Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Credence escapes Mary Lou Barebone in June of 1926.

It had taken a couple of years of saving up money, hiding it away, paranoid that she might find it every day, before he had enough to leave. Enough to get on a train and go south. He doesn’t know why he chooses south, but it feels right.

New Jersey is almost harsher than New York, but he finds work in a factory for six months. The man who owns it lets him sleep in an abandoned office for less wages but eventually Credence makes a mistake, as he always seems to, and he’s told to find somewhere else to go.

When winter finally starts melting into spring, he leaves New Jersey, with some money in his pocket and only more bad memories. Not as bad as what he experienced in Manhattan with his adopted mother, but not what he’d escaped for, and he thinks he’s going to have to keep looking. Even if it takes him west, though he is aware life is very different in the west.

Pennsylvania is easier. It’s more beautiful than anywhere he’s been before and he finds a place to work, another factory, and a kind, older woman takes him in for a few months. When her son comes to visit in September, he chases Credence away, accusing him of squirreling away her life savings, though Credence has done no such thing and thinks that the man’s expensive watch and shined shoes point toward the real culprit.

He finds work on a farm not far out of the big cities and it’s nothing he’s ever done before, but he finds himself good at it. He’s not very strong, but after a few months in another cold winter, his arms and back get used to heavy lifting. He tends to animals, cleaning stalls and small pastures, fixing what needs to be fixed. It’s a large farm and there are numerous farmhands besides him, helping him where he needs it, and he earns the bed in the guesthouse with them.

The man who owns the farm is old but wealthy. Credence is there for an entire year and it feels like more of a home than anywhere else ever has. But the man’s children start circling when he grows frailer and Credence sees what will happen before it does. So when the man dies and his smirking children tell them they’re all to find work elsewhere, because the farm will be sold, Credence is only resigned.

Some of the friends he’s made offer for him to go with them, to their old homes, to find work elsewhere, but Credence doesn’t. He doesn’t know why, but it’s not home to him yet. He’s been safe and fed well enough, earning money and no beatings, but it’s not where he belongs. He thinks he won’t stop looking for that place because he doesn’t want to settle. He wants to find what he’s never had before.

Credence was born in New York, put in an orphanage before he could form memories of his biological family, and adopted at seven years old by Mary Lou Barebone. She was never a kind woman, but she had waited to start  beating him until he was eight years old. He thinks he owes it to her that New York was never actually home to him, despite the fact that he was born and raised in Manhattan for twenty-six years.

Towering skyscrapers and shoe shiners and well-dressed businessmen are the sights he knows and yet, since he has escaped, since he has found himself in nature, he realizes he never wants to see them again.

Nearly nineteen years with only Mary Lou, living in fear of his mother and God, of pain, has soured him to New York entirely, even though he dreams of it often. Even though he gets so frightened and lonely when he must move on again that he thinks of going back, he knows it will never be home. He will never let himself be weak enough to go back, he promises himself one night, awoken from a nightmare with tear tracks on his cheeks.

Credence belongs somewhere. He knows it in his heart and he doesn’t care how long it takes him to find it.

Virginia has opportunity, he’s told, and he goes. But Virginia is mean, he finds, in a different way than New York. Something about it doesn’t feel right, for all its beauty, and though there are plenty of ranches he can try to find work at, Credence is reluctant to do so.

But it’s winter again and he takes what he can get. A ranch in beautiful rolling hills, blanketed with snow, owned by people who look down on him, who don’t treat him with any warmth, but who pay him for his hard work all the same.

He saves, never buying more than new clothes and boots when he needs them, and waits for spring.

When it comes, Credence leaves and enters West Virginia for the first time. It’s in bloom, beautiful, and he watches the landscape pass him by as he sits on a train. The Blue Ridge Mountains, misty until the sun rises high in the sky and makes them shine golden, the lakes and rivers gleaming like diamonds, and Credence feels a peace in his heart he thinks he never has before.

There’s a small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a passenger tells him on the train, where he might find work. Plenty of ranches around and someone is bound to be hiring as it’s spring, the season that needs most of the work, outside of winter.

All of Credence’s worldly possessions fit in one suitcase and when he gets as close as he can to that town, he finds a ride into it and arrives later in the evening.

It’s beautiful, he knows, stunning and green, heavy with the scent of pine and sap and rain. It’s so much fresher than anywhere else he’s been and it feels right. He doesn’t know what lies ahead, but he’s not as frightened as he was when he first left New York. He knows the signs to look out for and if this ends up not being what he hopes it is, he can always board another train.

Credence stays in a small hotel and eats dinner in the lounge, browsing the newspaper for anything that might stand out.

There’s a man sitting at a table near him, old and grizzled by the summer sun, wearing flannel and thick riding boots, and Credence knows that he keeps looking at him, but he ignores him as best he can.

“Looking for work, son?” the man finally asks and his voice is rough from smoking, but there’s something more gentle to it than Credence had been expecting.

He looks warily at him all the same. “Yes, sir,” he says. “I have some experience working on ranches.”

The man nods as he peers at Credence, taking a drink of whiskey. “You’re a city boy,” he says. “We don’t get many of those out here.”

Credence frowns and looks back down at the paper. He never really knows how these people can tell, but they always can. “I have experience working on ranches all the same, sir.”

He chuckles. “Of course, son, no offense meant. How many years?”

“A few,” Credence says, because the truth of it is not so impressive. “Are you hiring, sir?”

“All full up myself,” the man says and finishes his whiskey. “Most of us out here are. But you might find a sympathetic ear west and east of here. It’s foal season on the ranch, after all, someone might be looking for an extra hand.”

“What ranches might I be looking for, sir?”

The man watches Credence with an interest he doesn’t understand. “Lydecker’s out west. Smith and Pollis are out east. Lydecker’s a son of a bitch but he’ll give you fair wages for fair work. Smith’s a gentle old fool, but his wife isn’t,” he says and smiles. “Don’t think she’d take kindly to a city boy pretending to be a ranch hand.”

Credence opens his mouth to argue but the man only chuckles and waves him off.

“Pollis’ is your best bet. Though he leaves in the winter and his son runs the ranch then and he ain’t much of anything but a city boy too these days.”

“I’ve got experience,” Credence says and it’s not as angry as he wants it to be. He feels like this man is telling him to go back to the city, where he belongs, but he doesn’t know a thing about Credence. “I’ve birthed foals and calves and more. I can do the heavy lifting. I’m good at fixing things, I can cook and I can clean. Just because I was born in the city doesn’t mean I don’t have any skills that can’t be used out here. I’ve got the experience of both worlds.”

The man smiles when Credence is done speaking before he looks at his glass of whiskey and frowns to see it empty. Credence realizes he may by talking to a drunk and sighs as he folds the newspaper and prepares to leave for his room upstairs.

“There’s some spirit in you, at least,” the man says. “I know someone else with a bit of spirit in them too. He’s up this road, north of here. Always low on hands.”

Credence frowns as he looks at the man. “Why didn’t you mention him first?” he asks. “Is he always low on hands because he’s worse than all of them put together?”

The man laughs. “Some might say so,” he says and the way he smiles is fond, though he frowns at his glass again shortly after. “The boy’s good enough. It’s the name that keeps people away, stained as black as it is. But that was the father and not the son.”

“It’s just the son now?” Credence asks warily.

“That it is,” the man sighs. “Worked for me for a few years but that ranch always called him back. The old man died and he’s made it his own since.”

“So why didn’t you mention that ranch first?”

“Because if you go up there, your name will be stained as black as his,” the man says and shrugs. “But no one knows your name here, do they?”

Credence shakes his head in agreement and bites his lip. “What name am I looking for?”

“Graves,” the man says and stands from the table, wobbling a little. “Don’t bother telling anyone you’re headed there unless you feel like being talked out of it. But maybe even a city boy can make up his own mind.”

Credence frowns in irritation but the man only laughs and pats him heavily on the shoulder before he lumbers away.

He’s inclined to believe the man has only been messing around with him. Sometimes the people in small towns like to do that, when they sniff out that he’s an outsider, new to all of this, and he thinks about asking the hotel manager about the Graves ranch, to see if it’s even real. But the warning to not tell anyone about it, unless he wants to be talked out of it, makes him hesitate.

