Fic: Anywhere, Say Anywhere (As Long I'm with You) [1/6]
Anywhere, Say Anywhere (As Long I'm with You)
Jon/Spencer (past Jon/Cassie, Spencer/Haley) | NC-17 | ~55k

Warnings: Kidfic. Minor character death in the past.

As the head of guest services at Oakhart Ranch, Jon Walker's supposed to make sure everything's running as smoothly as possible, even when Spencer Smith, former rodeo champion, comes rolling into town to help his former mother-in-law keep the ranch from going under. Jon's never heard anything good about Spencer, but Spencer's never anything but helpful and generally awesome to Jon and his infant daughter. Suddenly living on in the middle of nowhere Wyoming doesn't seem so bad...

Thank you to harriet_vane and foxxcub for holding this challenge. Thank you to anoneknewmoose (who is also to blame for all rodeo and horse knowledge, including the idea that Ryan Ross could actually be in a rodeo), nova33, and supergrover24 for their awesome beta work and also their encouragement. You are all wonderful, and I do not deserve any of you. Thank you to foxxcub for her silent cheerleading, and a big thank you to stephanometra for her prodding and prompting and allowing me out of working on epic to get this monster tamed. Thank you to peridium for her 11th hour input, and thank you to stealstheashes for her help in naming Spencer's horse. ♥ you all.

Based loosely on the summmary for Cowboy Dad by Cathy McDavid. Title taken from Anberlin. Written for harlequin_bands

---

There is only one thing that Jon Walker absolutely hates about his job: the boots.

They're necessary if he ever wants to walk through the front door and onto the grounds. Sometimes the guests need to be walked to their activities, and it's just not practical to wander around a ranch in flip-flops. More and more he has to get up on a horse (thankfully, it's only sometimes, because even after living on a ranch for six months, he's still a city boy from Chicago), or he'll go on the night wagon rides.

But the boots pinch and make his feet sweat, and he sometimes wishes that he could just stay in his office all day and do paperwork. It's what Denise and Jerry, the ranch's owners, hired him to do. Head of Guest Services meant very little ranch-work; it meant a lot of paper work, making sure all the rooms were cleaned and all the meals were cooked, and a lot of running the check-in desk when someone called in. When he was in his office, he could take his boots off and dig his toes down into the soft carpet under his desk.

He'd be doing that now, except he's only going to be in here for a few minutes to check his voice mail. He leaves the door open and is making a note to call his mom when Denise comes into the room and closes the door behind her. "Jon, I need to talk to you."

Jon ignores the way his stomach tightens a little. "Yeah?" He leans against his desk and sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It's never good to hear that your boss wants to talk to you, especially after the time the ranch has been having. He remembers when he'd been really happy to work here, because he could usually find an hour or so during the day to take pictures or play his guitar or sneak down to the guest day-care and spring Allie, so she could go outside and see the horses.

Denise is in her late fifties, with silvered brown hair that she keeps tied back in a ponytail. She laughs at the look on his face, but her arms are tense. "It's nothing bad for you, Jon, I promise." She's gotten older in the past two months, paler with more lines on her cheeks. The roots of her hair look almost solid grey.

He puts down the phone and nods. "Then what's up?"

"I know we've been a little short staffed lately," she says carefully. She's looking out the window of Jon's office, the one that looks out to the mountains and the lush forests around them.

Jon came on board at the ranch at the end of tourist season, and he tries not to miss how smoothly things ran back then, when they had Jerry to make them lunch and check in on the ranch itself. He coordinated trail guides and helped guests pick out the gentlest horses, and Denise ran the books and made breakfast and dinner for everyone.

Then Jerry had a stroke at sixty-eight, and now there are whispered stories about the old ranch owner haunting the stable where he had it. Jon and Denise are managing, Jon working outside a little more to make sure that the trail guides are doing headcounts before and after every ride and occasionally showing the guests' children how to bottle-feed a calf. He took up cooking dinner on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Neither of them were expecting Paul--Jerry's second hand man on the ranch, the one who made sure that the working aspect stayed working--to put in his two weeks at the beginning of May, just when they were about to head into peak season. They made understanding noises, of course, because Paul was working six days a week, twelve-hour days, and he had a wife at home that he never saw. Jon even tried not to be bitter about it. (Jon tried not to think about how much he misses taking Allie outside to see the horses and seeing her grin in the daylight, showing off all four of her teeth, instead of after dinner when it's dark and they're alone in their tiny staff suite.)

Jon cooks lunch now, too, three days a week, and he helps with Sunday brunch even though Sunday was his only day off with just Allie. He makes enough coffee in the morning for all the ranch hands. He's going out on the wagon trails to help serve the guests dinner, playing guitar for them while Brendon sings and gets the female guests to dance with him. He's picking out the music for the dances they hold on Saturday nights, and he's only seeing Allie in the early morning when he carries her down to the daycare and at the end of the night, when he's picking her up.

She's almost ten months old, and he doesn't know if she's talking yet. He's already missed her standing on her own.

"Jon Walker, you're not listening to me," Denise says. She's close enough to poke him in the arm.

"Sorry," he says. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I was thinking about Allie." It's the safest thing to say, with the added benefit of being mostly true.

Denise smiles, soft and sad. "Don't apologize for thinking about your little girl." She pats his arm. "But I need you to make sure that you've got 4D opened up and ready by dinner."

He blinks. D wing is off the main house. It's for ranch staff, and he's not actually in charge of making sure their accommodations are up to snuff. "We overbooked?" It's something that Jon fears happening, now that he's too busy to monitor all the reservations coming in. It's almost happened to him once.

"No," Denise's voice sounds weird, and she sighs. "My son-in-law agreed to come help us until I can replace Paul."

He frowns a little. Denise never mentions her son-in law.

(The only reason he knows that the son-in-law exists is from the wedding picture sitting on the mantle. He knew Haley from other pictures, but he didn't know the young man standing with her, letting her pull him into focus with their fingers intertwined and the suns setting in the background. When he asked, Jerry grunted, "That's Smith. He married our Haley." No one brought up Smith again, and the wedding picture was swapped out with a picture of Haley graduating from high school.)

"Oh?" he asks. He doesn't want to pry.

"He's just the best I could get on short notice. He's driving up from Nevada with a friend of his, and 4D should be big enough for both of them." She rubs her eyes. She looks eighty, suddenly, shoulders frail and hunched. "I'm gonna need to change what we're having for dinner. I don't think I've got enough food."

Jon sighs. "I'll find out what Brendon's doing and see if he wants to help me. We can do sandwiches." Brendon is the trail guide who does most of the kid trails and goes with the wagons at night. He's also Jon's favorite person on the ranch staff and is always more than willing to help Jon with shitty chores when Jon's swamped.

