Luckily, Harry seemed to forget about the remark Louis had made about doubting he'd had someone special in his life before losing his memory. And realizing it gave Louis a hefty dose of relief. He had no idea how he could even begin to explain his comment. He did know one thing though – he didn't want the night to end. But of course, it had to, as they had to be up early every morning.

After they'd gone to bed, Harry slightly unsteady as he navigated to his bedroom, Louis reflected on how much talking they had done. Several hours of it, and hardly a single moment of silence. Harry was so much more candid tonight than he'd ever been. If he could only find a way to help Harry to remain this natural and unafraid to really communicate. It seemed Harry kept a strict filter on his mouth, and Louis was mystified as to why.

The next morning, a bleary eyed Harry downed three cups of strong coffee almost back to back. Louis hid his grin. Harry wouldn't drink that much beer again anytime soon. Harry was frighteningly pale, and he only picked at the oatmeal Louis had prepared for him.

"Drink a lot of water today," Louis suggested slyly. "So you don't get dehydrated," he added, even though he knew Harry was already dehydrated from the alcohol. But he didn't want to bring attention to it. Harry had his pride, after all.

"Yeah," croaked Harry.

Harry dragged himself out to the barn, and Louis wanted to tell him to go back to bed; that he would take care of things. But he knew Harry would be bullheaded and refuse to listen.

Harry got through the day, and when they returned to the house at dusk, Harry went straight to bed without even eating dinner. Louis felt bad as he fixed a simple dinner. He knocked on Harry's door to offer him the plate he'd made for him, but Harry was knocked out cold, softly snoring away. Louis smiled to himself, knowing Harry would be famished in the morning, and he'd be sure to fix him a breakfast fit for a king.

Louis was in the barn, trimming his mare's hooves. There was always so much to do, and he'd decided he'd better get this chore done before she tripped while he was riding her. From the corner of his eye, he spied a shadow stealing up on him. It snaked around the open barn door, slowly approaching. His breath hitched, and he froze. A moment later, a steady hand landed gently on his shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

Harry.

Louis was aware he was literally holding his breath. This had never happened before. Not even his wildest imagination took him to this place. Harry touching him. Harry, who seemed to shudder even when they came close to touching, like when passing each other in tight spaces. Like he was afraid he'd get some disease if he so much as brushed against Louis.

Louis, bent over, looked up from his mare's hoof, an unspoken question in his eyes. Harry's face was soft, and that was even more shocking than the hand on his shoulder.

"Are ya ever gonna name that mare?" Harry asked, the velvet smoothness that was normal for his voice even more pronounced.

He was soft again.

Louis tried to get hold of himself and act as natural as he could. It wasn't easy with Harry's hand lingering on his shoulder.

"Uh, I already have," he said weakly. "Monique."

"Oh, I see. Interesting. I haven't heard you use it at all."

"I only say it to her," Louis admitted weakly, feeling like he must sound weird. His voice sounded almost squeaky to his ears. He wasn't making sense either, and it was because Harry was diverting all of his attention, almost making him squirm. He could hardly swallow, that warm hand seeming to soak right into his flesh.

"Was Monique someone special in your life?"

Louis sighed. Harry must be testing him again.

"I don't think so, even without a memory. I just like the sound of it."

Louis slowly stood up, stretching his back and trying to look casual.

"What do you mean, you don't think so even without a memory?" Of course Harry would have to call him on that remark. He never missed a thing.

"Because I doubt there was anyone special," Louis was floundering, trying to find a valid reason why he'd worded it that way. He knew, himself, why he'd said it. He didn't think there had been a Monique because he didn't think he was attracted to women, period. And he hoped the fact that he certainly was attracted to Harry didn't show.

Now he had himself in a bind. There was confusion in Harry's expression. Louis sure hoped he didn't figure it out. If he did, he hoped nothing would be said out loud. He'd absolutely die of embarrassment if Harry called him on it.

Harry's hand was staying entirely too long on his shoulder. It had remained there even after he'd stood up straight. There was no call for it to still be there a couple of minutes later. And even as they stood facing each other, the hand stayed in place. Louis struggled for something to say, even if only to sidetrack Harry from his attempt to figure out what Louis had been talking about.