What’s the worst that can happen, if he takes the road north and finds nothing? He’ll come back, maybe a little angry and embarrassed, but then he’ll know where to go from there.

Credence goes to sleep that night hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

He’s lived through the worst before and he’s still here, still breathing, and thinks that nothing could ever truly be as bad as Manhattan under his mother’s rule. A church that was only ever his personal hell.

So when morning comes, misty and cool, Credence leaves, carrying only his small suitcase, and takes the road north.

The old man hadn’t told him how far to walk, but these ranches tend to be separated from each other by a fair distance, and after what must be five or six miles of nothing but beautiful countryside, the sun rising higher and clearing the mist, and an endless dirt road, he’s regretting not asking for a ride. Even if it gave away where he was going.

But after another mile or so, Credence hears a noise behind him and glances back.

It’s a truck, one of those expensive 1920s Chevrolet ones, but the back has been taken out and replaced with a large fenced bed and it’s full of fresh haystacks.

The truck slows down and stops next to him and the man that leans his arm against the door and looks at Credence makes him wish he had some water, because he only makes Credence’s throat feel drier.

“Where are you headed?” he asks Credence, his voice as attractive as him. Calm but a little demanding, a little suspicious.

He’s wearing a cowboy hat but his eyebrows are so dark Credence knows he must have black hair. His eyes are dark too, but he’s handsome, enough so that Credence feels like swooning. That might be the lack of water though.

He can’t be forty, youthfulness to his face, tanned but clean shaven.

“North,” Credence manages.

The man’s eyebrows raise and he looks out of the windshield, then back at Credence. He looks mildly amused. “There’s one place north of here,” he says, pointing over the steering wheel. “And nothing but miles upon miles of mountains after that.”

Credence clears his throat. He’s tempted to tell the man it’s none of his business before he frowns. If there’s nothing else north of here, then where can he be going? Credence starts a little, feeling foolish for not realizing it the moment he heard the truck.

“Mister Graves?”

The man smiles, still amused. “That I am,” he says. “Someone in town send you my way?”

“Umm,” Credence says and coughs. “Well, I’m looking for work, sir. I met a man that said you might be low on hands.”

Mister Graves raises an eyebrow. “What was the man’s name?”

Credence is a bit frightened suddenly and doesn’t know why. Stained black, the man had said, and Mister Graves sounds defensive. Like he thinks someone might be messing around with him, as well, and Credence wonders what Mister Graves’ father did, to ruin the name of his son as well.

“He never actually said, sir,” Credence says and grimaces as Mister Graves frowns in irritation. “He was an older gentleman in the hotel, having a nightcap, I think. He was wearing riding boots.”

“Face like leather?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mister Graves’ face softens and he smiles, wider than last time, and Credence thinks he should turn back. Turn back and go east or west, because he doesn’t think he can work for a man that looks like Mister Graves. That smiles the way he is doing right now, because it’s making his heart hammer against his ribcage and his fingertips tingle.

“Hollis Hutton,” Mister Graves says. “An old drunk, but a good man. Percival Graves.”

He offers his hand to Credence and he takes it, shaking it firmly, ignoring how warm and rough Mister Graves’ hand is compared to his own. He’s been away from New York for a while now but his hands are still soft. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why everyone knows he wasn’t born into this, but Mister Graves doesn’t say anything about it when he lets Credence go.

“Credence Barebone, sir,” he says. “Are you low on hands, sir?”

Mister Graves laughs. “If by low on hands you mean do I have any but my own two? No, I do not,” he says. “Sometimes Hollis comes up during spring to help out but the herd is smaller these days. You have experience on a ranch?”

“Yes, sir,” Credence says quickly. “I’ve birthed foals in Pennsylvania. And did plenty of other odds and ends too. I can… I can cook and clean, fix things—”

“I’m sure you can do all kinds of things, Mister Barebone,” Mister Graves interrupts. “Where were you before Pennsylvania?”

Credence frowns. “I’ve worked in Pennsylvania and Virginia, sir.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know, sir. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather my experience that relates to the work you need a hand for be all that matters.”

Mister Graves observes him for a while. He smiles again, though there’s something sharper in it now and he jerks his head. “Get in.”

Credence feels relief in his veins and hurries around the truck, getting inside and looking out of the windshield. He’s fully aware Mister Graves might kick him back out, whether it’s in a few minutes or a few months, but the beginning is the most important part.

He needs to make a good impression and prove himself worthy quickly, so Mister Graves entertains the thought of keeping him around. He’d prefer for it to be longer than one season and West Virginia has felt more right than anywhere he’s been so far, so he desperately hopes he can make that happen.

Mister Graves drives off down the road and picks up a water jug on the floor between them, handing it to Credence.

Credence takes it with a mutter of gratitude and drinks from it. It’s cool and fresh, fresh like everything is in the mountains and he feels a bit more alive after it.

“How old are you, Mister Barebone?”

“Twenty-nine, sir.”

Mister Graves doesn’t say anything after that and after a few more miles, he turns left down another dirt road and Credence sees an old, rusty arched metal sign announcing this as Graves Ranch. They drive through a thicket of trees before a property opens up, wide and more sprawling than Credence was expecting.

It’s magnificent, set on a rolling green hill and a long valley below. The house is large and beautiful, he can tell, and it’s another quarter mile away. But there are immense horse pastures and natural ponds in them and Credence thinks he can see a river that must be behind the house, disappearing north behind the pastures, out into the forest and toward the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains peaks.

It’s stunning, more stunning than anywhere he’s been, and he wonders how in the world Mister Graves keeps it all up himself.

“How many acres do you have?”

“Five hundred or so,” Mister Graves says and smiles when Credence gapes at him. “Most of it is forest and river.”

Credence nods and looks out at the pasture to the left of the house, the biggest one, plenty of room to exercise, where a few handfuls of horses graze. The pasture next to them has three mares that he can see are pregnant, when they get closer, but Mister Graves turns into the drive of the house and parks in front of it.

There’s a small pasture set just in front of the house and there’s a horse in it, a large stallion, and Credence wonders why he’s separated from the others.

“We’ll unload soon,” Mister Graves says as he gestures at the barn further down the road, next to the pastures.

Credence follows when he gets outside and looks up at the stunning house. It’s two stories, with a wide, wrap-around porch, painted crisp white with a dark roof. There are numerous windows and he can only imagine how many rooms are inside. An addition had been built at some point, probably for household staff and ranch hands, and Credence hopes that might be where he will stay, rather than the barn.

He hears barking then, as they walk up toward the porch, and a large dog comes running around the side of the house, bunding toward Mister Graves.

She’s beautiful, black and white and tan, with a thick coat and a cropped tail. Her brown eyes are friendly as Mister Graves pats her head and she gazes at Credence. She sniffs his suitcase and him after.

“Lady,” Mister Graves says. “Tell her no and she’ll leave you be.”

Credence is used to being around dogs nowadays but Lady is by far the friendliest and he scratches her behind her fluffy ears until Mister Graves walks up the porch and he hastens to follow.

Lady is allowed inside, something he hasn’t seen anyone do yet, and Mister Graves doesn’t look fazed as he takes off his hat and brushes thick, black hair back from his forehead. He looks at Credence and Credence feels his heart ache in a painful, embarrassing way.

He’s felt it before, of course, when looking at handsome men, knowing he has to be around them often, and only hopes he can get busy enough to forget it.

It hasn’t worked yet and when Mister Graves says it’s only him, the household caretaker and Lady, Credence thinks about turning tail and leaving. But he’s come so far and this place is beautiful and promises him so much more than he’s had, if he does this right. Including never staring at Mister Graves more than he should.

“Who’s this?” a woman’s voice asks.

Credence jumps a little as he looks at the stairs and at a woman walking down them. She’s older, her hair grey, but her eyes are sharp and blue as she inspects Credence, and she moves with strength and purpose.

“Credence Barebone,” Mister Graves says. “This is Miss Hornwall, caretaker of the household and bane of my existence.”