"You're a good man, Walker." Denise pats his cheek and leaves as quietly as she came in.

***

Jon doesn't go directly to find Brendon. He makes a left instead of a right when he gets to the end of the hall and ends up in front of the daycare. It's almost time for their lunch, so the small group of kids—five toddlers and pre-schoolers and two babies besides Allie—are a little wild and cranky when he slips inside the daycare.

He waves to the young woman who runs the daycare, before he goes over to Allie's playpen and lifts her out. She's all smiles for him, babbling sounds that almost sound like "abdadada," and his throat feels tight to hear it.

"Hey, Allie-bean," he murmurs, walking her over to one of the windows, careful not to step on a three-year-old's blocks. "You being good?"

She stops babbling and blinks at him, and he grins at her. Allie's smile reminds him a little of Cassie, but she has his eyes and hair. It's already starting to get a little unruly, curling at the nape of her neck and along her ears, and he's dreading when it gets long enough that he has to put barrettes in it.

"Was I interrupting you?" he asks, and he kisses her cheek. She giggles like she always does, wrinkling her nose at the way his beard must feel against her skin.

Jon doesn't have time to sit down and read her part of a book, but he tells her about his day and promises that he'll have time to read to her when the day's over. She never stays awake for a whole story, but he likes the feeling of her dropping off to sleep in the bed next to him, how calm it makes him and how it reminds him that all the bullshit at the ranch is what he needs to deal with.

It almost makes up for how she looks at him with too-big brown eyes and calls, "Dadada," after him when he has to go back to work.

***

Brendon agrees to make the sandwiches, and Jon wipes down 4D after lunch. There are chores to do and tours to check on, and it's almost dinner before Jon realizes. He means to go ask Brendon about Smith, like he had when Brendon came back from visiting his family at Christmas, but he forgets by the time one of the guests gets dumped off her horse into a pile of horseshit and Jon has to be the one to make nice.

He's talking to Mrs. Lewis about how they're honestly going to try to make sure she gets the tamest horse possible for her next ride—after she's cleaned up and he's taken her clothes to soak in the laundry tubs—when he sees the blue Dodge truck rolling up the drive towards the main house. It's well after five by then, much too late for new guests to be arriving.

It also occurs to Jon that most of the guests don't come with horse trailers hitched to their trucks. The Oak Hart Ranch is a guest ranch. Their money comes directly from inexperienced tourists. None of their tourist activities are so rough that someone would want to bring their own horses; over half their guests have never ridden a horse outside of pony rides at a town fair.

"Can you excuse me, Mrs. Lewis?" he says with his best smile. "We've got a delivery, and my boss's sort of busy right now." He climbs onto the porch steps and nods his head towards the truck.

She pats his arm and nods. "You do that, Jonathan. I can expect you to help me pick out my next horse, though?"

Jon knows jack shit about horses, except that they have one called Striker that he is absolutely not allowed to ride. Brendon, who has worked on the ranch for years, isn't even allowed to ride him. "Sure," he lies. One of the ranch hands will help him out (he's pretty sure at least).

He doesn't watch her go back into the house; he's too busy watching the truck. It's earlier than Denise said Smith would get there, and he'd be lying if he said he wanted to be the one to greet him. Still, though, there's a small chance that the two passengers in the truck could be real guests, and he has to get out there with his game face on.

"Hey there," he calls when the truck rumbles to a stop. The driver's side window is open. "What can I do for you?"

The driver kills the engine and pushes the door open, and it's possible that Jon swallows his tongue a little, even if the guy is wearing sunglasses too big for his face.

"Hey, I'm Spencer," the guy says. He's taller than Jon, broad-shouldered with a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt on that's maybe a little too small for him, clinging to his stomach just enough to make it noticeable. It has the same effect on his arms, and Jon really shouldn't be looking at them. He works on a ranch, for god's sake. There are dozens of nice arms, but they usually don't come along with tilted hips and a ski-jump nose. He offers Jon his hand. "Is the owner around?"

"She's probably cooking. I'm Jon, Guest Services." He takes Spencer's hand and shakes it. Spencer's grip is firm, and, again, he lives on a ranch. There are plenty of kickass handshakes to be had.

"Good to meet you, Jon." Spencer pulls his sunglasses off, and his eyes are clear, crisp blue as he squints at the house. It takes him a minute to pull his hand back. "You guys haven't done dinner yet, right?"

Jon shakes his head and shifts his weight on his feet. The passenger is still sitting in his seat, calmly looking through a book. "Yeah, you guys looking for a room, or..."

"Oh, god, no." Spencer laughs, and now he seems nervous. "I, uh, Denise called me about helping out here. Just a temporary thing?"

"Oh," Jon says before he can stop himself. He hadn't expected-- The boy in the picture had been clean-shaven with his eyes closed and a smile that didn't look like it could stop. "You're Spencer Smith." The emphasis probably isn't necessary.

Something relaxes, and Spencer slumps a little. "Yeah, that's me." He scratches the back of his head. "We're a little early, but I kinda thought, since we were bringing the horses..."

"He means since we made the shitty drive in two days,” a dry, flat voice says from inside the truck before a skinny little guy folds himself out. Jon's seen some weird cowboy shirts, but he's wearing what looks like an honest-to-god floral blouse and a scarf lying flat over his shoulders. “We’re both tired of being stuck in the truck."

Spencer offers a tiny smile, and Jon can almost see how it could blossom into the one he saw in the picture. There are faint lines around his eyes that make him seem sad when he's not smiling. He can't help but give Spencer a small one of his own back, and Spencer's grows a fraction wider.

Jon might be really, really lonely.

"Jon, this is Ryan Ross. Ryan, Jon." Spencer leans against the truck, and Jon can hear the muffled sounds of the horses in the trailer. "D'you think you could go get Denise?" He shifts again, glancing at the house. Ryan stands close to him, and he doesn't look at Jon.

"Yeah, I can do that," Jon says. He gives another flash of a smile before he walks casually up back up onto the porch and into the house. The kitchen is right off the dining room, table already set for dinner, and he starts calling for her as he opens the kitchen door.

"What's up, Jon?" Denise has chicken piled high on a plate and two silver pans that are probably filled with green beans or maybe mashed potatoes. He knows they have fresh bread tucked in the pantry, and his stomach rumbles a little bit.

"Spencer and Ryan are outside. I think they want to know what to do with their horses."

She doesn't respond right away, using silver tongs to put the last few pieces of meat onto the plate. She pushes it over to him and strips off her oven mitts. "I guess I'll go see what's up out there." Her voice is pinched high, and she wipes her hands on her half-apron.

He puts on her mitts and picks up the plate to carry out to the table. "I can go out with you, if you need me to."

Denise shakes her head. "No, it'll be okay. Just get that chicken put out." She steps out of the kitchen and holds the door for Jon.

