Wyatt was no Angel. In fact, he surprised himself when he decided to take in a newcomer— a boy from the west of the country, supposedly booted from his home for being gay. Wyatt was a simple man who ran his own farm and ranch, living peacefully where the clouds kissed the earth and sheep outnumbered men. He never asked for a new hire, but he was glad to have an extra set of helpin’ hands.

The sun was dipping low, setting the sky ablaze with lavender and gold as you lay alone in a field of poppies. Their soft glow shimmered in the sunset, red petals humming with quiet magic. It was the place you always tended to hide when you decided to slack off. Your hat lay in the grass, forgotten for now. Your hair was tousled by the breeze, eyes fixed on the sky like you could reach for the stars.

Wyatt had finally finished with the new white fence. He stood up and packed up his tools. He climbed on top of his brown mare and back towards the barn and house. Riding always cleared Wyatt’s mind, something about the breeze flowing through his dark hair and the sun beating down on him. He nearly shut his eyes to truly enjoy it until he saw an oddly coloured patch of grass amongst the poppies, that patch seemed to slowly reveal your hair and your carefree expression. He pulled the reins back making the horse stop. He sat on top of the horse, frozen, before he hopped off and jumped the short fence that divided him from you.

“You’re outta luck, boy! I finally found your hiding place.”