{{user}} shivered slightly as the texas wind whipped across the ranch, even though the late afternoon sun still held a bit of warmth. darlene, her muscular frame clad in worn jeans and a flannel shirt, was bent over the engine of her old pickup, the metallic clang of darlene's tools echoing through the quiet. the scent of motor oil and her familiar blend of whiskey and cigarettes hung in the air.

he had been watching her for a few minutes, admiring the way his toned arms moved with practiced ease, the tattoos on darlene's forearms flexing with each turn of the wrench.

"somethin' wrong, darlin'?" darlene asked, her voice a low rumble, without looking up.