The next two weeks were spent installing the floors in the cabins and ordering furniture to fill them. It was a big expense, but necessary. As you slowly saw your vision come together, new ideas started sprouting in your mind. Perhaps you could renovate the old treehouse and add a slide for children to play on during parties and perhaps you could order one of those old fashioned sauna barrels to install behind the cabins.

The only thing that kept your spirits from being up high was the fact that you had barely had the chance to speak to Bucky. He spent much of his time logging wood from the forest for the floors, and when he wasn't working he chose to go straight up to his room right after dinner. You wondered why he was avoiding you and wondered if you had said something wrong. Or perhaps you had thought the conversation had meant more than it actually did. The distance taken by Bucky annoyed you a lot more than it should have. It wasn't until the next Sunday morning that you were had your first moment in close vicinity to Bucky Barnes.

You found the house empty that morning, seeing your parents were out on a hike for the day and Harper wouldn't wake from her alcohol-induced coma until 2 in the afternoon. You guessed Bucky had to be outside already, angrily staring down a tree or something. So you decided to have a morning in and went downstairs dressed in your brother's old ice hockey jersey and fuzzy socks. This morning was the 562nd time you had to conclude you would never be able to nail a cute messy bun and would have to settle for second best. You freed a stack of your favourite vinyl records and selected one of your favourites. As the music started playing, you raided the kitchen cabinets for everything you needed to make the cinnamon French toast you enjoyed so much. You were shaking your hips to Do You Love me by The Contours as you dunked your bread in the egg, milk and sugary mixture to the beat of the music. You sung along to the lyrics as you dumped the toast in the buttery pan you had heated up. "Do you love me? Now that I can Daaaance. WATCH ME NOW HEY-" it was at that exact moment when you started a little impromptu dance solo and twirled around when you found Bucky standing in the doorway wearing his work-out shorts, criminally tight running shirt, two wide eyes and raised eyebrows. You nearly headbutted the table as you jumped towards the record player to lower the volume and clumsily hauled yourself back up.

"Morning," you uttered breathlessly as you felt your cheeks turn all kinds of crimson and pink. For the shortest of seconds you thought you saw a small smirk play on Bucky's lips, but it disappeared as his steel blue eyes looked you up and down.

"Morning," he uttered when his eyes had finally travelled up to yours. You didn't quite know how to respond when he raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck, his muscular arm flexing as he did so. His hair had been tied back in a messy bun, save for some strand which had managed to escape during his run. When you studied him closer you found his skin to be covered with the sweat he had worked up and his chest still lightly heaving from the run.

"I uh- better go take a shower," he huffed as he gestured to the door and bolted from the kitchen as fast as he could. Left alone in the kitchen, you still felt the path Bucky's eyes had burnt into your skin. You were convinced he had looked at you like that for your idiotic appearance, not for the reasons you hoped were crossing his mind.

But unbeknownst to you, Bucky found himself cursing under the cold water of the shower- desperate to cool down from the figure of you that was now permanently imprinted in his mind. He struggled to not think of the way that jersey teasingly moved over your upper legs and the way you had danced when you thought no one had been watching.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of freshly baked cherry pie and the sound of laughter coming from downstairs. Knowing the day would be unexpectedly warm for late August, you dressed yourself in a pair of high waisted denim shorts, a white top and a black paisley handkerchief tied up in your hair. Very unlike your usual self- you stalked into Harper's room to borrow her cherry chapstick, wondering if Bucky liked the taste of cherries. Lord this was getting out of hand.

You hurried down the stairs as the smell of the freshly baked pies intensified and made your stomach growl. When you entered the kitchen you found your mother feverishly chopping chokecherries, surrounded by multiple pie tins, mixing bowls and ingredients.

"Are you trying to feed an orphanage?" you asked with a smirk, dipping your finger in the closest bowl you could find.

"The culinary contest is in four days, I have to practice," your mother replied curtly, sounding like a war general planning his drills to get the troops in order.

You smiled fondly at her. The Chokecherry Festival always started off with the baking contest and hosted many more activities such as a car show, pit spitting contest, fun run and a pancake breakfast. This year, the week would end with its usual dance, which would be hosted in the barn. It was the perfect opportunity for you to pitch your new business to the townsfolk and the many tourist the festival would bring in.

"Take this to the table will you? And bring that hat to the sergeant, will you?" your mother insisted as she nodded towards the pie and hat laying on the kitchen counter.

You propped the hat loosely on your head, grabbed the pie and carried it to the dining room where you found your father and Bucky hunched over a drawing of the stage that was to be built in the barn.

"Morning bean," you father said without looking away from the drawing, making some notes in the margins. Bucky's eyes however did find you. He stared at your bare legs, his eyes shifting up over the denim shorts, your top and ending at your face. You felt your cheeks flush as he did not look away for a good while. Well- maybe you were getting somewhere?

Still feeling somewhat flustered, you clumsily put the pie on the table and cut yourself, Bucky and your father a piece. Bucky's eyes were still on yours and carried a dark shade which turned his usually calm ocean blue eyes into stormy ones.

"I think I'll start with sanding the floors today so we can start constructing the bar as soon as possible. Harper got the diner to close during the dance as everyone in town will be here anyways, so the dinner staff will be able to man the bar," you said as you tried to focus your attention on the pie and not on Bucky's eyes. As the taste of your mother's pie met your tastebuds you let out a satisfied groan. You had waited ten months for these to be in season.

