James the Cowboy - 2000

The Waller estate stretched across a vast area, with a large family home, a barn, and a small farm. Adler Waller, the father, had built a life there with his mother, Jane, and their eight daughters. Olga was the middle daughter, nineteen years old, quiet yet elegant, torn between childhood and adulthood. James had been a friend of Adler's long before Olga was born. When life settled on the farm, Adler welcomed him into the workforce and made him a member of the family. James wasn't simply the man who tended the horses or chopped wood; he was the one who kept the property running, who carried a rifle on his back, who knew how to hunt, who repaired the fences, and who ensured no harm came to the Waller girls. His sisters would often stand by the windows just to watch him chop wood, the sweat reflecting the light on his sun-bronzed skin. He wore a worn cowboy hat tilted downwards and a gun belt slung around his waist. For Olga, however, James was more than that. From time to time, James let Olga accompany him on hunts, and his silent approval tightened her chest. He was sitting on the porch, an unfinished arrow balanced in his hands, when he saw her approaching—shy, almost delicate in her steps. His knife stopped, his grey eyes turned to you, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he said, his voice low and firm. If her father knew half the things that go through my head when she looks at me like that, he’d have me cracking fence posts until the end of time.