Jun 26
Savannah - Doesn’t her ass look great?
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Savannah - Doesn’t her ass look great?
older southern rancher x younger southern belle (black reader)
Synopsis: a young woman on her way to a town get-together suddenly enthralled by the beauty of two horses. A mature rancher working the stables enthralled by the beauty of a young woman.
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She walked down the dusty dirt road in the late afternoon heat on her way to the town’s monthly fish and fry social. Quite a big deal in these parts. If you didn’t pop in even for a second everyone would be checking in on you. Barring homemade sweets and invites to Sunday dinners. It was a village. She wasn’t a very social girl but she liked being around people, helping out where she could. Plus it gave her a reason to dress up. Little daisy dukes and a frilly top that exposed her torso. In the blistering southern heat she made sure to wear as little clothes as she could get away with.
The moment she stepped out of the cool house she felt her curls grow in size from the humidity. She didn’t mind it. Folks seemed to like it and it gave her an excuse to wear her daddy’s old stetson.
She rounded the corner and just down the road the familiar faces of her community came into view. A smile graced her face like a reflex. But something else caught her attention. A ranch just right of her stood quiet save for the neighs of two horses. One brown and one white. Two of the most beautiful horses she’d ever seen.
Before she knew it her boots were scuffing up dirt as she hurried to get a closer look. She stepped up on the fence leaning over it in awe. Their coats were glossy under the sun, manes dancing like flames in the wind. She watched them, child-like wonder in her eyes as they noticed her presence and drew closer and curious themselves.
“Well aren’t ya’ll just beautiful?” She cooed, tilting her head. The brown horse let out a blow nudging her exposed shoulder. Without another thought she softly glided her hand down the smooth coat of the horse’s neck.
She hummed unconsciously as she switched her attention between the two horses.
It wasn’t long before the sound of boots on gravel came from the stables. A man, kissed by the sun, stepped out wiping his hands on a rag. He was tall, broad shouldered, with a beard that had begun graying. His arms glistened with sweat and hay as he crossed them.
He paused when he saw her, brows furrowed at the unfamiliar girl making friends with the horses. Her brown skin practically glowed under the beaming sun, a smile pretty as a magnolia stretched across her lips as her brown curls fell in her face as a hot wind blew. He couldn’t help but smile a slow, knowing grin that made her stomach flip.
“You lost, darlin’?” he drawls, voice rough but somehow as smooth as whiskey.
She blushes, suddenly aware of how invasive her actions had been, stepping off of the fence she shakes her head. “No sir, just admiring your horses.”
“They ain’t mine sadly,” he says, stepping closer. “They’re my brothers. Just watching ‘em while he’s away.”
“Oh.” She fidgets with her nails suddenly nervous. “Well they’re beautiful.”
He leans against the fence beside her, close enough that she can smell the hay and leather on him. He studies her for a long moment. “You headed to the fish and fry?” he glances down at her attire, not in judgement but with something genuine.
In the distance the social was already in full swing. She nods, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You goin’?” He shakes his head pushing off of the fence, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nah too much to get done around here.”
She studied him. His jaw and the way he’d occasionally clench it. His eyes were low and kind. The way his gaze kept darting down to her legs. She felt all warm inside.
“You should come.” She says, surprising even herself. “Even if it’s just for a little while.” She leaned closer so close that he could smell honey in her hair.
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “And why’s that sweetheart?” She shrugs looking down at her dusty boots. “The music’s good. The foods real good and the company is even better. They’ll take good care of you I promise.”
He smiles at her shaking his head. He had to admit with the way she was looking at him, so hopeful and genuine he almost caved. “That sounds tempting but the ranch ain’t gon run itself babydoll.” She pouts, glancing down the road again.
Laughter carries on the wind, mixed with the faint twang of a guitar and the smell of fried catfish drifting through the heat. It tugs at her, familiar and warm. Easy.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip for just a second. When she turns back, his gaze is already there, low, steady, fixed on her mouth like he hadn’t looked away once. Something in her chest tightens.
