Define girlfriend.

Okay, Louis had only responded to his question but Harry felt his heart sinking. He should never have expected it, but he realized suddenly that he'd hoped Louis, like himself, hadn't had any girlfriends. That, however was an impossibility with a man like Louis. He was so dynamic, so attractive in both looks and personality (when he was in a good mood, that was) that the likelihood of him not having had any girlfriends was unthinkable.

Now Harry wished he hadn't asked the question. If only he could retract it! It was better to remain in the dark than to hear something he would rather not hear. Problem was, he was stuck now, since Louis was looking at him, waiting, and there were no other options, so Harry sucked it up and tried to define girlfriend for Louis.

"Um . . . well, like . . . someone you date?" Harry stammered.

"Didn't proper date anyone," was Louis' answer. "Just . .. had some fun, you know?"

Oh God. Just as he'd thought. Harry had asked for it. Well, Harry couldn't expect Louis not to have had sex either. Not a twenty-five year old man who was worldly and a ranch owner. But now at least he had his answer about Louis' sexuality. He was bi.

Louis spoke up quickly. "But, you know, maybe I just did it to prove sommat to meself."

Harry's ears perked up. He struggled to find a response.

"You mean you had sex when you didn't want to?"

Louis absently rubbed the towel at his hair, his eyes darted around for a moment, as if searching for a way out of this confession, and then sighed and nodded slightly. "But . . . like I told you in the past, I wasn't feelin' it."

So, sounded like Louis had forced himself to sleep with girls to try to prove to himself that he wasn't gay! It was elementary. There was no other explanation. And it made Harry's heart lurch with hope.

Louis was uncomfortable in the extreme with the subject, and quite reluctantly dragged the other chair over to settle in front of the fire. Not too close to Harry though.

There was something special about Harry that pulled him to the lad, but acknowledging that made him anxious, even though the thought of being in bed with Harry was tantalizing. Oh, he was so confused!

This talk of women, and not being attracted to them, yet still bedding them was making things even more convoluted. Well really, it wasn't complex at all, not to Louis. But he had to keep in mind that he probably wasn't making things transparent enough for Harry. He still shied away from the very idea of explaining, shuddering in the process. Weren't things pretty obvious? But he couldn't see things from Harry's point of view.

Hell with it all. Louis wanted to get into bed. And he wanted Harry with him.

So instead of making that grave mistake and mentioning bedtime, embarrassing the shit out of himself, Louis reverted back to an old high school trick. He pulled a face. He figured it would at least save him the humiliation of the look of unfettered shock on Harry's face when he suggested they go to bed.

Louis bugged his eyes and made them cross, then he pulled his mouth into one long, straight line. Harry had never seen anyone pull a face quite like that one before. He sputtered, choked, then gasped to get air into his lungs.

"Swallowed the wrong way, yeah? asked Louis.

"Well yeah. Never saw you do that before, and it's really, really funny."

"I save it for special occasions."

"This is a special occasion?"

Louis smiled. "As a matter of fact, it is. Where's that damn moonshine?"

"I dunno. I put it on the mantel the last I remember." Harry didn't even look up at the mantel. He was too fascinated with Louis and his comical ways that he hadn't even known the man possessed until now. Louis had a silly side. Interesting.

Louis went over to the mantel, took a deep swallow and shoved the jar at Harry.

"Not used to that stuff. Never had it before," Harry drew back slightly, not accepting the jar.

"Is your head spinnin'?" asked Louis.

"No."

"Good then. No more moonshine and you'll be fine." Louis screwed the lid back on the jar and shoved it back in the cupboard with all the other mason jars.

Sneaking a quick glance at his watch, Louis saw it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. So he decided to kill time by asking Harry more questions.

"Called your mum lately?"

Harry looked a smidge guilty. "Yesterday. Didn't call her today. And it's five o'clock in the mornin' there now."

Louis nodded.

"You used me toothbrush too," Louis accused, his voice laced with badly concealed mirth.

The heat suffused Harry's cheeks for the one hundred thousandth time since they'd been here. "Well, I saw it there, on the shelf," and he indicated the item of interest with a jerk of his head. "I couldn't find another one, so . . . "

"That's a rather personal item to borrow. Any when did you do it? When I was stackin' the firewood?"

"Either that or when you were havin' a wee," Harry explained.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Louis was really grilling him, and Harry knew Louis had to know how awkward it made him feel.

"Not really. I've seen your . . . hygiene habits. I wasn't worried about it. I'm sorry. I didn't ask permission because . . . I can't stand goin' without brushin' me teeth, and I was afraid you'd think I was weird."