Miss Hornwall rolls her eyes as she extends her hand to Credence. “Swaddled him as a babe and he calls me these things,” she says but she smiles and there’s kindness in it. “Good to meet you, Mister Barebone. Your new hand, Percy?”

“We’ll see,” Mister Graves says. “In about a week or so.” He winks at Credence, which makes him blush, though he’s grateful he’s being given a chance.

A week is plenty of time for him to prove himself.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” Credence says.

He’s rather overwhelmed. Normally he faces older, meaner men, asking him endless questions about his skills and often declaring him not worth much despite hiring him immediately after. But he’s in Mister Graves’ home and he’s young and he smiles and he’s got a warm humor Credence isn’t prepared for. It’s only the three of them here, along with Lady and the horses, and it’s so different from what he’s experienced so far.

Credence is absolutely certain he’s going to ruin it one day, but he swears to himself that it won’t be over the next week. That maybe he can prove himself enough so that when he does ruin it, he might be given a second chance.

“I’ll take that from you, Mister Barebone,” Miss Hornwall says and takes his suitcase. “You follow the stairs and around the corner there’s a door on the right. What’s beyond it is yours. There’s a door leading out to the back for the mornings, but I’ll call you back for breakfast when it’s ready.”

“Okay,” Credence says, his hands feeling rather bereft now. “Thank you very much, Miss Hornwall.”

“Not at all, dear boy.”

Credence watches her go and idly scratches Lady’s ears as she presses her face against his leg. He looks around the handsome home, a sitting room to the right and the dining room to the left and the kitchen beyond it. The kitchen seems to have a fantastic view of the pastures and forest beyond it and Credence is glad when Mister Graves leads him into it so he can look.

There’s a creek running behind the house that joins with the river a few hundred feet down the line of trees and Credence hopes he has time to sit by it, enjoy the sound of it, the smell of the trees and the grass and the wildflowers that grow along the water.

Mister Graves fills a canteen and gives it to Credence and his eyes are so intense that Credence has a hard time meeting them as he thanks him.

He drinks his fill, knowing this is his now, and feels infinitely better after his long walk.

“It’s about lunch,” Mister Graves says. “We’ll eat and unload the hay after. Sit down.”

Mister Graves is gesturing at the smaller kitchen table and Credence tentatively does so, keeping his hands clasped in his lap as he watches Mister Graves sit across from him, peering at him with interest.

A few strands of his black hair fall over his forehead and Credence notices for all his youthfulness, there’s a bit of grey coming in at his temples.

Devastatingly handsome, Credence thinks with some despair, as Lady lays next to him and puts her chin on Credence’s boot.

“Got her to chase off anything that might come looking for the foals or get into the chicken coop,” Mister Graves says dryly. “She does those well enough, I suppose, but she’d rather make friends with the horses and anyone who comes by than protect my own household.”

Credence smiles, unable to help it. “I was always told letting a dog in the house softens them.”

“She stays out at night,” Mister Graves says. “But she was destined to be soft from the beginning.”

“That’s because she came to us with a broken leg at eight weeks old,” Miss Hornwall’s voice says as she walks into the kitchen through a swinging door. “And Percy had to nurse the poor dear for a few months as she outgrew every cast he put on her within a week or two. I thought she’d surely end up lame anyway but she gives the black bears quite a fright these days.”

Credence smiles again and bites his lip as he does, looking at Lady and Mister Graves, whose cheeks look a little pink. Credence thinks not many men would go out of their way for a dog like that. He knows what they’d rather do to puppies with a hard injury and there’s something comforting in it, to know that Mister Graves didn’t. That he cared enough about one dog when there are plenty of them out there to buy.

“I think she’d probably protect the household just fine if people you didn’t invite around ever came by,” Credence says quietly as he looks down at the table.

“Let’s hope that never happens to find out,” Miss Hornwall says. “Lunch?”

“Please,” Mister Graves says. “Tell us what took you from Pennsylvania to Virginia to West Virginia, Mister Barebone.”

“Umm,” Credence says. “Credence, please, if you don’t mind, sir.” He chews his lip and shrugs. “The first farm I worked at, the man who owned it passed away from old age and his children sold it off. The second one I worked at, in Virginia… well, I don’t think that… Virginia and I agreed well with each other.”

Mister Graves and Miss Hornwall both chuckle, like they know exactly what he means, and he blushes.

“I worked the winter and took the train here when spring came,” Credence says.

“How long were you on the farm in Pennsylvania?” Mister Graves asks.

He’s asking how much experience Credence really does have and when Credence looks at him, he finds he can’t lie.

“One year,” he says quietly and looks away.

“We’re all green at some point, Mister Barebone,” Miss Hornwall says as she moves around the kitchen. “Whether it’s when we’re children and are just starting to learn or whether it’s when we look for something else when we’re older and are just starting to learn.”

“We’re down to horses and chickens,” Mister Graves says with a dry smile. “Probably less than you were expecting. But if you’ve got experienced birthing foals, that’s all I care about. I’m perfectly capable of fixing things myself but if I need a hand with that, your aid would be welcome. You’re qualified enough. What monthly wage were you after?”

Credence sits up straighter. This is his least favorite part of being hired. It feels like a test to him, that if he says too much he will fail and if he says too little, he will also fail. The men who ask want to know what he thinks he’s worth, even if they think differently, and seem to make all sorts of judgments about his character based on how he answers.

It’s frustrating, embarrassing, and frightening. His stomach tightens with nerves and he swallows dryly, looking at Mister Graves.

“I was paid thirty dollars monthly, sir, in Virginia.”

Mister Graves raises his eyebrows. “Is that what you’re asking me to pay you?”

Credence’s cheeks are warm and he licks his lips. “I think that was a fair wage considering the experience I have, yes, sir.”

“Percy,” Mister Graves says. “We’re not as respectable as we used to be here, Credence. If I’m to call you Credence, you’re to call me Percy.”

Credence’s cheeks are flaming now but he nods quickly. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles. “Percy, sir.”

Percy looks amused and he hears Miss Hornwall chuckling to herself as she makes lunch. “I’ll pay you thirty dollars a month until I decide for myself what I think you’re worth, when the time comes and nothing less. A week from now or later than that.”

“Yes, sir,” Credence says with some relief, to know his wages won’t be lessened later on. “When should I be expected to work in the morning?”

“Sunrise to sunset with four meal breaks is what I do. Expect to do the same.”

Credence nods and doesn’t dare tell Percy that that’s two more meals than he’s used to eating. It all seems like it’s too good to be true here and Credence looks around the home, the bright wooden floors polished to a sheen, the nice and sturdy furniture. At Lady asleep on his boot, Miss Hornwall making sandwiches in the kitchen and Percy Graves sitting across from him, gazing at Credence like he’s genuinely interested in him.

It doesn’t feel like joining on as only a ranch hand, one of many, where he was separated from the main household, lesser than what they were. This feels like joining Percy’s household, an intimate sort of feeling, and it’s overwhelming.

He’s definitely going to ruin this and perhaps much sooner than he expected.

“Thank you, sir. Percy, sir,” Credence says. “For hiring me.”

“I suppose we should both thank Hollis, if he comes by soon,” Percy says with a wry smile. “He must have liked you.”

“I wasn’t quite sure if he knew what he was saying to me most of the time or if any of it was real,” Credence mumbles and is a bit horrified with himself after. “Though he was very nice!”

Percy looks like he wants to laugh but he only smiles. “An old drunk, I told you. But never enough to not know exactly what he’s doing or saying, as much as he’ll tell people otherwise.”

“One of the few who ventures this way anymore,” Miss Hornwall says as she brings over a huge plate of sandwiches and sets them in the middle of the table, along with a pitcher of lemonade.

Credence doesn’t feel comfortable asking anything about that and Percy doesn’t offer up anything more. They eat, Credence more reluctantly, until Percy threatens that for every bite he doesn’t take, he’ll give one to Lady, who is peering between them, sitting up now, her brown eyes wide and pleading.

It makes Credence eat more and if he smiles while he does it, well, Percy only smiles back.

