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the city girl/country boy cliché
"You're joking, right?"
"Totally joking."
Shane almost breathes a sigh of relief, but his mother's face is too serious. "You're not joking," he groans, and she breaks into a grin.
"Not even sorta. She'll be here any minute."
"Can't we just put her back on a bus and send her home?"
"Not even sorta." Meredith goes back to wiping down the kitchen counter. "Course, if you wanna argue that one, you can take it up with your daddy. He's doing a friend a favour."
"Why does he have friends in Hollywood?"
His father's voice from the doorway winds up the slack in the kitchen, bringing he and his mother taut for a moment. "East Los Angeles, actually. He was a business partner."
Shane frowns. "So you're babysitting his kid? She's my age, right? Can't she take care of herself?"
"I'm sure she can, but he's not comfortable leaving her to her own devices for three months."
"Three months?!" Shane can see his entire life crumbling before his eyes. "No way. No way is some city girl spending three months in my house."
"It's a good thing it's not your house, then." Kevin heads for the door. "You should come out and greet our guest."
When the door shuts behind his father, Shane turns back to his mom. "I don't actually have to talk to her or anything, right? I mean, we can leave that to Teagan. He likes everyone."
Meredith laughs. "You haven't even heard the best part yet, kiddo." Shane is all ears, but he can't imagine anything will really make this better. "She's not really a 'guest.' Her daddy sent her here as an extra pair of hands."
"What good's a stuck-up city girl gonna be around here?"
"Dunno, but it'll be fun watching her get her hands dirty, right?"
Shane stops to envision it: some blonde-haired, blue-eyed bimbo in a skimpy dress, agape at the prospect of mucking out a stall. When he shakes his head, he's grinning. "Okay, so maybe she'll have a worse time than me. I still don't like it."
"You don't have to like it, kiddo." Meredith barely has to reach up to ruffle his hair. "You just have to be out there to say hi before your dad brings her inside."
Yeah, nothing is gonna make this better.
Outside, Sam's truck is just pulling up. Shane comes to stand beside his father, careful to look as decidedly unhappy about this affair as possible.
She hops down from the truck in that stupidly dainty way that tiny girls do, and all Shane can see is her shoes - two-inch heels, and she still can't be more than five and a half feet tall. When she comes around the side of the truck, though, he has to admit to being vaguely impressed.
She's not what he expected; petite and slim-figured, with auburn hair instead of the blonde he'd imagined. Her clothes are too clean and bright, standing out like a cremello horse in a spring pasture, but she's pretty all the same. Very pretty.
The look she's giving Kevin when she walks up is almost surly. He extends his hand to her. "Kevin Thompson," he says. "I'm a friend of your father."
"I know who you are," she replies, and starts to walk right by him. Shane notes in disbelief that her luggage is still in the truck. Not only is she rude in the face of perfect politeness, but she expects someone to carry her things for her? She's got another thing coming.
Kevin clears his throat. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."
The click-clack of her heels stops. "Are you kidding me? You know my name."
"You seem to have forgotten to introduce yourself." Kevin has yet to turn around to face her, but she whirls on her heel at that.
"I didn't forget," she snaps, "I didn't introduce myself because you already know my name."
Now he turns, slow and calm. "Around here, we introduce ourselves as a matter of etiquette. I hear it's much the same in Los Angeles." Shane smirks a little at the thinly-veiled snark and watches the girl work her jaw.
"Kirsten Harper," she says finally.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harper," Kevin answers, still polite as you please. "Would you like me to help you with your bags?"
"I'd like you to carry my bags." She sounds disbelieving herself, now, as if he should have been holding them already.
Kevin starts toward the truck, where Sam is leaning on the door, looking quietly amused. "I'll take the heavier suitcases."
Kirsten stares at him like he should be wearing a straitjacket. Shane places it quickly as the same look she'll be wearing when she has to muck out a stall for the first time. Classic.
As Kevin walks past her to the house, carrying the two largest suitcases, she storms in the direction of the truck. Shane's glee is ruined somewhat when his father says, "Shane, why don't you help her with the rest of those?"
It looks then like Kirsten has noticed Shane for the first time. She stops to take a good look, shamelessly roaming her eyes down and up again. Shane has to try not to put a little swagger in his step on the way to the truck.
"Hey there," she says, all the snarl dissipated from her tone. She smiles a slow, curving, impish smile that Shane doesn't look at twice. Well, not more than twice. "Kirsten Harper."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time, Princess. Grab a bag or they're getting left in the truck." He grabs two more bags - there are still two there, incredibly. Shane wonders if his father said three months or three years, with six suitcases this size.
