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himself.
     
    “Sure is,” he said. “Pretty sure she’d lose a race against a turtle.”
     
    “You don’t have anything faster?” I asked.
     
    “Never seen you ride,” he said. “Couldn’t risk you getting thrown off and suing me to high heaven. Lightning’ll get you there.”
     
    The rest of my conversational attempts were met with grunts or nods. I gave up after another mile.
     
    The inspection was pretty straightforward. Everything looked well-maintained and orderly.
     
    I didn't try to talk to him for the entire trip back. He clearly wanted me to remain silent, and I saw no point in antagonizing him - and, okay, I'll admit it, with my long hours, I didn't spend a lot of time with any handsome men, and I wanted this one to think well of me.
     
    Finally, after going through the last barn, checking on sheep and occasionally exchanging a word with one of the other men on the place, he turned to look at me. "Are you done with that?" he asked, jerking his head at the clipboard.
     
    "Just about," I said. "At this point, I only need to check where you store your hay, I can come back and finish the rest of the paperwork another day."
     
    He nodded his head, once, and his hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it away.
     
    "Come on," he said, and turned away again to lead me towards yet another large metal building. He actually spoke to me! It wasn't exactly a declaration of undying love, but it was more than he'd volunteered the entire time I'd been on the farm.
     
    Inside, the building was dark and low, with haybales stacked above my head in long, maze-like rows. I always felt like I was in a corn maze when I inspected haybales.
     
    "What do you need to do here?" he asked.
     
    "I need to walk through and check for mold or rot on the hay. It won't kill your inspection if I find one or two problematic bales, as long as there is no evidence you intended to feed them to the sheep."
     
    He snorted again. That seemed to be his preferred method of communication, at least with me.
     
    As we walked through the rows of bales of hay lit by a collection of dusty florescent bulbs, everything seemed to be in order. This part of the inspection was pretty perfunctory, there was no way for one lone official to check every bite of hay that would be fed to sheep on a farm or ranch of any size.
     
    I tried to keep my mind on the job, but, occasionally, when one of us would turn to peer at a bale, my shoulder would brush Clint's, or his hand would ghost across my elbow or back as he pointed something out to me. Every time we touched, even through layers of our clothing, I'd shiver.
     
    Turning a corner, a snake, startled by our appearance, slithered from one bale across the passage to disappear underneath another stack. At the same moment, I leaped away from it and crashed into Clint, my heart beating quickly. I may, in fact, have squealed a little.
     
    Clint gripped my arms in his powerful hands and held me still, my back pressed against his chest.
     
    "Calm down," he said. "Easy. It's just here for the mice. You can't have hay without mice."
     
    I could feel my arms trembling in his grasp, although I didn't know whether that was from fear or the feeling of his calloused fingers against my skin. He kept one arm gripped firmly, but stroked the other as though I were a nervous horse, which, I suppose, wasn't too unreasonable.
     
    I laughed a little bit, shakily.
     
    "You know, every time I see a snake when I'm on a visit, I tell myself that the next time, I won't make a fool of myself, and then, the next time happens," I said, "and I end up in a strange man's arms with my clipboard on the floor."
     
    Oh, have mercy. I could actually feel him chuckle. I didn't know what turned me on more, feeling the vibration of his amusement against my back, or knowing that I had made him laugh. I had to get away from him immediately, or 'making a fool of myself' would be just the beginning. Could I get fired for sexually