A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to thank all my readers for the lovely reviews of this fic. There's been such a wonderful response to it and it just really makes me happy! You guys are all the best!

There were times she was sure she would come to regret her the rash decision she sometimes made. That first day in the barn, not more than a half hour into her day, was one of them. Gold had brought her in that morning and produced a contract. She was to be at the barn no later than 7:00am. It was an ungodly hour but that was apparently when he turned the sheep out for the day and she was expected to begin her duties. Once she released the sheep to pasture, she had to muck out their stalls.

This was what she was in the middle of doing that morning. It was barely light out and it was a struggle to see in the dim stall. "Who the hell has the crazy idea that 7:00am is a proper time to start work?" She wasn't the sort to talk to herself usually, but no one was around and she needed to vent at least a little. The sheep were gone and the dogs were probably still in their climate controlled kennel. Hell, Gold had probably gone back to bed, though the man had been impeccably dressed, even at such an early hour.

Gold's dogs really lived it up and somehow she was surprised at that. She didn't know why. It really shouldn't have surprised her. Gold was not a people person, after all. Nothing had really come of her attempts at conversation with the man. She was simply met with a stony stare and a continuation of the instructions he had given her.

And the instructions had been a bit more exacting than she thought they would be, though she couldn't say that was a surprise. Everything about Gold pointed to a sort of meticulousness that Belle tended to find annoying. His outfit was old-fashioned, tweed pants, cable knit sweater, and everything pressed perfectly. She could see the crease in pants that she suspected would be slightly wrinkled on a more relaxed man. He didn't seem like the type of person to be relaxed. She was surprised he didn't muck out the kennels in a three-piece suit.

The thought made her giggle.

At least focusing on her employer kept her moving through the morning. Though she wouldn't pretend any of what she was doing was easy.

First she had to use a special shovel to sift through all of the hay at the bottom of the stall, pushing the fresh stuff to the side and collecting anything that had been clumped up with excrement. That was discarded in a wheelbarrow that she had pushed close to the stall. Anything wet was discarded in the waste baskets nearby.

It wasn't the hardest work, though it stunk terribly. She managed to fill the wheelbarrow pretty well and set down the shovel, wiping a towel across her brow. Despite the chill in the barn, she had worked up a pretty good sweat.

Turning to the wheelbarrow, she picked up the back end of it, surprised at the weight of it all. She hadn't really considered that when dumping everything into it. She pushed it forward a foot, felt it tip precariously and managed to catch it. Her arm was wrenched backward but still she was able to keep it upright. Taking a deep breath, she pushed at it again. This time it slipped out of her hands and within seconds she had a whole new pile of manure on the ground at her feet.

"Bugger."

"Having trouble, are we Miss French?"

She whipped around at the sound of his voice and glared at him. Or at least, she tried to glare. If she weren't dressed in ridiculously baggy pants, rubber boots and probably half covered in shit, she might have looked at least a little bit threatening. But the reality was she probably looked utterly ridiculous. "Everything is going just fine," she said through clenched teeth.

He may have hired her, but she was sure he was still trying to get rid of her, prove to her that she didn't have what it took to work on his farm.

He leaned against the door-frame, the light leaving him in shadow, but she could clearly hear him offer up a chuckle. "Don't pile it so high next time."

And then he was gone. She turned to stare down at the mess she had made, picked up the shovel once more. "Well, bugger," she repeated before setting to the task once more.

The girl was going to be a nuisance. A very pretty nuisance, even when covered in sheep dung and glaring at him like Satan himself had come to see her. But still, a nuisance nonetheless. There were times when he was thankful that David Nolan came up to lend a hand. And then there were the times when the damned man interfered with his life in less than pleasurable ways.

He had had no intention of hiring the girl. One look at her ridiculous high heels told him exactly what he needed to know about her. She was impractical, perhaps a bit flighty, the kind of person who would throw in the towel when she chipped a nail or twisted her ankle. She probably watched daytime soaps and gossiped at the hair salon.

But then there was Taz. He glanced down at the dog, the traitor, that currently lay at his feet. Taz liked no one. He was the perfect Border Collie as far as Gold was concerned. Devoted to his master, aloof with strangers. He gave them a wide berth, preferring to stick to Gold or leave the room entirely when people came calling.

But not this Belle French. The dog had gone over to her, no hesitation, and put his head right in the infernal woman's lap. Like he was her lost dog and he had finally come home.

Pathetic.

And perhaps what was even more pathetic was the way his heart skipped a beat when the dog had done it. It seemed he'd been without any sort of companionship besides his dogs for far too long. The woman looked up at him with big blue eyes, his dog's head in her lap, and damned if he didn't hire her on the spot. All because of his damned dog and those big blue eyes of hers.

He didn't know why she needed the job so desperately. He didn't even want to ask, afraid she might start prattling away at him about this and that. She probably wanted a fancy car or a vacation to some spot where she could traipse about in a string bikini and five-inch heels. He had been anything but friendly and any normal person would have thrown their hands up in the air and walked away long ago. He expected her to turn tail and run as soon as she laid eyes on him. But no, not this Belle French. She had hounded him until he had simply thrown in the towel and agreed to take her on.