The plate's heavy with food, and it's a little bit of a struggle to get it onto the table. He manages though, before stealing over to the dining room window and watching. The angle's bad, and he can't really see Spencer's face or most of Denise. He can tell that Spencer's arms are crossed. Ryan's nodding though, even if he looks like he's watching something on the other side of the driveway--until he turns his head towards the window and raises his eyebrows, and Jon knows that Ryan can see him.

He steps away from the window and goes to get the green beans.

***

"Do you like these?" Jon asks Allie, picking up her spoon to gather a tiny mouthful of mashed sweet potatoes.

He likes dinners where he has to help serve the best, because it means he doesn’t have to cook for forty, and usually offers to do the dishes after, even if his food needs nuking. On those nights, he gets to eat at the kitchen table with Allie, giving her tiny bites off his plate. He likes to watch her pick soft vegetables up between her first finger and thumb and the faces she makes when she chews.

Then her nose wrinkles, and she spits the orange mash back out.

"Guess that's a no, there, Dad," Brendon says as he picks another piece of bread out of the basket. It's just the three of them of them with a massive tub of dirty dishes and the left overs that still need wrapped up and put in the fridge.

Jon reaches over with a napkin to wipe Allie's face and gives her another chunk of bread to chew on instead. "Shut up," he says playfully.

Brendon always ends up missing dinner because he's trying to get the wagon ride ready or whatever else he does. (Jerry used to joke that Brendon was worse than useless, but the guests loved him too much to take him off payroll.) He's also one of the few unmarried guys on staff who seems to genuinely like having Allie around when they're eating.

"Well, now you know. My sister's always saying that you've got to let kids eat everything once or they get picky and shi--crap." Brendon flicks his eyes at Allie and pulls a face for her. She giggles a little bit. "And Denise's mashed sweet potatoes are always sort of disgusting. There's, like, way too much salt." Brendon's plate is piled high with green beans and chicken that he's really only picking at.

"True." Jon pushes them around his plate. "My dad's are worse, though. Back home? He, like, puts a stick of butter in them, and you can taste the heart atta--" He stops when the kitchen door swings open and Spencer sticks his head in.

"Hey," he says when he sees Jon. "Denise said there's food left over?" He looks more tired than he did an hour ago, the fine lines around his eyes more pronounced.

Brendon stops eating and blinks. "Dude," he says, jumping up, and Jon tries not to smile. Brendon's also one of the few guys on the ranch that uses words like "dude" and "awesome." "Spencer Smith, it's been way too long."

Spencer laughs and comes the rest of the way into the kitchen. "Brendon, hey." He doesn't flinch when Brendon throws his arms around him, thumping Brendon's back twice before he pulls away. "I didn't know you still worked here."

"Hell yeah, I still work here." Brendon scrubs a hand through his hair. "Who else is going to take me in?" He turns back and looks at Jon, pointing to Spencer. "Dude, this is Spencer. He's the guy that got me my job way back when I was kicked out of my house and didn't know what the hell I was going to do. I thought I was going to be a hair dresser." Brendon never really talks about how he ended up at Oak Hart. He's talked a little about how he had a blow out with his parents and ran away from Las Vegas, but only in the context that they've made up and things are cool now.

"Spencer saved him from going hungry, obviously." Jon didn't notice Ryan come in, but he slides down into the chair next to Jon and grabs the bread basket.

"Shut the f--hell up, Ross." Brendon picks his plate up off the table and shoots Jon an apologetic look. Jon shrugs. He's not exactly the best at keeping his mouth clean in front of Allie. "My hair cutting skills are awesome."

Spencer fakes a cough that still sounds a hell of a lot like a laugh. "Sure, Brendon," he says as he comes over to the table with two plates. He slides the larger of the two in front of Ross and eases into the seat next to Brendon. "You would have been a hair dresser to the stars."

"Damn straight." Brendon sits back down and leans on his elbow. "Seriously, though, it's good to see you guys. Denise didn't mention that you were coming up to visit." There's something careful in his voice, and he's tapping a spoon against Allie's tray instead of looking at either Spencer or Ryan.

Spencer cuts a look at Ryan across the table before he says, "We're not visiting." His voice is a little strained. "We're gonna help her out a little, 'til she gets the staff situation under control."

"Oh," Brendon says. Allie pulls the spoon out of Brendon's hand, and he lets her, even though she starts to pound it down on her tray. "So you guys are still just doing whatever."

"Pretty much," Ryan says. He's staring at his plate, cutting his food into small pieces. "Not like there's much else to do."

Brendon forces a laugh and looks over at Jon. "Ryan and Spencer used to be, like, rodeo champions."

Jon glances over at Ryan, at the delicate set of his shoulders and thin wrists. "Rodeo champions?" He can't help but sound completely skeptical. Spencer as a rodeo champion, Jon could buy; he's got broad shoulders and strong arms. Ross, though, looks like he'd be tossed around by a summer breeze, let alone angry bulls.

Ryan rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything.

"Amateur circuit," Spencer says quietly. His shoulders are hunched, and he's shoving his food around without taking a bite. "We did team roping. The horses do most of the work."

"They have twelve-year-olds who do it, dude," Brendon cuts in, and he's grinning at Ryan. "Like, twelve-year-old girls. If they can do it, Ryan can totally do it, too."

Ryan flicks Brendon off. "Fuck you," he grumbles.

Spencer huffs out a laugh. "We're retired now, though."

Jon blinks. Despite the lines around his eyes and the beard, Spencer doesn't really look all that old, and Ross could probably pass for twenty if he put a little effort into it. "Retired?" He feels old at twenty-seven.

Brendon looks down at his hands, and Ryan makes a displeased noise in his throat. Spencer gets up from the table and goes to the cabinets. "You want water, Ry?" he asks.

"Yeah," Ryan says before busying himself with his plate.

Allie whacks her tray particularly hard, and Jon takes the spoon away from her and gives her a bottle instead. "Sorry," he says, and he doesn't know what he's apologizing for.

Spencer doesn't look at him when he comes back to the table and sets two water glasses down. "We retired when I was twenty-two." There's something final in the way he says it, and he sits back down quietly.

(It reminds Jon of asking Denise about Haley for the first time, when he saw a picture from her communion. She had almost the same blank look when she said, "That's Haley. She was our daughter. She died a few years back.")

It's hard not to notice that Spencer's not wearing a ring.

"I'm going to start the dishes, if you want to feed her," Brendon says quietly after a few tense minutes pass, and Jon pushes his plate towards him before he gets up to grab a jar of baby food out of the fridge and spoons a little into a bowl to microwave it.

He glances back at the table when he hears Allie's bottle hit the floor. Spencer picks it up, though, and sets it on the table. "Whose baby?" he asks. "Brendon?"