Looking ruffled again, she protests, "He said you had to help me with them!"
Shane heads for the house, not looking back at her. "He suggested I help you; I'm just nice enough to oblige."
Kirsten makes one of those annoying girly noises of objection, and he hears her struggle with the beginning of her next sentence. She's totally not used to not getting what she wants. "But... I... You didn't introduce yourself!"
"You heard my name, right?"
"I seriously will not hear any reason for me to be out here at four in the morning when your dad's going to wake me up in an hour, anyway."
"Quiet." Shane's eyes are trained on the ground around Santana's feet. "An hour longer could kill a calf."
Kirsten falls silent, but Shane can practically hear her, anyway. 'It's been out all night, isn't it probably dead already?' 'It's just one cow, right? You have more.' It's not fair to yell at her for sniping that he's imagining, though, so he stays quiet, too.
After another several moments, she asks, "What's so dangerous out here?"
"To us? Not much." Shane circles Santana around again to peer more closely at a patch of dirt. "But there's wolves and bears in the woods, and cattle guards in some places that'd break a calf's legs to pieces."
More quiet passes as Kirsten chews on this. "What if it's already dead?"
"Then it's dead." Shane leans down low to look at the ground, and feels a hand creep up onto his shoulder. He glances back at her. "I'm not gonna fall." He regrets saying it when she takes her hand off his shoulder.
"What's there?" she asks, leaning over slightly herself.
Shane points at a few depressions on the ground. "Deer tracks. A doe and two fawns, headed south toward the river."
Kirsten straightens again. "Yeah, right. How can you possibly know if it's a male or female deer?"
Straightening slowly in turn, Shane looks over his shoulder at her as he nudges Santana into a walk. "Male deer don't travel with fawns," he says, not bothering to keep his patient tone from seeping into 'duh' territory.
Suitably huffy now, she demands, "How do you even know they were deer tracks, much less that there were three of them? They looked just like baby cow tracks, and there was a whole mess of them."
"Even a calf has broader hooves than a deer, and if you know anything about tracking animals, you can pick out a set of prints from a mess like that, Princess. I've been tracking since I was little; Mom and Dad both taught me some." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that she looks a bit impressed, so he continues. "Sam's crazy good at it, and he taught Teagan. I'll bet they'll find the calf before we will."
A line of trees looms in front of them before long, and Shane stops to scan the fields they're about to leave. No dark shapes or alien movement catches his eye, so he urges Santana toward the trees. "Hang on, Princess."
"I'm fine," she says. Just to prove her wrong, Shane pushes Santana into a sudden canter, right into the woods, and feels Kirsten grab him tightly around the waist just as their mount gathers himself for a jump.
They clear the fallen log easily, but Kirsten makes a frightened squeaking sound, her cheek pressed against the back of Shane's shoulder. He laughs a little as he eases Santana back to a calmer gait. "I told you to hold on."
"Jerk. You totally did that on purpose."
"Yeah?"
Before Shane can refute the accusation, a great crashing sounds not ten yards to the north. He pulls Santana up short and waits, listening. The wind is from the east, so Santana can't be getting a strong scent, but he's perfectly calm, so Shane's banking on that commotion not being a bear. It doesn't seem quite loud enough to be, anyway. Could they be lucky enough for it to be a calf?
Shushing Kirsten quietly, he guides his horse as carefully as possible through the trees, making as little noise as he can. The sounds from the bushes cease for a moment, then strike off to the west, clumsy, but fast. Shane can barely see, but it's definitely a calf. The desperate, high-pitched lowing confirms it.
"Hang on!" he repeats to Kirsten, and she obeys this time, clinging close as Santana canters through the forest like a madman. He dodges trees and clears brush, rocks and logs, hot on the calf's heels. Shane barely has to direct him. They soon burst back into the field they just left, where the sparse moonlight seems much brighter, after the pitch black of the woods.
The calf stumbles and falls, then stands again, struggling through long grass. Shane is quick to loop the reins around the saddlehorn. Here in the clearing, catching the calf will be a breeze. He uncoils the rope from the saddleflap and tosses out some slack. "Off the horse, Princess," he says urgently, eyes on his quarry.
Kirsten's apparently taking him seriously now, but even as she pulls one leg semi-awkwardly over Santana's back to slide off, she asks, "What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna rope a calf, what's it look like?"
