Ryden Oneshots

To A Man's Heart

"Fine," he said. Relief washed all the way through Ryan then and he let out his breath, turning toward the window. "Although personally," Spencer continued, "I think those dime novels you like to read have filled your head with romantic notions about cowboys."

"Hey!" Ryan said, turning back to look at him. He tried his best to look offended, but he couldn't help his grin.

***

They took the train all the way to the station in Denver, where Ryan hired a coach to get them to the ranch. The ride was miserable at best, the hard wheels of the stagecoach bouncing against the half-worn tracks. Ryan glanced at Spencer, and could tell from the look in his eyes that he would owe his friend a great deal for this suffering. For everything.

Eventually, they reached the ranch. The track turned off through a gate, green fenced paddocks cleared in the spaces before the buildings. Ryan turned his head, trying to see the valley through both windows and smiling to himself. This was not Charleston; this was freedom.

As they drew nearer to the actual house, Ryan noticed a man standing on the front porch. He was...

Not what Ryan had expected at all. Spencer might have made fun of him for his romantic notions, but the words "cattle rancher" did conjure up a specific image. This simply did not match it. The man was short, and while not fat, he was perhaps a little on the soft side; he was also surprisingly pale, and wearing a clean cap and spectacles.

The stagecoach finally stopped and the driver got up on top, tossing Spencer's bag and Ryan's smaller one to the ground before sitting back down and driving off. Ryan got out and started walking, approaching the man on the porch. As he got nearer, Ryan could see that his face was pleasant enough; still, Ryan couldn't help the faint disappointment that flickered through him.

Ryan stepped up on the porch. "Mr. Urie?" he asked hesitantly.

The man blinked, and his eyes widened. "Oh! No, no, I'm not-- I'm not Brendon, I just work for him. I'm the foreman. Patrick Stump."

Ryan tried to tell himself he wasn't relieved. He introduced himself, and when he noticed Patrick looking past his shoulder, he stepped back and introduced Spencer, too.

"Those are your only bags?" Patrick asked, and Ryan nodded. "Here, I'll help with them. I wasn't expecting two of you," he looked at Spencer with light eyes, "but we can make do. I expect there will be some," he paused significantly, "shifting of accommodations shortly, in any case. Until then, do the two of you mind boarding together?"

"Not at all," Ryan replied, a thrill going up his spine at the thought of someday soon sharing a room, and a bed, with his future husband. "If I might ask, where is Brendon?" He couldn't resist.

Patrick stopped, hand on Spencer's bag. He sighed. "Rounding up the herd from the north valley with Jon and Joe. Should be back any day now."

"He actually... works the trail?" Ryan asked. Now that was more like it. He heard Spencer snort, and proceeded to ignore him completely.

"Yes. That's the problem. He likes doing the dirty work himself, but his family, from whom he inherited this whole operation, think it's disgraceful. They want him to settle down and run the ranch, not work it. They set an ultimatum weeks ago: Brendon was to settle down and marry, or they'd give the ranch to another of his brothers and he'd have to find another way to make his living."

"He's in danger of losing this?" Ryan asked, looking over his shoulder at the front paddock.

"That's where you come in. He's so stubborn, he refused to listen to his family. But I know they're serious. I figured if I had you here, he'd be less likely to say no."