"So, what's for dinner tonight?" he asked.

Harry cleared his throat, removing his hat to brush the hair out of his eyes. Louis mourned the warm hand that had left his shoulder. "Haven't given it much thought."

"I can cook tonight," offered Louis.

"No, you cook breakfast almost every mornin.'"

"So, it's no big deal."

"Can't wait for the apples and other fruit to ripen so I can make cobbler again," said Harry. "I make killer cobbler."

"We have apples and stuff that are canned," Louis mentioned.

"I know, but I don't really want to use those. You never know when we might need 'em. I like to be prepared for an emergency or sommat."

Louis' mouth wasn't even watering with the thought of cobbler, and that was exceedingly unusual for him. He loved cobbler. All his mouth was watering for was Harry.

"We uh, pick 'em at the end of summer, yeah?" he asked Harry just to keep the conversation going.

"Somewhere 'round there. When they're ripe," Harry smiled and his dimples came into play.

How dumb was that? Of course you picked fruit when it was ripe! Louis felt like knocking his head against a barn wall. Harry's dimples were not helping him to concentrate at all.

Harry seemed to know Louis' thoughts, because his smile turned into a semi-smirk. Kind of teasing, and kind of not. In summary, it was a gentle smirk, if such a thing was possible. Not a mean, nasty smirk. Louis, once again, wished with all his might that he could read Harry's mind.

"Sometimes I'd love to read your mind," said Harry.

Louis gasped unintentionally. Harry's ears perked up. Louis coughed, hoping Harry would think the gasp was a precursor to the cough.

"Got hay in your windpipe?" Harry was teasing again, and Louis hated not knowing exactly what Harry was aiming for.

"Yeah, some of it's a little dusty."

"True, that." Then the silence stepped in. That awkward, paralyzing kind of silence that takes everything out of you as you wrestle for something, anything, to say to break it. Under Harry's intense gaze, Louis began to sweat, feeling like he was wilting. Harry was practically gaping at him, seeming to enjoy his awkwardness.

"Uncomfortable much?" asked Harry, that annoying taunt still lacing his tone.

"Of course not." Louis turned back to his mare and resumed trimming the hoof. Thank God he had something to concentrate on besides Harry's overbearing presence. He'd felt for a minute there like Harry wanted to pull something out of him that he didn't want to talk about, or face. He didn't allow his mind to delve any deeper than that.

"You still haven't answered my question."

Oh God, those words! They panicked Louis. Harry was not going to let it go! That had been two days ago!

"Why is it such a big deal?" Louis felt the irritation rising.

"Just curious. You don't think there was anyone special in your life even without a memory? No woman? No Monique? What makes you think there wasn't?"

Did Harry really want an answer to that, or was he just needling Louis because he could see how uneasy it made him?

"I don't know! I just have that feelin.'"

Harry, realizing he couldn't squeeze blood from a rock, tried another tactic and laid his hand on Louis' shoulder again. Louis stiffened. Somehow, he had a feeling this was going to get even more difficult than it already was.

Harry's hand was so big! And so warm on his skin. His long fingers massaged, and it was as if he wasn't wearing a shirt at all. Suddenly, breathing was a luxury. Louis tried to continue with the trimming, but found he felt disoriented and couldn't keep his mind on the task. He fumbled, and the chore was suddenly foreign. He'd mysteriously forgotten how to do it, even though he'd done lots of trimming on horses' hooves since he'd been here.

It was Harry's influence. Louis was normally a bit on the flippant side. Maybe it didn't bother him that he was attracted to Harry more with each passing day. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, was it? Maybe he was enjoying it. But the fact that he didn't know what was going through Harry's head was disconcerting.

Was Harry flirting with him? Or just being casual, and that's just where his hand had happened to land? Louis hated this guessing game that was going on inside his brain. He was probably simply overthinking.

Yet, it was doubtful Harry didn't know where his own hand was. Louis got the feeling he was being taunted, as it seemed like Harry was taking pleasure in seeing his bumbling efforts to trim the hoof, and appear unruffled.