Apparently, it didn't bother Louis either because he abruptly changed subjects.

"Tell me about your family."

"I have lots of cousins, but just one sister that's quite a bit older than me. That's why I was so . . . sheltered. I was the baby."

So this explained a lot. How unworldly Harry was, how hesitant he was, how he lacked confidence, how he often wasn't sure how to respond to sarcasm or simple teasing.

"And you . . . " started Harry, but then thought better of it.

Louis took over, knowing Harry's thoughts instinctively—that the lad wanted to know more about him too. "I had to be the man of the house. Me mum passed away when I was only three. I hardly remember anythin' about her. And when me dad passed, I really had to man up. But we were talkin' about you. How did you get so shy? Weren't you sociable in school?"

"Not too much, no. I was quiet and didn't care about popularity. And me mum protected me so much that I never learned social skills to the extent that I should have. Lookin' the way I do, I sometimes got teased a little." Harry greatly downplayed that part. The girls had always liked him, and the boys had felt threatened by him because of it, so in turn they had teased him and called him girly out of envy. Harry hadn't known the boys were envious, thinking they simply disliked him, so he'd felt ostracized and isolated.

"Jealous," said Louis, as if to himself. Harry, as usual, blushed. He remembered how Louis had told him at the barn dance about guys being jealous of his looks. He wasn't sure if he believed that though.

"I'd remember those green eyes anywhere," Louis added, his voice suddenly taking on a quieter, silken quality.

Harry was bewildered. Why was Louis bringing up his eyes?

"Only saw 'em once before, but I didn't forget 'em," Louis concluded.

"What? I don't understand," Harry said.

"I'll let you in on a little secret. I do remember you at the Huck Finn Jubilee. I spilled me drink, and looked up, and all I saw were your green eyes."

Harry was chuffed. Louis did remember him! "So why didn't you tell me when I mentioned I saw you there?" he asked.

Louis shrugged. "Didn't want to let you think I thought you were anythin' special."

Hmmm . . . well, Harry did appreciate his honesty. "Well, I remembered your blue eyes too. They're imprinted on me retinas."

Louis' turn to blush.

"Gosh," said Louis casually, a few minutes later. "I'm gettin' sleepy. Must be the moonshine." He wasn't feeling drunk, just tipsy enough to have the balls to mention the possibility of an upcoming bedtime.

Harry paused, his eyes showing Louis his uncertainty. "Me too," he said weakly.

"Reckon we hit the hay soon, yeah?" asked Louis, not meaning to sound cryptic, but figuring it must sound that way to Harry's ears.

"Sure."

Louis solved the awkward moment by leaping onto the bed, and sprawling on the top of the blankets instead of crawling under the sheets. On the bed instead of in it. Somehow, it seemed less suggestive.

Harry followed his example, settling down beside him, both of them staring at the ceiling, the lantern casting ghostly shadows on their faces, but Harry saw it as anything but spooky. To him, it was romantic. Mysterious, full of the unknown.

"Want a fire?" asked Louis.

"Not unless you do. Not cold enough," Harry answered. "You reckon I'm dodgy?" Harry blurted out. Louis turned a curious face to him. Harry explained, "I mean, I show up out of nowhere, pleadin' for a job. Do you believe what I've told you, or are you still suspicious of me?"

"If I was suspicious of you, I wouldn't be tellin' you how I was enjoyin' me time here with you."

That statement caused a lovely feeling to enfold Harry. And he knew it wasn't just the moonshine.

I had what I called a restless yearning," Harry admitted. "I wanted to just get in me Rover and go . . . to some place where there were wide open spaces and horses." He paused. "And cowboys, or so me friend Audrey accused me of," he added, feeling the now too familiar rush of heat spread up his neck and into his cheeks.

"Oh, so your friend Audrey knows . .. about . . . that?" Louis asked uneasily.

"Yeah, and like, she's the only one who knows, man. 'Cept for you now too, of course."

"Well, only one who knows about me is you. Directly, that is. I suspect Johnny has a hunch, but of course, I never told him."

Harry was getting all kinds of compliments tonight, and he felt so much less unsure of himself.

Louis had chosen him to tell his secret to.

Harry couldn't stop looking at Louis' moon-lit blue eyes that didn't avoid his as often anymore. He could almost feel Louis thawing out. The ice was melting, Louis seemed to be warming to him.

"And with one and a quarter of a mason jar of moonshine between the two of us, are you relaxed?" asked Louis.

