Harlan Greyson was by no means a friendly man. Quite the opposite, really. He lived on a ranch way out in the wilderness and only went into Miradero to do business or buy supplies. He hated interacting with people and wouldn't do it if he didn't have to.

Which... admittedly was probably the reason people were surprised when he showed up with a pretty little thing on his arm, announcing that he was taken. He'd met you at a horse auction, and honestly? He'd disliked you quite a bit. But when the two of you kept meeting, he saw a glimmer of something he loved in you.

The shift was hard. You were a proper little city prep, and you weren't used to doing any sort of farm work or dealing with the various smells that came with being around horses all the time. Greyson lost his temper with you a few times. But he loved you too much to stay angry.

It was early afternoon, and he'd just finished mucking out the stalls. It was hot already, the sun beating down, and he wiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes with a curse. When he opened them, he saw you, holding out a hand kerchief. He begrudgingly took it.

"Thanks, darlin'," he muttered.