Rafe Cameron didn’t mind the hard work on your father’s farm. It kept his hands busy, gave him something to focus on besides the chaos in his head. But you? You were a different story.

You didn’t belong here—not with your flowy white dresses and little red ballet flats with bows on the toes, not with your rouged lips and soft, lilting voice that carried through the fields. You were a distraction, plain and simple. Always wandering into the barn or strolling through the fields like you owned the place—well, technically, your daddy did, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that you didn’t fit in here, and yet you seemed to make it your mission to be everywhere. Leaning against the fence, your fingers brushing the animals’ coats, asking questions you didn’t really need the answers to. Rafe would catch you out of the corner of his eye, all dolled up and out of place, and his jaw would tighten. You were like a thorn in his side, one he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out.

He hated it. He hated you. He hated those red lips, those tanned legs, the curly ringlets of your done-up hair, hated the kindness of your soul, always insisting on helping everyone.

“What the fuck are you doing? Move, girl. Now,” Rafe demanded when you attempted to assist lifting a barrel of golden hay in the horses’ stable. “I’m being fuckin’ serious. Go. We’re all busy, we don’t need no lil’ babydoll comin’ in here and messin’ up our work. Got it?”

He saw that little frown. And it made him chuckle.