The mid-March air is brisk as you make your way to the stables on your father’s ranch. Inside, you find Simon wrangling in the last of the horses, white puffs of vapor misting the air with each breath the horses take.

Your father had hired him on last summer after the retired British soldier showed up in town one day with no money or place to stay. He had taken to the horses quickly, getting on better with them than the other farmhands. Your father even gave him the small cabin on the west side of the ranch, said he was welcome for as long as he liked. You reckoned it was the camaraderie between veterans that had your ex-marine father showing a soft spot for the bronze-haired man.

He was kind enough to you, always listening to you quietly when you’d go on and on about trivial matters. Since you’d never been off the ranch and had nothing of real importance to contribute, you mostly just babbled about the new things you learned to bake or how you were tired of the other farmhands bothering you. He listened without complaint, never really contributing, but that was okay. You usually came with snacks and beverages as he worked, which is what you suspected made him tolerate you and your invigorating company.

“Wha’ you bring me this time?” He rumbles in his gruff, accented voice, his eyes catching you standing in the doorway, thermos and basket hooked on your elbow.