After lunch, Percy and Credence drive down to the barn and he helps him unload the hay. Even the barn is far larger than he’s used to and well taken care of. He had been expecting the ranch to be a little run down, perhaps, if Percy was always low on labor, but he supposes he’s always been part of that labor himself and knows the upkeep well.

He only bred three mares last year, he explains to Credence, because it’s harder to do, when it’s only him. Harder to breed them and harder to birth the foals after, especially if a second pair of hands is needed for any complications.

A few yearlings trot around the pasture, beautiful and well taken care of, and Percy mentions buyers will eventually make their offers for them, when they swallow their pride.

His horses are from long lines of prized racing Thoroughbreds and Percy mentions that they still produce the best because he still races the best of them himself and often wins. He doesn’t go to the races, only saying dryly that he’d rather avoid the drama, and it’s an easy way to fill his pockets. His most prized horses will be brought home by their trainer soon enough, to breed for next year, and he will take the promising yearlings to break them in and see how they race.

It’s an odd arrangement, all to avoid Percy having to be involved, because he has the room here to do everything himself. But it’s not Credence’s place to ask about the drama, about why there even is any, about why his name is supposedly stained black.

He only does what Percy asks for the rest of the day. He knows how to groom a horse, even temperamental ones now, but shoeing them or trimming their hooves is beyond him. Percy looks as if he suspects as much but he only tells Credence he’ll teach him how, when the time for it comes.

He’s patient, almost worryingly so. Credence is so used to being barked at, even by the people he actually liked, but Percy only explains everything calmly and answers Credence’s questions in a long-winded sort of way, leaving him with more knowledge about horses and ranches than he had been expecting to learn today.

Maybe it’s because he’s young, Credence muses. He can’t even be ten years older than Credence, but everything that Credence knows about him would seem to suggest a bitter and angry man might have been left behind by his father and the way everyone else treats him.

But Percy has a good sense of humor, dry and sometimes self-deprecating. He’s a confident man though, in the way he moves, in the way he talks about horses and the ranch.

About the land he lives on.

This is what he knows, what he grew up with, and Credence smiles when one of the horses, a chestnut mare, knocks Percy’s cowboy hat off and noses at his hair, imagining what he might be like if he stepped into New York City.

Maybe it would feel as strange to Percy as mountains did to Credence, when he first stepped foot into them.

Percy names the horses for Credence before they’re due to go in for dinner, the sun starting to set, as they take some into the barn and their stalls for the night. He tells him the ones to keep an eye on when he’s in pasture or putting them up in the barn himself.

There’s one in particular, he says, a retired stallion by the name of Johnnie Walker, or John, that’s as proud as they come and will injure Credence if he gives him the chance.

He’s the one off by himself in front of the house, a dark bay horse, tall at the shoulders, Credence can tell, even as he grazes. Percy says to leave John to him unless he asks otherwise.

Dinner is pork chops, mashed potatoes and a variety of spring vegetables. Miss Hornwall has a greenhouse behind the addition, she tells Credence when she serves them, and grows as much produce as she can herself.

She doesn’t join them for dinner, taking hers upstairs, and Percy smiles when he catches Credence’s frown.

“Old habits die hard, as they say,” Percy says. “Mother and Father wouldn’t permit servants or laborers at the table. I’ve been telling her for a decade she can join me but she only deigns to if I’m ill or otherwise unwell.”

Credence doesn’t quite know what otherwise unwell means if it doesn’t mean sick but he doesn’t dare to ask about it.

“It seems like it would be lonely to eat by yourself for ten years, Percy, sir.”

“We’re going to have to work on dropping the sir, aren’t we?” Percy says but he’s smiling as he gets a forkful of mashed potatoes. “I keep telling her that to try and gain some sympathy but she has a heart of steel, Miss Hornwall.”

Credence knows that’s not true and he’s only been here for a few hours. “I was never permitted to eat with my employers before,” he says. “It does feel a bit strange.”

Percy chuckles. “Well,” he shrugs, “it’s only day one. Maybe you’ll feel differently by the end of the week. But there’s no point sitting fifty feet away from each other in silence four times a day eating the same exact meal when we can share the table and maybe, if you’re so inclined, good conversation.”

Credence blushes and purses his lips, trying not to smile. “Alright,” he says. “I would enjoy that.”

“Good man,” Percy says. “I usually have a nightcap after dinner, if you’d like to join me.”

“Oh… no, sir, but thank you. I don’t drink.”

“For a reason or because you’ve never had the occasion?”

“...both.”

Percy peers at Credence for a while before he shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says. “Though if you’d ever like to join me with a nonalcoholic beverage, feel free to.”

Credence nods. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, though he has no such plans to ever do that.

He’s overwhelmed enough being this close to his employer and his employer being… well, everything that he is so far, and Credence is only trying not to stare at him too closely. He doesn’t want to worry about what he’s saying or doing in Percy’s company anymore than he already has to. Especially not if Percy is drinking and relaxed for the evening.

The way his hair keeps falling over his forehead is already driving Credence mad enough.

After Miss Hornwall has reappeared and cleared away their dishes, she takes Credence to his room. The door is unfortunately right across the hallway from the door Percy walks into, which looks a very handsome and warm den, but Miss Hornwall ushers him into the addition and he blinks as he looks around.

It’s his own small house, he thinks idly.

“I only aired it out a week ago when the weather finally turned,” Miss Hornwall says. “So it should be fresh enough, but open the windows if you’d like, if it’s not too cold.”

Credence looks around the large room. There’s a huge bed, far too big for him, he thinks with a bit of panic, and there’s a sofa and a bearskin rug. He can see that it was likely multiple rooms at some point, perhaps when there were more caretakers and laborers, but it’s been made into a guest home, of sorts. There are bookshelves, though only a few books on them, and he can see a bathroom and closet on the other end of the room.

“It used to fit four,” Miss Hornwall says, perhaps understanding why he’s so surprised. “But we stopped needing that a long time ago. We only get a wandering soul, much like yourself, now and then. Sometimes it’ll be quite a while before that even happens but he does entertain guests now and then and prefers to keep them in here rather than in the upstairs rooms. He likes his peace and quiet, Percy does,” she adds dryly. When Credence grimaces, she chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry, dear boy. We aren’t expecting guests and if you decide you like it here and stay, Percy will surely be able to manage with guests upstairs.”

She pats his shoulder. “Anything I can bring you? Water or tea?”

“Oh… no thank you,” Credence says a bit breathlessly. “I’m alright.”

“Some water then,” Miss Hornwall says and disappears out of the room.

Credence sighs but he walks to the bed where his suitcase is waiting for him and glances inside quickly, glad to see nothing has been disturbed, even if it makes him feel guilty afterward.

The bathroom is plenty enough for him, better than anything he’s ever had, and Credence sits on the end of the bed and stares at the wall across from him.

It’s too much. It’s a dream come true and dreams never come true for Credence.

He couldn’t care less what people in town or in the horse racing business have to say about Percival Graves. He is a kind man and his home is beautiful and he has already given Credence more than he has ever had.

But he knows that things like this don’t last. He’s been looking for his home, the place where he belongs, and he isn’t foolish enough to think he’s found it here. That it was relatively easy to find, even. A few years of both ease and hardship isn’t truly all that long to find where he belongs.

There will be a catch. There will be a price to pay for all of this, he is sure, and he closes his eyes and thinks about waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Miss Hornwall comes back in with a glass of cold water and a hot mug of tea and wishes him a good night. She reminds him to be up and dressed with the sun and to go to the barn before she closes the door behind herself and Credence is alone.

He dresses in pajamas and drinks the mug of tea, a mild but soothing flavor, and he finds he’s quite tired afterward. He lays down in the too-large bed, with too-large blankets and too-large pillows, curling up and thinking he’ll never be able to sleep in such abnormal comfort.

But Credence is asleep only moments later and will realize he hadn’t moved an inch all night when he wakes in the morning.

——

It’s busy work in the morning, feeding and watering the horses. There are thirteen of them at the moment and Percy calls them his baker’s dozen. Credence cleans out some of their hooves in the barn and Percy watches him do it for the first few horses, but Credence is confident in this.