"Oh, no," Brendon says, and he's shaking his head emphatically. "I've got like seven nieces and nephews now. I so don't need that sort of aggravation in my life." He winks over at Jon before grabbing the roaster of mashed sweet potatoes and to feed down the disposal. No one ever eats those on the second day.

"She's mine," Jon says as he comes back to the table. “Her name’s Allison.”

"She's cute." Spencer smiles at Allie before he turns it on Jon, and Jon feels the back of his neck grow warm. "She's got your eyes."

"She doesn't have my nose, though, thank god," he says before he angles the high chair towards him and lifts a spoonful of what is supposed to be chicken and dumplings but looks and smells a little like the dog food they use on the ranch. "Open up, Allie-bean."

She leans forward with her mouth open, and he can feel Spencer watching them.

"I don't think your nose is all that bad," he says after a moment, almost thoughtfully. "Definitely seen worse."

Jon glances over at him, and Spencer's still sort of smiling. "Thanks?" he says before he shoots a look over at Brendon. Brendon just shrugs and goes back to rinsing off plates to throw in the dishwasher.

Spencer sighs and pulls back from the table. Most of his dinner is still sitting on the plate. "I think I'm going to turn in," he says, and he's looking at Ryan now.

Ryan raises his eyebrows and takes another bite. He doesn't move to get out of his seat.

"I'll see you around, Brendon, Jon." Spencer finishes his water and grabs another piece of bread. "You, too, Allie?" He flicks a look at Jon, like he's not sure if he's allowed to use a nickname.

"Allison's a very big name for a little girl," Jon says, nodding at him.

"Okay. I'll see you around, then." Spencer ducks out of the kitchen, and a few more minutes of tense quiet pass, the only sound coming from Brendon washing forks and knives, until Ryan clears his throat and asks about the weather.

***

Jon forgets about Mrs. Lewis until he's crossing the yard with a clipboard full of trail maps and things to give over to Spencer and Ryan. He'd meant to do it earlier, at breakfast, but Allie woke up in one of her moods where she wanted to whine and roll away from him when he tried to change her diaper or get her dressed. By the time he hit the table, they were down to half-burned scrambled eggs and a few pieces of rye toast. Spencer was long gone, and rides were supposed to start in an hour.

He's still trying to swallow around a mouthful of toast when Mrs. Lewis falls into step beside him. "Jon," she says warmly. She's wearing a pair of black jeans that look brand new, and her white t-shirt has fold lines. "You said you'd help me find a calm horse?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he says. He remembers her name a full second before he remembers why he's supposed to be helping her. "Yeah, Mrs. Lewis." He lets her take his arm while she picks her way through the yard towards the stable. Her nails look freshly painted when she digs them into his skin, and he grimaces a little instead of pointing out that she probably could have canned the debutant look.

"I can't thank you enough. I've had the worst luck with your horses." She sighs and pats his arm. "How do you manage them?"

He almost wants to say that his misspent youth on the Chicago music scene taught him well, but he's pretty sure Mrs. Lewis wouldn't get the humor, with her expensive earrings that twinkle when she tilts her head. They are just begging to land in a pile of horse shit.

The tack room door's open when they get there, and Jon's really hoping to find Brendon. Brendon's great with guests who are too stupid to understand that new clothes and gaudy jewels are not the best idea when you're prepping to go on a horse ride.

It's Spencer though, head bowed as he cleans tack. He doesn't look up until Mrs. Lewis loudly clears her throat, and even then Spencer stares at her with a weird set to his mouth.

Jon gives an apologetic wave. "Hey, Spencer," he says. He still has a map of the trails tucked until his other arm. "We need the gentlest horse you've got." He nods his head over to Mrs. Lewis as he steps away. "She's been having some issues with her rides the past few days."

"I keep falling off into animal..." She wrinkles her nose; "shit" apparently one of those words that leaves her mouth dry. "And I need something that will just walk and not try to throw me off."

Spencer keeps a straight face, nodding, but when he looks at Jon, Jon can tell he's trying not to laugh. "All right. I can see who we've got left," he says before starting to turn towards the corral.

"He seems nice," Mrs. Lewis says when Spencer walks away, out towards the corral and probably the ranch hands that can tell him which of the horses she hasn't tried. Jon is starting to really hope that Mrs. Lewis either gives up on horseback riding or leaves early, partial refund be damned. "I don't think I've seen him around much."

Jon shrugs. "He's a good guy." He doesn't really know what else to say to that. "He's related to my boss."

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Lewis starts walking down along the stalls, glancing in to look at the horses. Jon follows her in case she decides to do something really stupid, like stick her hands next to one of the horses' mouths. He wouldn't exactly put it past her at this point, and most of the horses that they haven't taken out are either personal horses that belong to the staff or the ones that really will try to eat your fingers.

Mrs. Lewis stops down at the end, at the last three stalls, at the last three horses that are watching them with solemn eyes. Jon doesn't know a damn thing about horses, but he's gotten used to picking out the different ones based on their colors and markings, and he's pretty sure that he hasn't seen them. They're probably the horses Ryan and Spencer brought. "Why aren't these ones out in the corral?" Mrs. Lewis asks, and she reaches her hand out to touch the first one. It’s a palomino, tossing its head proudly.

Jon puts a hand around Mrs. Lewis’ wrist and forces a smile when she glares at him. "These are working horses, ma'am. I don't know if they're safe for you to touch." Mrs. Lewis puffs up a bit, and he lets her hand go, stepping back with his hands out in front of him. He makes his smile wider, giving her the same look he used to give his mother when he broke something, all wide eyes and just a bit of faked fear.

"Well," she says, but she softens a little when the first horse sticks its head out a little, sniffing at her and Jon. "They are handsome animals."

"And spoiled." Spencer comes back into barn then, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. "She's entirely too used to hand-outs to be trusted." He touches the horse's neck, fingers splaying out a little, before he looks back at them. "They've got a horse ready for you, if you're still interested in riding."

Mrs. Lewis nods, smoothing her hands down along her sides. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." She steps away from Jon to put her hand on Spencer's arm.

Spencer glances at Jon, and Jon has to duck away. His mouth is twitching, and Spencer's eyes are shining even under the shadow of his hat. "You take care of her, Smith. These are the trails," he says, waving the clipboard with one hand. He doesn't think Spencer can tell he's holding back laughter from his voice, but it's a close thing. "Just so you don't get any guests lost."

"I'll do my best, Walker," Spencer says, and he's smirking when Jon chances to look back. He's not looking at Mrs. Lewis at all.

***

Mrs. Lewis leaves that Saturday morning, and Jon has never been so glad to see a guest leave. She never found a horse that wouldn't toss her ass-backwards into the mud or worse, and he's pretty sure that even Brendon was sick of her by the end.

