"Where The Wildflowers Root"
Chapter 2: Sparks Of Hope Blooming
Pairings: Black OC reader x Rhett Abbott
Content Warnings: Emotional trauma, Grief (death of family), Light language, Dissociation, References to alcohol use
Word count: 3.7k
Chapter masterlist
“Bloom beautifully, dangerously, loudly
Bloom softly, however,
You need just bloom.”
Rupi Kaur
Rhett
The morning sun grazed across my face, reminding me another day had started. If I could do anything I wanted, it sure as hell wouldn’t be this. Over the years, drinking ‘til I was drunk off my ass and waking up next to a stranger every weekend got old. I ain’t much for commitment with most. The women in this town are all the same.
Now I ain’t saying I never fell in love — but that was years ago. High school, to be exact. After that, I chose the simple road: nothing long-term. It was easier, especially with the long hours I put in working the family ranch. After Dad died, nobody was left to tend the land, and I’ll be damned if I let them Tillersons have the last laugh. They’d always hoped our ranch would fall apart so they could buy it out. Mama never did the heavy work — Dad liked it that way. Now she’s too old, and I’d rather she enjoy her golden years than worry ‘bout ranch business.
The work’s hard. Hours are long. And over time, it’s damn near killed my joints. Just another reminder I ain’t as young as I used to be.
With a heavy sigh, I got up and headed over to Mama’s. Sometimes she acts like I’ve died just ‘cause I ain’t stopped by in a few days. Somebody’s gotta do the nitty-gritty work around here, and I’m only one man. Excuse me if I don’t have the energy to swing by and say hello every day.
Of course, she does what mamas do to sons who are unmarried and childless — gives me that long look of worry and starts talkin’ ‘bout how I ain’t gettin’ any younger. Like I don’t know that already. And like always, I give her the same answer: “I’m lookin’ for something different, Mama. I don’t know what, but when it comes, I’ll know. I ain’t settlin’ for some plain Jane. If I never find her... then maybe I just wasn’t meant to be married.”
The thought lingers in my mind as I make my way to the beat-up truck I’ve had since Dad passed. I bought it for myself as a kind of reward. With everything that happened back then, I damn well earned it. I’ve always liked the silence — never been a man for background noise. Gives me space to think.
Mama was in a surprisingly pleasant mood when I got to her place.
“Hey, Mama. What’s got you so chirpy this mornin’?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “yesterday I ran into this sweet girl at the park. She’s not from around here — you could just tell — but she was strugglin’ to get settled. My heart just wouldn’t let me walk away. So I gave her that little cottage your daddy and I started workin’ on before he passed. Maybe she can bring some life back into it.”
She kept talking — about utilities, contractors, and whatnot — but I stopped listenin’ after a while. Couldn’t believe she handed over that cottage. That place meant somethin’. But if Mama was willing to give it to a stranger, that girl must’ve made a hell of an impression. And Mama don’t impress easy.
Her face lit up every time she mentioned this mystery woman. I made a mental note to stop by and introduce myself — maybe catch her before she started her day. After kissing Mama on the cheek, I headed back to feed the animals. Betsy, my horse, was already fussin’. She acts like breakfast should be ready on the dot every damn day.
I love that damn horse more than I probably should. She’s a pain in the ass, stubborn as all hell, and only listens to me — but we’ve got a bond. Hell, she might be the only reason I didn’t drink myself into the grave after Dad died. I owe her my life. And as long as I’m breathin’, she’ll be safe.
Summer
Ever wake up questioning your entire existence? That’s where I’m at right now. It’s not that I hate the change of scenery — it’s just that things got complicated way too fast. Sure, my old life was boring and predictable, but at least it was mine.
Overwhelmed, I called the one person who could cut through the chaos: Elaine. No filter, all heart.
I hit FaceTime and, of course, she answered on the first ring. “Damn, homegirl! Took you so long, I could’ve written a whole damn book!” she shouted.
“Elaine, it wasn’t even that long,” I laughed. “You know it takes 40 days and 40 nights messin’ around with Greyhound buses.”
“Then why’d you take the bus? You could’ve flown. Hell, even a train! That sounds like a you problem, boo.”
“Because it was cheaper,” I groaned. “That money I saved is what I’m usin’ for food and a security deposit if I need one.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how you own a whole business.”
“You know you love me.”
Elaine was always boy-crazy. In high school, I gave up tryin’ to keep track. I swear, one time I checked her location and she was in Atlanta. But she’s brilliant when she puts her mind to it — even if she never stops talking.
After promising to call her tomorrow, we ended the call. Not before she yelled, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy!” while doing an unprovoked demonstration. Only Elaine.
Still laughing, I raced around the cottage, doing my best to get ready. Minimal effort — just jeans, a shirt, grandma’s pendant tucked under my blouse. With my purse slung over my shoulder, I hopped on the bike sweet Mrs. Cecilia let me have.
That’s when I hit the pavement — and a beat-up truck.
I hit the ground with a hard thud. I wasn’t hurt, but the embarrassment was killer. A gorgeous man rushed over, panicked, eyes wide with concern. His voice — rich, deep, Southern — washed over me like warm molasses.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone gentle.
I couldn’t even speak. I just nodded, even though my whole body said otherwise. He offered both hands, pulling me up. His scent hit me like Mama’s red beans and rice — safe, familiar.
When he caught sight of the cottage behind me, he smiled.
“So you’re the woman who got my mama’s attention,” he said with a soft laugh, offering his hand. “Name’s Rhett.”
I smiled, gaining my footing again. “I’m Summer. I met your mother yesterday at the park.”
