never to know

[Sam O'Sullivan]

On choice, Sam tended not to drive long distances, especially in cars he didn't know. It wasn't that he disliked driving, on the contrary in fact, but it was the long, boring slogs in front of the wheel that got to him, driving eighty, even a hundred miles in the same direction without a pause or a turn. That wasn't driving, that as delusion. There was nothing like that in Ireland. If you were going to find yourself on an utterly isolated road, it was most likely going to be a country track or a sheep path. Therefore you weren't really going to be alone if you counted the livestock. He was a firm believer in public transport if it would get you from a to b in the same amount of time but with half the hassle. This time, however, he had taken the long route. He'd flown into Phoenix the day before on a red eye flight. He wasn't quite sure why he'd taken the red eye except that he'd wanted to have an early start. He wasn't great at just waiting around. The flight had landed a little before six that morning.

Packing light had always been a speciality of Sam's. Take the essentials, maybe one or two pieces of personal keeping. Standing in line for the luggage, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dark eyes staring across the platform as it moved slowly around. His own bag was easy to spot, a plain, tan and green camo coloured hold all. He grabbed it by the handles as it came past, slinging it over his shoulder before going to grab the slightly more important piece of luggage. He could hear the barking before he even pushed open the door. Yeah, that was Luka all right. A smile lit Sam's lips with a slightly shake of his head, Luka tended not to bark when actually around people, but alone, in his travel cage he's whine and yap and shift and grumble. Good thing this was only a short flight.

He didn't take Sam long to sign all the paperwork, check all the documents and finally free a hyperactive cross bred dog from his travelling cage. The dog trotted happily in front of him, pulling occasionally on his lead as Sam made his way towards the car park. He'd never been in Arizona before, but he had an old marine mate, his sergeant actually, who lived just outside Phoenix and had offered him a car for loan. Luka, as usual, spent his time in the front seat next to Sam, paws on the dash board. Arizona wasn't quite what he imagined as he pulled out onto the high way, one arm leaning against the window sill. He'd imagined vast grass plained deserts, not powdered snow dusting over the ground. Still, snow he was used to. Snow, wind, ice, rain, he could do all of that, and sun he'd just about adapted to. All in all, it was a pretty nice welcome.

And as we lie beneath the stars
We realize how small we are
If they could love like you and me
Imagine what the world could be

Luka had finally settled down to lie across the passenger seat when Sam's eyes caught sight of the first equine, grazing quietly in a field beside the road. A smile lit Sam's face, yeah, horse country. He owned two horses of his own, neither of which had come down yet from the Cross Forces Equestrian Team Centre. CFET kept their horses in luxury, and before Sam had been told about the ranch hand job in Westin, he'd been a simple stable hand, looking after the CFET showing horses. When he'd been in the marine's he'd ridden for their eventing team on the handsome mare he now owned. Passchedale Alpha was a looker, in colouring, his attitude and in movement. She had a slightly strange breeding background, with a mustang stallion for a sire and a mix bred canadian warmblood/thoroughbred for a mother. Shape-wise, the thoroughbred didn't come through all that much, the mustang head and the strong warmblood hind quarters were obvious. In headcasing she was a throughbred. Take her to a long, open field and you had to have arms of steel to hold the mare back from a flat out sprint across the grass. She could go mental. But, in the ring, dressage or show jumping, she'd let the calmer warmblood side take over, using the thoroughbred for power and strength in the hind quarters. Personality wise, Passche was a sweetheart most of the time. She was calm and gentle, well behaved and well broken. Stable manners and ground manners were usually perfect. Sure, she acted like a horse, she'd shy and she'd occasionally pull when her field was in sight, but otherwise, not many could fault her.

Then there was Sam's young stallion. Time Paradoxx was, also, an incredible looker. Whilst Passche had an unusual dusky sable colouring, Paradoxx's was clear, handsome and defined. From a grulla dam and a paint sire, Paradoxx had developed a tan paint smattering across his coat with a handsome ebony mane and forelock. And he acted like a stallion. He was headstrong and energetic. He had a territorial edge with sharp reflexes that had ended up with a sharp kick if you got too close. To ride he was actually a very good mount. He was responsive, elegant, paced and precise. He'd trek out very happily with other horses, even stallions, but he kept his territory in the field. He was just full of spirit and energy.

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we'd see the day when nobody died
When nobody died...