He mentions her over the staff's Saturday brunch, the only meal where Jon doesn't feel weird dragging Allie's high chair out into the main dining room and feeding her scrambled eggs while everyone bitches about the guests that have just left or the returning ones that will be here for the two-o'clock check-in.

Ryan and Spencer are towards the other end of the table, with Brendon, and he can only hear snippets of their conversation. He knows that Spencer's bitching about Mrs. Lewis though, when he hears "white jeans" float up from their end of the table.

"She wanted me to comp her for those," he says, loud enough that they can hear him.

Spencer looks up first, and he groans out loud. "You serious?"

Jon nods. "She threatened to never come back." He breaks another piece of toast in half and puts it on Allie's tray. "It was pretty terrifying." He knows he's grinning wider at Spencer than the situation merits, but Spencer's grinning back just as hard, eyes crinkling at the corners.

He pretends not to notice the way their conversation lulls there, that Brendon and Ryan are both watching them with raised eyebrows and that Denise is doing the same when Jon turns back to check on Allie.

***

Jon still has to cook three meals a week, but he doesn't have to get up at the ass crack of dawn for Sunday brunch anymore. There's still too much to do--Spencer and Ryan haven't settled into the routine yet, and there are just more and more reservations to sort through with the season coming, last- minute calls and people wanting to rearrange their weeks--but he has evenings where he can spend time with Allie now, nights where he's not too bone-tired to see her smile.

He likes to spend those nights in the main room of the lodge, in battered flip-flops that Denise keeps telling him to throw away instead of his too-tight boots, letting Allie hold onto his fingers so she can step away from the end table. She walks with unsteady and slow steps, but she grins so her whole face seems brighter, just before she squeals a little and over steps. He catches her and scoops her into the air, then, and she screeches and kicks her chubby legs.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he asks, with her still above his head. It's too warm now for her to wear undershirts, so he can see a little bit of her tummy poking out when he holds her like this, and it's too easy to bring her down and blow a raspberry against it.

She screams again and kicks her legs, and her little babble of "abada" sounds indignant when he sets her right, letting her grab his fingers again and start the same unsteady walk.

He hears Brendon come into the room before he sees him, and he doesn't look away from Allie's face as she takes two more steps, then another. He can see the moment she decides that she wants to go flying again, when her grin turns absolutely shit-eating and she pitches herself forward.

Jon's arms are starting to get tired, but he's missed time to do this, just to play with Allie instead of getting her ready for bed and then waking her up the next morning. If she pulls on his hair a little that time, when he starts to put her down before blowing another raspberry, that's okay, too.

"Dude, she's really loud," Brendon says that time, voice fond. He has his hands tucked into the back of his jean pockets. "Like, I could hear her all the way from the kitchen."

He shifts to holding Allie against his hip. "She could always be crying." He sits on one of the other couches though, picking up Allie's stuffed cat and making it dance a little so she grabs for it.

Brendon nods, and he looks over at the doorway that opens to the main hall. He can hear the guests starting to gather. It'll be dark soon. "We're heading out, for the wagon ride."

Jon makes the cat race up Allie's leg. "I know, dude. I make the schedules for the guests, remember?"

"I'm just saying that you could come with us. If you wanted." Brendon taps his foot against the wooden floor, and it sounds hollow. "You could go get a jacket for Allie. We'd wait for you."

Jon looks at Brendon, and Brendon's almost bouncing in place. He looks a little guilty. "What's up?" Jon's been here for six months, and he hasn't taken Allie out on a ride yet, hasn't gone himself just for fun. At first, it was just because Allie was way too young to go, but lately he's been too tired.

Brendon shrugs. "I was just asking, because we're gonna tell stories tonight, and Ryan's coming. He tells freaking awesome ghost stories, dude." He looks away from Jon and taps his foot again. "And the guests might like if you came. You're a cool guy, Jon Walker."

"Right," he says carefully before he puts his feet up on the coffee table like no one is really supposed to do. "I'm down for the night, Bren. Sorry."

"Jon Walker," Brendon says, and he sighs a little, shoulders sagging, before he picks himself back up and changes tactics. "Spencer's going to come. You could ride in the wagon next to Spencer." There's a weird little stress on Spencer's name, and he feels the tips of his ears going warm.

He taps the cat on his leg before Allie grabs for it. He lets her take it out of his hand. "Why would I care that Spencer was there?"

"Because." Brendon stands up straight, almost too casual, and Jon can tell he's trying not to grin. "Because Spencer was asking me about you today and after that little display at lunch, I think you want to ask me about him, so I think you guys should cut out the middle man and ask each other. Where I can watch and laugh at you both."

Jon very carefully puts both of his hands over Allie's ears so he can say, "Fuck you, Urie," before scooping her up and walking to the door.

"Come on, Jon. Marshmallows, firelight, Ross telling ghost stories. You're going to deny Allie that?" Brendon follows him, and his grin is almost shit-eating.

When Jon opens the door to the main hall, Ryan and Spencer are standing with the guests, and Spencer's giving a basic talk about safety while they're out in the woods. It's the first night, so most of the guests are doing the wagon ride, and they have to give the same speech every time.

"Don't walk away from the group. Stay by the fire," Spencer says, ticking things off his fingers. "If you think you hear something moving in the woods, don't go looking. Parents, be responsible for your kids. We're there to keep you safe, but we're not your baby-sitters." Jon's heard Brendon give the same speech a hundred times, but the way Spencer's glancing around the room, blue eyes intent and focused, make it seem a little more like a lecture, a little more commanding.

"Sure you don't want to come?" Brendon whispers, and Jon pulls away.

"Good night, Brendon," he says, picking his way through the guests towards the staff staircase. He pretends that he doesn't catch Spencer's eye just as Spencer starts talking about fire-safety or that Spencer smiles a little.

He definitely pretends that his stomach doesn't flip a little at that.

***

Jon wakes up the next morning to his phone ringing, and he tries to answer it before Allie wakes up. "Yeah?" he says, voice gruff as he tries to find the clock, just to see what time it is. Sundays are lazy days, the guests just getting settled into their routines. There's always a dance after the wagon ride, and they usually drink too much on the first night, up until the wee hours. He missed it all, but it's still his morning to sleep in.

He finds the clock on the floor between his bed and night stand; it's a little after seven in the morning.

"Jon?" It's Cassie, and he can hear the regret in her voice already. He'd be stupid not to know it after four years together. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

He closes his eyes. "It's cool. Just early out here in the Wild West, you know? What's up?" He stretches out on the bed a little.

"I just got a call about that dig in Ecuador," she says, and Jon sits up then. He remembers the dig in Ecuador. She called him about it two months ago, and it was the last time they actually talked on the phone instead of emails. It was also the last time he raised his voice in front of Allie. "They had someone drop out."