Louis gave up and put the mare's hoof down, standing up once again.

"What's up?" he said bluntly, facing Harry and trying to act self-assured. "Why are you givin' me the third degree?"

Harry smiled in a cunning way. "Cause I like seein' you become cumbersome and unable to carry on because I'm breathin' down your neck."

Okay, so now Louis could feel goose bumps rising on his flesh. His heart was even doing flip-flops. He dragged air into his lungs with effort.

"The way you crept up on me. You could teach a lion to stalk its prey," Louis said out of desperation. There had to be some way to get Harry's claws out of him. To get his attention elsewhere.

"Let's talk about it at dinner," Harry said.

"Talk 'bout what?"

"Why you think there was no special someone in your life before you got amnesia."

Good God! Harry wouldn't give him a break! First he had said special woman. Now he was saying special someone. What was he getting at? He wasn't suspicious, was he? He hoped not, because he wouldn't be able to lie if Harry asked him point blank if he was gay.

Harry was cooking and cussing. Things were hitting the kitchen floor, and Louis was sorting laundry. Curious, he entered the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Why you so stroppy?

Harry sighed and lowered his chin and he looked so beaten down.

"Can't get these pork chops right! Every time I try to cook 'em, they turn out all dry."

"Let me fool around with 'em. Do we have any cream soups? Like cream of mushroom or cream of potato?" asked Louis.

"Yeah, matter of fact, we do. Oh . . . it's cream of chicken," Harry looked crestfallen as he took the can out of the cabinet.

"Doesn't matter. It'll still help the chops to retain their moisture." Louis took the can from Harry and worked magic. Some peppers and onions added, and it started to look like dinner.

"Wicked! You're a legend!" exclaimed Harry, truly excited about learning to fix pork chops so they tasted decent.

"You're not your surly self. I think you're finally gettin' used to me," Louis said, and then wondered if he hadn't said the wrong thing.

"Maybe," Harry said, looking noncommittal; that guarded shield behind his eyes again. He looked almost as if he was afraid of getting too chummy.

When dinner was done, they sat down at the table, and Louis started to fret inwardly. Was Harry going to bring it up again? Warily, he cut into his pork chops, and found them to be entirely edible. Even a little tender. Harry seemed to like them too.

"Just think when we pick the greens from the garden and have a fresh salad every night!" Louis had been craving salad, and it wouldn't be long before it would be a reality. Fresh salad sounded Heavenly. There was nothing else quite like it, because of course, canning leafy greens wasn't possible.

Harry, meanwhile, was thinking of how proud Louis had looked upon completing the planting of the vegetables. He'd put his hands on his hips while surveying the perfect rows, as if he'd just conquered the world, looking back at Harry for approval. There was no way Harry could have hidden his huge smile.

Louis had been working with the horses too. He was a superb rider, and had fine-tuned two of Harry's horses that Harry himself hadn't found the time to do. The day Harry had given him the okay to ride his horses was pivotal-the day Louis realized Harry was finally accepting him, and that he had at last procurred Harry's trust. He'd been so delighted that he hadn't been able to tamp it down, and Harry had smiled then too. It was becoming more and more frequent that Harry's lips turned up as a result of something Louis said or did.

"So ..." sighed Harry, sitting back in his chair after he'd finished eating.

"Why do you think there was no one special in your life?"

Louis slammed his fork down on the table with his last bite of pork chop impaled on it, gravy splattering on the table.

"Do you have to know everythin?'"

"No, I reckon not, but I'd like to know that."

"I have no memory," Louis reminded him.

"I know. But do you want me to repeat your words verbatim again?"

Okay, Harry had him. He wasn't going to forget Louis' exact words.

"Alright! Alright! I think there was no someone special in me life because I'm not partial to relationships. At least, I don't think I am," he added in a hurry, hoping this would put this subject to rest.

"Why?"

So Harry had decided to pursue it further.

"Well, I think it's not a good idea to get involved with someone. It can create hurt."