Reaching over to the dashboard where he'd tossed it, Sam pulled the folded piece of paper he'd written the directions onto. Taking a quick look, the ex-sniper memorised the next few directions, glancing at the road signs coming up on either side. Not so far to go. Sam resumed drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the crackling radio he'd managed to find, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He'd changed since his flight, throwing on a plain blue shirt and a different pair of jeans. The shirt sleeves covered his shoulders, the edge of his marine tattoo visible on his upper arm. Even though he wasn't technically on active duty, he had only been discharged unless absolutely necessary. So, for technicalities, he was on the reserves. There was no medical reason he couldn't return, it was personal. It might've seemed strange that at twenty four he'd discharged. Many went from their early twenties to late forties, or later if they were lucky and didn't retire. Sam had joined when he was eighteen and the six years since had been the most valuable of his life. He just didn't want to completely relive them.

Turning off at the sign he'd been told to, Sam pulled the car into the ranch parking area, killing the engine and stretching his shoulder's forward to remove the stiffness from driving in the same position. Luka pricked up his ears, his collar jingling slightly as his name tag clinked against his ID chip. Pushing open the door of the parked car, Sam unfolded himself from the seat, standing to his full height whilst taking a quick look around, a smile quirking the side of his mouth. Luka scrambled out after him, knowing well enough to stick close, even as he buried his nose in the ground, sniffing. The large, impressive house to his right was his destination, and the young Irishman, ran a hand through his dark hair before pacing over to the steps, climbing slowly. Luka followed with his waggling tail, sitting himself by Sam's feet at a hand gesture. Reaching up a hand, Sam rapped smartly on the door, stepping back slightly as he took in the ranch view behind him, the slight winter breeze brushing against his bare arms, which he ignored. Cold weather? C'mon, he was Irish.

word count 1,360
location ssr ranch house
lyrics if everyone cared by nickleback

[Wyatt Parker]

Word Count: 1594
Status: Complete
Lyrics: Home by Daughtry

Wyatt pulled his aching body up into a sitting position, swooping his legs over the edge of the bed and setting them down on the cold wooden floor boards. The blanket was draped across his lower body and his hands rested on the crumpled sheets. Alongside him his wife lay sleeping with her back turned towards him and he cast her a glance, wanting to reach out and touch her cheek but he thought better of it. He didn't want to risk waking her. Wyatt had become accustomed to waking in the early hours of the morning to start his long days spent working on the ranch. However for the past two years he had been able to rise without the risk of waking his wife because she hadn't been there. Now he had to tip toe around like he would when he risked passing his child's room, which was now the least hardest part. Wyatt ran a hand through his matt of blonde hair and then put both hands over his face, slowly drawing them down and sleepily looking up at the darkness that enveloped the main bedroom. Winter mornings were getting colder and colder as they progressed into their first few weeks of snow-cover. It was dreary most times in the morning, with a blue tint touching just about everything, but when light hit the snow covering the ground it was a winter wonderland.

Wyatt rose from the bed and headed towards his cupboard, which he opened slowly and carefully. It made a small noise but not enough to wake his wife. He pulled out some clothes and with the folded bunch in his hand he headed into the bathroom where he closed the door, leaving about an inch open. He pulled on his clothes, which was a long sleeved white shirt and blue plaid shirt. As usual he wore his jeans, which were stained from the previous times he had used them whilst doing chores around the ranch. He did all of his usual morning routines in the bathroom before he headed out. He avoided the floor boards that he knew would squeak if he dared step on them. He passed Katy's room and just as he got past it he heard a little fuss made in Katy's room. He turned his head to see one of the dogs pushing the door open with his snout then padding over to where Wyatt was standing. He reached out and gave Gunner's head a scratch and the young dogs tail wagged. The dog knew the drill and padded quietly behind Wyatt. He descended the stairs and crossed the hall to get to the kitchen. It was there that he was able to grab his boots and his father's old winter coat that was hanging on the coat rack. Alongside it was Wyatt's stetson but he left it hanging where it was as he pulled on the beige coat, fitting his arms into it and then heading towards the kitchen door.

I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.

Wyatt tugged on the maroon lead rein, scolding the horse that he was leading as the mustang began to make a fuss. There was grunting and snorting, the horse's cloudy breath spilling into the icy air and again a neigh ran out across the morning air.

Hero!

