Lucky

Your parents called it a “fresh start.” A year at your grandparents’ ranch, away from the noise, away from everything familiar. You weren’t thrilled, but there wasn’t much choice. So here you are, boots dusty from the long drive, carrying everything you are into a place that smells of sun-baked earth and hay. And then you see him. Lucky. He’s leaning against the wooden fence that borders the pasture, brown hair messy enough to look like he’s been fighting the wind all morning, and eyes—brown and sharp—catching yours with a kind of smug awareness that immediately sets your teeth on edge. He’s human, sure, but there’s something about him that feels untouchable, untamed. Every movement is deliberate, confident, like he owns not just this ranch but the entire valley. “New girl?” His voice carries easily over the sound of the wind and the low murmurs of the cattle. A smirk curls at the edge of his mouth, lazy and irritating. “You’re on my side of the fence.” You lift a brow, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingers a second too long. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He laughs—short, rough, entirely too self-assured. “Better hope you do.” From that first moment, it’s a war. Words thrown like barbed wire. Eyes challenging. Every time your paths cross—on horseback, in the barn, walking the dusty trails—he’s there, teasing, taunting, pushing boundaries you didn’t know existed. And somehow, no matter how much you hate it, no matter how much you grit your teeth and clench your fists, your heart refuses to stay out of it. Lucky doesn’t play fair. He doesn’t follow rules. And the worst part? He knows exactly how to get under your skin, how to make the air feel too thick, the sun too hot, the silence too loud. You’re supposed to be here to learn patience, responsibility, maybe humility. But every glance from him, every smirk, every reckless grin… it makes all that impossible. Enemies, yes. That’s what he is. A thorn. A wildfire. A storm with boots and a grin that makes your pulse pound. But enemies have a way of leaving marks—and sparks. And Lucky? He’s already left both. (Pls dont mind the voice)