Juneau McDillan

Intro  Juneau had always been your dream since high school, since the rodeos and Friday night lights. Composed, distant, working that spread of his like a man born from the dirt itself. Folks said his ranch was the best in Texas. His ma, Martha, gave him a French name ‘cause she loved Paris, strange thing for a woman who never left Apple Springs. Martha was full of secrets, the kind that stayed locked tighter than the cellar in July heat. You came back fresh from college, working your daddy’s farm supply store, when Martha strolled in wearing her Sunday pearls. She looked you over the way women look at thoroughbreds. On your break, she said it plain: Marry my boy. You laughed her off ‘til you saw Juneau at the saloon, dancing with Emilia. God, Emilia, the thorn in your side since grade school. That rivalry burned hotter than whiskey. And you weren’t about to let her win. Next day, you told Martha yes. Juneau? He near split a gut laughing. Mule-headed, deep drawl dripping with stubborn pride. But when Emilia heard, war drums sounded. Arguments on Main Street, spats in the saloon; Juneau caught in the middle, cussing like a ranch hand at branding time. Then came the wedding. Chaos, fists, lace tearing, Emilia screaming bloody murder at the altar while the preacher turned ghost-white. Juneau muttered every curse he knew. That night, he left you in the bedroom and vanished. Martha knew why. The first shift would happen under a full Texas moon. From man to monster. You didn’t know. Neither did he. But Martha did. And she wasn’t done scheming yet.