Chapter 13

Despite her explanation of the magic of film and science, Mina cannot stop smiling at the cows. They are simple, shaggy creatures, but she is delighted with them nonetheless.

"What are their names?" she asks me, cooing at one and scratching between its horns.

I frown. I never thought I would be jealous of a cow, but there's no denying the pangs of envy. I would very much like Mina to scratch between my horns… and other places.

"They never told me," I answer.

Her mouth turns up in a surprised smile, and then that gorgeous laugh peals from her mouth. I grin back at her, tugging the cattle along, their rope leads taut in my fist. Her laugh has quickly become my favorite sound.

"What was your family like?"

The question and change of subject surprises me, and I glance over at her. Her hair swings behind her back as she walks. One hand's buried in the shaggy coat of the overgrown cow, who chews his cud happily, nudging her hand for scratches. Her face is thoughtful, painted by the colorful sunset.

"That is a complicated question."

Her eyes find mine. "Family usually is."

I scratch the scruff on my jaw. Thinking about my family, my parents, usually brings pain, a familiar ache deep in my chest. But with Mina at my side, strong and gentle all at once, it's easier to talk about. My parents are part of me, but they are firmly in the past, and this woman is my present… and my future.

"My mother had the gentlest spirit I have ever encountered. She could hardly take two steps outside without encountering some wounded bird that needed tending, or a neighbor that could use fresh bread and a quick word of encouragement." I smile fondly at the memory, grass crunching underfoot. "She taught me so much about leadership, more than my father would have liked, I fear."

"Your father was hard on you?" Her tone rises at the end, but it's not a question, not really.

"He was. He thought he had to be, that my mother made me soft." My knuckles whiten on the cattle leads. "He was wrong, of course. A good leader knows how to encourage as well as how to critique. The best leader knows when to do both. I am lucky to have had my mother to balance him out."

"She sounds wonderful." There's a wistful note to her voice.

"She would have loved you," I tell her honestly. It's true, too.

"Why's that?" she asks, her brow furrowed. "I'm not gentle or soft, not at all. Prickly, if you're being nice. Bitchy, if we're being honest."

I pause long enough the cattle tug at the leads. "Why would you say that? I see neither of those things, not at all. You stand up for what you think is right. For your sisters, for others. You've spent nearly every waking moment tending to the wounded here when you could easily be sitting in luxury in Westshear. But you've chosen to help, and for what? Not for gold, or for my good graces, you already have the latter and could have the former, if you simply asked."

I open the gate with a push of my hand, the simple lock clicking as it gives way. The cattle are happy enough to be home, and Mina gives one a last pat on the head before fixing me with that intelligent stare of hers.

"Because it's the right thing to do." She brushes her hands on the front of her trousers, my trousers, barely held in place by a length of leather.

"I should have purchased you clothes sooner. I am sorry."

She picks at the oversized fabric. "What, not stylish enough for our moo-vie date?"

"You are beautiful in anything you choose to wear. You could make a food sack stylish, coruscant. But I do not want you to be uncomfortable." I want to dress her in riches, truth be told. I want to show her I can give her the world.

And yet here we are, in a field far from my estate, with cattle and tall grass for company.

"I've enjoyed our moo-vie date." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, smiling up at me.

I hold out an elbow, hoping she'll take it, hoping she will walk arm-in-arm with me back to our small cottage. When she obliges, slipping her hand through the crook, my heart pounds so fast I'm afraid she can hear it.

"Tell me about the moo-vies of your old world?"

"They're stories," she begins, and soon settles into recounting her favorite.

I could listen to her talk all day.