"Cassie," he says, even though he's not sure what he's going to say next. They had an agreement that he would take Allie so she could study, because she wanted to do her archeology thing.

"It's just that this will be such an awesome opportunity, Jon. I need experience like this." She's quiet when she says it, but he can hear I'm sorry behind the words, even if she's not saying it directly.

Allie makes a little sound from her crib, and he looks over. She's awake and staring at him, and she smiles when she sees him. He waves at her, and she sits up, reaching out for him to pick her up.

"Isn't it dangerous there?" He scrubs a hand over his face and gets up to pull Allie out of her crib. It's the easiest thing to mention. He doesn't want to fight again, concentrating on getting Allie ready for the morning. They don't have a changing table, just half an old flannel blanket that he tosses onto the bed before he can start getting her into a fresh diaper, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

Cassie sighs, and he can picture her slouching against the wall. She has both of their cats, and he wonders absently what's going to happen to them while she's in fucking Ecuador. "It's not that bad. I'll be spending most of my time on-site. I could be going to Africa or something."

She used to tell him stories about digs in Africa when she was in grad school, where most of the crew was shot and some of the women weren't found. "That's not as comforting as it should be, Cass."

"I know, Jon." She sighs. "But this is what I need to do this summer. I have to report in by the end of the week."

He finished taping up the old diaper, tossing it into a plastic shopping bag. "All summer?"

"Yeah. I'll be coming back the weekend before the term starts." She sighs again. "Jon, I wanted to see her, too."

Jon puts Allie onto the floor and watches her crawl over to her small pile of toys. She holds up a yellow car, showing it off to him with her nose scrunched up.

"Are you heading back for Christmas?" Cassie says with her voice small and pinched, like she's trying not to cry. "I missed you guys last year."

He closes his eyes and doesn't sigh. "Yeah, probably. Last year was just too hard." He spent last Christmas with Jerry, Denise, and the staff that didn't have homes to visit. It wasn't exactly how he wanted Allie to spend her first Christmas, but it wasn't like she was going to remember it later.

"Okay." She sighs. "I'll call you before I leave, all right? So you can have my address." Cassie's voice is careful and tentative, and Jon just feels tired, like he didn't sleep at all the night before. "And I'll try to call when I'm down there."

"It's okay." Jon crosses the room to pick Allie up off the floor. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore. He holds Allie close for a minute, listening to Cassie breathe before he sighs and asks, "You wanna talk to her?"

"Yeah." It's hard to miss how relieved Cassie sounds in one word.

He holds the phone up to Allie's ear and watches her face. She's still way too young to understand how phones work, but her dark eyes go wide anyway, body still in Jon's arm for all of three seconds before she's trying to grab the phone away from him and figure out what the hell is going on.

Jon waits until Allie absolutely will not hold her head still any longer before he takes the phone back. "She says 'Hey, Mommy,'" he tells Cassie, and he forces himself to smile even though she can't see it. "She wants to see you at Christmas, too."

"Jon, I'm sorry it turned out this way," Cassie whispers, and he knows that she's crying now. "I am so, so sorry."

"I know, Cass." He puts Allie back on the ground with her toys. "Look, I need to go get her breakfast, and there's some crap I have to do around work. Can I talk to you later?" He can't listen to her cry. It's only seven-thirty.

"Yeah, Jon. I need to call my parents anyway." She sniffs a little. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," he says and clicks the phone off. Allie is watching him solemnly, and she holds her car up again.

He leans down and takes the toy. "Thanks, kiddo."

***

Jon takes Allie downstairs after his shower, and the kitchen's empty while he makes them a quick breakfast. It's nice, to have the morning off just to be with Allie. It doesn't change the fact that his hands are shaking a little when he carries her out into the yard, towards the stable. "You wanna see the horsies, baby girl?" he whispers into her ear.

She doesn't smile back, though, staying close and tucking her head under his chin. She was like this the last time Cassie called, like she knew something was wrong but couldn't understand what. He kisses her temple and tries to pull her back. "Hey, it's okay," he whispers and turns so she can still see the horses.

He shouldn't be a comforted by the fact that she wants to cling, but he appreciates the quiet way they stay together, watching the ranch hands with the horses. He sees Spencer and Ryan after a few minutes, Ryan yawning and tugging on his hat. He's wearing another floral blouse, and Jon thinks there's a flower tacked onto his hat.

Spencer seems him first, waving across the yard, and Jon feels himself smiling in response, shifting his hold of Allie so he can wave back.

He doesn't expect Spencer to cross the yard, though, and his stomach tightens a little.

"Hey," Spencer says, leaning his arms against the fence. "I didn't think you'd be up this early."

Jon shrugs. "Allie doesn't really sleep in." He strokes her hair absently, watching the yard. He lets the conversation lapse.

Spencer doesn't move away, but he leans down a little, closer to Allie's level. He tries not to watch Spencer pull faces, puffing his cheeks out until Allie giggles, but he's only human. He turns his head away, so Spencer won't see him smiling.

"How are you?" Jon asks, when Allie starts to wiggle.

"Pretty good." Spencer's grin is a little embarrassed when he looks up at Jon. One of his gloves is off, and Allie's gripping at his finger. Jon's not sure how he missed that. "We're taking a group up after brunch, and Brendon's pretty sure that they've all been here before, so it's looking like an easy morning."

"That's good." Jon shifts a little. Allie's starting to get big enough that holding her for too long is hell on his back. "Makes things easier."

"Yeah." Spencer makes a soft growling noise, and Allie returns it, giggling.

Jon shakes his head and looks at Spencer. If he spends a little too much time realizing how broad Spencer's shoulders look in his light blue shirt, even if it's enough time to make his face feel warm, he doesn't think that he needs to mention it. "You want to hold her?" he asks quietly.

Spencer stands up straight. His smile is completely embarrassed and almost boyish as he pulls off his other glove and tucks them both into his back pocket. "Yeah," he says, and he holds out his hands.

Allie likes being held, and she's never had a problem being held by strangers, so it's probably his imagination that she seems to cuddle closer to Spencer than she does to other people. She sits up in Spencer's arms and traces his beard with her fingers, face screwed up in concentration.

"She does that sometimes." Jon shrugs.

"It's all right." Spencer doesn't look at Jon, making faces at Allie again. "Can I ask what happened to her mom?"

He sucks in a sharp breath and grips the fence with one hand. "What do you mean?" He doesn't know if he can talk about this, not so soon after the phone call. He can't be mad at her; he won't.

"I asked Brendon," Spencer starts, the roundest parts of his cheeks flushing, "about it, since it's sort of rare to see a single dad. He didn't give me a lot of details, and I was just curious..."

