|LEMON ODELL|

    The name Odell means everything within the state of Wyoming.

Everyone here knows us for a variety of things: Tex's legacy of bull riding, a tale as tragic as it was legendary, Evelyn's culinary skills, her blackberry pies and jams once seen through even the distant Cheyenne hostels. But in recent years, our family had become known for one thing above all: our ranch nestled in the rugged beauty of the Absaroka Range, and the Windwalker Cattle Co. that came with it.

It wasn't just a business; it was our legacy.
Back when the land was nothing but a patch of wilderness, Tex saw its potential. He secured over 1,500 acres at a jaw-dropping bargain of $150 per acre, a steal considering its current worth of $2,500 per acre, a good twenty years later. Back then, it seemed like a gamble, but Tex had a vision.

He saw the potential in the rolling hills and winding river, envisioning a place where we could raise cattle, sheep, and chickens, and grow crops to sustain ourselves and much of our community in Cody. And for a time, his vision worked.

The ranch had been a thriving hub of activity, with cattle grazing freely under the expansive sky and the sound of sheep bleating in the distance. The fields were alive with the vibrant colors of alfalfa, oats, corn, and soybeans, and mama had even created a small bakery business where she delivered baked goods in the locality every Sunday.

Now all that was left was the memory of what had once been.

All that remained untouched throughout the years was the farmhouse. It was a two-story clapboard with a rambling porch, sitting on a half of an acre with a neatly-mowed yard. There were three bedrooms, one on the main floor and two on the second. In it's prime, Tex and mama stayed on the first floor, throwing late night gatherings for their friends and dancing on the wooden floorboards.
Stella and I would perch ourselves at the top of the staircase, hidden from view and watch as Daddy's arms encircled Mama's waist, pulling her close as they moved in harmony to the rhythm of old country songs playing on the radio.

We were enamored by their love for one another. And I still remember the way daddy would smile, truly smile when Mama entered the room, dressed in her favorite sundress. It was a soft shade of lavender, the color complementing Mama's sun-kissed skin and accentuating the gentle curve of her waist.

And Daddy, oh how his eyes shined when he looked at her. He would stand at the foot of the stairs, his gaze fixed on Mama as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. I can still hear his voice, low and husky, as he whispered those sweet words that only lovers share, wrapping Mama in his arms as she washed the dishes, the sound of her laughter filling the house like music.

They were so happy together.

There were many times that they caught us, and with a hushed giggle mamma would hurry us off to bed.
I wish, more than anything sometimes, that I could go back to those days.

I wish, more than anything sometimes, that I could go back to those days.

Stella and I were on the second floor, rooms right beside each other. Stella's room remained a mix of old music posters and vibrant hues of green and pink flowers that swirled around her bed. Just as she had left it. But my room, once a sanctuary adorned with sketches of the animals we nurtured on the farm and twinkling fairy lights that cast a magical glow, had morphed into a stark reflection of my altered reality. It had become an office, cluttered with scattered papers and cardboard boxes brimming with memories, each one a shard of the past that I couldn't quite bear to part with.

I had claimed the master bedroom on the main floor as my own, a feeble attempt to distance myself from the memories that haunted me. Yet even with the few changes I had made, I couldn't bring myself to erase the remnants of Mama's presence by taking down her artwork. I couldn't erase Tex's presence either, and so had pulled together clippings of articles he'd kept over the years. Among those clippings, one stood out to me amongst the rest.

It was an article about Tex, the rodeo legend whose name echoed through the annals of history. The headline blared in bold letters: "Tex Lamar Odell Clinches Second World Title."

It was a feat that had cemented his status as a legend in the rodeo community. But it was the words beneath the headline that held the most significance to me.

"What are you going to do now, Tex?" the reporter had asked, their voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. My father, a towering figure amidst the chaos of the arena, had simply laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion.

"What matters most," he had replied, his voice a deep rumble. "I'm going home to my wife, to my daughters."

It was the day my father announced his retirement, a decision that had sent shockwaves through the rodeo community. But to me, it was more than just the end of a career; it was the end of an era. No longer would Mama sit up late at the dining room table,  watching for the familiar headlights to pull into the driveway.

As I stared at those words, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Pride mingled with resentment, admiration with bitterness. How could he go back so easily after mamas death? What if he had stayed?

As I grappled with these conflicting emotions, my gaze wandered to the familiar sight of the barn and stables nearby. They sat adjacent to each other with their own separate driveway of packed dirt and gravel that formed into a wide ring for ease of truck-and-trailer turnaround. There was a small loft above, big enough for a single person, complete with a tiny kitchen and a balcony that overlooked the land.

I had offered the room up to Colt, letting him know if he ever needed to stay late or wanted a shower before heading on home he could do so there. I wasn't exactly certain how much he'd actually be helping out on the ranch, but it was something ingrained in me. Growing up on the ranch, hospitality was more than just a gesture, and my parents had instilled in me the importance of always being there for others and lending a helping hand whenever it was needed.

