You’re working behind the barn, bucking bales from the haystack and onto the flatbed to feed to the horses and sheep in the evening. You hear the sound of a vehicle rounding the driveway and wipe the sweat from your eyes, rounding the barn to see what all the fuss is about. Out of the BMW steps a pretty blonde with Gucci sunglasses, a perfect manicure, and designer jeans. She lifts her shades and surveys the ranch, her nose wrinkled. “Does it always smell like this?” You already hate her.
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