Jon licks his lips and glances over at the horses again. "There isn't a lot to tell. Her mom's in Massachusetts. She wanted to have a career and go to school, and..." He lets himself trail off for a minute before he looks back at Spencer, who's watching him now, rocking Allie back and forth.

"Cassie and I were already pretty much at that point, you know? When things are over." He sighs and rubs his eyes. "Then she found out she was pregnant. Cassie wanted to be an archaeologist and was applying to Ph.D. programs out east and in California. There was no way she could take Allie with her and have it work out." It's weird to tell this to someone that isn't Brendon, that isn't looking at him with eyes full of pity. Spencer's face is closed off and impassive, but it doesn't bother Jon. "And I was just bumming around, really, so I said I'd be Mr. Mom while she went off and had her career." He doesn't sound bitter at the end, but there's no way to hide how tired he is.

Spencer doesn't say anything, either, not at first, letting Allie try to tip his hat back. It's quiet and tentative when he says, "Brendon said you were from Chicago." It's almost a question, like he wants to ask why the hell Jon is all the way in Wyoming, but he can't make himself do that.

"Before Allie, I was working at a coffee shop and part-time at a hotel, so I could have time for photography. It wasn't like I made great money or anything, but I did okay. But babies are expensive." He reaches out to touch Allie's back, hand just above Spencer's. "I was okay until Cassie moved out to Boston, and then I had to deal with rent and daycare on the days my mom couldn't watch her, and it just got to be too much. I was just going to move into a smaller place, one bedroom in a different part of town." It shouldn't be this easy to tell Spencer any of this. It's more detail than he's given Brendon, but he likes that Spencer is just watching and nodding along.

Jon sighs. "My best friend told me about this place, though. He did a bunch of promo pictures for Denise and Jerry, and he knew they were looking for someone to head up Guest Services." He shakes his head. "And my parents insisted that I double major in something other than photography in college, so I had a business degree and hotel experience, and they were soft enough to let me interview when they heard I was a single parent trying to raise a kid. They gave me a place to stay, free daycare, and enough of a paycheck that I wouldn't be selling my soul to the ranch until Allie was in preschool. So here I am." He scratches the back of his neck, laughing a little nervously. "Sorry to talk your ear off."

"Ryan and I hang out with Brendon. That's nothing," Spencer says, and he sounds cheerful. "That was good, though. To take her."

"I don't regret it." Jon rubs Allie's back, and this time his hand does brush Spencer's. He ignores the weird turn his stomach does. "All that clichéd bull about kids giving you something to wake up to and making your life fulfilled is true about thirty-percent of the time." He grins at Spencer. "Which is about twenty more than most people get."

Spencer laughs, just before Allie tucks her little fingers into his beard and pulls. Jon tries not to smile at the way his eyes go wide and he hunches over, to try and loosen her grip with one hand. Allie starts giggling. He supposes he should have warned about it.

Jon doesn't feel bad for laughing at him. "She wants you to pay attention to her. That's her way of getting it." He takes Allie from Spencer, letting her hang in the air between them until she's let Spencer go. "She knows that works."

"Got it." He smiles at Jon again, pulling his gloves out of his pocket and putting them back on. "I'll keep that in mind next time I want to hold her." He looks at Jon again. "You don't mind, right?"

"Single dad, remember? I need all the help I can get." He needs to stop smiling dopily at Spencer. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah." Spencer takes a few steps away, but he's still watching Jon. "You guys always eat in the kitchen, right?"

Jon hadn't planned on going to brunch. That doesn't stop him from smiling a little harder and nodding. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I'll come back and eat with you later. Company should be better." He winks at Jon before turning heel and walking fast back to the other ranch hands. Jon can't think of anything to say back, but he stays and lets Allie watch the horses until his arms get tired.

***

Spencer and Ryan do come and join them for the brunch leftovers and then dinner after that. Jon tries not to notice Spencer watching him while he feeds Allie or laughs at one of Brendon's stupid jokes, but he can't help it. (Can't help that every time he glances over at Spencer, Spencer's looking at him.)

It becomes habit after a week, and Denise starts setting aside enough food for the five of them. "I'm glad you boys are getting along," she says one afternoon, when Jon's helping her roll silverware into paper napkins. She smiles at him, soft and sad, but she doesn't say anything more.

Jon won't admit it, but he looks forward to Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, the wagon ride is usually a small group, and Brendon only needs Ryan or Spencer to come along to help him out. And since Ryan can play the guitar, it only makes sense that Ryan is the one who gets volunteered. (It's Brendon's logic, and Ryan doesn't seem to mind avoiding dish duty.) Spencer stays behind, and it's casual, quiet conversation while they wipe down the kitchen and try to keep Allie occupied. In the end, long after it's gone dark and when it's almost time for them both to go to sleep, they end up trading stories over beer.

He finds out that Spencer has two little sisters, that he's known Ryan since he was five. He tells Jon about the first time he won a trophy in a rodeo and when he knew that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He never mentions Haley or why he's a ranch hand now, and Jon doesn't push, giving up stories about Chicago and his brothers in payment.

There are other things, too. Spencer scratches his neck a lot when he's tired, and he likes to eat raw cookie dough out of the fridge. He stands with his hip cocked most of the time, like he doesn't even know he's doing it, and he looks bitchier when he's thinking or remembering. He's not as serious as Jon would have thought, and he makes an idiot out of himself for Allie's benefit almost as much as Jon does.

Jon shouldn't be watching that closely, because Spencer is a widower. Part of him is stuck on that, never mind that Jon has a baby, that Spencer's hand only occasionally lingers on Jon's arm, but he's always careful not to crowd into Jon's space. It's possible that Spencer's just friendly, just likes Jon as a cool guy with a cute kid. But then there is the way that Spencer watches him, the way his eyes almost seem to be burning blue when Jon catches that look. His hand lingers and his fingers brush, and there is no way a guy in his mid-twenties wants to hang out with a baby without some ulterior motive.

Mostly, he's stuck on widower, even if the widower doesn't wear his ring. He's a widower that never mentions his wife, avoids talking about the years that she was in his life. Jon's not stupid; Spencer's not over her.

Still, though, he likes Tuesdays, and it's easy to forget that Spencer's just being friendly when he asks things like, "What do you do when you're not working for the ranch?" with his eyebrows drawn together a little, like he really doesn't know.

"I go up to my room, take off my boots, and hang out with Allie," Jon says, trying to wipe the stickiness off of Allie's hands. He knows it's pretty much useless. She's almost eleven months old, and her hands are never completely clean.

"All the time?" Spencer leans one hip against the table, and Jon looks up quickly, at Spencer's belt buckle and lower, before he realizes what he's doing. He wonders, briefly, when he turned desperate enough that even looking at Spencer like that is enough to make his ears burn.

