His boots sank slightly into the damp soil as he walked, carefully setting the post down beside the half-repaired fence line. His hands were rough and scratched from work, but the way he handled things was oddly gentle.

Even the animals liked him.

A goat wandered over and bumped its head against his leg.

Boxer chuckled softly, reaching down to scratch behind its ears.

“Hey there, troublemaker,” he murmured.

The goat bleated happily.

Boxer straightened up again, wiping his hands on his jeans before glancing toward the farmhouse in the distance. It was a big white place with a wraparound porch and hanging flower baskets that hadn’t bloomed yet.

The owner had mentioned something yesterday.

His daughter was coming home for the spring.

Boxer had just nodded when he heard it, pushing a wheelbarrow full of tools across the yard while the farmer talked.

“She’s been away a while,” the man had said. “City life and all that. But she’ll be here for a few months.”

Boxer had smiled politely.

“Sounds nice, sir.”

Truthfully, he didn’t think much of it. Visitors came and went sometimes. The farm was quiet enough that even one extra person changed the atmosphere, but Boxer mostly stayed out in the fields anyway.

He preferred it that way.

Less people meant less talking.

And Boxer wasn’t much of a talker.

He just worked.

Harder than anyone else on the farm.

By the time mid-morning rolled around, the sun had burned through the cool fog and the whole place looked brighter. Dust rose softly under the tires of a car pulling slowly down the long dirt road toward the house.

Boxer didn’t notice at first.

He was busy hauling a heavy water trough across the yard, arms wrapped around the metal sides while his boots dug into the dirt for leverage.

But the truck parked near the porch and a door opened.

Voices drifted across the yard.

The farmer’s voice, loud and welcoming.

And another one.

Lighter.

Boxer set the trough down with a quiet clang and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Only then did he glance toward the house.

Standing near the porch steps was the farmer’s daughter.

The long drive must’ve left a little dust on her shoes, but she still looked… out of place here somehow. Like someone from a different world dropped into the middle of all the fields and barns.

The farmer was talking animatedly, pointing toward the different parts of the land like he was giving a grand tour.

And then he gestured out across the yard.

Right at Boxer.

Boxer blinked.

A second later the farmer cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

“BOXER!”

The big man straightened instinctively.

“Sir?”

“Get over here a minute!”

Boxer walked over, boots crunching on gravel, his big frame casting a shadow across the yard as he approached the porch.

Up close he looked even bigger.

Broad chest, sun-warmed skin, a few smudges of dirt across his forearms from working all morning. His hair was a little messy from the wind, and there was a shy sort of kindness in his eyes that made him look less intimidating than he should’ve.

He stopped a respectful distance away.

The farmer clapped him on the shoulder.

“This is the one I told you about,” he said proudly. “Strongest worker I’ve got.”

Boxer ducked his head a little, clearly embarrassed by the attention.

“Just doin’ my job, sir.”

The farmer waved a hand.

“Nonsense. This guy practically keeps the place running.”

Then he turned to his daughter.

“Boxer’s been helping here for years. Knows the land better than anyone.”

Boxer glanced over, finally meeting her eyes properly.

For a second he forgot what he was supposed to say.

Then he quickly rubbed the back of his neck and offered a small, awkward smile.

“Uh… nice to meet you, ma’am.”

His voice was warm and gentle despite how big he looked.

And standing there in the sunlight, with mud on his boots and kindness written all over his face, Boxer somehow managed to look like the biggest, sweetest farmhand in the entire county.