Kirsten grabs Santana's bridle, making him prance and toss his head. She doesn't shy away like she normally would. "But it's scared!"
That merits a pause, and Shane stops his fidgety handling of the rope to look at her. "... And?" He really can't see where the calf being scared should stop him from catching it. Of course it's scared; it's lost and alone, without its mother.
"Let me calm it down," Kirsten says. Before he can laugh at her, she adds, "Please!" in a tone so desperate, you'd think he was holding a rifle, not a lasso.
"You know they bite, right?" he mentions offhandedly. She seems disturbed, but unfazed.
"Give me five minutes, Shane. Seriously. Five minutes, and then you can... rodeo, or lasso, or whatever."
He does laugh then, a little, and eases Santana backward, resting the rope in his lap. "Yeah, okay. You've got three minutes."
"Three is not five." She scowls, but rolls up her sleeves - why? - and starts toward the calf.
Shane keeps an eye on his watch. She spends thirty seconds clicking her tongue and calling it like a spooky cat, then another forty-five trying to edge toward it, only to have it bolt another ten feet away at the last moment.
Exasperated, she drops her hands to her sides and looks over. "How long do I have?" she asks.
"A minute forty-five."
After a pause for thought, she sits down in the grass. Shane opens his mouth to warn her against spiders, scorpions, snakes, ticks and rashes from unknown plants, but changes his mind and keeps his silence, trying not to snicker.
The calf calms a little bit when she stops moving, but as soon as she tries to stand - now with forty-five seconds left - it takes off again. The frustrated noise she makes doesn't help matters any, and the last thirty seconds are nothing short of hilarious. Kirsten runs and feints one direction, the calf runs the other, and Kirsten dodges back toward it, but is never fast enough. They inscribe a large circle in the grass this way.
Finally, chuckling, Shane says, "Time's up, Princess. You wanna get outta my way?"
She stomps away from them, stopping to stand with her arms folded. Good, she can watch.
Shane tosses the rope out again and begins to swing it in wide, lazy circles. He brings Santana around in an equally wide, lazy circle around the calf, guiding him with his knees and feet. The horse has a little prance in his step; he loves cattle roping even more than Shane does.
Backing slowly around, the calf keeps a wary eye on horse and rider, but it won't do any good. Santana breaks into a pace, circling tighter as Shane's hand moves higher on the rope, bringing it in closer.
The first throw misses by a few feet, but Santana and Shane are quick to redirect. The rope comes back in and starts over, speeding up more quickly this time. The second throw is better.
A dull thump and the calf is on the ground, Shane dismounting to come tie its legs. Santana stands by, tail switching and head tossing, chomping on his bit. He's pleased as punch, and Shane's pretty happy, himself. He glances over at Kirsten, but the moonlight is too dim to see her expression. Disappointing.
As he ties the last heavy knot, he turns the calf over on the ground and straightens, looking her way again. Feeling bold, he asks, "Impressed yet?"
"Oh, yeah. I love guys who manhandle baby animals like barbarians." Her words are sarcastic, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She's impressed, alright. Shane smirks as he hoists the calf up. It's struggling, but tied fast and manageable.
He lays the calf across Santana's withers and swings into the saddle, himself. Santana stretches his neck and shakes his head, nickering happily. Shane pats the side of his neck as he walks him over to Kirsten.
"Is there even enough room for me?" she asks as she takes Shane's offered hand. He's quick to let go.
"Now that you mention it, you'll probably have to walk back." He starts to turn away, but she grabs Santana's bridle and his knee. A creeping sensation rushes up his thigh, which he ignores with great vehemence.
"Give me your hand, jackass," she instructs, and this time, he obeys.
"I'm not actually going to participate, here. You realize that, right?"
Shane sets his jaw and rolls his eyes as he turns to face her. "This is more than a two-man job. You realize that, right? And when the old man gets here and you're not working, you're good as dead."
She crosses one leg over the other, still perched up in the cab of the tractor. "I'll work when he gets here, then."
"Whatever." Shane turns back to the patch of unsightly thistles they've discovered, pulling on his gloves.
"Why don't you just plow the whole thing and replant grass?" she asks next.
"What, now you're interested?"
He can hear the scowl in her voice. "I'm just saying. Plow the whole pasture and replant grass, and then you won't have to go around doing all this."
"The ground's too rocky." Shane tosses a seed-head into the sack. "And anyway, just plowing and replanting wouldn't guarantee these damn thistles wouldn't find their way here."
