"Well, what's he like?"

Dixie settled back against the pillows of her bed in the guest room, her cell phone pressed to her ear, glad to hear the sound of a familiar voice from home.

"Reticent," she began, and then added, "reserved, quiet...an emotionless automaton, maybe?"

Jackie, her friend and colleague, laughed on the other end of the phone line. "So, not a big fan of Mr. Gamble, I take it?"

Dixie sighed. "It's not that," she said, meaning it. "It's just... you know, the work I do, I form connections with clients pretty quickly. You have to; you have to establish trust quickly because you're working on someone's vulnerabilities. You have to trust me to let me do some pretty up-close-and-personal stuff to get you healed, right?"

"Right," Jackie agreed.

"I can't seem to connect with him. I mean, he's not mean or impolite – well, not much – but he just doesn't want to make small talk, doesn't want to tell me much about himself. I chatter on like a magpie, and then feel like an idiot when all he does is grunt. I don't think he hates me," Dixie said, hoping it was true, "but he doesn't seem to like me much either."

"Everyone likes you, Dix," Jackie said warmly. "Even all the clients here you deserted to go work with a spoilt MotoGP star."

Dixie half laughed. "Actually, I'm surprised he's not more spoilt and stuck up, but when he's here, he's pretty down to earth. For his training, I'm having him toss hay bales and stuff. It's pretty... well, he's definitely a headstrong cowboy type."

"When do you come back?" Jackie asked, changing the subject. "I mean, everything office wise is smooth, of course, but clients are still calling, wanting to rebook with you, even though I told them you were off the grid for a while."

"Soon," Dixie said. "Soon, I hope."

**

"So, how do you feel about the political unrest in Chechnya?" Dixie asked, as Nicky grunted out another sit up.

When he didn't answer, she continued as though he perhaps hadn't heard her. "Have you been keeping track of Snooki's baby? I'm sure she and Jionni are going to be model parents, what with their vast life experiences. What are your thoughts on their future parenting skills?"

Nicky grunted again, his eyes meeting hers briefly in confusion before sliding away.

"Have you ever wondered why the 'Lord of the Rings' movies got made before 'The Hobbit'? I mean, 'The Hobbit' takes place at least sixty years before the events in 'Lord of the Rings'. Doesn't that make you a little bit crazy?"

Nicky stopped doing sit up and just stared at her, his eyes searing into hers, thought he remained silent.

Dixie bit her lip, feeling like a five year old in trouble for speaking out of turn, just from the look on his face. "I decided I was just going to try topic after topic to see if you would respond to anything. If was searching to see you were interested in anything besides cow tipping and bike racing. I can see by your face, no."

Nicky wiped his brow with his sleeve and took a cleansing breath, trying not to smile at her chagrined expression. "Hm."

"Well, you're always so... quiet. It's unsettling. Most clients won't shut up long enough for me to concentrate. Trainers often become therapists, which is totally fine and understandable, but you... I'm not sure you actually have any thoughts. Either that, or you hate my guts and can't stand to be in my presence, much less converse, which is going to be awkward in a few minutes when I stretch out your hamstring and have to put my hands near your..."

Nicky put up a hand, silencing her mile a minute chatter. "I'm unsettling?"

"Among other things, yes."

Nicky nodded, and then swallowed. After a beat, he began talking in his low, modulated voice. "I'm more concerned about the political unrest in Iran than in Chechnya. I think 'Jersey Shore' as a whole is surely a sign of the impending apocalypse, and I think 'Lord of the Rings' was an easier project to fund than 'The Hobbit', and is geared more for an adult audience who have money to spend on movie tickets," he said, his voice low and moderated. "See," he said after a long moment. "I have thoughts. And not all of them involve two wheels and an engine, despite your impression of me."

"I didn't think that about you," Dixie said hotly. "But it was touch and go there for a while, I'll admit."

"Yup," Nicky said, exaggerating a hick drawl. "I'm edu-ma-cated and can form independent thought. The world rejoices."

