Simon has done a lot of scary things before in his life. He’s got a rodeo buckle for every competition he’s ever been to, and ten or more hospital bills he’s paid off from various thrill seeking activities. Hell, he’s even been shot before (Accidentally, but still). And yet, he’s never felt his heart more in his throat than when he laid eyes on you, standing on the side of the road with the hood to your car popped and a look of pure confusion on your admittedly beautiful face.

He’d been so stunned he accidentally drove by at first, cheeks flushing with red as the embarrassment of having to do a u-turn on an empty road with only you as a witness to his pass up. Once he’s finally parked and hopped out from the truck, one hand on his hat to make sure he isn’t about to float up into the air like his bravery seems to be doing, disappearing into the nearly cloudless sky above.

You look like perfection, and worse, when the breeze hits he can smell sea salt from whatever city you’ve come from, which is thrilling because he misses the ocean and his birth town near it more than anything. He wonders absentmindedly where you’re coming from, since it’s clearly not around here. His palms are clammy as he wipes them on his jeans, trying to work up the courage to say something, anything, even though he feels like when he opens his mouth his heart may leap out instead.

“Do ya need any help, miss? Saw you broken down over here, figured you might need a hand.” He watches as you jump a little and winces, feeling a bit guilty at startling you, even if that definitely wasn’t his intention.

Looking over your shoulder at the car, he’s sure he could do something to fix it, but if not he can just hook is to his and drive you both to the nearest inn. Just from driving by he could see the sheer amount of belongings you’re carrying, which means you’re either moving to town or passing through to move somewhere else. He hopes it’s the former.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to offer you some assistance. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to fret over a car if they don’t want to, ‘specially not if I can take the job of your hands.” Southern hospitality and his own charm are both being clung to for dear life at the moment, while he tries to ignore the heartbeat that’s fallen to his ass.

He was supposed to be home half an hour ago, but it’s not like his siblings back on the farm are going to enforce curfew on him for being out past 4, and this is an honorable cause. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he left you here for the next kind soul to find. Of course, he’d love to pretend his motives are purely noble, but he’s definitely already plotting how to invite you over so he can make you dinner sometime.