Thursday, 2:13 p.m.  The farm, pasture

Lost in thought, Sam propped her foot on the fence rail and stared out at the horses.  It had been nearly two weeks since the incident in the sauna and she and Russell still hadn't spoken to each other beyond what was absolutely necessary: excuse me, thank you, please pass the salt... things of that nature.  They were adults after all, fully capable of a modicum of civility.  Despite what had happened between them, it wasn't as if the entire household was aware they'd had something of a falling out.  Neither of them had advertised that fact or gone out of their way to be nasty to each other, but they also hadn't made any attempt at reconciliation. 

In fact, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the playfully charming man who'd shameless teased her into letting her guard down with him for a few brief moments.  All she'd seen was a surly, brooding man who did everything in his power to keep as much distance between them as possible while still trying to be as normal as he could around his family.  Sam supposed that was fair.  There was no need to make them uncomfortable. 

Samantha sighed heavily, knowing they needed to find some way to move beyond this or the next two and a half months would drag on endlessly.  That wasn't fair to either of them and to tell the truth, she missed his company.  He was very entertaining and could be quite charming when he wanted to be.  To her surprise, she'd also discovered she liked him even when he wasn't being so charming.  He made her think, kept her on her toes and engaged her mind in a way it hadn't been in a very long time.  And despite her resolution to remain detached, she couldn't help but wonder what had made him snarl such a sexually charged comment at her that night in the sauna.  Did he really think about her that way or was he just trying to be crude in order to make her as angry as she had made him?  It was impossible to tell.   

Realizing his pride would keep him from being the first one to break their silence, Samantha had decided to extend a tentative olive branch.  Yesterday afternoon, she'd watched him call his horse to him with little more than a piercing whistle and a bit of crooning.  Smiling in obvious pleasure, he'd petted and scratched her, seeming to enjoy her company as much as she did his.  Almost without conscious thought, Sam had flipped open her sketchbook and captured the moment of genuine affection between man and horse.  While she was usually better at expressing such emotion with paint rather than a simple pencil, the sketch was shockingly good. 

Still a little apprehensive about approaching him, and unwilling to ask anyone which bedroom belonged to him so she could slide the sketch under his door, Sam slipped it into a plain manila envelope along with a single sheet of paper that contained exactly one word. 

In her pretty scrawl, she'd written 'Crowe' on the front of the envelope and last night, she'd left it for him on the seat of his favorite red chair, hoping he'd accept her tentative peace offering.  When he hadn't appeared at either breakfast or lunch today, Sam assumed she had his answer. 

She was completely surprised when he strolled out to the paddock and came to stand next to her, resting his thick muscular forearms on the top rail of the fence.  He hadn't acknowledged her presence or made eye contact with her, but at least it was a start.  They stood together in silence a long time, during which his horse Honey came by for a scratch and a bit of love from her master.  It was nearly twenty minutes before he actually said anything beyond a soft croon to his horse.

Russell fixed his gaze on the horizon and quietly said, "I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to stay mad at you.  I don't think I've ever had a finer peace offering."

Still looking at the scenery, Sam felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks.  Although she knew the sketch was very good, compliments on her work always made her embarrassed and a little uncomfortable.  Coming from him, the effect was doubly so and her words were more glib than they should have been.  "All part of my plan, Crowe."

He scowled.  "Don't do that.  Don't be flip.  Not now."  He turned to face her, holding her eyes with an intense stare, waiting for her to join him in the sincerity of the moment before he spoke again.  "Thank you for the sketch."  He knew what her art was worth.  It was his money his mother was spending on it after all.  Though her gift could be considered extravagant in that sense, it was the gesture behind it and the emotion within it that moved him to seek her out. 

"You're welcome."  Her words were soft and utterly heartfelt.  

They lapsed back into a tentative silence and Russell turned his gaze back out to the horizon, trying to decide where he wanted things to go from here.  After a while, he seemed to reach some kind of resolution within himself and he finally spoke.  "I've been thinking a lot about what you said, you know, in the sauna."  He paused.  "So, are you going to tell me what you meant?"  He turned back to her, again holding her eyes with his.  "Or have you reneged on our deal?"  There was just the barest hint of challenge in his words.

