In the dreary, yawning hours of the pale morning, Merle stalked the outer fencing of the horse's exercise paddock; testing rails, making sure nothing needed repair, which was so often the case on Misty Grove, the ranch he'd worked at for fifteen years.
He'd keep his back to the farmhouse. Casting no wandering eye to see if she was there. Carlotta, the rancher's wife, would ring the breakfast bell. Only once he'd steeled himself, would he turn; assured that the barrier was strong, in place and secure.
Only then could he indulge in breakfast with the woman he longed for.
Horrorshow about 8 years ago
Excellent drabble. Reminded me of "All the Pretty Horses" by Cormac McCarthy.