American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

"Thump."

The figure leaped down nimbly, the landing of the boots kicking up a small cloud of dust.

She straightened up, brushing the dust off her pantyhose as she turned around to tidy her clothes, standing tall and elegant.

Her golden-brown braids swung behind her, and her rosy cheeks were flushed from exercise.

A pair of big eyes lit up the moment they saw Fett, then flashed a look of unease, as if they had been caught climbing over a wall.

Thief?

Not like ah.

Fett was a little puzzled and was about to ask when the girl rushed up to him in a few steps, like a little lioness protecting her food, taking the initiative.

She angrily demanded, "Who was that woman yesterday?!"

Fett was completely baffled by this nonsensical question.

He searched through the original owner's memories but couldn't match the hot country girl in front of him with anyone he knew.

He frowned, looking her up and down: "Who are you? What are you doing climbing over the wall into my house?"

These words were like a pot of hot oil, instantly igniting Lyra's momentum.

She froze on the spot, the feigned anger on her face instantly turning into real anger.

"Don't you recognize me?"

She gritted her teeth, took a step forward, and almost pressed herself against Fett.

Those large, watery eyes were fixed on Fett, her warm, rapid breath spraying directly onto his neck.

Fett could tell from her expression that it wasn't fake, but he genuinely couldn't remember who she was. "You...know me?"

She pointed to her nose, her voice trembling with disappointment:

"Fate Carter, you really don't recognize me? I'm Lyra Green!"

"Lyra from the farm next door!"

Fett's brain raced, and finally, he unearthed a figure from a corner of his memory.

He was a tomboy with messy short hair, rosy cheeks, wearing men's jeans, and fighting with himself.

But the girl in front of me was wearing a beige turtleneck cashmere sweater and a neatly tailored black wool short coat.

She wore a black fine-knit mini skirt, paired with thick, opaque black tights, and denim ankle boots.

She stood there gracefully before him.

Thick black stockings perfectly outlined the strong and long lines of her legs, honed by years of horseback riding.

No one would doubt that she's a model.

He tried to superimpose that blurry, dirty shadow onto the country girl in front of him.

But even after thinking about it for a long time, he still couldn't get used to it.

The contrast is so stark it's almost like a species mutation.

"Are you Lyra?"

"Okay! Sorry... you've changed so much."

Fett awkwardly touched his nose, trying to smooth things over: "Let's pretend you're Lyra, and get to know each other again!"

Hearing the apology, Leila breathed a slight sigh of relief; she was genuinely afraid that Fett wouldn't remember anything at all.

But Fett's words, "Just pretend you're Lyra," reignited her anger.

She glanced at him and said angrily:

"What do you mean by 'just treat me as'?!"

Her large eyes stared intently at Fett, her eyelashes almost brushing against his face, and a faint fragrance wafted into his nostrils.

"Tell me! What's our agreed-upon code?"

This question has hit Fett's blind spot again. He thought quickly, but his mind went completely blank.

In his memory, when the two were children, the original owner of this body stole her cowboy hat and was forced by her to hide in an oak tree, too afraid to come down.

The two remained deadlocked for a full five hours, finally ending with the original owner admitting defeat.

With that in mind, Fett felt it was better to remember.

Otherwise, there will be no peace in the future.

"Well……"

"that……"

He stammered and lowered his head, intending to avoid Leila's aggressive gaze, but his eyes involuntarily fell on her chest.

Her beige sweater was stretched to its limit, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

Further down, however, is a slender waist that suddenly tightens, and a beautiful curve encased in thick black pantyhose.

Fett's thoughts uncontrollably veered off course:

Damn it, what did she eat to grow up like that?

With such a slender waist, how can it hold up so much...?

This scale... is it really the same as that tomboy with a cowboy spirit from back then?

……

Seeing a bear makes you lose your mind.

Now Fett couldn't remember the code at all.

"Still haven't figured it out?!"

Seeing Fett staring blankly and stammering for a long time without being able to utter a single word, Leila's face flushed with annoyance.

She stomped her foot and reminded him irritably:

"I'm warning you one last time! It's about cowboys and guns!"

"If you still can't answer that!"

"snort!"

"I'll wake you up at five every morning!"

Cowboy...gun...

These two keywords were like shotgun shells loaded into a double-barreled shotgun, striking Fett's brain and instantly opening his mind.