"Great- sarge can start on the stage while I drive to Billings to pick up the supplies you ordered for the cabins and the decoration for the barn," you father announced as he wolfed down his pie and stood up. It took a short moment before Bucky realized your father had been speaking. "We should have enough supplies to ready the first cabin so you can move out of Carter's room sergeant," your father said as he looked at Bucky. Bucky nodded curtly. You knew this had been the plan, but felt somewhat sad as you had quite enjoyed listening to his slow breathing or the occasional laugh which would escape when he read one of your books, which was all clearly audible through the thin dry-wall separating you. It had been comforting to fall asleep to.

"Yeah- great idea," you said too quickly as you finished your pie. Your mother entered the kitchen and started clearing the plates off the table as the three of you stood up to head out. Right before Bucky stepped through the doorway you realized your father's old hat was still resting on your head.

"Bucky- wait," you uttered, causing both your parents to stare up at you, clearly surprised at you calling him Bucky, not sergeant. His cerulean eyes shot up to yours, holding your stare. You walked closer to him, lifted the hat from your head and settled it on Bucky's unruly dark hair.

"Don't want you to get burned," you said softly as you observed how damn good he looked in that white tank top and checkered shirt that wound tightly across his broad shoulders. The hat cast a dark shadow over his face which aptly hid the small smirk playing on his bearded jawline.

"Thanks," he huffed as he looked you over once again, before turning on his heels and leaving you standing there with a slightly flustered look on your face. The Winter Soldier looked like a damn cowboy and you couldn't believe you liked the look of it.

That afternoon you found yourself sitting on the floor of the barn, manually sanding the corners that the larger machine hadn't been able to reach. Sanding all the rough edges off the wood felt somewhat therapeutic and had you casually singing along to the radio that was playing in the corner. Every now and then Bucky would walk past you, carrying an offensive amount of wood on his shoulder to the back of the barn. He worked methodically, a concentrated frown on his face at all times. You liked how the two of you were able to work without speaking, but somehow you never felt alone. The promised heat of the day started reaching its peak and had you wiping your forehead and fanning yourself with unused sandpaper sheets. You normally enjoyed hot days, but this sweltering heat couldn't be fun for anyone.

Soon, Bucky discarded the shirt he had been wearing, resulting in nothing but his white tank top hiding only a few remaining parts of his muscular physique. His shoulders were wide, his arms muscular with large strong hands which gripped onto the hammer he was wielding tightly. The point where his titanium arm connected to his shoulder was scarred badly. When he looked up and caught you staring, you quickly looked back to the sander in your hands, feeling a flush creep up your neck. You didn't see the way he let his tongue lick his bottom lip before he resumed his work.

Around lunchtime your mother showed up to the barn with some sandwiches and even more pie. You chuckled shortly as Bucky stared at the pie for a moment, probably wondering how many of these your family ate in the lead up to the Festival and whether your family was fatting up to go into hibernation for the winter.

"We can clean and stain the floors tomorrow. That way we should be able to apply the finish on Wednesday," you said to your mom as you exchanged the sander in your hand for one of her godly sandwiches.

"But bean- that's when the festival starts. We can't miss it. Plus I'm sure the sergeant would like to have a day off too," she smiled warmly at Bucky.

"I'm fine Mrs," Bucky replied politely as he too accepted a sandwich.

"Won't people recognize him?" you asked, unsure whether Bucky should be exposed to the world like that. He was here to hide away after all.

"It's been nine months since the incident bean. I'm pretty certain no one will come to look for him here."

You pondered that for a moment. Lewistown was pretty small and hosted only 6000 inhabitants. As it was only connected to Route 191, it wasn't that easily accessible to many outsiders and was generally only visited by hikers and mountaineers. Bucky looked quite different from when he did on the news nine months ago, sporting a beard on his cheekbones and dressed like one of those handsome cowboys on the cover of one of those cheesy supermarket novels many a housewife hid under their pillows.

"Well- alright, but we would need to come up with some kind of cover," you said sternly, not wanting Bucky caught simply because you wanted to go out for an afternoon. Your mother smiled, satisfied.

"Alright then- that's settled," your mother smiled with a satisfied look on her face as she packed her basket to take back to the kitchen.

"Thanks for the pie ma'am, It tastes absolutely perfect," Bucky quickly said, a charming smile on his lips. He even used the brim of his hat to give your mother a polite nod. Your mother's cheeks flushed as she thanked him profusely. How was he able to wrap someone around his finger like that? When your mother had left the two of you alone in the barn, you stared at Bucky, shaking your head in disbelief.

"What?" he chuckled.

"You smooth-talking asswipe," you scolded. Bucky smiled that smile again, the one that caused that giddy fluttering feeling in your chest and made you roll your lips together as a coping mechanism.

"Don't go around acting like that on Wednesday, too many people will notice you," you warned him, mostly because you doubted whether you would be able to cope with that smile again.

"What? Don't want to share me doll?" he smirked as he playfully scratched the beard you had told him to keep.

Your already flushed cheeks increased various shades of pink before you made yourself squint your eyes at him and return to your work. He laughed before turning around while he pondered whether had had just made a mistake by giving in to opening up again.

Now you might be wondering: Is a cowboy Bucky Barnes already necessary in the fourth chapter? Maybe not. Am I sorry? Not in the slightest darling. You knew what you were buying as soon as you started reading this story. Please let me know what you think in the comments:)