Sam was floored.  She knew the last week and a half hadn't been easy for him and now he was asking for what he probably thought would amount to more abuse?  After the press release, all hell had broken loose.  The phone ran off the hook until his mother had finally unplugged it.  Speculation on the evening news was fantastically rampant.  Helicopters had buzzed the farm looking to get a single shot of him 'rusticating in the country' while the tabloids dragged his name through the mud, sighting everything from his propensity for alcohol and brawling to his established history as a ladies' man as the reason for the breakup. 

Things had been pretty ugly at first.  He'd raged a bit, spent several days drinking himself into a stupor and snarling at everyone.  As that had blown over, he'd taken to spending long hours outside alone or riding the land, talking little and saying less.  Samantha hardly ever saw him without a cigarette in his hand.  He didn't have one now, though, and he was staring at her intently.

"What's it to be then, love?  You going to let a little temper stand in your way?"  He patted his pockets, absently looking for a cigarette.  Did the man never hold still?  "I thought you were made of sterner stuff."

Samantha raised her eyebrows at him.  "A little temper?"

He grinned.  "What you got was only a drop in the bucket."  He didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed.  "And you shouldn't poke at the animals if you aren't prepared for them to bite back."

She smothered a smile.  "Hmm... Is that what that was?"  She tried hard not to think about what it would be like to be bitten by those white even teeth of his.  Sam had a feeling Russell didn't restrain himself during sex any more than he did in other areas of his life.  The thought was distinctly disturbing.   

He made a noncommittal grunt, still smiling.  He was a little surprised at his desire to have her keep her end of their bargain, but part of him liked the challenge, part of him liked her company, and part of him recognized his need for some kind of diversion right now.  An outlet.  It was something to focus on, other than the beating he was taking in the press.  While he was used to it, he knew some people believed the tripe the tabloids made up about him and that angered him almost as much as the invasion of his privacy.  He had a thick skin, far thicker than most, but there were occasions where what they wrote cut him to the quick.  He had feelings and emotions the same as any other man.  Being an international icon didn't change that.  And it just plain pissed him off that there really wasn't any recourse, even when they made up the most heinous lies. 

"So, back to our deal..."  Russell pushed his hands through his hair.  Yes, his need for distraction had certainly grown, but then again, so had his interest in getting to know her better.  He wanted to know what kind of mind produced a sketch like that. "I'm game if you are."     

Samantha frowned a little, watching his hands fidget and wondered what the hell was going through his mind.  "I don't know if that's such a good idea."  She still had to work here, after all, and he could make her stay very unpleasant if he so chose. 

"Maybe," he shrugged.  "And then again, maybe not."  He looked away.  "I like you.  You don't want anything from me.  Even when we disagree, you don't bitch at me--you talk with me, and you don't back down when I get in your face.  That's a rare thing in my world."

A teasing smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she tossed his words back at him.  "Bit of an odd duck, aren't you, Crowe?"

His playful smile was back.  "You have no idea..."  He spouted a few familiar words of his own.  "And it's Russell, not 'Crowe'."  He rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.  "Hearing you say 'Crowe' like that makes me feel as if I'm about to get my knuckles rapped by the headmaster."

"Maybe that's because when I say your name like that, that's exactly what I feel like doing."  Well, that and it helped her maintain some much needed distance when he was concerned. 

He chuckled.  "You're a stubborn one, I'll give you that much."

She grinned.  "Thank you."

"Don't be so sure that was a compliment, love.  I still haven't made up my mind whether I want to fuck you blind or leave you in the bush for the dingos to gnaw on."

Her eyes widened.  She couldn't tell if he was teasing or not.  He was a very hard man to read sometimes.  "Thanks a lot, Crowe.  But I suppose that's fair.  I still haven't decided whether you're a brilliant man with absolutely no tact, or a petulant little boy, bent on having his own way."

Russell snorted.  "A little of both, I reckon."  And while he wasn't thrilled with the idea she thought him a sooky little boy at times, he was flattered she thought him brilliant.  A little surprised, maybe, but flattered just the same. 

Samantha's eyes softened.  "And I like you too, you know.  You're direct and honest and that's a rare thing in any world."

He nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin, surprised by her unexpected praise.  "So then, shall we continue to be honest and risk pissing each other off at every turn, or shall we just call it quits and go back to idle chatter and eggshells?"

Sam was silent a long moment while she picked at the wood on the fence rail.  "Mark is going to have a fit."

"Fuck Mark.  This is between you and me."

"I don't mix business and pleasure, Crowe."