"Clang!"

Fett released his grip, and the half-saw blade and spring slammed heavily onto the ground at his feet.

Before Lyra could react, he suddenly jumped back, his feet spread apart in a horse stance, and his right hand flashed to his waist, his five fingers loosely clenched, assuming a classic Western duel gun-drawing posture.

His eyes instantly sharpened, and he lowered his voice, calling out in a deep tone:

"Draw your gun, cowboy."

Leila's reaction was surprisingly quick.

Almost reflexively, she turned around, facing Fett sideways, her right hand's two fingers pressed together near her temple, revealing only half of her profile, a cool, aloof smile playing on her lips:

"I bet your gun is...empty."

What is North American Swallow Double Eagle?

As Fett listened to Lyra's lines, his lips twitched slightly, and he silently complained to himself.

But it seems like they managed to get away with it.

"Click".

The sound of a door opening came from the porch.

Fett recoiled as if electrocuted, straightened his back, and frantically signaled to Layla with his eyes to stop immediately.

"What's wrong with you?"

Lyra, engrossed in her cool cowboy persona, frowned in displeasure when Fett suddenly changed his pose. "You have to hold that pose for five seconds. You haven't even forgotten that, have you?"

Before Fett could explain, old Frank's questioning voice came from behind:

"Layla? What brings you here? Are you here to pick up the pot? I was just saying I'd bring it over to you in a bit."

The old man stood on the porch, holding the clean cast-iron pot, looking at Leila's strange posture in the yard with a puzzled expression:

"What are you doing? Rehearsing for a movie?"

"You look quite nice today. What's up? Going to town?"

"Your old man doesn't have time to take you?"

Leila's body stiffened abruptly.

With astonishing speed, she withdrew her fingers from her temple and casually pretended to brush away stray hairs from her ear.

Although he moved quickly, Fett saw her originally fair earlobes turn bright red at a visible speed.

"No...it's nothing. I'm not going to town. The clothes I ordered from Amazon just arrived. I'll try them on today."

She turned around and awkwardly tugged at the hem of her dress:

"I'll feed Rosie and take the pot back with me."

"I happened to run into Fett, so... we chatted for a bit."

"Which courier company is it?" Frank asked casually.

"UPS."

Leila nervously gave the name of the brown truck that often drove on the country roads.

"UPS?"

Frank frowned and stroked the stubble on his chin:

"What a coincidence. I recently bought a small benchtop belt sander online, and it was also delivered by UPS."

"They should have arrived in the last couple of days."

"Since the deliveryman brought you the clothes, why didn't he call me?"

"Did they miss one of my orders?"

The old man had a short temper; he turned to go back into the house to get his phone.

"No, I have to call and ask them."

"No! Uncle Frank!"

Leila was startled and quickly reached out to stop him.

Seeing Lyra's face turn bright red, and her stammering inability to give any reason, Fett instantly understood what was going on.

He cleared his throat and took over the conversation quite naturally: "Dad, the clothes are a small item, the belt sander is a big item, maybe they'll be transported in separate trucks, don't worry."

"Yeah?"

Frank scratched his head and muttered, "That belt sander isn't that big..."

"Fett is right, Uncle Frank!"

Leila looked at Fett gratefully and quickly added, "And whatever you do, don't make a phone call."

"Last time I called them to check a document, I listened to electronic music for a full twenty minutes and no one answered. It was just a robot telling me to press 1, press 2."

"It's the same as not hitting them at all."

"Alright, then let's wait a bit longer."

Old Frank stopped dwelling on the delivery and turned to look at Fett and Lyra, his eyes carrying a hint of matchmaking. "Fett, go and chat with Lyra. You two haven't seen each other in a long time."

"I'll go with Leila to take the pot back later."

He pointed to the beautiful coat Lyra was wearing:

"The girl is wearing new clothes, don't let this heavy pot get her dirty."

Debt looms large, bankruptcy looms.

With the death knell already at his neck, Fett had no time to think about anything else. He looked down at the forging materials he had painstakingly found and sighed inwardly: Women are the most troublesome.

He bent down and picked up the heavy half of the circular saw blade and the huge spring from the ground.

"Dad, I watched a lot of tutorials last night."

These are the materials I found for forging swords.

"I'll forge swords with you!"