The horse's hair reminded me of a crow's feathers – so black it was almost blue under the scorching Montana sun. I reached out towards the massive beast, curious and just a little afraid – I'd never been that close to an animal of that stature before. The horse tossed its head and let out a snort, but it didn't move away when I flattened my palm against its smooth neck.

"HEY!"

I jumped. A tall man in dusty jeans, with the brim of a cowboy hat obscuring most of his face, was striding towards us.

"Don't touch him, he's not friendly," he snapped.

I looked at the horse, and then at the man, waiting for him to say something else. He was silent, though, untying the reins and ignoring me completely.

"He didn't seem to mind," I said tersely, offended at being yelled at by a complete stranger.

"What was that?"

The man didn't even look up when he spoke to me. Irritated, I repeated myself, louder that time.

"I said, he didn't seem to mind."

No answer. Who the hell was this jerk? And why did he think it was OK to snap at people for petting an animal tied up in a public place? I turned and watched him load about twenty cans of soup and a bottle of shampoo into a leather satchel slung across the horse's back, still awaiting a response – or an apology. None was forthcoming, but I found myself suddenly distracted by something else about the surly stranger: he was hot. Not the designer jeans and trendy haircut kind of hot, either, which was the kind I was used to. This one was country-boy hot. Thick stubble covered a strong, sharp jaw-line and the ratty old t-shirt he was wearing did absolutely nothing to hide the sort of muscularity you just don't get from working out in an air-conditioned gym four times a week.

I'd never seen a man like him in my life. And I confess, the thought did run through my mind that if they were all like this in River Bend, Montana, I might not miss the city so much after all. Still, he'd been rude, and I wasn't about to start giggling and fidgeting with my hair just because something about the cleft in his chin made my knees weak.

I stepped back a little, thinking that maybe he would say something when the cans of soup were all put away, but he didn't even glance at me. He pulled himself into the saddle and gave the horse a little nudge in the ribs. I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Well he certainly seems friendlier than you!"

The man pulled back on the reins, then, and turned to look back at me, finally giving me a clear view of his face. And oh my God, what a face. Piercing blue eyes stared down at me and a smile I wasn't quite sure I'd call friendly played at one corner of his mouth.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, in a tone that suggested he couldn't care less where I was from – and that I was lucky he'd bothered taking a few seconds out of his day to scold me like a child.

"I – uh, no, I'm not," I stammered, frowning with annoyance at my own inability to remain unflustered around hot, ill-mannered men.

"Well there's no need to get your panties in a twist, missy, although I can see it's too late for that. Ranger here is a stallion – I was just trying to keep you from getting knocked on your pretty little ass."

Missy. He called me missy. He also accused me of being the one with my panties in a twist – which didn't really seem to be a fair take on the situation, in my opinion.

"I can see he's a horse!" I spluttered. "I'm not an idiot."

"Not a horse," the man corrected me, speaking slowly like he wasn't sure I was all there. "A stallion."

"A stallion is a horse," I responded.

"Ah, so you're not from around here. City girl, huh? Yeah, well, you're right in a way. He's a horse. But he still has his balls. Do you know what that means?"

I glanced up, shielding my eyes from the bright sunshine and entirely taken aback by the abruptness of the handsome stranger who seemed, for some reason, rather eager to tell me about his horse's balls. "No," I replied shortly.

"It means he's temperamental. Take away a horse's balls and he gets all cuddly and docile. Don't take away his balls and, well, you get something else. So there's no need to give me attitude, I was just trying to help."

"Oh is that what you were trying to do? Help? Well you could have fooled me."

I waited, still half-expecting an apology. Instead of offering one, the man shrugged, tipped his hat at me in what felt very much like a sarcastic gesture, and turned the horse around. I watched him as he left, trying – and failing utterly – to think of some smart remark to throw his way. He looked good riding the horse. At ease, the way men are when they know what they're doing. When he was gone there was an odd feeling of disappointment. Really? I asked myself. Really? You're disappointed that jackass is gone?

Shaking my head, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the shopping list my great-aunt Jenny had given me, and headed into the only grocery store there was in the town of River Bend. Once inside, I paused and stood, for a few delicious moments, in the cool rush of air-conditioned air on my sweaty skin.

"Don't worry about him," came a voice from behind me. "Dallas Corbett is a jerk to everyone. No one likes him. And he brings that damned animal into town all the time – one of these days it's going to attack another horse and then he's really going to be up shit creek."

It was the checkout girl, sitting at her till with a women's magazine open on her lap. I smiled at the 'up shit creek' phrasing and then, for some reason, looked right at her and asked who she was talking about, even though I knew perfectly well. The urge to pretend Dallas wasn't having any effect on me showed itself early.

"Dallas – the guy with the horse," she replied. "Don't pay him any mind. I didn't even have to hear a word to know he was pulling his usual tough-guy act. Don't get me wrong, he's hot as hell, but it ain't much good being that hot if everyone thinks you're a dick, is it? Say, are you new here?"

Finally, I appeared to be meeting one of the friendly country-folk everyone back in Philly had told me about when they were trying to make me feel better about my forced exile from the only place I'd ever called home.

"Yeah," I responded, feeling a familiar – and unwelcome – sting of tears in my eyes. I blinked them away. "Yes, I'm new. I'm staying with Jenny and John Dawkins, my great-aunt and great-uncle."

The checkout girl eyed me curiously. "Really? Huh. We don't get too many newcomers in River Bend. When did you get in?"

"Two days ago."

"You here all summer?"

I pressed my lips together tightly and willed the emotions – still so prone to surfacing at awkward moments – back down. "Um, I'm not sure. Definitely for the summer. Maybe longer..."

"Well I'm Amber," the checkout girl said, tucking a lock of straw-blonde hair behind one ear. "There aren't too many young people in town so if you want to come out with me and some friends on Friday, that'd be cool."

Grief is a strange thing. One day you're standing in front of two coffins, dry-eyed and emotionally blank, unable to even understand what you're experiencing. Weeks later, you find yourself standing in front of a stranger in a brightly-lit grocery store, struggling to keep from breaking into loud, ugly sobs over a simple gesture of kindness.

"Yes," I whispered, scuttling away in a panic before she could see that I was crying. "That would be nice."

Safely ensconced in the cereal aisle, I took a few deep breaths and wiped the tears off my cheeks with trembling fingers. Don't think about it. Just get the groceries. If you need to do this, do it when you're alone.