He had never had help before. He had never needed help before. The dogs did all the hard work of bringing the sheep back in and he had always been able to do everything else on his own. It was strange to have someone in the house, see her out in the barn, It was disconcerting realizing that he really did need the work. He wasn't sure his body could take another collapse like he had had the other day. He was lucky his ankle hadn't taken the brunt of it. But it was only a matter of time if he did everything on his own.

So now he had a person up there and damned if he didn't even know how to deal with her exactly. Which was why he had gone to watch her, poked fun at her. A part of him even now wanted to go back and watch her some more.

The infuriating man had come back twice more to stare at her, make comments on her abilities. He just wanted to make sure she was doing her job properly. That's what he claimed. But she could tell by the smirks, by the offhand comments, that he was enjoying every moment of her struggles.

And struggle she did.

She had finally gotten all of the manure out to the pile. It took three trips instead of the one she imagined but at least the wheelbarrow didn't tip over again. It was slow-going but she had learned something that day and in a way that made her proud.

Carting the water from the spigot to the watering trough had gone just about as well. She overfilled the bucket and found it virtually impossible to carry. But Belle wasn't one for backing down from a challenge and so pushed her way through, spilling more water on herself than she did in the trough. Her return trips had been with less water each time and by the time she was done with it, her arms were shaking with exhaustion.

When she was hauling the last bucket, quite successfully she might add, Gold returned. "You're soaked."

The words irritated her and she ended up rolling her eyes before continuing with the chore.

"Why are you soaked?"

She dumped the water into the trough and only a little splashed back that time. With a triumphant grin, she set down the bucket.

"Miss French…"

She finally glanced back at him. "Why do you think?" She snapped at him and watched as his face went slack for a moment before the smirk returned.

"I never get wet."

"If you don't get out of my way, you'll have to amend that statement to 'I never got wet before.'" The words came out with more of a snarl than she had intended. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day." And by long day, she meant it was only a little after 10:00am, hardly late in the day. But she felt like she had been working for hours. Certainly nothing she had ever done in her life before this led to her feet aching, her eyes watering, and the muscles of her arms feeling like jelly.

"It's not even noon, Miss French," he pointed out.

She sighed. "I'm aware of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there's more work for me to do."

"If it's too much for you…" He let the words trail off as he waved a hand absently in the air.

She stopped and watched him for a moment. "You want me to quit, don't you?"

"Hardly…"

"No, you do. You want me to give in and tell you that you were right about me." She stepped closer to him. In the work boots she was wearing he was still only a few inches taller than her, but it was clear he was used to be intimidating.

"And where would I be if you quit?"

She made a scoffing noise at that. "Right where you were before. Alone on this little hill of yours." She almost poked him in the chest on the last words, raised her hand to do so, but finally retreated a bit. "Well, you're stuck with me. So I suggest you go back to the house and let me get to the rest of my work."

He watched her for a moment, gaze assessing, before backing up and starting to turn away from her. He paused then and glanced back at her. "Miss French." His voice was quiet as he spoke. "When you're done here, please come to the house."

And then he was gone, making his slow, careful way out of the barn. She watched him go and wondered if this was just the way things would always be with him. David had called him ornery, Mary Margaret had called him a monster. But she saw the way his shoulders slumped when he didn't think she was watching and thought that maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit lonely.

She finished the last of the chores in the barn nearly an hour later. She hoped that, with some time, it would all go smoother and she'd get them done earlier. He said about two hours a day. Everything today had taken over three hours, four if she counted all of Gold's instructions. He was fairly exacting and she was certain that the job she had done that morning would not live up to his standards.

But it was done.

And it was not done horribly at least.

After finishing up and setting everything back where she found it, she made her way back to the house. She wasn't sure what to expect from him really. He had invited her in. She figured either he respect that she stuck by it or he was going to call her laughable at best and dismiss her on the spot.

The latter seemed more likely.

She knocked on the door and there was no immediate response. Pushing it open just slightly, she glanced in. He was nowhere in the immediate vicinity and she didn't hear any sound of his crutches. "Mr. Gold?" she called out.

"In here, Miss French." His voice was coming from back in the living area and so she stepped into the front hall and slipped off the muddy boots she was wearing. Truth be told, her clothes weren't much better. Her shirt was still wet and clung to her, her jeans were decorated with wet and muddy patches. All together she was sure she looked like a complete disaster.

She stepped into the living area and Mr. Gold looked up at her from the recliner he seemed to favor. "Have you nothing else to wear?" The look she gave him must have been just sheepish enough for him to understand. "You don't."

"I thought I'd be heading home right after."

He shrugged. "I'm unpredictable at best."

"And at worst?" she couldn't help asking.

