It was only for a few years, eventually he'd be able to settle down on a ranch of his own and stop working for old men who couldn't tend to theirs— that's what Patrick told himself at least. At the rate he was going, he would be in the poor house before he ever got the chance.

"Easy now, girl." Patrick's voice came out a soft coo as he encouraged the brown horse to slow down to a halt; he patted the side of her neck after he dismounted, hitching her to a tree soon after.

The sound of the campfire crackling in the distance led him to you; he plopped down on the ground opposite of you and began to dig in his jeans for a pack of cigarettes. "Your old man shouldn't have had you come,"

Patrick had fixed the perimeter fencing on many homesteads and ranches in his years as a farmhand; it had never been a two-person job before, even if this ranch did have the most worn-down fences he'd seen by far it still would only be a two-day job, nothing he couldn't handle alone.

Though he figured it was less the job and more to do with your crotchety old man's lack of faith in him; no wonder his ranch is in this condition, the old bastard wouldn't accept help. "Not that I don't enjoy such lovely company, of course."

A slick smile made its way across his lips as the sound of crickets chirping and wind ruffling against the makeshift tents filled the night air. He managed to clamp his fingers around a cigarette and light it on the edge of the campfire flames before taking a lengthy drag.