He’s glad for it, because he’d been a mess the first few weeks after learning how, afraid he’d hurt the horses or do it wrong, leave muck in the wrong areas and be the reason for an infection and a rifle to follow. That never happened and though he did occasionally poke a sole, the horses always let him know and one day he simply never did it again.

When one of them, Sammy, decides she doesn’t want to give him her hind left foot, Credence knows how to make her do it with a firm bump into her body until she relents and allows him to pick her foot up. He’s seen others hit the pick against their fetlocks but he thinks it looks cruel and none have forced him to try that yet.

Percy doesn’t praise him and Credence doesn’t need him to, but he sees him smiling when he walks away, and his shoulders sag in relief.

Credence turns them out once he’s done with them and walks around the rest of the herd that was left out overnight to make sure there are no injuries. Percy says the first mare is due in May and the other two in June, though sometimes they get surprises, like any other species. But they’re not close to labor yet, as large as they are, and Credence fills a trough with a grain mix that he knows pregnant horses get in the last few months of gestation.

He is infinitely grateful for his time on the farm in Pennsylvania and the ranch in Virginia for not making him look like a complete fool and is rather proud of himself when he’s able to do things on his own and not ask Percy for help.

Credence probably will one day, but to not need it on his first day has him feeling better about himself than he has in a long while.

They eat breakfast and two lunches together and Percy asks Credence questions, but he doesn’t answer all of them, because they’ll tell too much of his story. Percy always looks a little amused by that, rather than offended, but Credence is glad for that too. It’s no one’s business but his own and he suspects Percy would not be so open with him either if he asked about what’s gone wrong in his own life.

Credence mucks out the barn while Percy exercises two of the mares and he has a suspicion that Percy knows full well he’s not experienced with riding. That was left to ranch hands with more experience where he was before for the safety of everyone involved but he thinks the longer he stays, Percy will eventually make him learn. He’s the one laborer after all and horses need the exercise.

But the first day is over quickly, always busy when there are numerous large animals involved, and when the sun sets, he goes inside stinking of horse and feeling accomplished.

Even if he has to sit across the table from Percy when Miss Hornwall serves them dinner.

Percy talks to him about the ranch and what it used to look like, how busy it used to be once upon a time, how the Graves name was a hot commodity in the horse racing circles. He could afford cattle then and sheep, he says, but when it all went a different way, money would get tighter than he was comfortable with, so he sold them off and Miss Hornwall buys beef from the Hutton ranch.

The labor he had went away as the other herds did but he does alright managing the ranch on his own when it’s not breeding and foal season. The winters are hard, as they always are, and sometimes he has to hire help, but he’s managed for a while now, he says.

Miss Hornwall is cleaning the table off when he says that and tells Credence that the greys in Percy’s hair at thirty-seven show just how well he’s managing.

“Just yesterday she told me they made me look distinguished,” Percy says dryly. “I’m inclined to think you were lying to me, Miss Hornwall.”

“A liar I’ll never be,” Miss Hornwall says as she begins to make coffee, to go with a cake she had baked earlier today. “It’s the stress that’ll do you in but you’ll look distinguished before it does.”

Percy shakes his head as he looks at Credence. “Maybe Mister Barebone’s assistance will slow my descent into a stress-induced death,” he says and smiles as Credence ducks his head to hide his own smile.

“You could always marry, Percival,” Miss Hornwall says. “That might help too. It might breathe some life back into this place and into you too. Into your name.”

Credence’s heart races a little faster but when he looks at Percy, he sees him grimacing as he drinks from his glass of water.

“Not a conversation for tonight, Miss Hornwall.”

“No. Nor for the last ten years worth of nights,” Miss Hornwall says. “Perhaps you’ll come around while you still have youth on your side.”

Percy doesn’t say anything to this and Credence watches him stare down at the glass before averting his eyes. He thinks it would be just his luck to get to a place like this and have his employer decide to marry and have children right after, so he might have to watch on forever, heartsick and wicked as always.

But Percy doesn’t look like he’s keen on the idea of marriage. Credence thinks that has more to do with what’s gone on here, than Percy’s own personal feelings about it and it makes him sigh and long for his room.

Miss Hornwall serves coffee and slices of white cake, patting Percy’s shoulder before she disappears upstairs.

Credence takes a bite of the cake, deliciously sweet and moist, better than anything he’s had in recent memory, but it’s hard to enjoy it, when he looks at Percy and sees him frowning down at the cup of coffee in his hand.

“She’s right, of course,” Percy says quietly, almost to himself. “Despite how most people feel about me, marrying someone of stature would bring it all back around.”

Credence sets his fork down, wildly out of his element when it comes to these sorts of things, and not particularly wanting to think about it either way. He takes a sip of the coffee and sets the cup aside as he sighs.

“Why haven’t you then? In the last ten years?” he asks. It’s not his business, not at all, but Percy wouldn’t be talking about it if he expected no response.

Percy hums as he looks up at Credence. “Money isn’t what it used to be but that only means I’m not drowning in it anymore. I have enough for a lifetime and more, as long as I keep selling winning horses and winning races myself,” he says. “I don’t care about my reputation. I don’t care to bring this place back to what it was when my father was alive. It’s peaceful here now. Quiet, the way I always wanted it to be.”

“Then why are you so stressed?”

Percy chuckles. “Well, just because I’m managing doesn’t mean it’s easy. She’s right in that. But I don’t get people like you, Credence, who aren’t scared off by a tarnished name. Whether at the beginning or sometime into it. So… while I can manage most of it, some of my stress would be alleviated by the help of someone like you.”

Credence bites his lip and looks at the table. “I know something about tarnished names,” he says slowly and looks at Percy. “And living with one by someone else’s choices. I know it’s only been a day, but I would like to stay and work as long as you’ll allow me to.”

“I think by the end of the week you and I are going to have a better understanding of what that looks like,” Percy says. “We’ll see how you feel when winter comes around.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to feel any different, Percy, sir.”

Percy smiles faintly. “Winter is a long while from now,” he says and stands. “Enjoy that cake. Miss Hornwall only bakes like this on special occasions. A welcome home, if you will.”

Credence’s heart jumps and he blinks as he watches Percy pick up his plate and coffee. He leaves the kitchen through the swinging door and Lady trots after him, pushing the door open with her nose and disappearing. Credence suspects he’s off to the den for his nightcap and he’s a little hurt that he hadn’t said goodnight before he decides that’s a foolish thing to feel.

People are entitled to their complicated emotions, Percy Graves included.

But the cake is harder to eat without him there and though it’s as good as it is, Credence only manages to get through it out of politeness’ sake, even if it is a welcome home. A welcome home is what he’s been looking for for three years but he thinks he might be more moved if it was Percy who said it, who meant it.

He puts his plate and cup away and walks to his room.

Credence stands in the middle of it, taken aback by it all over again. Large and filled with comforts, filled with whatever he could wish for, and yet he feels rather hollow tonight. He walks to the bookshelf and looks at the five books laying haphazardly on one shelf.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a name that’s familiar to him, but he’s never had the occasion to read it. He’s not well read at all and barely had the opportunity to improve on that in the last few years. But he chooses the book all the same and sits on the sofa with a soft lamp on and opens it to the first page.

——

The rest of Credence’s first week goes by smoothly. It’ll always be hard, busy work tending to horses, but he falls into Percy’s routine, fits in with it well himself, and enjoys it.

Lady wakes him some nights, barking and snarling near the chicken coop, likely chasing off coyotes and foxes, but it’s disturbing to hear it so close to where he sleeps sometimes.

But when her barks take on a different tone one night, more aggressive and further away, Credence yanks his boots on and when he stumbles outside, he sees that Percy is already on the back porch, rifle in hand. He whistles, until Lady comes back, and it’s pitch black out and Percy can’t possibly see a thing but he fires the rifle anyway. Something splashes in the creek and through the trees beyond it, and it’s much, much closer than Credence had been expecting. He waits with bated breath but Percy lowers the rifle and pats Lady’s head, looking at Credence.