"Okay," Harry got pretty quiet after that, and Louis couldn't believe his good fortune that it seemed Harry was dropping the subject. Harry, however, still appeared pensive, not revealing where his mind was going. Those gears were turning though. Louis was certain of that.

"I never know what your thoughts might be," Louis murmured as he gathered up the dishes to take to the sink.

"I guess I'm . . . uncertain, unsettled, or whatever, about how this should go."

Well, that was a vague statement if Louis had ever heard one.

"What do you mean?" he asked, washing dishes and then handing them to Harry to dry. They had settled on this instead of fighting over who did the chore.

Harry worried his lower lip with his teeth, Louis' eyes fastened on his face. He seemed to be reaching for words.

"Um . . . I don't know . . . how familiar we should be with each other."

"Well," Louis tried to choose his words with care so as not to offend Harry. "Do you want this to be a working relationship or. . . friendship in addition to a working relationship?"

Harry furrowed his brows, chewed the inside of his cheeks, looking contemplative. Then he turned to tact and graciousness with his next statement.

"There isn't really any . . . adhesive here. What I mean is, we only know what we've seen of each other for the last few weeks, nothin' more. You know more about me, true, and the both of us know next to nothin' about you. I guess I'm just . . . wary, you know? A friend would do me good, but I also feel we need to keep it at least a little bit professional."

"Keep it professional as in strictly a working relationship?"

"No, not necessarily. I did say I'd like a friend," Harry corrected him.

"Well, what about what I might like?" Louis knew he was being out of line. He was the employee – he shouldn't be asking Harry to see him any other way.

"Okay, then, what would you like?" Harry came right back at him, and his voice might have been wavering just a tad. Louis took this as a challenge.

Louis felt pressed, but then, he'd brought it on himself. He needed to man up and be honest with Harry, since he'd already gotten himself in water that was almost over his head.

"Honestly?"

Harry nodded his head, somewhat impatiently.

"Okay then. I'd love a friendship as well as the professional part of it. Is that even possible?"

Harry mulled this over.

"I'm not sure. Never been in this situation before. They say you shouldn't date someone you work with, but that isn't the case here," he uttered the last part of that sentence quickly. A little too quickly, perhaps.

"So I don't know if you can be friends with someone you work with, but people do it sometimes, yeah?"

"I reckon," was Louis' response. He was bewildered. Was it really that complicated to be friends with someone you worked with? And lived with? That last part seemed to muddle things a bit. Was it healthy to work with, live with and be friends with your boss? He had no idea.

"It's not up to me to decide," Louis didn't want to get too personal or make Harry feel uncomfortable about this whole thing. Harry had hinted rather strongly about keeping it professional, so he decided he'd better act the part.

But why had Harry approached him in the barn that day and laid his hand on his shoulder, not taking it off for a long time? Harry must feel some degree of affection toward him to do something like that, right? Or was he just being nice?

"Okay then, can it be up to me?" asked Harry, and this shook Louis up. He wrinkled his forehead and peered at Harry curiously. Did he even need to ask?

"Look, what I'm tryin' to say is, I don't want us to be a boss/employee thing. Can we just be friends? And not act like a boss and employee?"

"But . . . you just said you wanted it to be professional." Now Louis was perplexed as hell.

"Okay, I did say that, but I was tryin' to see how you felt about it. Get your reaction."

"Don't play games, Harry. Please. Just be honest."

"Okay, then I'm bein' honest."

"So you want to be friends?"

"Yes. That's what I want. I'm just afraid I'll get too used to havin' you here, and then you'll regain your memory and just up and leave me."

The impact of Harry's words hit them both hard. Harry looked like he'd said more than he'd planned on saying. A hell of a lot more.

Wow, this was getting deep. It sounded to Louis like Harry was talking more about a relationship than a friendship. Or it could just be his overactive mind.

No, it was wishful thinking. He liked Harry a lot. Really a lot. He'd seen the tough side of him, and just recently, he'd seen the soft side, and he wanted to see more of that. He was getting too fond of him; they got on so well most of the time, and, unfortunately, he was also seriously attracted. Unfortunately, because that part would never be returned. Harry was straight. It made Louis sad, but he had to face the fact that all they could ever be was friends.