"What're they gonna do, walk?"
That little incredulous, condescending laugh prickles the back of his neck, making him straighten up and turn around. "No, Princess," -- he sneers the name, lip curling slightly -- "the wind carries the seeds from the woods and other pastures nearby. Don't they teach you anything about the real world out there in Hollywood?"
His sneer may have done the trick; she hops down from the tractor, hackles raised. "We don't do cows in LA," she snaps. "We have more important things to worry about where I come from, and I bet you wouldn't know the first thing about fashion or business."
Shane snorts. "News flash: this is a business, and you're an employee. You'd best start working."
She comes closer, stepping both delicately and angrily. It's funny to watch. "Here's some news for you, cowboy: I'm not getting my goddamn hands dirty doing anything around here. Dogs, cats, cows, horses, weeds -- I don't care. It's not my fucking problem." She's standing right in front of him now, and he's smirking down at her. This girl really has got another thing coming if she thinks that's the way things are going to go. It's only a matter of time before Kevin overhears one of her little tirades, or she snaps and gives him one personally. Shane's hoping that ends with a quick phone call to Europe and one of his father's belts.
After the silence has settled, he asks calmly, "Are you about finished, Princess? I've got some work to do, so if you're not gonna help, why don't you sit your pretty ass down on that big, shiny machine over there and file your nails, or something?" Anything else he might have said is cut short when Kirsten draws her hand back to slap him. He catches sight of the motion just in time to grab her hand. "Whoa! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
She struggles, but he keeps a firm grip on her arm. No way is he letting her go and giving her a chance to get a good hit in. She's wearing at least two rings on that hand, and he doesn't want to have to hit her back.
Struggling turns into thrashing, like a bull calf that's just caught sight of the branding iron. Shane wrestles her into his arms to hold her tighter, and eventually, she stops. The bull calf analogy continues to fit as she exhales angrily through her nose, head pulled back in righteous indignation. She's breathing hard, hair out of place and heart pounding -- he can feel it against his own chest. Her face is flushed, and her bright eyes finally release his to glance downward.
Despite himself, Shane feels his own heart skip a beat. He can see it coming already, and he wishes like hell he couldn't. The speed of it surprises him, though - one second, she's looking cagey, debating, and the next second, she's kissing him, fierce and hateful, biting his lip when he doesn't match her fast enough.
The wrist he'd been holding onto finally escapes him; her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down almost as forcefully as he's crushing her against himself. They're tipping, she's drawing him with her, and they trip several steps back until her back's against the tractor tire, where he takes one hand off of her to steady them. When their mouths break apart and he hears her swallow and gasp, he opens his eyes.
So does she.
"Oh, hell, no!" Quick as you please, she's shoved him away (and he's gone stumbling backward in shock), and she's turning around to try to see the back of her shirt. Not that she'd have to look at the back to see a bunch of mud - his gloved hands made sure of that. There's mud on her hips, her sides, and her bare right arm, which he can't believe she hasn't noticed yet.
"I'm going to kill you!" she all but shrieks. He knows he should be annoyed, but he's laughing. This so shouldn't have happened, but he's so glad it did.
"Can we not leave you two alone for half an hour?"
Kirsten all but leaps onto the tractor, grabbing hold of the edge of the cab and pointing accusingly in Shane's direction. He's still laughing, but he waves his hands at her to try to stop her. It won't work, and he's okay with that.
"He got me muddy!" She sounds so affronted that Shane doubles over. He hears his mother start laughing.
"Mud? God, Shane, what were you thinking?"
"I'm serious!" Kirsten shrills.
Kevin clears his throat. "So am I. Get down from that tractor and find a pair of gloves, Miss Harper. You can take a shower when we're done for the day."
"I don't get why you do all this work yourself when you have... what, stablehands?"
Shane snorted. "Yeah, stablehands. I'm surprised you didn't call 'em 'servants' or somethin'." He imagined she was rolling her eyes on the other side of Flash. "We take care of our own rides. The stablehands take care of the rest of 'em."
"But this horse doesn't belong to me," she said, peering over Flash's back at him. "I shouldn't have to take care of him."
"Y'know, for as much as you like ridin' horses, you sure are complainin' a lot," he remarked. He knew he hit the nail on the head when she twisted her mouth at him like that. "Why don't you just shut up and tighten that girth again?"
She huffed, but did as she was told. Flash didn't make the job much harder for her than necessary; certainly no harder than Santana made it for Shane. In a few minutes, they were mounted and riding out.