“Black bear,” he says wryly, only in his long pajama bottoms. “They know what spring brings as well as we do.”

Credence wipes a bit of cold sweat off his forehead and nods. “Have… have they ever gotten to the horses?”

“Rarely, when the group was bigger,” Percy says as he leans the rifle against the house and walks down the small set of stairs that lead to the back door of the addition, where Credence stands. “Only once since it got smaller, when Lady was still in a cast. She does well enough keeping them away and warning me when they get too close.”

“How often do they come?” Credence asks and pointedly doesn’t look at Percy, but rather in the direction of the creek, its trickling water tonight not as peaceful as it normally is.

“A few times in the spring, but they only need the reminder so many times before they move on,” Percy says. “September and October, they’ll come around again, before they den, but the foals will be bigger, warier. I don’t expect I’ll lose any, like I haven’t the last three years.”

Lady has come to stand by Percy, still, her ears erect and staring off at the woods, where the bear had disappeared into. But when Percy pats her head, she relaxes and pants happily, looking up at him.

“I never saw a bear in Pennsylvania,” Credence says quietly. “A lot of coyotes and foxes. I think we were too close to the city.”

“A lucky year more likely,” Percy chuckles and claps Credence on the shoulder. “I’ll teach you how to shoot over the next few weeks.”

Credence feels a little queasy at that. He’s so clumsy, even after a year and a half of doing this sort of work, and he thinks he’s more likely to shoot himself than any bear. He doesn’t tell Percy that but when he looks at him, Percy is smiling, like he knows what Credence might be thinking. He regrets looking at him then, his bare chest in the moonlight, somehow worse than it was up in the light of the porch.

He’s a solid man, that’s easy enough to tell under his clothes, but he’s tanned and muscled in a way only seeing him shirtless would make obvious and Credence looks away, his throat dry. His skin is dark enough that Credence suspects he must go shirtless now and then and why shouldn’t he, the only one out here? But it’s going to haunt Credence, if he ever has to see it more than tonight.

“Try to get some more sleep,” Percy says. “I’ll check on the horses.”

“No… no, I should too,” Credence mumbles. “I’ll go to the barn, if you’d like.”

Percy gazes at Credence before he nods. “You go to the pastures, I’ll go to the barn because it’ll be safer in the truck. Take Lady and put on something warmer before you do,” he says and squeezes Credence’s shoulder. He’s off back to the house, leaving Credence to shuffle back inside, squirming in embarrassment.

He would have told Percy you too, but that would have likely embarrassed him more than being in front of his employer in his sleep shirt and shorts. He dresses quickly and blames the bear for it all, getting a lantern lit and walking outside again.

Credence checks on the mares first, alert and restless, as is the rest of the herd. But they’re alright, no injuries, and sticking closely together far at the end of the pasture. Percy was right to go to the barn, Credence realizes, because the walk to it with only a lantern would’ve terrified him, knowing a bear might appear out of the darkness at any moment.

When he’s checked on Johnnie Walker, mean and angry at the world it seems, he goes to the back of the house and waits on the porch for Percy to come back. Lady sits next to him and he scratches her head as they watch Percy drive back.

He gets out and walks up onto the porch and its light doesn’t help matters. But Credence merely tries to think about his fear, of the bear, and anything but his employer shirtless.

“All good,” Percy says and smiles as Lady sits on his boot. He ruffles her fur and looks at Credence. “John doing okay?”

“Yes,” Credence says. “He’s angry but he’s fine. All of them are. They’ll be alert for the rest of the night.”

“Sun will be up in a couple hours,” Percy says. “They’ll relax then.” He smiles as he watches Credence, who can’t help but fidget. “Come inside, Mister Barebone, for a few minutes.”

Credence wants to beg him to let him go back to sleep, though Percy clearly knows that won’t be happening, but he would be in the safety of his own room. He doesn’t have the courage to argue with him though and he nods, following Percy inside, and they leave the porch light on.

“Any casualties?” Miss Hornwall’s voice calls from upstairs.

“No, ma’am,” Percy calls back. “Go back to sleep.”

Her footsteps fade overhead and Percy leads Credence through the kitchen and to his den. It is warm, handsome mahogany wood and comfortable armchairs and a sofa. There are numerous bookshelves and he thinks Percy must be a well read man. The trophy cases are full as well, gleaming with many cups, most placed first or second. The desk is large, scattered with papers, and there’s a large liquor cabinet against one wall. Percy walks to it and opens it and with a start, Credence sees scars on his back, sending his heart into a frantic pace.

But they aren’t lashes from a belt. He’s not sure what they’re from, perhaps a bad fall, but that doesn’t seem quite right either. Two are small but the larger one, from his right shoulder down to the end of his ribs, must have been nasty when it happened. It had been stitched and cleaned up, not a lot of raised tissue, and Credence swiftly averts his eyes when Percy turns around.

“Sit,” Percy says, gesturing at one of the armchairs.

With a sigh, Credence sits and frowns when Percy hands him a glass. “Oh, no thank you, I really don’t drink.”

“No alcohol,” Percy says with a smile. “Just a bit of flavor and a splash of tonic.”

Credence takes it tentatively and sniffs it when Percy isn’t looking as he sits in another armchair, just to be sure. But there is no alcohol, such a strong smell that he had gotten plenty used to over the last few years. It smells a bit like berries and he frowns as he takes a small sip.

It tastes like berries too with some sweetness and a nice, sharp tartness at the end.

“What is this?” Credence asks curiously.

“Thirty miles south of here a recovering alcohol learned how to make spirits appetizing without the alcohol,” Percy says with a wry smile. “I keep some on hand for guests that don’t enjoy drinking. Not that I get many,” he adds, with some amusement.

“It’s good,” Credence says. And, despite no alcohol in it, his nerves feel a little less frayed. He thinks it might be the warm room, safe and comfortable, where no bears might be prowling around.

Percy drinks whiskey, tipping back a shot’s worth before pouring himself more. He holds the glass as he peers at Credence. “We’ll go out tomorrow, follow the tracks. Always a good idea to look for them on the property during this season,” he says. “I’ll show you what signs to look for without the tracks too.”

Credence nods. “Okay,” he says and takes a sip of his drink, setting it aside. “I’d like to learn that.” He bites his lip and frowns. “John was a racehorse, wasn’t he?”

“One of the very best,” Percy says with a faint smile. “Won a lot of those.” He gestures at the trophy cases.

“How old is he?”

“Six.”

Credence blinks a few times and raises his eyebrows. “Was he injured?”

Percy is quiet as he looks down at his whiskey glass. “In a way, yes,” he finally says as he looks at Credence. “He could still run with the best of them but he’s mean now. Too aggressive for any trainer and I can’t seem to work it out of him. Reared him into a gentleman myself but horses spook easily.”

Credence knows that well, but this is different. “What happened?”

“Took him out in the fall two years ago,” Percy says with a long sigh. “Good trail horse and his height helps with the environment around here. They said a storm was coming in at seven but it came around one instead. The river about three miles northwest of here is wide. We were halfway across when it rose, not enough time to get through it. It was the noise of the river that got him, more than the rain. Damn horse nearly killed us both. I came out of it with a few scratches and he came out of it a different horse.”

Credence stares at Percy and his heart is thumping heavily. He knows all too well what it’s like to be traumatized by things, to be afraid of certain noises, but he supposes he never really thought about it in an animal. That it might be the same for them, but they can’t work it out like he could. Grow past it and heal, even if it’s just a bit.

He thinks that Percy’s few scratches are probably the scars on his back and there’s something in his eyes that speaks to his own feelings about the memory. Credence thinks he probably worries more about John than he does himself though.

“He’s kept out in the pasture at night,” Credence says slowly.

“What if a storm comes through?” Percy asks with raised eyebrows and smiles when Credence nods. “Can’t get him in the barn anymore. Tried to build him shelter in the pasture, more open, and he won’t go under it either. Stubborn horse doesn’t know what’s good for him. He lets me put some protection on him but that’s about all he lets me do anymore. There will be no breeding with him either.”

Credence frowns. He grabs his glass and takes another drink and stares down at the clear liquid after.