He bristled slightly.  "Who said anything about pleasure?"  His expression became unreadable.  "Be my friend... fuck, be my enemy if you want.  I don't really care.  Just be honest."

Sam thought that over a long moment before she nodded.  "Same rules?"

Russell nodded and grinned, knowing he'd just won this battle of wills with her.  "Truth and temper."  He gave the words the same inflection he had to 'strength and honor,' wondering if she'd catch it. 

Samantha rolled her eyes at him.  "I am not entertained."  She too, used a familiar inflection.

A loud bark of laughter escaped him and across the pasture, Honey raised her head.  "I'll work on it."  His voice was bone dry.  

"No, you won't."  Her eyes crinkled up at the corners as she smiled at him.  "But that's what makes it fun."

Neither of them brought up the sexually charged comment he'd made in the sauna.  Best to let that sleeping dog lie.  For now.    

Still not looking at her, Russell shaded his eyes from the sun.  "Well, love, here I am offering my ear up for a bit of bashing if you've a mind."  He paused, his expression playfully reflective.  "Although, I'm not entirely certain I've enough alcohol in me to make this conversation pleasant."  The truth of the matter was he wanted to know what she'd meant by her comment that night in the sauna.  He had his own ideas about it, but he wanted to know if he had the right of it.  

Sam did not look pleased.  "You seem to think I'm out for your blood."

He turned his eyes on her.  "Aren't you?"  His voice was teasing, however, the look in his eyes was anything but playful.  

"No, I'm not."  She met his intense stare with one of her own.  "You don't think much of me, do you, Crowe?"

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.  "Honestly, I don't know what to make of you.  I arrive here to find you in my home, in my clothes..."  He chuckled as she blushed at that.  "You're familiar enough with my work to quote a line back at me, yet you don't seem like a fan.  You're too fucking polite by half and on the rare occasions you're not, you've the absolute worst habit of clamming up just when things are getting interesting."  He paused, taking a deep drag from his seemingly forgotten cigarette.  "And just when I think I've got it all sorted out, along comes this bloody brilliant sketch..."  He was moving his hands rapidly now, gesturing to himself and Honey, a whirlwind of unspoken dialog there, before the cigarette was back at his lips. "And then I'm off on this whole other tangent-" 

Hell, if she'd seen, and correctly read, the moment between him and Honey, that got him thinking that maybe he did want to know what her comment in the sauna had been about after all.  That maybe she wasn't quite the haughty bitch he'd thought her to be.  Russell suddenly realized he'd been doing all the talking and chuckled.  "Feel free to jump in here anytime."

Sam smiled.  "Okay."  She shrugged.  "You sound like a man with a lot of questions.  If you're so willing to entertain mine, I ought to do the same.  So feel free, Crowe.  My life's an open book."

Russell was stunned for a moment.  In his experience, women were never so forthcoming.  "Seriously?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the skepticism in his voice.  "Well, I'm not going to divulge the intimate details of my sex life or anything," of lack thereof, she added silently, "But, yes, seriously."

His chuckle grew into a guffaw before he managed to rein himself in a little.  "Fair enough."  He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his boot before reaching for another.  "So, you know my work?"  That was as good a place to start as any.

Sam could hear the caution in his voice.  "Of course I know it.  I don't live under a rock."  He snickered at that.  "But I'm not a fanatic if that's what you're asking.  I don't own every movie you've ever made.  In fact, I haven't even seen most of them."  She grinned as a flicker of... something crossed his face.  Affronted ego, perhaps?  Who could really tell with him?  "Actually, I prefer reading to TV and films, but if we're being totally honest here, I do have a small collection of DVDs.  You're in exactly three of them."

His lips twitched.  "Which three?"

"Oh, no.  That's much too easy."  She might have told him her life was an open book, but she never said it was easy reading.  Samantha raised her eyebrows at him.  "Feel like taking a guess?"

Russell snorted and lifted his chin.  "I'm not in the mood for games."  He might have stared back out at the pasture, but he answered just the same.  "Since we know Gladiator's a given, I'd guess A Beautiful Mind."  He hoped it was that one, anyway.  To date, that was the one he was most proud of.  He'd nearly disappeared inside Nash and he knew it, Oscar be damned.     

"Good guess." 