"You'll no doubt find that one out eventually." The smirk he gave her made her want to groan. She wasn't sure she wanted to see him at his worst, considering all the things that Mary Margaret had said and David had hinted at. "If you go up the stairs and enter the first room on the left. The first room, mind you. And don't go into any of the other ones. In the middle drawer there are various things you might be able to put on."

"Seriously?" She shook her head slightly.

"I can't have you sitting in my living room covered in mud, now can I?"

She knew he was right about that, but still. "But…" she started to say but then stopped, stared at him and got up to trudge up the stairs.

"There's a bathroom up there you can use to change in," he said as she started up the stairs and she just nodded as she continued up. Despite her desperate need to explore the house and find out more about her employer, she stuck to entering only the room he indicated was fine. She was probably too drained to get into much trouble right now anyway.

The room was bare, just containing a bed and a dresser. No decorations were on the walls and she suspected this was a completely unused spare room. Why he even had a guest room was beyond her. Perhaps just to keep up appearances. The dresser, at least, was well stocked. She opened the middle drawer as indicated and found several pairs of warm, soft flannel pants and a few t-shirts. Pulling them out, she realized they were far too big for her, but at least they were dry and clean. Wearing his clothes. She grumbled to herself as she left the room and quickly changed in the bathroom, balling up her muddy clothes and carrying back downstairs with her.

"You can leave your clothes by the door." She returned and stood awkwardly in the entrance to the room. Gold turned to look at her and for a moment his look was entirely unreadable. His eyes were wide, one hand clenching the arm of the chair he still sat in. But then it slipped away, the mask returning. But what she had seen behind that mask was raw and a little frightening.

The whistle of a tea kettle interrupted the strange moment and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll…just go get tea?"

"If you wouldn't mind, dearie. It's rather hard to move sometimes." He sounded immeasurably sad in that moment and a part of her wanted to come closer, put a hand on his shoulder, reassure him. But she didn't. She couldn't. And so she walked into the kitchen and dug up a teapot and cups and a tray to carry them back out to the other room with.

Her hands shook as she carried the tray out and set it down on the coffee table. Her arms ached and her fingers had a hard time closing over the edges of the tray. But she made it.

Gold leaned forward. "Milk?"

"Yes please. No sugar."

He nodded and poured her a cup before preparing one for himself. She felt awkward as she sat down, wearing his pants, his shirt. She felt naked even though she was far from it. She perfectly well covered, but she couldn't remember the last time she had been in her pajamas in front of a man who wasn't her father.

Perhaps it really had been too long since she had dated anyone. Her father had been telling her that. Over and over really. He had refrained from setting her up with someone but just barely. He wanted her to be settled and happy and told her often that he wanted that before he died. So he could rest easy.

"Four hours, Miss French." Gold's voice interrupted her reverie and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"It was my first time…"

"If you find it too difficult a job…" He waved one hand in the air and she was fairly certain there was a sneer upon his face.

She chose not to rise to his provocation. "Not at all. It should be easier next time."

"Indeed?" And she hated the way his voice turned it into a question. He didn't believe her. Of that much she was certain. He was biding his time, waiting for her to make a big mistake, waiting for her to throw in the towel so he could laugh and mock and jeer

She wouldn't let it happen.

"Absolutely." She leaned forward, met his eyes squarely. "I'm not one who gives up easily, Mr. Gold. Haven't you figured that out?" With a small smile, she picked up her teacup. That was probably her biggest mistake at that moment. He hand was shaking, whether from nerves or exhaustion she wasn't quite certain.

But she couldn't stop it. Her fingers on the small handle of the cup slipped and it went tumbling to the ground at her feet. It hit hard, the dull thud in the room only slightly louder than the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She let out an audible gasp and dared a glance at Gold, who was watching her with a curious expression upon his face.

She pushed herself off the chair and knelt, careful to not kneel where any of her tea was already soaking into the carpet. It was bad enough she'd dropped the cup, spilled tea everywhere. She didn't need to also get tea on the clothes he was nice enough to lend her.

And it was worse than she thought, she realized as she picked up the cup. There was a tiny piece missing. She could see it embedded in the carpet. Holding the cup up, she turned it so the chipped corner was half facing Gold. She was almost sure he'd let her go for this alone, so odd was the look on his face. "I…um…" She bit her lip, stared at the cup in consternation. "It's chipped." Still he wore that strange look on his face and so she turned the cup again, the chip facing away from him. "You can hardly see it." And if her voice was just a little bit too bright, she didn't know if he'd even notice.

He stared at her for a moment longer before finally speaking. "It's just a cup."

She let out a breath. "And the carpet?"

"Ah yes." He looked down at where the stain and spread across the surface. The carpet was mostly dark, but the occasional white spot had turned brown from the tea. "There's a special carpet shampoo. In the kitchen, under the sink."

"Right. I'll just…clean it then." She left the room then, entirely uncertain of what had gone on. He hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered by it.

This man was a complete and utter mystery. Something told her she would enjoy peeling back some of those layers.