I Cut Straight To The Heart (Ranchers Oneshot)

I Cut Straight To The Heart

TWs: an argument

***

The desert is hot. It's something Tango knew before moving to Tumble Town, but he never really considered it until he'd begun to build his ranch, nailing planks of wood together in the ever-burning sun. Now, nearly four years later, he doesn't quite regret his decision to move out here, but he does wonder how much easier pitching hay would be in the more temperate climate of Animalia, his hometown.

Leaning on his pitchfork, Tango takes a moment to lift his hat and run a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. It's about time for a break, he thinks. He needs to refill his flask, anyways; he ran out of water a good fifteen or twenty minutes ago. Tango perches his hat on top of the pitchfork's handle and makes his way over to the pump outside the barn, which is usually only used for watering the animals.

As he's cranking the handle, watching tantalizingly cold, clear water pour out of the faucet and into his flask, Tango thinks about what he'll do after he's done with his tasks for the day and has taken a nice, refreshing shower. Maybe he'll go visit the saloon and play pool with the old man who's always sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, regardless of the weather. It's a risky move, seeing as the Sheriff spends most of his free time in the saloon, conversing with the bartender or patrons, but a good game of pool would be the perfect way to end such a scorching day.

Once Tango's flask is filled for the second time (the first time, he poured the ice-cold water over his head), he heads back out to the field. He's not exactly excited to get back to work, but he knows he won't let himself rest until his work for the day is done. 

Just as he's placing his hat back on his head, Tango hears hoofbeats. Curious, he turns towards the worn path that connects his ranch to Tumble Town's main street, shielding his eyes from the vicious sun with a hand.

He sees the familiar glint of a golden badge before he can even tell who the mysterious rider is. It's the Sheriff or his deputy, then. Tango doesn't want to see either of them. He turns back to the hay.

The horse's clomping soon comes to a stop. Tango keeps his back to his visitor. Maybe if he doesn't acknowledge them, they'll leave him be.

So, Tango pitches hay, trying to ignore the presence behind him, waiting for the horse and its rider to gallop away. They never do, though, so with a sigh, Tango gives in and turns around.

There's the Sheriff, leaning against the fence that separates them, watching with warm brown eyes that Tango would've melted in once upon a time. "Hey," he says, a little awkward, a little quiet.

"What do you want?" Tango grumbles.

Jimmy's nervous smile falls apart into something pained. "Um, I just wanted to . . . see how you were doing?"

"Worse, now that you're here." Tango bluntly responds. He almost feels bad about being so rude, but Jimmy deserves it.

"Oh," Jimmy says. He tilts his head up to the sky with a sigh, then runs a hand through his hair, returning his gaze to Tango. "Look, I just wanted to apologize for everything and clear up some stuff." He holds out a flower as a peace offering: a California poppy, Tango's favorite.

Tango narrows his eyes and all but rips the flower out of Jimmy's hands. Jimmy stares at him for a while, expression turned hopeful. Little does he know, Tango plans on stamping the delicate bloom underfoot later.

I mean, what would he do with it anyway? Stick it in a cup of water and watch it wilt away, like all pretty little things do?

"So," Jimmy starts, "I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding-"