The horse was one of Wyatt's own, in fact this was the stallion that he rode more often than any other horse that was boarded at the ranch. Wyatt lifted up his hand and patted the stallion firmly on his strong, thick neck. Hero was excited as he was being led from the stabling area into the cold winter air. Something about the chill seemed to get his horse all wiled up, like any other horse would be skittish when it was about to rain. It was a sign that there would be snowfall that day, adding to the already building layer that covered the Arizona earth. Behind them was the backdrop view of the Rickshaw mountains which stood hazily against the sky that grew an everlighter shade of blue as the sun rose in the east.

Damn crazy mustang.

Despite his harsh tone of voice Wyatt was actually cracking a smile. It wasn't usual to see him smiling when he was on his own but he couldn't help but be amused as the stallion's tail rose higher and his ears perked forwards. He looked like a stallion in his prime, which was exactly where Hero was. Before a few other stallions had taken up the space on Silver Stag, Hero had been the proud one that kept 'his' horses in line. Now he was competing for territory on his own ranch and it was causing Wyatt a hell of a lot more trouble. It meant his stallion was going to act up more than he often did and before he had already been a handful.

As they approached one of the paddocks Hero tugged at the lead once again and pointed his muzzle in the direction of a few horses huddle together near the fencing. Amongst them was Hawk, a liver chestnut mare who was also one of Silver Stag's cattle horses. Hero had taken a shine to the mare recently and the two often stood at the fences of their paddocks facing each other. Hero would prance and show off his studly moves, whilst Hawk was sometimes interested and other times blatantly ignored him. Hawk had seen Hero looking at her just then and began an approach to the fence, moving along in the same direction as Wyatt led Hero around the edge of the fencing to get him to his own separate paddock. Hawk finally reached the fence and Hero tugged at the lead more forcefully.

You behave yourself.

Wyatt warned the stallion, who shoved his muzzle against Wyatt's chest and even dared to bite at the blue plaid shirt, waffling at it with his lips. Wyatt protested and shoved the horse's muzzle away, shaking his head and rubbing off the now creased shirt.

Stubborn as hell.

Wyatt allowed Hero to approach the fence but still kept the two at the distance. If Hero got frisky then he didn't want his stallion to cause any injury to Hawk in his attempts to get to her. The two exchanged a few sniffs over the fence, their nostrils flaring and every now and again their muzzles touched. Hawk tilted her head to the side and laid her ears back, raising her head a little higher than Hero's then with a grunt she backed away from the fence. Hero lowered his head and paced a few steps forwards, still holding his tail high as he studied the movements of the mare. The way he was holding his head was similar to how stallions in the wild would court their mares, herding them with their snaking heads and ready to chase after them if they made a run for it. Hawk seemed to consider Hero for a moment then turned on her hind hooves, flicking her tail back and forth as she approached the collection of horses on the other side of the paddock. Hero lingered for a moment then began to distractedly sniff at the poles that made up the fence, pawing at the snow and standing quite still alongside Wyatt.

Mares.

He declared and then clicked his tongue, urging on Hero and making their way towards his paddock. Once Hero was in his paddock Wyatt headed back towards the stabling area. He kept his working gloves on but as he made his approach towards the stables he stopped, craning his head to one side as he listened. Car tyres? Wyatt made an about face and looked towards the horizon. There was one road leading from Westin to his ranch out in the Arizona plains and Wyatt could just make out the shine of metal as the rising sun hit it. A car? This early in the morning? Not even the ranch hands were up and about yet. Wyatt decidedly began his approach towards the main yard in order to greet the newcomer, or rather keep them off in case they were up to no good. He had the occasional city boy coming in and offering to buy his ranch but Wyatt would have none of it.

By the time he reached the main yard the car had already been parked. Wyatt's eyes roved over the yard and finally landed on his own house. The man had his back turned towards Wyatt and although he was knocking on the door, Wyatt didn't hurry up his pace. He still had his working gloves on as he stood at the base of the stairs, looking up at the man who had knocked on his front door.

You lookin' for someone?

Wyatt's voice was deep and didn't exude friendliness, but it wasn't rude either. His Arizona accent came through and looking at him right then, the first word that would come to mind was "cowboy". He was dressed like the typical kind of man you would expect to find on a ranch. He was nothing different to the other ranches in America except he was based in a small town and the fences weren't painted. They were made of wood and showed the wear and tear they had faced over the years. Not even his own house had touches of any kind of modernism in it. It was simple and put you straight into country life. It was like a scene straight out a movie about cowboys and indians.

