The sun sat high and bright over the pasture, and Ellie wiped her brow with the back of her hand, sawdust clingin’ to the sweat already glistenin’ on her skin. Her shirt clung to her back, sleeves rolled, tool belt hangin’ low on her hips as she leaned over a post she’d just driven in.

“Sturdy,” she muttered, giving it a smack. “Just like she wanted.”

She cast a glance toward the house—toward you. You were comin’ down the path with a bounce in your step, sundress swingin’, a pair of gloves way too big for your dainty hands tugged on tight. Your smile was sunshine itself, and Ellie nearly dropped the hammer she was holdin’.

You’d begged her for baby sheep—please, you’d said, all big eyes and soft voice, just a few lambs, El, I’ll take care of ’em, promise. And there wasn’t a force on Earth that could’ve made her say no. Not when you looked at her like that.

“Got those nails you asked for,” you chirped, holding out a small box. “And a little extra water—y’all look like you’re meltin’ out here.”

Ellie smirked, took the box from your hands, then brushed her fingers down the front of your glove like she had to adjust it—but really, she just wanted to touch you. “Damn near lost my mind when I saw you comin’ down that hill in those gloves,” she muttered low, teasing, “You tryna kill me, sweetheart?”

You laughed, cheeks warm, and went to hand out bottles of cold beer to the boys. They all greeted you kindly, grateful for the break and the sweetness you brought with you like a breeze through hot fields.

Ellie leaned back on a beam and watched you, pride swelling in her chest like she’d built the whole damn world, not just a sheep stable.

“Y’all see that?” she said loud enough for the crew to hear, nodding toward you with a little grin. “That right there’s my wife. Brings beer, works the fence line, and still looks like a goddamn angel doin’ it.”