Johnnie Walker is another Lady.

Most would have turned a rifle on him when they realized there was no working him out of it or that he couldn’t breed. It would be a loss, certainly, as good of a racehorse as he is, but they would do it all the same. Credence wonders if it would be kinder to put such an aggressive animal out of his misery but he’s not about to ask how Percy feels about it. He hasn’t done it yet, so he’s not likely to take kindly to the question, Credence thinks.

“How’d you get him home that day?”

Percy laughs. “It’s more of a question of how he got me home,” he says and smiles wryly. “I couldn’t get back on him but he let me lean on him all the same. The fear he had that night but the aggression took a couple weeks or so to become apparent. I was laid up in my bed for most of that. Came back down one day and he was gone.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening to a horse before,” Credence says quietly. “Sometimes I hear that dogs turn for no real reason.”

“In my experience when a dog turns on someone, it’s that someone’s doing. Whether it was then or a week ago or a year ago,” Percy says with a shrug. “But I’ve heard similar things happen to different animals that have happened to John.”

Credence again wants to ask why he’s not ending it but then maybe Percy has hope that one day he might be able to turn it around. John is only six years old and healthy after all.

But Credence thinks of the damage done to him and how it’s better now certainly, but it was still done and he’ll always be broken, in some way. At least he can rationalize it, while a horse can’t.

He finishes his drink and sighs as he looks at Percy, who is gazing down at his whiskey glass again. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Just fine, Credence,” Percy says as he looks at him. “Better if you dropped the sir.”

Credence smiles, unable to help it. “Maybe one day,” he says and bites his lip when Percy smiles back, his eyes a touch softer now. “If it’s alright with you, I think I’d like to see if I can get some sleep.”

“Go on,” Percy says. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Credence says as he stands. He leaves the den and closes the door behind him, letting out a long sigh.

He doesn’t know why he’s the way he is, but it would be a relief if attractive, shirtless men stopped being something he paid attention to. It would make working on ranches easier anyway. At least the ones he worked on had numerous shirtless men, so he never got caught staring longer than he should have, and he prays that autumn gets here soon.

Credence walks into the addition and takes his boots off before he collapses into bed. He would like to sleep, rather desperately, but he knows that won’t happen.

He merely lies there and watches the dark of night steadily grow bluer before it’s touched golden and he can begin another day.

——

Percy pays him forty-five dollars a month. Credence doesn’t dare ask why he’s getting such a large increase in salary, but Percy does mention that Credence must have some spunk to him, to have stayed for two weeks now.

But he likes the work and he thinks he always will. Tending to the horses is tiring, heavy lifting and a lot of shoveling, but it makes the days go by quickly, in between all of his meal breaks.

Percy teaches him more in the next two weeks than he thinks he learned in an entire year in Pennsylvania. He’s a terrible shot with a rifle but Percy says they’ll keep working on it until he’s not. He takes to riding a little bit better and Percy says it’s the height of him that makes it easier, but he’s not sure if he was teasing Credence or not.

It takes a lot of Percy telling him to use a firm hand on the horses he exercises, not leaving the pastures yet, and eventually Credence realizes that a firm hand for a horse is not quite the same as a firm hand was for him. They’re sturdy after all, not as easily hurt as he expected, and they get used to him quickly enough. Percy eventually exercises all the other horses while Credence takes over the mares a few times a week, because otherwise they aren’t particularly inclined to be active. From the size of them and the size of the foals they’re carrying, Credence doesn’t really blame them.

Percy tells him Maybelle will go into labor soon enough as they move through the end of April. He guesses another two weeks at most and Credence finds himself excited to see a foal. They’re fun to watch when the world is new and they aren’t so afraid, when they’re eager to play and run with their dams.

Sometimes when Credence finds himself unable to sleep, he takes the rifle Percy had given him, though he hates holding it, and a lantern and goes to John’s pasture in front of the house. He only gets close enough to sit in the grass and watch the horse under the moonlight and decides one night that he will not take a lantern again, the way it lights up everything eerily. Lady sits with him, always alert, whenever she’s not asking for scratches anyway.

John never comes close to the fence on those nights. The only time that Credence does it during the day is if Percy is down at the barn and Credence thinks Miss Hornwall probably isn’t watching him. But if Credence gets too close, John gets aggressive, charging the fence, his ears back and snorting angrily.

He’s a big horse, sixty-seven inches at his withers, strong in the way Thoroughbreds are, likely with a massive length of stride, which led to all those trophies. He’s beautiful but his eyes roll in agitation whenever Credence is too near and he thinks he might kill him, if he were to ever go into the pasture. Not that he plans on it, but it’s a bit frightening.

It’s also terribly sad but when he watches John from a distance, grazing on the grass or eating hay or looking around with interest, especially at the other horses across the road, Credence can see why Percy might not want to put him down.

He’s only ever a horse when no one is near.

Credence watches Percy dress him for a night of rain with a lot of apprehension one evening but John does let him do it, once Percy has calmed him down. He seems to understand this one thing will help him, but once Percy is done, John’s ears flatten and he tries to bite Percy, who dodges it easily enough.

Percy shakes his head as he walks up to the house. “He’s going to take my fingers off one day,” he says but he’s smiling. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

He squeezes Credence’s shoulder as he walks up the steps, where Credence is sitting, and he nods, smiling back. Credence looks out at John again and sighs as he watches him trot around his pasture in irritation.

Miss Hornwall tells him later that evening, after dinner has been eaten and Percy has gone off to drink in his den, that she thinks it would be best to let John go, but she thinks Percy isn’t capable of it.

And, despite the fact that Credence had been thinking the same himself, he finds himself angry. Hearing someone else suggest it hurts, in the middle of his chest, and he’s glad he hadn’t said the same thing to Percy. But he can’t be mad at Miss Hornwall, she’s nothing if not practical about all things, and Credence only mutters that perhaps one day he’ll calm down again.

She merely pats him sympathetically on the shoulder.

In the middle of May, Maybelle goes into labor, as Percy said she would. It’s early in the evening and they move her into a large prepared stall in the barn. She’s agitated, pacing and kicking at her abdomen. If she lays down at all, she’s up again in only a moment or two, but Credence has watched this a few handful of times now.

It’s a messy business a few hours later, but the heavy labor starts and Percy and Credence wear thick gloves as they wait. It never takes all that long, Credence had realized, once their water breaks. He’d only seen it get to an hour once and that was a maiden mare, which Maybelle isn’t.

The foal emerges, light brown in color with a dark mane and tail, and once Percy has broken the amniotic sack, letting the foal breathe and sit up, when he’s ready, they give them some room. The foal is healthy and alert relatively quickly but he won’t stand for an hour or two. Maybelle grooms him and Credence smiles as he watches them.

Percy tells him to go get some dinner after a while and that he’ll call for him if he needs him. Credence is reluctant to leave but he does as Percy says and leaves his gloves and boots outside for washing later. Miss Hornwall has made a stew which she reheats for him and he tells her about the foal.

She tells him to get a bath and leave Percy to it, since one of them will need to be rested in the morning, and Credence walks into the addition to get cleaned up. But he gets into clothes and a clean pair of boots and visits John instead.

It’s not his foal, he knows, but Credence tells him all about him anyway, as John grazes nearby. It’s the closest he’s been at night and Credence talks quietly, so he might not spook him. But when it does get late and he stands, John trots to the other side of the pasture, huffing his displeasure anyway.

When Credence is in bed later that night, trying to fall asleep, he realizes he’s been on the Graves Ranch for a month and a half now, to the day, and the first foal has been born. It’s not his own birthday, certainly, and yet it feels a bit like sharing one anyway.

——

Percy makes him name the foal and Credence thinks he should have expected it. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause him agony all the same, which seems to greatly amuse Percy, and Credence tries to be annoyed with him for it, but he can’t be.

The foal has been turned out to a small pasture with Maybelle, keeping close to her side, bonded well, eyeing the other horses with interest but not getting any closer than his dam does.

It takes Credence three days to come up with a name, too busy worrying about being made fun of. He’s still worried about that, but when he’s leaning on the fence with Percy one day and watching the foal, he decides to get it over with.

