feels strange, lying so blatantly, but I have to admit, Willa’s right. It’s easier than telling the truth.

As the afternoon wears on, I start to relax into the role. Willa is an easy partner, her hand a steady weight in mine, her presence beside me a comfort. We share a plate of barbecue, feeding each other bites of potato salad and coleslaw. We dance to the country band that’s set up in the corner, swaying together under the twinkling fairy lights.

It’s… nice. More than nice. It feels almost… real.

By the time we head home, the stars are out, the sky a vast, velvet blanket overhead. The truck cab is quiet, the only sound the low rumble of the engine and the distant cry of a coyote.