[Sam O'Sullivan]

To say Sam missed Ireland was possibly an understatement. He'd lived there most of his life, in the countryside villages surrounded by ploughed fields, bracken and heather. It was the pure, Irish green that he missed, the stark emerald green he could see from his bedroom window. America had always been that bit different, that different shade of green. He wasn't sure why, but there was something refreshing about the rich green of Irish grasses. That and heather. He could definitely remember riding up across the downs with his friend when he could still fit on thirteen hand Welsh ponies. The washed out green of bracken and the dusty lilac heather stretching as far as you could see. The bracken could reach up to the horses stomachs, brushing against your boots and the ponies would either push through it or just and jump it, pushing it out the way. Either way, it had always made for a memorable day out. Long talks when winding back down the steep hills had taken place when Sam and his friends had considered opening up a trekking centre. Of course, they'd been about twelve at this point, sometimes younger, but it had always stuck in his mind.

Then Sam had left. His whole family moved out; Sam, his mother, the dog and his two sisters. Sam had been, and still was, the middle child of three, a sister on each side. Madison was older than him by two years, Meredith younger by four. Both his sister had always rode as well, they'd been a pretty animal family, always having a dog, or maybe two. But, Sam had enlisted for the Marines. A sniper to be exact. His family had had mixed feelings over the matter, extremely mixed feelings. Madison hadn't spoken to him for weeks on end. Meredith had supported his decision, if reluctantly, and his mother. Well, his mother had burst into tears. It wasn't something he wanted to repeat in any life. They said that often the military became your family, your own life anew, and whilst that is often true, Sam kept in close contact with his family. At least as close contact as he could. Long distance calls were hard from the desert.

Yes, the desert. It was something you grey to love and grey to hate. Six years he'd been in the marines, and he'd deployed three times with his regiment, never to the same place twice. He'd had desert uniform; tan, yellow, grey. He'd had jungle uniform; green, grey, brown. And he'd had his exhibition uniform. Of course, he still had them all. His drawers at home in his mother's house were neatly folded with camouflage, his entire uniform sectioned into neat drawers to colour, size and use. He even had his issue weapon. That wasn't something he tended to let on all that much, but in the basement, locked under the work table was a compartment which slid out. Sam and his buddy had built in when his buddy, James, had come off medical leave, fixing the sleek, clean, elegant sniper's weapon into the compartment and locking it. Since then he'd only ever taken it out to clean.

Arizona seemed a mixture of both. The grass wasn't the rich emerald of Ireland, but it wasn't the stark, painful sun-bleached yellow of the desert either. It was a nice mixture in between. That had to count to something. The smattering of snow was probably helping, that was definitely helping; it was homely. You could easily get six inches of snow in an hour, settling into heaps on the ground. Sam could distinctly remember waking up and looking out a frosted window onto a two feet of snow in one night. No-one had even bothered to take a car out for that, you just pushed and hauled your way through the snow, dug your way out. Leading the horses through it had been the best fun. The horses pawing at it as the sheep dogs bounding in and out of sight through the snow drifts. All in all, it had been a good Christmas that year.

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we'd see the day when nobody died
When nobody died...

Luka yawned widely from his position. Whilst well trained, Lukeska often had trouble just sitting still. And often when Sam ordered him to heel he'd find him like he was right now; lying. The cross bred australian shepherd, border collie, had pushed his paws out in front of him, letting his stomach rest on the wood beneath him, tail curled around his hind legs. It only took a few seconds for him to flop his head down onto his paws as well, looking pretty pathetic really. Sam himself didn't exactly look a city kid, he'd always been a country boy himself, never really mind which country it was. He didn't like cities, the crowded, cramp feeling. He'd either lived in a village or in a state of barracks his entire life, which didn't quite show off 'country boy'. Sure, on occasion he could throw on a DJ, a shirt, possibly even a tie and go around looking smart, but most of the time if he wanted to look smart he'd go with the military training and polish up his dress uniform. He'd attended weddings in full dress gear, hat and all because it was respectful. He was still a member of the Royal Marines, if not completely on active duty and he wasn't shy about showing it in any way.

