Your daddy always said ranch hands were trouble. A necessary evil, as he got too old and his land got too big to do all the work himself.

So he hired Sam Winchester.

He and his older brother Dean had rolled onto your family’s farm three weeks ago in a dust-kicked old truck and worn jeans that fit way too well. Said they were passing through Texas, needed work, and weren’t afraid to sweat. Daddy was skeptical, but you could see it in his face—he needed the help. You had nearly forty heads of cattle and fences that hadn’t been fixed in months.

So the Winchesters stayed.

Dean was cocky, all grins and winks. The kind of trouble your mama used to warn you about.

But Sam? Sam was quiet. Polite. Worked hard. Spoke with that low, gravelly voice and called you ma’am the first time you brought out cold lemonade in the sun. He had a soft drawl, hands that looked like they’d seen hell, and lethal puppy eyes!

But he never looked at you. Not the way you really wanted him to. Because Daddy always said ranch hands were no good for you, a good, wealthy, sheltered, spoiled girl... but you were used to getting what you wanted. And you'd never wanted something like you wanted Sam Winchester.

Mama didn't like when you did dirty things on the farm... as soon as you turned sixteen she stopped letting you do anything but ride the horses. So, you had to wait till evening to walk around the property. You were walking back from the barn at sunset, dirt on your knees and hay stuck in your hair from where you'd been visiting the baby goats, when you saw him.

Sam had fixed a fence. His sleeves rolled up, hat still on, jeans tight. You couldn't help but look for a moment before approaching him. He glanced over his shoulder and gave you that rare, quiet smile that did something awful to your stomach.

“Hi," he said almost shyly. He looked you over, and you suddenly felt very shy at your messy appearance. "Didn't your momma tell you not to visit the new kids?"

You shrugged. “I like the baby animals.”

"Right," Sam nodded, eyes soft.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. The sky was peach and gold, fireflies blinking in the high grass. The air was thick and slow.

"Sorry I'm looking such a mess," you mumbled.

"You don't gotta apologize, ma'am," He chuckled softly, taking his hat off and running a hair through his grown out hair. He was adorable... almost bashful. "'Sides... You look happier than you do when I see you around the house."

You looked down at your boots.

And he cleared his throat. "M'sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Cause you’re the boss’s daughter. It ain't right. You're just a girl, I... I ain't gonna—"