"Now you're just being a smart ass and trying to embarrassing me," Dixie said, ducking her head in humiliation. "Stop. Please."

Nicky softened, seeing her obvious discomfort and knowing he'd gone too far to prove his point. "And I don't hate your guts. I'm just not used to being around..."

"I'm known as a woman. I realize my gender is perhaps foreign to your kind, but we're just like you," Dixie shot back, defensive.

"Ma'am, I can assure you, you are not just like me," Nicky said, glancing down at her body before he could stop himself, then flushing to the roots of his hair when she saw him staring. "I mean, you know, women have this need to talk all the time."

"Not all the time, just, sometimes. Something more than a grunt," Dixie said. "Push ups, next. And to work your breath control, you're going to talk the entire time you're doing them."

"About what?" Nicky asked, suspicious.

"About whatever you want," Dixie said evenly. "Truly. If you want to talk about fescue strains or mare inseminating or whatever it was you were talking about at the breakfast table this morning with your dad, which, for the record – ew – then go for it."

Nicky flipped over and braced his arms in preparation for push ups. "Do you miss California?" he began, and Dixie shook her head.

"No, you don't ask questions, you talk. About anything. Tell me about the mysterious life force that is Nicky Gamble."

"I'm not very mysterious, ma'am," Nicky said, concentrating on his exercise. "I'm boring."

"I doubt that."

"I am," Nicky reassured her. "Fine. How's this... I like California, but it's too many people. What's your favorite holiday?"

Dixie shook her head again, and he tried again.

"What's your favorite food? I'm a meat and potatoes guy, and I like Christmas, but Halloween was fun when my brothers were little and I could scare the snot out of them."

Dixie smiled, and gestured for him to keep going.

"Why do you always wear long track pants?" Nicky asked, his eyes falling to her legs, where she sat cross legged in front of him, counting his push ups. "It's a million degrees in this barn, and you're wearing sweats. How come?"

Dixie stood up abruptly and paced away from him, composing her features before he could see the anguish that crossed her face. "I'm little, so I'm cold natured."

"Bull, I've seen you sweat," Nicky shot back, perspiration dripping off his own nose. "I don't care if you wear shorts or whatever. I won't think you any less professional. Or mean... can I stop doing these now?"

"Ten more," Dixie said absently, smoothing down her hair. "I just like pants. No big deal. Why don't you exercise with your shirt off?"

"If you say so," Nicky said. "And I find when I go shirtless, women start weeping and wailing for me, and it's just not worth the hassle, so I keep my manliness under wraps for the good of mankind."

Dixie whirled around and faced him, her mouth agape. "Nicholas Gamble, did you just make a joke?"

"I'm not humorless," Nicky said, standing up and wiping off his forehead again. "I'm just... reserved."

"Well, quit being so reserved. It's freaking me out," Dixie said.

"Yeah, when you reach for 'Jersey Shore', things must be pretty dire, conversation-wise," Nicky shot back and Dixie laughed.

"Why don't you reserve your ass to the shower. We're done for today," Dixie said, gathering up her dumbbells to take back to the house. "I must say, I've never done training in a barn – thanks for the, um, experience."

"Smells like home," Nicky said with a shy shrug and a duck of his head. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Dixie said quickly. "Beats a sterile, fluorescent gym any day, and I mean that."

Nicky turned towards the house, then turned back to face her. "You know, I thought you were going to be a real stick in the mud when I met you, but you're alright as a trainer, Colson. I'll see you at dinner."

Dixie smiled, and then jumped when his voice echoed from the shadows near the barn door. "And I've never tipped a cow in my life, city girl."

Dixie laughed, and then followed him towards the door, much more slowly, pulling the barn door shut behind her. He thought she was alright – as a trainer.

Probably thought she was deranged as a human being, but hey, she'd take what she could get.

She was smiling anew by the time she made it back to the house, feeling like they'd had a breakthrough today – not just in training, but also as people working together.

Hey, it was something.

Thanks, Snooki, Dixie thought wryly as sheheaded for the shower.