No, it wasn't.  Not really.  So she owned two films that had earned critical acclaim.  There wasn't anything overly shocking about that.  He turned, giving her a good, hard look.  He didn't know her well enough to gauge what she'd find intriguing.  He knew she liked art and literature and that she had a fiery, passionate nature, but beyond that everything was just one big question mark.  He took a shot in the dark.  "L.A. Confidential?"      

Sam's full-throated laughter rang out.  "Sorry, I haven't seen that one."  

He gave her a look that clearly questioned her 'I don't live under a rock' comment.  "Okey dokey.  Give us a hint then.  What other movies are in this modest collection of yours?"  He was interested in what titles she owned.  Probably in the same way she'd been interested in the art that hung in his home.  He'd seen her studying it.  Fine art was her medium, film was his and he knew those choices could be very telling about a person's private nature.    

Her eyes sparkled.  "Braveheart, The Matrix, Saving Private Ryan, Indiana Jones-"

He chuckled.  "Bloody oath, love, you certainly have a thing for violent leading men!"  It also hadn't escaped his notice that all of them, while violent, were also deeply moved by the women in their lives.  Well, now.  That was certainly an interesting revelation about the kind of man she was attracted to.   

"Hey, you say that like it's a bad thing."  Her smile got bigger.  "So I like my men with a bit of 'grrr'.  What woman doesn't?"

"Most of them."  His comment seemed to have embarrassed her a little so he added, "Well, they like it well enough on the screen I reckon, but get in a bit of a scrape in real life and suddenly, that 'grrr' is not quite so appealing."  At least that was how it usually worked for him.  Women were attracted to that part of his nature up to a point, and then he inevitably did something they felt crossed the line and he'd get an earbashing while they raked his bloody bollocks over the fire for doing exactly what had attracted them to him in the first place.  Women!  Did any man ever understand them?  Hell, did they understand themselves?

Sam tried to ignore the fact he'd not only pegged her dead on, but that he'd also, albeit roundaboutly, named himself as exactly the same kind of man she'd just professed to be attracted to.  She wondered if he did that on purpose or if he was merely commenting on the difficulties associated with being attached to that kind of man.  A subtle warning perhaps?  His hands were busy again, indicating his mind was going at a rate that far outpaced his mouth.  At least at the moment, anyway.

"Maybe it isn't so much that we find that behavior unappealing as it is that we're worried."  Even the most hearty warrior wasn't immune to pain.  Women had been fussing over their men since the dawn of time--worrying, healing, soothing... satisfying.  That was as unlikely to change as was man's propensity to do what he damn well pleased, regardless of the dangers to his person. 

"Worried?"  He nearly spat the word.  "Bah.  A bit of a scuffle's nothing.  I've had worse knocks playing footy with my mates."

"Oh, so we're talking about you now?"  Samantha's eyes danced.  "When did that happen?  I thought we were discussing my predilection for violent leading men."

And then suddenly, he knew which other movie of his she owned.  No, not Hando.  He was violent, but not soft, not like the others.  It fit, but not exactly right.  No, it wasn't him.  It was Thorne.  Russell was certain of it.  He wondered if she was aware that all the films she'd named not only had leading men who were prone to violence, but that there was always some element of love separated by something insurmountable--death, honor, circumstance.  The hero did not wind up with the girl.  In that sense, they were all very 'real' films.  Love was grand, but it didn't necessarily conquer all. 

Russell grimaced.  He was all too painfully familiar with that particular lesson.  "So we were."  He looked her up and down and then turned his gaze out toward the horizon as he exhaled a stream of smoke.  "But as a leading man, prone to a bit of violence both on and off the screen, it seems my point was valid as well, was it not?"

The more they talked, the more she was becoming aware that he wasn't the brutish, thick-brained brawler the press had painted him.  Oh, he had his flaws, but lack of intelligence certainly wasn't one of them.  "Does anyone ever win an argument with you?" 

He grinned at the fence.  "Not usually."  

He said it so casually, so confidently, she couldn't help but laugh.

Russell's eyes searched hers for a long moment.  "So, while I'm on a roll here, why don't you go ahead and tell me what you meant before, in the sauna."  His words were soft and low, in that voice that made her stomach flip over.  He had to know what that voice did to women.  He just had to.  When she hesitated, he added, "You did say an open book, didn't you, love?" 

He just couldn't leave it alone.  Not after he'd seen the sketch.  If she what she had to say was even half as perceptive as that damn drawing... well, that was something worth pursuing.