Kirsten shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted over at the outdoor arena. "So... what are we practicing today?"
"You? Everything. Me, I figured I'd practice my flying changes."
"Your flying what? No, nevermind. I don't care." She shook her head, lifting her hand again to peer out at the arena. "It's bright out here."
Shane glanced at her. She wasn't going to get anything done, he told himself, if she couldn't see. That was all the justification he needed to turn Santana around. "Wait here a minute."
Back in one of the tack rooms, there was a brown felt Stetson that belonged to his mother. She'd never worn it much; it was a dress model, and Meredith didn't really do 'dress.' Kirsten definitely did, though. He sidled up next to her again and simply set the hat on her head, but couldn't resist tipping it forward, over her eyes, as he passed.
"Hey!" When he glanced back, she was settling it onto her head properly, smiling. "Thanks. I totally feel weird wearing it, though. I mean, who actually wears these things?"
Shane stopped Santana to take a slow look around. Back near the barn, Kyle and Kenny were leading a pair of horses in; Kyle wore a Stetson in beige felt, and Kenny's was brown leather. James was grooming a horse just inside the barn, wearing a gold straw one, and Gene was hosing down a very muddy truck out front, wearing another one in beige felt. Coming out of the indoor arena, K.C. wore a black felt one, and walking back from the house to the barn, Sam's was a beaten-up straw rendition. Even Harlan wore one in black leather, like Shane's.
Feeling his point was made, Shane turned back to Kirsten and raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, yeah, just, you know, no one actually wears them."
Shane shook his head. "I'm done talkin' to you," he said, starting Santana toward the ring.
Once out in the arena, Kirsten settled into practicing. She was still getting the hang of gait changes and rein signals, so she stuck to the outside edge of the ring, riding in circles. That left Shane the whole center to work in.
He and Santana were doing fine, up to a point. Flying changes were going well, even, until Shane decided to practice circling.
In the middle of a circle taken at a gallop, Santana must have gotten some kind of mixed signals from Shane, because he suddenly pivoted on his front legs and bucked with little to no warning. Shane held on for the first few, but he was thrown badly off-balance, and ultimately wound up on the ground.
"Shane!" It was a good thing Santana calmed down after that, because Kirsten all but threw herself off of Flash to come running over there. Santana seemed content to mill about nearby, and Flash stood miraculously still where he'd been left.
"Jesus, woman, you're gonna get someone killed actin' like that," Shane muttered, sitting up slowly. It didn't feel like anything was broken. "Just jumpin' off your horse like that?"
Kirsten knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Shane worked his shoulders, twisted at the hips. "I think so," he answered, then winced. "Spoke too soon." He tried to look over his shoulder to see what hurt.
"It's scraped up," Kirsten observed for him. "Looks like it got some dirt in it, too." She leaned over, pushing him forward to get the scrape into the light. He groaned slightly.
"You're lucky I'm just banged up," he groused. "What if I had a broken rib or somethin'? You pushin' me around like that."
She leaned in to look closer, and he felt the brim of her hat bump his shoulder. It happened again before she took the hat off altogether. "How do you get anything done wearing one of these?" she muttered.
"You learn to tilt your head sideways," he answered, sitting upright again. "It's fine, I'll get it cleaned up in the house."
Kirsten sat back on her heels, putting her hat back on her head. She tugged at the brim. "Seriously? You just walk around with your head turned sideways?"
"No, retard, you turn your head sideways when you get your face close to somethin'."
"How do you ever kiss someone in one of these?"
Shane chuckled. "Takes some practice."
"Had some practice?" He looked over when he felt her eyes on him. She looked deliberately nonchalant, like she was trying not to care. He smirked a little.
"Yeah, so what?"
Kirsten shrugged a little, glancing down at her nails. "So nothing. Unless, you know, you wanted to teach me?" She aimed a flirtatious smirk his way.
All of a sudden, getting up off the ground seemed like a really good idea. "Teach you? No way." He started to get a foot under him to stand up, but she was already in front of him, a hand on either side of his legs. "... Princess...."
Her smile was malicious. If she started tempting him at close range like this, he wasn't sure he could hold out for long. She didn't, though. True to form, she went right for the kill.
"Like this, right?" she asked, leaning in. She tilted her head to one side, just enough to force him to tilt his, too. "Not that hard."
