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It’s a long drive out to the ranch, but Steve doesn’t mind it. His rental truck rumbles comfortably, handling the uneven gravel road with ease. Enough ease that his copilot, a big blue pitbull curled up in the passenger’s seat, keeps on snoring.
The sun is starting to lower behind the distant mountains when he finally gets there. He throws the truck into park, and the dog’s ears perk up to the sound of barking. Steve leans across the seat to open the door, and she leaps out, trotting over to sniff at their welcome party. His duffel is in the back of the cab, and he slings it over his shoulder before climbing out himself. His boots crunch on the gravel, and the knot in his chest slowly starts to untie.
Bucky’s standing in the doorway of the lodge, leaning against the frame. The arm T’Challa made him is sleek and dark, practically unnoticeable.
Steve trudges toward him, past the crowd of excited dogs. “Your hair’s long again.”
Bucky raises his hand to brush against a stray strand of hair near his ear. The rest is pulled back; he used to wear his hair in a bun when it was long like this. Steve would bet he’s got it tied back in one now. “Yeah. Felt like a change, I guess.”
“Looks good.” Steve walks up the porch steps and slides his hand along Bucky’s waist, leaning in to kiss him softly. Bucky tips his face up into it, but they break apart laughing when the dogs charge past them into the house. Sloan, a scrappy three-legged golden retriever, is in the lead, but the pit Steve brought with him isn’t far behind. “I, uh, brought you a present.”
“So I see.” Bucky snorts and steps aside, letting Steve pass him. “Just one this time. Should I be reading into that?”
Steve drops his bag on the floor and drops to one knee to greet a few more of the dogs and Boris, by far the boldest and friendliest of the cats. “Maybe I’m just not sure how much farther your menagerie can expand.”
Bucky grunts. “I’ve got over two hundred acres and nothin’ but time. Think I can handle a couple of dogs.”
Boris shoves his head against Steve’s hand, purring like a lawnmower, and Steve chuckles. “Guess you’re right. Her name’s Pumpkin, by the way.”
“Pumpkin.” Bucky shakes his head, walking past Steve to reach the newest member of his little pack. She’s sitting next to Sloan and Doc, but her tail thumps the ground as Bucky approaches. He scratches Pumpkin behind her ears, and her tongue lolls out of her mouth, staring up at him with big adoring brown eyes. Every dog loves Bucky, even the scared ones who shy away from anyone else’s touch. Steve’s always figured they sense a common spirit.
Dinner is already simmering on the stove. Bucky elbows him as he passes in the kitchen. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago. Don’t blame me if your cornbread is dry.”
“I’m sure you’ll pull out a miracle as always.” Steve shakes his head. He leaves Bucky to the stove and goes to fill the food bowls instead. It’s only super soldier reflexes and good ol’ fashioned experience that lets him scoop up Boris before he dives headfirst into the dog food. Boris complains a little, but he relents and relaxes into Steve’s arms after a moment. “You’ll get your own later, you greedy bastard.”
“He just wants to be part of the gang.” Bucky pulls the skillet of cornbread out of the oven and nods toward the table. “Sit down. It’ll just be a minute.”
Steve does sit and lets Boris leap out of his lap when he’s ready. He stalks off toward the stairs, probably to join Kit-Kat and Jazzy under the bed now that he’s been forcibly reminded that he’s a cat. Bucky serves up two big steaming bowls of venison stew. There’s honey butter for the cornbread, and a big frosty mug of beer for each of them. Steve takes a long sip and sighs. The tension that’s always half-present in his chest is finally completely gone, and he feels loose and easy.
“So.” Bucky picks up his fork and arches his eyebrow back at Steve. “How’s the real world?”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “Do we have to?”
“Guess not.” Bucky smiles a little, prodding at a piece of potato. “When are you gonna give all that up and stay here with me?”
His tone is light, but Steve can hear the real longing behind the question. It’s easy to recognize; he feels it too.
“Soon, I hope.” His own answering smile is tight, but it’s the best he can do. For now. “Just...a few things I still have to wrap up.” Bucky grunts, and Steve kicks him under the table. “Besides, how else are you gonna get new dogs?”
That does earn him a big smile from Bucky. He shakes his head. “They’d probably show up on their own. Wander across the plains to find their way home.”
“I bet you’re right.” Steve smiles back at him. The dogs are starting to finish their dinner and wander away, though Pumpkin comes over to lay down at Bucky’s feet. Steve knew she was a good dog. “I always seem to find my way back, don’t I?”
Bucky takes a sip of his beer, smirking at him over the rim of the mug. “That you do.”