The Author & The Rancher

[quinientos]

For the twentieth time today, Ale curses his agent for sending him out into the wilderness because he's got writer's block. He never should have said anything, he should have kept quiet about all of this. Instead, he was the idiot who decided that he would share his inability to get through the chapters of his western romance and now he was being punished.

Well, he was being sent into the West to a ranch with all-expenses paid, but to him, that meant punishment. Adjusting his suitcase, he waddles his way up the front porch after the taxi had dropped him off, staring at the estate he's been sent to.

The Faraday Ranch.

Sam, that damn agent of his, had insisted that Joshua Faraday would help to unstick some of the writer's block that was keeping the chapter from moving forward. He'd seemed so very convinced, too, and it's not like Vasquez can argue that. Besides, none of his old tricks have been working and maybe seeing a real live cowboy will actually do some help. He reserves the right to be wary about that, though.

Dropping his bags at the door, he leans on the bell, feeling disheveled and exhausted from the plane ride and the long cab in. He probably looks a mess, but he doesn't care, because right now, all he cares about is getting inside and trading on the rancher's hospitality so he can put his feet up and worry about writing later.

Besides, how handsome can this one man be? Sam is probably just exaggerating again.

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[quinientos]

"No, very much the opposite," Vasquez promises, gesturing for Faraday to come inside and talk, if he wants. There's still a few sips left of the drink, which means he's willing to chat before he changes and learns more about the farm.

The messages, that had been his starting point. "The woman, she would be your seasonal helper. She would be the one who's out of her depth, not sure, and maybe a bit of a mess. Your character is the handsome, kind cowboy that she falls for, against her will."

[onesyllable]

"Well, that's a start at least," he says, grinning widely and chuckling. "Because I'll have you know there was a lot of years the ladies in the town nearby would have told you that I was certainly the other kind of cowboy. Took them a while to figure me out," he says, still amused by how that had gone. It had been kind of amusing for him. Not so much for the girls that had thought they could marry him and get in with the ranch and him.

"What's brought her out here doing all of that if it's not her thing? Bad break up? Midlife crisis?" He's gotten people for both reasons, and he's tried to help them when he could.

[quinientos]

Vasquez can't help his smirk. "Clearly, you've never read one of my books or any romance novel," he snorts, because as much as he hates to admit it, there's a tried and true pattern when it comes to them. "The woman is always looking for something to shake up her life, usually after a bad breakup or something has forced it to happen."

"That's when she meets the man of her dreams. In our case, the cowboy I'm basing on you," he says, finishing his coffee and setting it aside. "So, where do we start? What's first?"

[onesyllable]

"Do I look like the romance novel kind of guy?" Smirking though as he shrugs. "Besides, they don't write a lot of them that appeal to my tastes." Because he knows he's never seen one with the man before him as the supposed damsel in distress, after all.

"Well, here's hoping that is based in reality," he says, grinning because this right in front of him seems to be fitting that ideal. He'd love to see that pan out as well.

"First? You eat, and then we get horses and ride the fence. Let you get a look over the place, see the cattle, and we'll talk about what day to day is and you'll see others working that life."

[quinientos]

"That's going to be my challenge," he decides, because maybe he can write something that Faraday will actually see fit to read and enjoy, which is more than he would ever expect to want to do, but here he is, yearning to impress this man.

"I like the sound of that, especially the eating part," he latches onto eagerly, eyes bright. "I'll take notes as we work, if you don't mind me stepping away to work on that a bit?"

[onesyllable]

"I tend to be one helluva a challenge," he teases, turning with a grin and heading for the kitchen.

"Come on then. We've got a lot to get done," he calls, amusing himself as he heads back for the stairs. Pausing and looking back at him. "You tell me when you need breaks and you'll have them. I'll like point you generally toward the house or something," he teases.

[quinientos]

Vasquez puts on his shoes and ties them up, on his feet and grabbing a fleece-lined jacket as he heads over to join Faraday, ready for whatever challenge that's going to face him. "I'll keep working until I have an idea," he guarantees, because he doesn't want to be the kind of man who shirks his duties, either.

"What have you got for me first?" he asks, excited to get his hands dirty and get to work.

[onesyllable]

"You know what? I trust that you will," he admits, nodding as he headed to make a quick finish to the things he had for breakfast. Bacon in the oven, eggs thrown into a pan that were quickly sizzling as he drank his coffee. Most of it had been done already so they could grab a bit and head out.

