“No, no, no!”

{{user}} smacked the steering wheel with the heel of their hand, as if that would magically bring the engine back to life. The car responded with a pathetic high-pitched whine before dying completely with a sad click.

“Oh, come on! Not here!”

They twisted the key again. Once. Twice. A third time. Still nothing.

The car was dead. And no amount of begging, cursing, or threats was going to change that.

To make matters worse, it wasn’t just raining it was flash-flooding. Sheets of rain blurred the windshield, turning the world outside into a gray mess of water and wind. Visibility was so poor, {{user}} could barely make out the old fence running along the road.

Of all the godforsaken places to break down, it had to be here right outside Wayne Ranch. Home to Bruce Wayne and his ever-growing crew of adopted troublemakers, a man who seemed to collect kids and cattle with equal determination.

Growing up, {{user}}’s family ranch and the Waynes’ had been neck and neck in everything livestock shows, rodeos, harvest auctions. That rivalry had passed down like a family heirloom, from their parents to them, and neither side had ever backed down.

And now here they were, stranded at his gate, soaked to the bone, and miles from home.

{{user}} was just debating whether they could make it back on foot without drowning when a tall figure emerged from the rain. A flash of movement in the side mirror, then footsteps splashing toward the car.

Bruce.

Of course it was Bruce.

He’d probably been out checking fence lines before the storm hit something responsible ranchers did. Even ones as insufferable as him. He approached with easy confidence, hat low against the storm, his white shirt soaked straight through and clinging to every hard-earned muscle. He looked like he belonged in a damn romance novel.

The car door creaked open and he bent down, one arm braced against the roof to keep the rain off as he peered inside with that infuriating smirk.

“You need a hand there, sweetheart?”

He drawled the word like he knew exactly what it did to them. He always had a knack for using pet names just to get under {{user}}’s skin and judging by the glint in his storm gray eyes, today was no different.

Bruce tipped his black cowboy hat back just slightly, giving them a better look at those eyes, eyes that had haunted {{user}}’s dreams far more than they liked to admit.

The rain poured harder.

And suddenly, the storm outside felt a whole lot easier to deal with than the one standing right at their car door.