Ellis
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The train station smells like rusted tracks and wildflowers from the field nearby. It's not a bad smell, but it doesn't make waiting here any better.

I shift my weight from one boot to the other, the sun beating down on the back of my neck.

Grandma's orders were clear: pick up Lita's niece. She didn't ask if I had plans or if I even wanted to go. The last thing I want to do is play chauffeur on this scotching hot day.

But Grandma asked, and when Grandma asks, you don't say no.I can't say no to her even if I wanted though -- not when she's one of the only people still around in my life.

I did try to protest but she said this was important. Obviously because her and the late Lita were two close buddies. They were practically family.

That word doesn't mean much to me. Half the people in this town share my blood, and most wouldn't even cross the street to wave hello.

So, here I am, waiting for someone I don't know.

The train screeches into the station, its brakes letting out a high-pitched whine that grates against my ears.

I lean against my truck, watching people flood out almost immediately, dragging bags, or rushing to get away from the heat.

I scan the crowd, looking for someone who screams "Lita's niece." or has a poster on her head with that because Grandma did not think to give me a photo of this person.

My mind conjures up images of a little girl with pigtails, holding a stuffed animal or dragging a backpack twice her size.

Maybe she's shy, or quiet, or... invisible? Because no one here matches that picture.

The second wave of passengers is just the usual crowd-commuters, tired parents, and a group of teenagers giggling too loudly.

No one who looks like Lita's niece.

But a commotion at the far end of the platform steals my attention, Lita's niece long forgotten.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" a woman yells, her voice sharp and no doubt annoyed.

"Ma'am, if you don't move it, I'm going to leave the bag here!" a man yells, his voice sharp with frustration.

I turn toward the noise and spot a woman. She's half out of the train, wrestling with a suitcase that looks like it could fit a small refrigerator inside. The conductor or driver leans out, shouting something but she doesn't flinch.

The driver, red-faced and clearly over it, gestures wildly at her again. "You're holding everyone up!"

"Then come carry it yourself!" she snaps back, yanking the suitcase harder. It catches on the edge of the step, refusing to budge.

"Are you serious?"

She doesn't respond, she's too busy muttering curses under her breath as she tugs at the bag.

I stop, half-amused, watching the whole thing unfold like it's a sitcom. The woman looks pissed off, sweat glistening on her forehead as she fights the suitcase and gravity at the same time.

She's petite, with dark wavy hair falling around her face in messy strands, and even from here, I can tell she's dressed for somewhere that isn't here. She's wearing sleek black pants and a blouse that screams city girl-someone who hasn't had to deal with dirt roads or cow dung in her life.

But they're both crumpled and streaked with dust, like she's been through hell to get here.

The suitcase finally clunks onto the platform after a vicious yank and she stumbles down the narrow steps, her heels clicking against the pavement.

"Fucking perfect," she mutters, brushing stray hairs out of her face.

"Was that so hard?" someone yells and she glares at them like death herself.

I'm breaking a sweat not to laugh here. The poor guy's about to blow a gasket, and she's standing her ground like a queen in a standoff.

I watch, crossing my arms.

The train driver mutters one last insult as the train lurches away, leaving a cloud of exhaust and the woman standing there, glaring after it like she can will it to stop.

"Asshole!" the woman shouts after him, flipping him off for good measure.

I can't stop the chuckle that escapes my lips this time. Seriously, it's so fucking funny, like this little human being is trying to take on the world all by herself.

Her head snaps in my direction, dark eyes narrowing as she spots me. She looks me up and down, taking in the green truck, the boots, the faded denim shirt I didn't bother ironing.

Whatever is on her mind, it's not complimentary.

"You an Uber driver?" she demands, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

That hair seems too wild to tame and I like how she struggles with it every second. Some of it even sticks to the side of her face.

Her voice is low, smooth, and edged with impatience.

The corner of my mouth twitches. I want to say no or ignore her altogether but this is too good to pass up. And so I play along. How far can one angry woman go on a sunny day?

"Where to, ma'am?"

"Willowbend Acres," she says, pointing to her suitcase like suddenly, she doesn't deserve to carry it anymore.

I glance at the bag again, army green with strong material and wheels in the back. I could trade something for it.

But when I look back up, dark eyes are digging a hole in my soul.

I squint my eyes. Now that I'm really looking at her, I get the feeling I've seen those eyes somewhere.

And that's when it hits me.

Did she say Willowbend Acres?

She's Lita's niece.

Oh, hell.

I blink at her, realization dawning like a slow sunrise. This isn't just some random woman with an attitude problem. This is Lita's niece.

The feisty attitude should have given me a hint because she seems like a younger version of late Lita herself.

She snaps her manicured fingers (unlike my little ones that my teeth attack whenever I'm bored) in front of my face, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Hello? You listening, cowboy?"

I bite back a laugh because that's the funniest shit I've heard all day.

"Funny," I say, meeting her glare with a toothy grin for effect. "I'm actually here for you."

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I hope you guys had fun reading the second chapter of Ranch Love.
Also, who else is already crushing on our 'Small and Angry' Cam?