"First we're going to make sure you can ride, and then I'll go about a normal day. Check some fences, ride through some of the fields to make sure everything is as it should be. Check on some of the cattle who are close to calving."

[quinientos]

Vasquez's hunger is always a present thing, which hasn't changed even though he's had to start going to the gym even more since he always tends to snack when he writes and he's always writing. "I can ride," he protests defensively. "I might be an author, but I grew up around horses."

It means that while it might have been a while since he's done it, he's not going to fall off the horse. "Is this what you wear? For that?" he asks, gesturing to Faraday with his coffee cup.

[onesyllable]

"Well, I'll need boots," he says, smirking as he plates things, bringing them over to the table. He moves to get the coffee pot, topping them both off. "But usually it's jeans, and this time of a year a long sleeve tee. Carhartt jacket as things get cooler," he admits, giving him a look. "Are you asking me to dress up for you?"

Yeah, he still can't help himself.

[quinientos]

Vasquez can't help the way his gaze lingers on Faraday, maybe a little too long. He does have an okay excuse, at least. "I mean, I am a writer looking for inspiration and who would know the fashion sense of a ranch hand better than you?" he points out, playing innocent as he tries to get what he wants.

So what if he gets some eye candy out of the deal and gets to look at Faraday in that get-up all day. Then it just benefits everyone, as far as he's concerned.

"It would be for the book," he insists, like he couldn't possibly be denied that.

[onesyllable]

"Fair enough," he says with a coy smile, sipping at the barely cooled coffee. "I suppose I shouldn't just assume things and put you in a bad position," he says, perhaps still trying to do just that. All for his own amusement. He knows eventually Vasquez will leave, but until then he is enjoying a chance to flirt. He doesn't get many options for it around the ranch.

"It's really mostly based on comfort and staying warm, making sure that you don't get sick. Does no good riding out and having to take a week break in between because you get sick. So we'll make sure that doesn't happen to you."

[quinientos]

Vasquez can't help but raise his brows. "You know," he says, casually, "you shouldn't say things like that to an author of romance novels." He smirks as he gives Faraday an amused, flirty look. "Bad position," he echoes, making the quotation marks around it.

"If you have a nice cozy jacket, I wouldn't mind it." He also wouldn't mind being able to get the smell of it in his nose, curled in and feeling safe and protected, but he's not saying that part.

[onesyllable]

He starts to arch a brow, pretending to look innocent of knowing what he did, but then he clarifies and his smile widens, shrugging a bit. "It was honestly a slip of the tongue? If nothing else, I don't do much badly," he says, downing the rest of his coffee and turning to rinse his mug.

"Whatever I can do for you," he says, playing up that wide eyed look as he goes to the front closet, finding one he normally wore, not realizing they're on the same wave length as he brings in the sheerling coat. "It's a good look for you," he admits.

[quinientos]

Vasquez can't help his wry smirk as he gives Faraday a look that says he knows his game, and that he's suspicious of him, but he'll let him get away with it, if only because he appreciates a bad pun as much as the next person.

He reaches out to the take the coat, lifting it to his nose as he takes in a soft sniff, not sure that he's supposed to do this, but he hopes it's quick enough to be normal. He slides into it, then, and tugs it up to his chin to cover him. "This is perfect. I tend to run very cold, so I always like having layers. Thank you."

[onesyllable]

It shouldn't feel so natural for something he doesn't often do on the ranch. Not as if he's going to flirt with those working for him, and while he knows it's kind of one of those known things outside of the house, he doesn't talk about his sexuality much.

Now he's suddenly wondering if he really needs to get out more, and does the universe like him enough for this to actually be happening. Though, honestly, nothing is really happening. He's flirting and, for his part, Vasquez is being kind about it. He can live with kind so long as it doesn't come with pity.

"You look good in it," he says, quietly appraising in that moment. "And promise, I'll put on a fire when we get back. To keep you warm."

[quinientos]

Vasquez can feel the way his heart is pounding. He doesn't want to talk very much about how this makes him feel, mainly because he doesn't want to give away his hand, but he thinks maybe he could slip a few chapters under Faraday's door later, show him exactly what he thinks about him.

Or, if nothing else, how much he thinks about him.

"I bet there are other things that could keep me warm," he quips, and waits just enough of a beat to hopefully make Faraday sweat. "Good liquors, for one."