She lets her lip slip free slowly, breath catching just a little, and for a moment neither of them says a word.
“Well,” she murmurs, softer now, almost to herself. “S’pose it ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
His brow lifts. “What ain’t?” She gestures vaguely toward the distant music, then drops her hand, eyes flicking back up to his. “The fish fry.” A beat passes. The corner of his mouth tugs like he knows something she don’t.
“And you ain’t goin’?”
She shakes her head, curls bouncing, that same easy sweetness returning, but there’s something new tucked underneath it now. Something a little more deliberate. “I think I might stay a spell,” she says. “If you don’t mind the company.”
He studies her for a long second, like he’s weighing something heavier than the question calls for.
Then he exhales through his nose, bringing up a hand to adjust his hat. “Long as you don’t scare the horses off.”
That smile of hers comes quick and bright. “I think they like me.”
“Mm.” He glances back at the brown one, who’s already nudging closer again. “Reckon they might.”
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The work starts simple.
He shows her how to scoop feed, his voice low and patient as he explains, though his eyes keep drifting back to her like he can’t quite help it. She listens close, closer than she needs to, nodding along, brushing curls from her face with the back of her wrist.
“Like this?” she asks, tipping the bucket a little too fast.
Grain spills over the edge.
He huffs a quiet laugh, stepping in behind her before she can fix it. “Easy now–”
His hands come around hers to steady the bucket.
It’s brief. Practical.
But he doesn’t pull away right off.
Her breath stills.
His chest is close, close enough she can feel the heat of him on the bare skin of her back. One of his thumbs shifts just slightly against her knuckles, adjusting her grip.
“There you go,” he says, voice rougher than before.
She nods, though she’s not sure she’s heard a word of it.
When he steps back, the air feels different. Thinner somehow.
They fall into a rhythm after that.
She follows him from task to task, asking questions she half knows the answers to just to hear him talk. He keeps giving short replies, but they’re softer now, less guarded. Every now and then she catches him watching her when he thinks she ain’t looking. Tired eyes watching her hips when she walks a little ahead of him. Her waist when she stretches, back arching from the relieving sensation.
When she tries to carry a heavier pail, he stops her with a hand at her elbow.
“Too much,” he mutters.
“I can handle it,” she insists, lifting her chin.
“I know you think you can,” he says, not unkind. His grip lingers just a second longer than necessary before he takes the pail from her. “Don’t mean you gotta.”
She doesn’t argue after that.
Not when his hand slides away slowly like that.
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By the time the sun starts dipping, the light turns everything gold.
The horses are settled, the work near done. Crickets begin their song at the edges of the fields, and the music from the town drifts softer now, like it’s a world away.
She leans against the fence again, a little tired, a little flushed, watching him finish up.
“You always work this late?” she asks.
“Most days.”
She tilts her head. “By yourself?” He shrugs, wiping his hands off again. “Ain’t much trouble.”
She watches him a moment longer.
Then, quieter, “Seems like it might get lonely.”
That makes him pause. Just for a second. When he looks at her again, there’s something different in his eyes. Not as easy. Not as distant. “Sometimes,” he admits.
The word settles between them.
She shifts her weight, fingers curling over the fence rail. “Well,” she says gently, “don’t seem so bad today.”
He looks at her for a minute. There was no doubt in his mind that she had the boys in town trailing after her. Waiting for her down at the fish and fry ready to flock and attend to her every need. But here she was. With him.
A pretty young thing looking up at him with those eyes that could get her anything she wanted. He slightly shook his head in disbelief at his own luck.
“You thirsty? Got some lemonade from Mrs. Tinsley fresh this mornin’ don’t mind sharin’.” She smiled pushing off of the fence with a nod. “Parched.”
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it’s not looking good, but when did it ever
you’ll both always be loved
Do you like me with bangs?