Harry kept his eyes fastened on the Doncaster man's own eyes. "Yes, but . . . but I'm worried about you," Harry confessed, nothing but brutal honesty radiating from his evergreen eyes.

"How is that?"

"I'm afraid you'll hit the wall."

Louis was stunned, and his gasp gave testimony to it.

"Your work," clarified Harry.

"I know . . . I knew what you meant," Louis assured him. So Harry wasn't as oblivious to things as Louis once thought. His hunch had been right that Harry was not simple, but a thinker. "Me too, sometimes. I'm strung tight all the time. Bein' here, talkin' to you, lettin' loose of that tight hold on meself . .. is helpin' me."

Harry had never felt so honored. To have an important, influential man such as Louis Tomlinson saying that he, Harry Styles, had a calming effect on him was gratifying.

"I'm glad!" Harry's genuine smile told Louis he told the truth. Although, Louis couldn't imagine Harry telling a lie unless it was to spare someone's feelings.

"Was it hard—takin' over when your dad died?"

Louis laughed, but it had a bitter quality to it. "I did what I had to do. Johnny was a massive help, but I still had to make major decisions on me own. At only twenty years of age. This is why I have trouble loosenin' up. I'm afraid I'll fuck up, and lose me tight grip on meself, won't live up to me dad's expectations. Sorry . . . I didn't mean to unload on you." Louis' eyes were soft. "You don't need to be hearin' me troubles."

"No, no . . . I don't mind at all." Harry wished he could think of something else to say to allay Louis' concerns, but he found his thoughts were frozen. If only Louis knew how privileged he felt that he was was confiding in him.

Harry didn't pursue the subject, as he already had earlier, and he didn't want to work Louis into a lather again. The man was sensitive about his father—what guy wasn't? So Harry didn't want to aggravate him.

He decided on another tactic. "Sometimes though, every once in a while, you seem relaxed and content. Like that night at the barn dance, and . . . now." Harry acknowledged inwardly what he'd just said. And Louis confirmed it a moment later.

"I do feel relaxed and calm now and then. It depends on the company. It usually happens only with me mum and occasionally with Johnny . . . and surprisingly, with you."

The euphoria of Louis' comment raised Harry's hopes that Louis wouldn't regret getting stranded in the line shack with him. His constant fear of doing or saying the wrong thing apparently weren't well grounded. Louis liked his company and was openly admitting it.

"You're mild mannered and you put me at ease," Louis added. "The moonshine mellowed me a bit, but it was mostly you."

"Thank you," Harry said, feeling like he sounded lame, but literally at a loss for words.

Each alone with his own thoughts, they didn't talk for a while. When Louis spoke up again, Harry was jarred. Especially by what Louis had to say.

"Did you ever have a . . . relationship with any of the girls you tried to date?"

Harry went cold and rigid. He knew what Louis was getting at. Louis wanted to know if Harry had ever slept with a girl.

Harry fought down the urge to retreat. "Ah . . . no. I didn't."

Louis, wide eyed, gawked at Harry without meaning to, but he just couldn't stop himself.

"You mean you're . . . "

Harry began to sweat, his heart pounded, and he shrunk back from the fear that Louis would not approve of the truth. He gasped for breath, feeling like he was going to start crying, or slamming his fist into the wall, or pleading with Louis not to think of him as lame or awkward.

Goofy. That's what he was.

But Louis' eyes had lost their hard edge some time ago, patience now predominating. His voice sounded a little raspy as he said the words out loud.

"Harry, you're a . . . virgin?"

Harry shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, as if it didn't matter, and failing miserably. "Yeah, probably the world's oldest too," He finally muttered.

But Louis didn't show pity; he also didn't show disgust, and he didn't laugh at him. Instead he challenged Harry.

"Why are you actin' so ashamed?" he demanded.

"Because it's not . .. normal."

"And what is normal?" Louis grinned, reminding Harry of the time Harry had used that phrase on himself.

Was this just a crush Harry had? He wished he could talk to Louis about it without embarrassment. Now that Louis knew his biggest secret, he felt like everything should come out. He had, however, already admitted to Louis that he fancied him. So really, Louis knew a lot more about him than he knew about Louis. It didn't seem right. It gave Louis an unfair advantage.

Louis tried to buffer the situation.

"I think it's refreshin.' It shows you respect your body and don't make rash decisions."

"Except comin' to Texas and leavin' me whole life behind on a whim." That shut Louis up for a moment.

"You're comin' outta your shell, becomin' independent. I respect you for bein' so . . . choosy."