Jon shrugs. "When she's in a good mood, it's the best time of the day. Sometimes Brendon and I hang out after she's gone to sleep and he's come back from the wagon ride, but usually I pass out with her. My life's exciting."

Spencer hums a little, and he moves, carefully wiping the kitchen table off. "Sounds kinda lonely," he says. "Not that Allie's not great, but don't you ever miss going out or anything?" His voice catches on "going out," and Jon knows exactly what he means.

Jon can see Spencer's distorted reflection on the damp table, and it's a little harder to remember that Spencer's still not over her, that he had a wife. Jon lifts Allie out of her high chair and balances her on his hip. "There's no where to go, and, even if there were, I'm not really...even before Cassie, I didn't like hooking up as much as I did real dating. Now it just seems like a waste of my time. She's more important than getting off with some stranger."

"So you don't like hooking up." Spencer's still wiping the table, even though it's more than clean by now. "What about not just that?"

"Not-just-that's harder when you've got a kid." Jon shrugs a little. He tried, a little, when he was back in Chicago, and it always ended poorly when they found out about Allie, like he was just looking for someone to help take care of her. "Allie's awesome, but she's a little demanding. Most people don't really want that sort of aggravation in their life, you know? When it's not really theirs."

Spencer looks up, finally, and Jon cannot read the look in his eyes. It's weirdly careful, guarded but with something raw just under the surface. "Someone that liked Allie, though? That didn't mind spending time around her?"

His stomach turns a little, and he shifts Allie to his other hip. He can't breathe a little because Spencer's stepping just a little closer. "Someone that liked Allie would be cool," he says carefully, and he wants to ask if Spencer knows what he's saying, if it's a joke or if Spencer means it.

He can't concentrate on the way Spencer's looking at him. It's something else to file away, for when he's in the shower, something else to think about besides Spencer's hands, the way Jon thinks he'd look pinning Jon against the mattress with broad shoulders and strong arms.

Jon can feel heat rising in his face, and he looks away from Spencer. "I've got to get Allie to bed. It's late," he says, walking out of the kitchen without looking back to see if Spencer's watching him.

***

They don't mention the conversation at breakfast the next day, or at lunch. Brendon talks about the small group of preteens that have adopted him, much to his chagrin, as they seem to keep trying to follow him back to his room, and Ryan offers to get them a spare key. Jon doesn't watch Spencer, except for when he knows that Spencer is looking at Ryan, laughing at some dry comment Ryan makes to Brendon. He doesn't catch Spencer watching him, either.

He doesn't even know that the weird, pressing awkwardness is obvious until he's standing out by the arena with Brendon. Spencer and Ryan have mounted up along with four of the guests, and he can see the huge loops of rope in their hands. There are a few steers clustered at the far end of the arena, furthest away from Jon and Brendon.

Brendon is sitting on the fence, legs jittery. "Alex fucked up his shoulder yesterday. He usually does the roping stuff for the guests."

Jon leans his shoulder against Brendon. "He okay?" He doesn't keep up on the ranch staff as much as he should. It's rude of him, and his mom would yell at him a little, but it's hard to keep them straight sometimes. He's pretty sure there's more than one Alex.

"Yeah, just out of work for the rest of the week or so. He'll be back to show all the kiddies how to rope a steer next week." Brendon's still not calm, but Jon looks over at Spencer again. He's talking to the guests in a low, buzzing tone. Jon can't make it out, not until Ryan and Spencer trot over to the steer and start to cut one away from the group, ropes swinging low and lazy.

Spencer picks his arm up and twirls his rope faster, and Jon can't look away. The brim of his hat casts a shadow over his face, making his eyes look hollowed out before he throws the rope and gets the loop around the steer's horns. "I thought he retired," Jon says, watching Spencer set his horse. He looks at ease on the horse, in the way he turns and stops, letting it run to the end of the rope.

Ryan follows close, his rope catching the steer's hind legs. His view's mostly blocked by the guests when they start to move together, and Spencer is saying something about how it's as easy as that. Jon laughs at the dubious looks on the guests' faces.

"He did retire," Brendon says. He rubs his hands on his legs, scrubbing his short nails against denim. "Showing some guests how to rope isn't exactly like competing, though, you know?"

Jon hums a little because he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know. He wonders if he could climb up onto the fence; his feet are killing him.

When the steer's released and back with his herd, Ryan and Spencer break, riding around the inside of the arena. Jon doesn't expect Spencer to ride past him and Brendon, but he does. He smiles a little, but it's strained and closed-lipped, not his usual smile. "Hey," he says, and he's not looking at either of them.

"Spencer Smith, that was a horrible roping. You took, like, a full minute to get it done," Brendon teases, and Spencer's smile goes a little more real and less forced.

"Fuck off," Spencer says before he looks at Jon, and he shifts the horse closer to the rail. "Don't listen to him. He doesn't know real cowboy shit from a pony ride."

Brendon sticks his tongue out, and Jon laughs. Brendon's twenty-six-years-old, and it shouldn't be funny to see him act like a brat, but if he's concentrating on Brendon, he's not paying attention to Spencer, if Spencer's looking at him, why Spencer came over here.

Jon nods. "You didn't look so bad to me," he says, grinning up at Spencer.

"Thanks." And then they're grinning at each other again, and Jon's stomach is doing that weird clenching thing. He wants to say something to Spencer, but he can't think of anything that won't become a pun about how well Spencer ties things down. It makes his ears feel warm to think about it.

"Spence," Ryan calls from across the arena.

"I should get back to him," Spencer says, and he looks at Jon again, one more quick glance, before he urges the horse back.

Brendon waits until Spencer's out of earshot to say, "Well, aren't you both just stupid?" He doesn't sound mean, just exasperated.

Jon raises his eyebrows, like he doesn't know what's got Brendon shaking his head. "I'm sorry?"

"Dude, I thought you guys were fighting or some shit. You've been all weird since yesterday." Brendon hops down off the fence. "Like, I was this close to going to Ross and asking what's up."

"Nothing's up." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Nothing's been that weird."

"Shut up. You guys make eyes at each other, and it's really gross, except Spencer's happy and you're happy, so it's actually okay." Brendon shakes his head, pulling his hat off to play with the brim. When he looks up from it, his eyes are serious. "He makes you smile, Jon, and you're not as stressed."

"That's because I don't have to help with ranch shit anymore." He ignores any flare of hope that may come out of Brendon thinking that there's something between him and Spencer that's worth being serious over. "I actually get to sleep a little."

Brendon sighs and pushes his hat back on with one hand. "If that's what you say." He shrugs a little. "It's good for him, too. Ryan thought he'd be really upset to be back here, but he seems mostly okay."

Jon nods, turning back to watch the guests' botched attempts at roping the steer. He doesn't say anything and only starts watching Spencer again after Brendon walks away.



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