A little further down the drive was the hay barn—always kept separate in case of fire. Various other outbuildings, and coops for chickens and other domesticated fowl made up the rest of the farm property.

The sun had started to dip towards the horizon when I closed up the barn to finish out my day. It had been interesting, to say the least—working with Colt had stirred something inside my heart that I hadn't expected. The voice, the mannerisms, the smile, the sudden confidence...it was all so subtly attractive. Both of us had spent several hours working in the barns and turnout runs, but we seemed to shy away from any further conversation. I had been trying to avoid Colt's distant stare, focusing on my work while at the same time wanting very much to return to that steady, sustained eye contact with the most cobalt blue eyes I'd seen on anyone in my life. At the same time, my own confidence waned and I only spoke directly to the taller cowboy when answering direct questions about where things were or the upcoming rodeo.

Of course, when it turned around four o'clock, and I realized more work had gotten done today then in the last few weeks it dawned on me how hungry he must be. He was quiet, never complaining about the heat or the turkey and cheese sandwich I had thrown together for lunch. Stella was always the cook, taking after mama that way. Always in the kitchen. But the growling echoing throughout my near empty stomach just set as a reminder that he too must feel that way.

After turning out the lights of the small barn, I slowly headed upstairs to the loft. We had finished up just a little over thirty minutes ago, and I had pushed Colt to go relax and take a shower before heading on home. I stopped midway up to pet the barn cats, Goony and Ghost, assuring them I would bring some bites of chicken back with me from dinner. Stopping at the door I wiped a bandanna across my face and knew I'd definitely added hay to it, little bits of hay decorating my shirt and jeans in small flakes here and there. I knocked on the door twice before speaking out.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt, I know you're getting cleaned up but I just wanted to ask you something."

I peeped inside as soon as I heard a come in.

The loft had undergone a subtle transformation since Colt had brought some of his belongings in. His worn leather boots lay neatly by the door, the familiar scent of leather mingling with the earthy undertones of the barn. A battered cowboy hat hung from a peg on the wall above a small bed, neatly made with a patchwork quilt that Mama had stitched together years ago. A small dresser stood against the wall, its drawers slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of folded clothes and personal belongings.

Across the room the small kitchenette boasted a few essentials—a coffee pot, a couple of mugs, and a jar of instant coffee. A stack of paperback novels sat on a makeshift bookshelf, their well-thumbed pages a testament to countless hours spent lost in their pages. A worn armchair occupied one corner of the room, its cushions sagging slightly with age but still inviting in their familiarity.

It's strange how quickly he's settled in.

"Sure, it's no bother." Colt said and I stopped, resting my hands on the railing of the external stairs. Goony and Ghost had climbed down and were now flirting with Colt for treats.

"Would you want to stay for dinner tonight?" I couldn't help but feel a flush rise to my cheeks at the suggestion, but I quickly composed myself. "Just for dinner," I clarified with a chuckle, attempting to mask the flutter in my chest. "I'd feel bad for feeding you like I do."

Is this too much too soon? Am I getting too comfortable with him being here? I pushed the thought aside, chiding myself for overthinking things. He's just a friend, right? No, not even that. Just a ranch hand.

Colt's grin widened, his easy charm washing over me. "I wouldn't mind a home-cooked meal," he admitted with a playful smile. "Though I do need to shower first."

"You and me both." I started, then stopped again and my hand shot up to the back of my neck. I noticed the hay on my clothes and gently brushed the little pieces off. Suddenly I felt a little too conscious of how I looked with all the grime.

"Though I should warn you I'm no cook. Momma spent all the time in the world baking with Stella while I was out in the field with the cattle. Don't even know if I got all the ingredients for a damn meal. But I'm thankful for you today and-" I frowned, rolling my eyes at my rambles. My god I have to stop.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Colt, curiously grinning down at me. I noticed that Colt was holding a hat in his hand, one that was a dusty brown color and had seen several summers on the ranch. Then, slowly but confidently, my strong gaze focused on Colt's face, and as I broke into a thin-lipped smile, I raised an eyebrow while reaching for his hat and settling it on my head—completing the look Colt had earlier, well, basically lusted after?

The russet-brown haired man's jaw dropped slightly agape, and I swear I could almost see beads of sweat forming on his brow. But when Colt's gaze traveled down to my lips I had to avert my eyes in order to gain some composure. Who the fuck does he think he is?

A chuckle passed his lips as he spoke,

"Yeah, I'll be at dinner. Thanks for the invitation."

And with that I made my way down the stairs. The cats had curled up at the feet of the barn, slowly blinking and purring louder than the air compressor.

"I think he enjoyed that, no?" I whispered to them. The cats, unsurprisingly, had no comment other than to stretch and yawn. "Yeah, he seemed to enjoy that."

Then, with one final look at the barn and the paint chipped daisies, I made my way back to the house across the yard.