Tallis wished it had been anyone but the man whose voice echoed across the enclosure. She’d been set up with Cezar by the well-meaning Phearsons in the hopes she might get married and be cared for. Also, she had no doubt, to guide him away from their daughter Blanka, who they hoped would marry above her station, not at it. Cezar was a nice boy, there was no doubt. But not what they wanted for their little girl. For Tallis, however, he was perfect.

Perfect.

Tallis had no aspirations of marriage. As a general rule, she found men tiresome. Found their confidence misplaced, particularly those who had no gifts to speak of. A handsome, charming man like Cezar was exactly the kind of person who should make her roll her eyes and look the other way.

Logically, that should be the case. But there was something about him that Tallis didn’t understand.

It wasn’t that she disliked Cezar. It was that she should, and yet didn’t. That there was something that tugged at her that she couldn’t put her finger on; something powerful and unsettling and difficult to describe. Tallis had never been in love, nor had she ever felt the ache of lust as she’d heard it described, but there was something about him.

Most of the time, Tallis wished he would disappear. That way she wouldn’t have to wonder. She could carry on in her independence, Phearsons be damned.

But he was always there, no matter how hard she tried to shake him.

“Help—” Tallis croaked, reaching a hand to him, knowing the horse was still ping-ponging around the corral and could trample her.

Tallis, who normally slapped any aiding hand away, eagerly grabbed on to Cezar so he could pull her to safety. Tallis was proud, but not foolish. Besides, this man was one she had not set upon herself to impress. No man had been awarded that distinction—and if there were such a one, it wouldn’t be Severus (for it occurred to this writer that was the name she would know him by) who made Blanka so easily swoon.

Still trying to catch her breath in wheezing gasps, Tallis would stagger to her feet with Cezar’s aid. She successfully steadied herself with a rumble of thunder signaling the storm's swift approach.

“Help me get her inside,” Tallis said, not bothering to thank the man who had helped her at personal risk. Unless stopped, Tallis would turn herself back toward the horse, moving for the barn door, while signaling Cezar to go around toward her. Hopefully one of them would be able to grab the rope before the sky opened up.

Tallis was a skilled horsewoman. To see Severus so easily still the horse she’d failed to capture made the prideful Scorza bristle. She completed her path to the barn door and dragged it open with all her weight. As soon as the door started to squeal the rain opened up on them, immediately starting to sink through her clothes.

“Come on, come on.”

Tallis stood in the barn, cold and dripping on the hay-strewn floor. She was still prickly with frustration, more at her own incompetence with the animal than with Severus. He was simply an easy target of her irritation. She made her way over to the furthest stall, hauling the door open.

“Here.” Tallis would stand back, waiting for Severus to lead the beast in with her arms crossed. When she was situated, Tallis would question him with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were such an able hand with horses.”

Tallis was tempted to toss a sarcastic barb back in his direction—something about the soft lifestyle of a merchant compared to the lot of a rancher. But she didn’t. Something about the tenderness with which he stroked the horse’s mane gave her pause. Tallis was transfixed for a moment—one broken when Severus’s wandering eyes drifted down her sodden form.

“Yeah, well,” Tallis huffed, wringing her hair out, “She’s been a pain in the ass since I got her.” She turned, starting to shiver a little bit in the cold, “She’ll break though, they always do.” While speaking, Tallis had started to walk to a little nook to the side of a stall, reaching for spare saddle blankets on a shelf too high for her to reach.

Tallis bristled at being lectured. The fact that he was right made it all the worse. She huffed through her nose as Severus came up behind her and brought down the blankets that had been out of her reach. She turned around, hard, dark eyes glaring up at him. Now, so close to him, Tallis’s pulse quicked. She wasn’t entirely sure why; her body didn’t yearn for him like Blanka’s so clearly did. But even so, the proximity stirred something in her that she didn’t quite understand.

“I know what I’m doing, Baron Morand,” Tallis snapped, holding out her hand for a blanket, “Contrary to popular belief, I get on by myself just fine.” It was a sideways dig. Severus was as aware of Phearsons’ efforts to make a match out of them as Tallis was. The Phaersons wanted to kill two birds with one stone, no doubt: deter Severus from pursuing their daughter and rid themselves of their perceived responsibility for the orphaned rancher.

But Tallis didn't intend to play along.