"Choosy? But don't you see? I didn't want a girl."

Louis nodded. "But you wouldn't be slutty with guys either. It's just not you," he said with conviction.

He was right.

"And I'm flattered that . . . you like me," Louis left it at that, shifting a bit on the bed. Or was that a squirm?

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. There had been no "but" at the end of the sentence. Louis had left the conversation wide open, and Harry wasn't so sure he was comfortable with that. They shouldn't be in bed together when Harry was dying to touch Louis, stroke his hair, even just hold his hand. He was craving this Donny chap who felt he had to put on a rugged act. Made not a lick of sense to Harry, because Louis knew that Harry was aware of his sexuality. So what was he trying to prove?

He didn't want Harry—that was it. Maybe the "almost kiss" had been Louis testing himself. In any case, Louis was not open to any kind of gay relationship, and he'd made that clear. Harry had to keep warning himself internally of that fact. Reminding himself to sidestep constantly, because if he metaphorically stepped on Louis' toes with any comment Louis didn't like, the rancher was sure to put him in his place with no mercy.

Louis continued to talk, softly, with no trace of the bossiness he so often exhibited.

"It makes me feel good that you like me. But . . . we're both men—cowboys, and we work on a ranch with other cowboys. It's a rough, tough life. I am the example setter here, bein' owner of the ranch."

"I know—you've already explained that to me," Harry was deflated and practically defeated. Why did Louis have to keep bringing that up? They had been having a nice, revealing conversation that seemed to have a calming effect on Louis, and then he had to go and pipe up with his familiar and unwelcome lecture about proper conduct again.

Harry flung his body away from Louis' and scooted toward the edge of the bed.

"Oi, where you goin'?" Louis' voice was wary.

Harry didn't know where he stood with this man. Why had Louis suggested it was bedtime? Why did he look into Harry's eyes with undisguised affection? Harry had had about enough of this.

"Away from you," Harry answered his inquiry rather brusquely.

Louis grabbed Harry's hair and tugged. Not roughly, but just enough to get Harry's full attention.

"Get back over here," he said, but without any real authority. Harry had no real choice but to allow himself to be pulled back over to Louis. Louis didn't let go of his hair. He kept pulling until Harry was well-nigh on top of him. Harry wasn't sure if Louis had done it on purpose, or had simply misjudged how zealous he'd been in coaxing Harry back to him. He'd hardly used any force at all, but Harry was so stunned by Louis' actions that he had yielded and allowed the pull of Louis' hand without questioning or even dreaming of fighting it.

They found themselves in a sensitive position when the momentum of Louis' hand finally ceased. Harry's head and chest ended up directly over Louis, a look of pure puzzlement clouding Harry's features. He quite frankly didn't know what to do. Of course he wanted the closeness, but didn't know to what extent Louis' tolerance would allow. Louis had done it himself, after all, he reasoned. He couldn't blame Harry for it.

They stared, paralyzed in this position, Harry's face mere inches from Louis.' Harry felt Louis' every breath, saw his long eyelashes flutter with disconcertment, while Louis observed Harry's shallow breathing, and how his hair had fallen down over his forehead. They were flustered in the worst way.

Louis looked shocked, his eyes wide. He really had misjudged the pressure he'd put into pulling Harry's hair. And, damn it—it turned him on. He didn't know if he could say the same for Harry though. The lad seemed to be temporarily catatonic.

"Sorry, I wasn't tryin' to be a caveman, really I wasn't," Louis explained sheepishly.

Harry couldn't talk. The unformed words stuck in his throat, even though he should have laughed, because what Louis had said was funny. But instead, he remained stock still, afraid that anything he did, any movement he made, would break the spell. He was reminded of the night in the bunk house when they'd been drinking the whiskey. They'd been in this same exact position on the floor.

Never mind the fact that Louis had just been talking about responsibilities, and not getting involved, or whatever. . . all that went by the wayside faster than Harry could blink his eyes. He didn't want to hear it anymore anyway.

One kiss. Just one kiss. What harm could it do? Harry ached for it. He had never kissed a guy before, but it couldn't possibly be any worse than the girls he'd kissed, or more like, attempted to without being able to fully follow through.

Because he hadn't liked it.

With Louis, he wanted it like nothing he'd ever wanted before. This sinful, carnal need threaded into him, and then caught and held fast, lodging in his heart. Louis' blue eyes tugged at that very heart in the most deliciously painful way.

Louis opened his mouth to speak, and what he said would have knocked Harry to his knees had he not already been lying on the bed.

"My God, you're beautiful."