He chuckled, then added smoothly, “The only other Summer I know is my niece. But I sure as hell ain’t complainin’.”
We talked briefly before I mentioned I had errands to run. Rhett grabbed my arm and scribbled his number down.
“Ain’t no way you’re carryin’ groceries on that bike. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come get ya.”
I tried to sass him — I don’t like being told what I can or can’t do — but one look from him shut me right up. It said, “Try me, and I’ll fix that sass real quick.” Or maybe that was just my dirty mind. Either way, I didn’t argue. I just smirked, grabbed the bike, and peddled toward town, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
Summer
After 30 minutes of pedaling and my thighs screaming in protest, I finally made it into town. Out of breath, I pulled my phone from my purse and checked the time — nearly 1 PM. I hustled over to the flower shop. There was too much to do today and here I was, lollygagging like I didn’t have responsibilities.
As soon as I stepped through the door, a wave of floral bliss hit me. My green-thumb heart nearly exploded. I fought the smile tugging at my lips — I’d have to get used to suppressing it if I wanted this job. Selling the “chirpy” persona was the only way I’d seal this position.
Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the counter and met the eyes of an older woman — maybe even older than Mrs. Cecilia. She smiled with a look that said “I’ve been expecting you.” That same look I’ve been getting a lot more of around here than I ever did back home.
Without saying a word, she handed me an application on a clipboard and pointed to a chair near the front. I rushed to fill it out and brought it back when I was done.
“You’ll be working front desk most of the day,” she said, “and spending a few hours a week in the greenhouse for hands-on training.”
She introduced herself as Ms. Katherine, and I made a mental note not to forget it. Then she handed me a folder — inside was my schedule, pay rate, uniform checklist… and oddly enough, a small packet of seeds labeled Peace Lily.
I tilted my head. “Uh…what’s this?”
With a playful smirk, she said, “Your first assignment — get that peace lily to sprout.”
So that was her game. She was testing me — making me prove my worth. And Lord, I was up for the challenge. If there’s one thing I hate more than cheesecake, it’s people underestimating my determination. With the folder tucked under my arm, I flashed her a confident smile and headed out.
As I stepped outside, I looked down at my arm — Rhett’s number was still scrawled there, perfectly readable. Of course I wasn’t about to tell him how attractive he was — not to his face anyway. In my head though? Whew.
I hit the call button.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My heart deflated a little before he picked up — voice deep, rich, and breathless.
“Hello?”
“Hey… it’s Summer,” I said, trying to sound casual. “If you’re not too busy, could you take me to the grocery store and back home? I’m kinda wiped from the bike ride.”
I could hear the smile in his voice before he even said anything.
Then, from the background: “Betsy! Will you give me a damn minute?! You’ll get your lunch in a second, I’m on the phone!”
Was he… yelling at a horse?
Yep.
I heard it right — that man was arguing with a pissed-off horse named Betsy over lunch. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned for his safety.
He came back on the line, apologizing for Betsy’s outburst. I tried to muffle a giggle.
“You still at the flower shop, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” I replied, still grinning.
“Alright. Let me finish up here. I’ll be there in twenty minutes tops.”
“See you then, Rhett,” I said before hanging up.
He showed up in fifteen.
Skipping toward his truck, Rhett hopped out and lifted my bike into the back. I slid into the passenger seat and buckled in.
“Mind if I turn on the radio, cowboy?”
He arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Whatever keeps you in that good mood of yours is fine by me, hun.”
I giggled and asked for the closest grocery store.
“Ten minutes up the road,” he said.
“Okay, lemme unlock my card before we get there or I’ll forget again — you don’t even wanna know how many times I’ve done that.”
As I pulled up my banking app, my phone… died.
Seriously?
I let out a frustrated yell. “Of all times to act up, now?! What am I supposed to do?”
Rhett just smiled and leaned back, cool as ever.
“Well, for starters,” he said, “I can take you home, grab a plate from Mama’s, and bring it back. Once your phone charges, we’ll head back to the store. Don’t you go worryin’ that pretty little head of yours now. Ain’t no reason to ruin that sweet smile that was just on your face.”
And just like that, I felt small again. Not in a bad way — just... vulnerable. Tears brimmed in my eyes, and all I could do was nod.
The ride home was quiet — and I was thankful. I hate how I shut down when things get stressful. Like my voice disappears. I felt the same way when my brother died. He was our voice — mine and Mama’s. When he left, a piece of mine went with him.
We still need you, Jackson. We always will. But now you’re not here. And sometimes I feel like I was so busy trying to fix Mama’s broken heart, I forgot to tend to my own.
We pulled into the driveway, and that’s when I noticed the plate of food bagged on the dashboard.
Had I really zoned out so hard I didn’t even notice him stop by his mama’s? I must’ve dissociated. The realization made me panic — but Rhett didn’t rush me. He gave me space.
Once inside, he placed the food on the counter and then — slowly, carefully — wrapped me in a hug.
That’s when my body betrayed me.
I cried.
Not a soft, pretty cry — the kind that drenches someone’s shirt. But Rhett didn’t say a word. He just rubbed small circles on my back and held me like I wouldn’t break.
Eventually, I felt my feet leave the ground.
I didn’t fight it.
I just melted into him as he carried me to the bedroom. He laid me down gently, pulled the covers over me, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Then, without a word, he started tracing the lines on my palm — soft, slow, comforting. My eyes grew heavy, and the goddess of sleep pulled me under.
The last thing I remember was the warmth of his hand…
…and the quiet fall of a cowboy’s tear landing softly on my arm.