“Quest,” Credence says and he’s sweating a little, but he tells himself it’s from the day, rapidly warming as they head toward June. He glances at Percy, who is watching the foal still, but there’s a smile on his face.

Credence hates when he smiles like that, because it always sends his heart into a frantic rhythm and makes him feel guilty for having such a reaction to it.

“Quest,” Percy repeats. He squints a little as he looks up at the sky, taking his hat off and running his fingers through his damp hair. “That’s a good one.” He looks at Credence then and smiles, clapping Credence on the shoulder. “He’s your burden now.”

“He’s… huh?” Credence asks as he turns around and watches Percy walk off toward the barn. “What do you mean?”

“Man name’s a horse, that makes it his horse,” Percy says without looking back. “I’ll leave him to you.”

Credence blinks after him and thinks his heart really shouldn’t be beating any harder than it already was, but it is, and there’s something less wicked in it. Something warmer and he finds himself grinning as he looks back at the pasture.

The foal is used to him and Percy, as is Maybelle, so when he enters the pasture, they only look curiously at him. Maybelle enjoys a scratch on her neck while Quest nibbles at his shoelaces, until he moves his boot away. Quest likes a good back scratch, so Credence gives him one and quietly tells him his name.

He doesn’t seem to have any opinion on it, but that’s alright.

Credence leaves the pasture and walks up toward the house, glancing at John’s pasture. He looks up at Credence, ears erect, but he goes back to grazing soon after.

When Credence walks inside and toward the kitchen, Miss Hornwall waves a piece of mail.

“For me?” Credence asks with more cheek than he’d give Percy.

“Better you than Percy,” Miss Hornwall says. “Invitation to a party. Everybody who is anybody will be there, as they say. Formal occasion and all.”

“I thought Mister Graves was a nobody these days,” Credence says as he eyes a steaming pile of freshly made biscuits on the counter.

“Just because nobody likes him anymore doesn’t make him a nobody,” Miss Hornwall tsks. “It’s foal season and once the rains stop, Mister Fontaine will be up to take the yearlings back to the city and see what they’ve got in them. Percy is invited to these little parties because there will be offers on the horses.”

“Will he sell them?” Credence asks and sighs when Miss Hornwall waggles her finger at him as he edges toward the biscuits.

She shrugs. “One or two, yes, keep the best for himself, of course,” she says. “They love to lowball him but he’s been at this long enough that he squeezes every cent out of them. Probably leaves them in tears after. But it keeps this place going as finely as it does. Not to mention the won races.”

Credence smiles at that. “I can’t really see Mister Graves getting dressed up and going to a party, even if it’s to sell horses.”

“He cleans up rather well, I have to say,” Miss Hornwall says. “He’ll be getting marriage offers too.” She chuckles when she looks at Credence. “Don’t worry, dear boy, he’s as good at leaving their fathers in tears about that as well.”

It still makes Credence feel a bit queasy. “What if he decides he likes one of their daughters someday?”

Miss Hornwall laughs. “That’ll be the day my hair turns brown again,” she says with a smile. “Even when he was a boy he didn’t much fancy romances. He tried a few times, when his father made him, but it was a miserable affair for everyone involved.”

“He never found the right woman, I suppose?”

“I don’t think the right woman exists, dear,” Miss Hornwall says with a softer smile as she looks out of the window. “He’s kept himself to himself ever since he was a young child. If he ever married, it won’t be for love and it would be because of a more dire circumstance. Let’s hope that doesn't reach us.”

Credence looks out of the window as well, as Percy drives from the barn up to the house. Lady’s in the back and she leaps out as soon as he stops the truck and Credence opens the door as she runs to it.

He scratches her until Miss Hornwall is busying herself with frying pork chops and he steals a biscuit, heading out of the kitchen as Percy comes in, because he’s still mildly embarrassed about being gifted a horse. Quest isn’t really his own, but he’s Credence’s to raise either way.

“I do believe we have a thief on our hands, Miss Hornwall,” Percy’s voice says behind him.

“Yes, well,” Miss Hornwall says dryly, “that makes two, doesn’t it?”

Credence grins and walks into the addition as he takes a bite of the hot biscuit and grabs Huckleberry Finn. He sits on the sofa to read for a while, until Miss Hornwall is done with lunch, and he’s left the door open, but he doesn’t expect to see Percy show up.

“Sorry,” Credence mutters, his mouth full, but Percy only smiles in amusement. Credence nods when he gestures and Percy walks in, glancing around.

It’s not much different than when Credence first came in, beyond his second pair of boots and a few small items he keeps on the nightstand. Percy frowns as he looks at the bookshelf, then at Credence.

“How many times have you read that?”

Credence blinks. “Umm. Three, I think. What I can anyway,” he says and blushes, regretting it. “But I’ve become better at reading now.”

Percy sighs. “I cleared these shelves years ago and put the books in my den when no one was staying in here. Please feel free to take anything from there. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is fine enough, but not something you’re sentenced to,” he says and smirks a little as Credence grimaces. “I’m sorry, I should have thought of that beforehand.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Credence says. “I do like it. I think anything else might be a bit harder for me.”

“I have others by Twain, if you like his style,” Percy says. “And others you’d probably enjoy too. Now, if I gave you Ulysses, we both might have problems.”

“Ulysses?” Credence repeats.

Percy waves his hand dismissively. “Come by the den after dinner and we’ll pick out an armful,” he says as he looks at the shelves.

They are a little sad, empty the way they are.

“Alright,” Credence says and smiles as he looks at the book. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Credence,” Percy says and sounds faintly amused. “I need to make a run around some of the land tomorrow. You’re probably ready to join me now.”

Percy has places on his land that he checks on, Credence knows that, but it’s the first time he’s been told he’ll join him. Probably because Percy thinks he might stay on his horse over rougher terrain now.

“Though you might be sore afterward,” Percy adds with a chuckle. “Miss Hornwall will pack a lunch. Late morning to early evening. You up for it?”

“Yes, sir,” Credence says, because he hardly wants to say no and disappoint Percy. Or hear Percy tell him he wasn’t actually being given a choice.

“Good man,” Percy says and winks. “Ten minutes and lunch will be ready.”

Credence nods and watches Percy walk out, biting his lip and turning back to the book. He despairs over handsome men again, but it’s getting easier to be around Percy. His heart still makes a nuisance out of itself, bouncing all around and fluttering occasionally, but he’s learning to ignore it.

Thankfully the last time Percy shot at a bear, he’d been fully dressed, and Credence hasn’t seen him as anything but that since.

His heart probably can’t take it anyway.

Of course, when he’s sitting at the table shortly after, he thinks his heart may give out early anyway as he watches Percy eye the invitation for a long while.

He finally sighs and looks at Credence. “I hate black tie events,” he says rather imploringly.

Credence smiles and spears a piece of broccoli. “I hear you make good money at them,” he says and takes a bite.

Percy grimaces. “Maybe so,” he says. “But I hate them all the same. At least I don’t have to pay for the whiskey I drink there.”

“And you don’t have to hire anyone to look after the horses for a night,” Credence says with a smile.

Percy turns the invitation toward him. “You mean you’re not going to be my plus one?”

Credence coughs a little and blushes, scowling at Percy when he laughs. “That’s the last place I belong, sir.”

“You’re right,” Percy says. “Well, not about that, you’d fit in well with higher society. Not that they wouldn’t sniff you out as a city man, but I’m sure you could go toe to toe with them if you set your mind to it. But you are right that I won’t have to hire anyone for a night. You’ll do fine on your own and Miss Hornwall will be here.”

Credence is still blushing and he takes a long drink of his water. “I know,” he mumbles. “Though I’m not sure what I’ll do if a bear comes by.”

“Aim and shoot.”

“I’d probably hit a conveniently placed piece of metal and get hit by the ricochet instead.”

Percy smirks as he turns back to his dinner. “More target practice for you then, Mister Barebone.”

Credence sighs.

It’s his least favorite thing about living on the ranch, but he supposes he’d rather have a rifle on him all the same if he needed one.