Author's Note: I own nothing. I am only a lowly fanfic writer.

Branch Connally had a weakness for women. Especially strong-willed, sassy ones. With a hint of flirtation in their eyes.

A big rack didn't hurt either.

He wasn't sure if the woman draped across the engine compartment of an old Ford truck in the lone bay of Fred Ray's auto shop fell into any of those categories.

But, he did enjoy the view.

Propping one slightly dusty Tony Llama on a case of oil sitting by the open bay doors, he decided to figure out if she was one of his three favorite things.

Until the radio in his cruiser parked just outside crackled with static.

Ruby. Trying to find someone to take a call about a wreck on State Hwy. 106. God bless her.

Finally realizing he was there, Ray's new mechanic eyed him disinterestedly over her shoulder as she removed an alternator that looked like it was older than the beat-up truck, if that was even possible.

Branch sauntered to his cruiser and reached through the open window to answer the call. "Can't. I have a flat."

Victoria Moretti's voice was the next one he heard, coming in loud and clear. "You would, asshole."

Branch had to grin as he tossed the handset back into the car at Vic's response. His fellow deputy might fall under strong-willed and sassy, but she had a few too many claws for his taste.

Yankees. Go figure.

Branch sauntered back in the warehouse out of the noonday sun, his boots kicking up clouds of dust in the parking lot. It was dry for late summer, but that was not uncommon in the arid regions of Wyoming.

She was now rooting around in a stack of boxes that probably had some sort of organization to whomever put them there. Not one that Branch could see, however. Fred Ray was not known for his organizational skills, that was for sure.

She didn't even look up as she spoke, studying the writing on the side of each box before she tossed it aside. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to introduce yourself. Or if you were just going to stand there and look at my ass."

Another Yankee by the sounds of it.

That's alright. Branch liked a challenge. "And I was beginning to wonder if Fred Ray had some sort of sex change operation. Just how long you been working here, anyway?"

She finally found the box she was looking for and rose to her feet, pulling off the baseball cap and wiping her forehead with her arm before putting it back on, tendrils of hair curling around her face and neck where her hair had come loose from its ponytail. She certainly wasn't high-maintenance, that was for sure. "Long enough to know the law doesn't make house calls. You want me to fix that flat, I'm guessin'?"

"I've never had a woman change my tire before, but I'm game for most anything." He gave her the smile that he knew showed his dimples off the best.

Grudgingly, she returned his smile with a half-hearted one. "I think most men would say that. But, you're going to have to wait."

Branch's surprise must have been written on his face because she snorted as she sauntered back to the engine compartment of the truck, pulling the new alternator out of the box and tossing the empty in the general vicinity of the dumpster. "I've got three others ahead of you. That have been waiting a lot longer than you." She didn't even look at him as she crawled back on the bumper and settled back in what must have been an uncomfortable position.

His badge gave him perks he knew he wouldn't ever get without one. Bumping him to the front of the line – no matter if it was at restaurants or car repair – usually was one of them.

Not today, apparently.

"Where is Ray, anyway?" Branch said, looking around like the man was hiding from him behind one of the old rusty oil barrels or outdated cars on blocks.

"Billings. Car show." Her voice echoed in the cavernous engine compartment of the Ford. Although she had thwarted his efforts, Branch couldn't help but admire her tight Levi's – black grease stains across her rear - as she wrangled a particularly stubborn bolt.

"I guess I couldn't make you change your mind by telling you I have an important call," he tried one last time.

"Cows in the road don't count."

"They do in Wyoming." His tone was playful as he hooked his thumbs on his belt. "You can't stop me from protecting and serving, you know."

There was a loud clank, then a few colorful uses of the English language as whatever bolt she was using clattered to the concrete underneath the old truck.

With a sigh, she climbed off once again, putting her hands on her hips. Branch couldn't help but grin, reaching out and wiping a smear of grease off her nose with his thumb.

She slapped his hand away in annoyance. "Look. If you take the tire off and put the spare on, I'll have the thing fixed by the time you get back."

Branch grinned at her slowly. "What? You want me to get all dirty changing my own tire?" He gestured down at his immaculate deputy uniform.

He was kidding. A little.

She rolled her brown eyes dramatically. "Fine! I'll take it off and put on the spare! But I'm charging you for it!"

"The county."

"Whatever." Sounding a lot like Vic, she flounced out the door, reaching inside the car for the trunk release, so she could get the spare and the jack.

Figuring he could use some brownie points, he made his way to the trunk to help her with the spare.

Giving him a dirty look, she wrestled the full-size tire out of the trunk by herself.

Branch grinned. "I like a modern, do-it-yourself woman."

"I bet you do." She tossed the spare on the ground next to the offending flat. "Especially if she does all the work."

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing one of those auto mechanic shirts with your name on the chest?" he motioned towards her old, grungy T-shirt advertising a band that hadn't had a hit in 30 years.

She didn't look up as she removed the lugs from the tire. "Do you really think Fred Ray would pay for something like that?"

She had a point.

Obediently, Branch held out his hand. He could at least keep up with the lugs.

She looked at his hand, then at him. "You might get your nails dirty."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

With an impatient sigh, she tossed the lug into his hand and wrestled with the next one. Leaned over the tire like she was, he caught a glimpse of some sort of tattoo right above her right breast. It intrigued him, but he thought he better not ask her what it was. By the way she was huffing and puffing, she may bean him over the head with the jack.

"You never told me your name."

"You never asked." She flopped down on the ground and placed the jack just right underneath the car.

"I'm asking now," he said playfully.

She eyed him from the ground as she jacked up the car. "It's Annie," she answered grudgingly.

He grinned and started to reply.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like Oakley."

Branch shook his head and leaned against the car, careful not to lose the lugs by putting them in his shirt pocket. "I was going to ask if you would belt out 'Tomorrow'."

She made a face. "There's that one, too."

"But, your hair's the wrong color."

"Boy, I didn't know the local law was so observant." She pulled the flat off, inspecting it once with her fingers before lifting the spare onto the wheel. Branch admired the way her muscles flexed. She may look small, but she was one tough cookie.

"While we're on the subject of names," she puffed as she stuck her hand out for the lugs, which he obediently handed to her one-at-a-time, "what the hell kinda name is Branch, anyway?"

He stared at her a moment without answering, his smile disappearing.

She looked up at him when she realized he wasn't going to answer. "What?"

"Have we met?" That was possible. There was this wild party one night over in Russell Craddock's old barn . . .

She gave him a disgusted look that seemed to say 'some cop you are' and pointed in his cruiser where his name was prominently displayed on the computer background, along with his photo.

He smiled at her sheepishly. "I was beginning to wonder."

"Sleep with very many strange women there lately, Deputy Branch Connally?" With one final tug, she tightened the last lug snuggly into place.

"Not lately. But, I may be willing to break my streak."

Annie tossed his flat tire in the general direction of the garage and stood, wiping her hands on the seat of her pants. Explained the grease stains. "I bet you would. The tire'll be ready by five." She sashayed off, pony-tail swinging, unceremoniously climbing underneath the truck to retrieve the errant bolt she had lost earlier before she decided to come to his rescue.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Branch climbed into his cruiser.

Yankees. Why did they all come with so many teeth?