The voice made him turn his head slightly. It hadn't quite caught him off guard, but he had been listening forward more than behind him for an approaching footfall. Turning fully he had to lay a hand down on Luka's head as the dog scrambled up eagerly. Luka's look was almost plaintive as he stared up at Sam, wanting nothing more than to a) explore, and b) greet the stranger. He gave a smile, moving down from the front porch into the early morning sun. "Yeah. I am." He replied jovially, his Irish brogue gentle yet pretty evident. "Got told by a friend that the owner of the ranch, Wyatt Parker, was looking for a hand here and there. Thought I'd check it out. Any idea where I could find him, by a chance?" He didn't mention that he hadn't really thought much further than that about what he'd do. He could go back home and actually find himself a job with an interview and such, but to be honest, that was far too boring. Right now, what he felt like was...well, a bit reckless. And who could blame him. From a battle field to a work desk? No thanks.

word count 1,211
location ssr ranch house
lyrics if everyone cared by nickleback

[Wyatt Parker]

Word Count: 640
Status: Complete
Lyrics: Leader Of Men by Nickelback

Wyatt considered the stranger as he turned to face Wyatt from where he was standing at the top of the porch. At the front door Wyatt could hear some loud sniffing and then a few scratches that rattled the door. Wyatt tilted his head to the side, not addressing the stranger, but rather the dog that was causing the fuss.

Gunner!

The dog continued scratching and then there was some whining which eventually quietened down. At that point the stranger was speaking to Wyatt, but the ranch owner hadn't expected the accent that came with it. An irish man all the way down in Arizona? There certainly were a diversity of people finding their way into Westin. Goodness how they even knew this place existed. It wasn't exactly easy to see on any map. Wyatt changed his stance, keeping his arms relaxed at his sides as once again he considered the other man.

Starin' at 'im.

Wyatt informed him, staying quiet for a moment.

Tell your friends not to think aloud
Until they swallow
Whisper things into my brain
Your voice sounds so hollow
I am not a leader of men
Since I prefer to follow
Do you think I could have a drink
Since it's so hard to swallow
So hard to swallow

So turn the television off
and I will sing a song
And if you suddenly have the urge
You can sing along

I touch your hand, I touch your face
I think the fruit is rotten
Give me lessons on how to breathe
'cause I think I've forgotten
I think I've forgotten

So you're lookin' for a job? Got any experience with ranch work?

He asked him, pulling his own stetson off of his head and combing his fingers through his hair. He held his stetson in his hand at his side and seemed distracted as he looked to the side of the house. A rush of colour had sprinted around the porch and came speeding up to the steps. Gunner was the resident ranch dog along with Wyatts wife's dog, Noah. Gunner energetically bounced at the other dog, panting heavily as he caused a stir.

Gunner.

Wyatt's voice was firm and the dog knew that voice - it meant trouble. The shepherd dog halted his antics and turned his head towards Wyatt. He had his ears pulled back and cast a worried look towards his owner then turned back towards the irishman, his tongue hanging out as he "smiled".

'scuse 'im.

When Wyatt switched his gaze back to the man Gunner extended his muzzle, sniffing curiously at the other dog. Gunner had been raised on the ranch since he had been 7 weeks old and had never been taken to obedience school, however he did know Wyatt's voice and what the different tones meant. Although Wyatt's animals were all energetic and often challenging, they knew authority when it came around and that their actions had consequences if they decided to disobey any commands. The system on Silver Stag was that you worked for what you had but at the same time you weren't worked into the ground. You had fair breaks and if Wyatt could see any ranch hands or animals were tiring, he would give them the break they needed.

Considering this other man Wyatt had no idea what to expect from him. He had a very strong Irish accent and it didn't sound influenced by any of the American accents that surrounded Arizona. Whatever experience he had had probably come from overseas where the system was a little different from what they had down here. You weren't competing with the rain - you were competing with a harsher climate in term of temperatures and rockier landscape. However, he couldn't judge this man based sorely on his accent. Who knows - he might adapt well to the kind of working conditions he could find on Silver Stag. And of course Wyatt was thankful that people were responding to the adverts he had put around in newspapers. He needed extra hands for the cattle drive that would be taking place in a matter of days. He needed people going out with Billy and Carl to retrieve the cattle and some hands on the ranch to help him run it. It would be just Wyatt and the TTI kids otherwise and that was not going to get any of the work done when it needed to be completed.