"Princess," he repeated, eyes on her lips. "I told you, I'm not gonna...." The words left him when he felt her breath on his mouth. He was meeting her eye now, so he couldn't see her smile, but good God, he could feel it. Her lips curved so close to his, he just knew she was smiling one of those ridiculous, slow-warming smiles at him.
"Practice makes perfect," she said just before she kissed him.
It was different than the kiss in the field. That had been combative and rough; this one was a slow walk where that had been a flat gallop. Here, she felt him out, her free hand finding his jaw, and he found himself settling a hand onto her back. He could feel satin skin where her shirt rode up in the back, and he slid his fingers along it.
They broke apart when the need for air overrode their momentum. She didn't go far.
"I like this better than riding practice," she whispered.
Shane opened his eyes only then, and managed to summon up a frown. "You would. Get up off me, Princess."
With an indignant, girly noise and a ruffled expression, she did just that, brushing off the knees of her jeans. "You can have your mom take care of that boo-boo," she said as she walked back to Flash.
Somehow, 'I was planning to' wasn't really much of a comeback.
Honestly, Shane's not sure if the whining and pleading is better or worse than the outright refusal. They've only just finished breakfast, and she's already started.
"I really, really, really, really don't wanna go out to the stables today, Mr. Thompson." Her eyes are huge and beseeching, but Shane keeps expecting them to glow when they catch the light, like a coyote.
Kevin is shrugging on a coat, looking as unimpressed as Shane wishes he could feel. "Would you rather come out to the pasture with me and tend the cows?"
Kirsten's face contorts, wringing a laugh from Shane and his mother. "God, no. Please."
"Anythin' but that, Mass'uh!" Meredith mimicks, holding up her hands in a defensive, cowering gesture. Shane picks up another dish to dry it, snickering.
Looking thoughtful, Kevin takes a set of barn keys down from the rack at the door. "Maybe you'd like to go out to the feed store with Shane, then?"
"The feed store?" Kirsten looks hopeful. Shopping, Shane thinks. There's something she ought to be good at. "I can do that."
"Do I get any say in this?" Shane speaks up at last. He doesn't expect to anymore, but he has to at least pretend he wants to argue.
"Not at all," Kevin says on his way out. "Finish the dishes and take her with you."
She sits on the kitchen island and watches Meredith and Shane finish the dishes. Once or twice, Meredith offers her a rag, but she declines surprisingly politely. Apparently, if you give her a little rein, she stops bucking. Who'd've thought?
Shane dries his hands on a clean rag and grabs his coat on the way out. "C'mon, Princess," he calls over his shoulder. She's hot on his heels.
"So, what?" she asks as they walk across the yard. "Are we gonna ride double on Santana, or am I allowed on horseback by myself again?"
Horseback? Shane twists around to look at her as he approaches one of the smaller barns. "The feed store is like fifteen miles away."
Her horrified expression is worth the effort it took not to ask her, sarcastically, if she'd ever heard of this newfangled invention called an 'automobile.' "You're going to make me ride fifteen miles? Will we even be back tonight?"
Shane snorts. "Even if we took the whole thing at a walk, it'd only take Santana two, maybe three hours one way. They're horses, not snails." He begins to unlock the barn door. "This isn't the horse barn, anyway. Ever heard of a car?"
Appropriately affronted, she answers, "Well, yes. I own a few."
"No wonder you're such a spoiled brat."
"I hope you don't think I'm climbing into another dusty, rickety pickup truck." She folds her arms. "Sam's truck is an offense to humankind." Shane laughs. "I'm serious."
"You're right," he admits, unbolting the door and pushing it aside. "And I wouldn't dare put you back in such a monstrosity." He leans, nonchalant, against the open barn door and watches her jaw drop.
"Holy shit," she says, winning a smirk from him. "That is beautiful."
He pushes off and saunters into the barn, running his hand lightly over the hood as he crosses to the driver's side door. "Nineteen-seventy-one Dodge Charger, fully restored right here in this garage."
She must not have missed the note of pride in his voice, because she refocuses on him. "You did it yourself?"
"Yep." He climbs into the car and glances up at her through the windshield. "You coming, or are you gonna ride after all? Flash could use the workout." The only time he's seen her move faster is when one of the calves licked the back of her jeans out in the pasture.
She slides her hands over the dash and grins over at him. "Will you take me to the airport when I leave?"
Caught a little off-guard, he looks over at her as he pulls the car out of the barn. To be honest, he'd almost forgotten she'd be leaving. She looks expectant, guileless. Charming.
"We'll see, Princess."