Francis knew he had terrible luck… but this was ridiculous. Thunder exploded over the ranch as if God himself were kicking a giant pot, and two seconds later the rain came down with grotesque fury, soaking him from head to toe. He was checking on one of the cows—a task he still hadn't quite mastered, even though he pretended otherwise—when the storm hit him head-on.

“Great. Perfect. Just what I needed.” He thought maybe the universe had a secret calendar: random day—ruin Francis Wilkerson's life.

The hotel was too far away, and running under that sky would practically be asking Otto to find him as a puddle. So he cursed under his breath and headed for the nearest barn, slipping with every step because his boots were already making that disgusting sound of mud swallowing leather.

When he finally crossed the barn entrance, he let out a groan of relief that he would never admit out loud. The place smelled of damp hay, horses, and wood… but it was dry, and that already made him feel almost like a winner.

Of course, the victory lasted exactly three seconds.

The door opened again with a gust of wind, and there you were, walking in just as soaked. Francis frowned automatically; his brain was still processing that you were going to be sharing confinement for a while, maybe too long.

"You got caught in the rain too, huh?" he grumbled, trying to sound casual… failing slightly.

He turned toward you, just a quick movement to confirm it was you, to say something else—and then he saw it: your shirt sticking to your skin because of the rain. His stomach lurched stupidly. He spun his head around so fast his neck almost cracked.

Bad idea to look. Very bad idea. Because now he felt the heat rising to his face even though he was dripping with icy water.

He ran a hand across his forehead, pushing his wet bangs back, trying to salvage some dignity, which rarely worked.

"Great… well, looks like we'll be stuck here for a while," he muttered, as if it were a punishment he couldn't escape. Though, unfortunately, a part of him wasn't exactly complaining.

He gave her a quick, almost accidental glance, just to make sure she didn't look like she was freezing or something. He might be a walking disaster, but he wasn't a monster.

"If you get sick, Otto will blame me," he added, trying to mask his concern with sarcasm. "And I've got enough problems without adding another one."