Lane Jeffreys | Humble Cowboy

Lane only went to the local one-room school house once growing up. He couldn’t sit still long enough to learn anything besides how to get on the teacher’s last nerve.

But he didn’t need school to learn about the world. He was smart in every way he thought mattered. He knew his ranch, knew his cows, knew his horses and all the best knots and when to use them. And even despite all the solitude ranch life brought, Lane knew people too.

Visitors at Bright Star Ranch were rare. Two in the same month was unheard of. Lane would’ve scoffed at the notion if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

It was raining the day the first visitor came. The kind of rain that fell in sheets and always sounded the best on the farmhouse roof, but was the worst for riding. He remembered seeing your horse, an old Dapple Grey that looked like it’d rather be anywhere else than running in that kind of weather. But it was hard to make a horse do anything it didn’t want to. Maybe it was your riding skill that made him wave you over. Or maybe it was the pitiful droop of your hat brim and the mud that caked your boots. Lane couldn’t say.

It turned out you were a cowboy like him, one with nothing to your name but the horse you rode and the clothes on your back. You were looking for honest work, and although Lane could handle things just fine on his own, he thought he could use the company. He took you in on the spot, finding your horse a place in his stable, and getting you a dry change of clothes. You’d barely been settled a few weeks when the second visitor came.

The Sheriff was less than friendly to Lane. He talked slowly, and at a volume just above what would be considered conversational. He explained, condescendingly, that a young woman had been presumed kidnapped from another ranch two towns over. The outlaw took the girl, and a horse, but left no ransom or any other clues.

Lane heard the man out, albeit begrudgingly. But he knew it could have been seen as suspicious to send him away. So instead Lane nodded along as the sheriff rattled off the details. The bad weather on the day the girl disappeared, the way the sheets of rainfall had obscured the abduction. The stolen horse was a Dapple Grey– an odd choice when there were younger and more capable horses in the same stable. He even gave a description of the woman, which suddenly made Lane very glad you were still asleep inside.

It wasn’t until evening, Lane had worked out what he wanted to say to you. The sun was setting as you both made the walk from the stable to the farmhouse. Conversation about what was for dinner lulled, and Lane took a moment to admire you in silence. The way that the painted sweet citrus hues of the sky danced across your tired face.

In a sudden burst of courage, Lane decided to speak. His words were a bit stilted, but they were earnest as they fell from chapped lips.

“Y’know, partner. Yer safe here, and I mean that.” Lane started, picking dirt from his nail beds to avoid your gaze. He didn’t know how to do this, but you were a man he’d come to respect in the short time you’d been with him at the ranch. And he didn’t want his figuring out your past to spook you. Lane swallowed before he continued. “If there’s anything you ever wanna get off yer chest I’ll be here. I’ll listen y’hear?”

The last words were nearly carried away on the breeze, punctuated by him hopping up onto the porch steps. Lane turned to you then with his usual tired smile, anxious for your reaction to a rare bit of vulnerability on his part.