His eyebrows disappear into his hat and the expression of astonishment on his face almost makes me burst into laughter. As I watch, the shock of my request is wiped away and replaced with a scowl. “Here’s another option. How would you like me to throw you into the house?”
I lift my chin arrogantly. “Well, at least get me some shoes then.”
“We’re on a ranch. It won’t kill you to walk barefoot on a bit of dirt.”
I love being barefoot—feeling the soil between my toes and the rocks beneath my feet—but I pretend to make a revolted face. “That’s disgusting. I am not getting my feet dirty.”
“Okay, I’ve had enough already. Let me make this crystal clear. If you don’t stop acting like a spoiled brat, I will make one call—one—and this will be over. I don’t care if you get hauled off to prison. It’s the best place for you as far as I’m concerned. While you are here, I expect nothing less than blind obedience. Do I make myself clear?”
Good man. Tamara’s father had a brilliant idea to send her here. This man and this place are exactly what she needs. Shame he has such a cunning daughter that she schemed her way out of his plan. I make a face. “Fine, I’ll listen, but I’m not doing all the gross things you people do. I’m just going to learn to ride a horse and go back to my life in LA as soon as possible.”
“I don’t give a shit what you get up to when you get back to wherever you came from, but while you’re here, you’ll do whatever I tell you to do,” he says sternly.
“How about not,” I snicker.
He stares at me with another priceless expression of disbelief.
Ignoring him, I open the door. Jumping to the ground, I wiggle my toes in the lovely hot soil. I almost moan with pleasure. I absolutely adore the feel of it. Up above, an eagle is circling in the hot blue air. In the distance, I can see animals that look like deer grazing.
“Are those deer?” I ask, squinting at them.
“No, antelope. We have about a hundred of them.”
I turn toward him. “Really?”
He nods. “The spread is heavily populated with wild pigs too.”
I have always loved animals and wanted to have a lot of them around me, but living in Chicago obviously deterred me from owning any. At that moment, I want nothing more than to go see all the farm animals, but Tamara Honeywell only loves animals when they come in the form of a handbag, a coat, or on her plate. “We passed a ton of little cottages on our way here. Are they all separate farms?”
“Most of what we passed belongs to this ranch. There are dozens of small homes lining the spread since many of the employees live and work on the land. It’s much easier than driving through the old country roads daily.”
“What kind of ranch is this?”
“We’re producers of grass-fed, grass-finished, pasture-raised beef, and we’re one of the finest stock farms in the state. Our prize cattle are sold for premium prices, but we also have dairy, sheep, hog, poultry, orchards, and we’re starting an Arabian horse operation soon.” His voice is filled with quiet pride.
Chapter 10
Cass
I could have listened to him talk about the ranch all day long but that kind of talk would have bored Tamara silly, so I cut him off by walking away from him.
“Show me where I’m staying,” I command as I reach the back of the truck.
Without any shoes, I find it far easier to pull myself up and stand inside it. I grab the tightly bundled bags and throw them onto the ground, jumping down after them before they can fall over. Again, he just stares at me with a bemused expression. God, how can a man be so effortlessly gorgeous?
“Well?” I prompt rudely.
A tick starts in his cheek and I have the impression that he is struggling to control himself. I follow as he marches forward, his back straight and rigid with tension.
“Am I staying in the house?” I ask. I really don’t want to live in the same house with him for a whole month. He is too attractive for my liking, and I hate the idea that I’ll have to keep on antagonizing him just to keep him insufferable and arrogant. It’s either that or I blow this job by doing something stupid like falling into bed with him, or worse, getting emotionally entangled.
He inclines his head toward the white house in front of us. “Yeah, you’ll be staying in the guest annex. It’s downstairs and connected to the rest of the house by the kitchen.” He turns his face toward me.
That suits me just fine, but I can imagine how offended Tamara Honeywell would be to be living next to the kitchen. “Next to the kitchen?” I grumble. “What am I, a fricking servant?”
His mouth lifts in disgust. “It makes it easier for you to wake up every morning and tend to your horse.”
“What exactly am I supposed to be doing with the horse?” I roll my eyes as if I’m bored to death and not brimming over with excitement at the thought of caring for my very own horse. A horse that will be mine for the next thirty days!
His voice hardens. “You will clean your horse’s stall, feed and grain all the horses, and once a week, you will clean out the barns.”
Lars opens the door and signals for me to walk inside ahead of him. He says nothing as he strides through the big house. We go through a large airy kitchen and down a short corridor. He opens a door and stands back.
I almost break into a smile, but force myself to remain passive. “This is it?” I complain in a whiny voice.
“You won’t be inside for anything but sleeping, so I’m sure you’ll manage,” he says tightly from behind me.
I take a step into the room. The floor is cool under my bare feet and I drop the suitcases. Knowing he can’t see my expression, I let go of my facial muscles and start beaming with happiness. God, I could live in this annex forever and ever. It’s simply the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in. I look around me in amazement. It is decorated in exactly the way I would love my home to be done up one day when I am married and have my own little family.
The windows are large and sunlight pours onto the duck-egg blue walls and makes rectangles of light on the gleaming wood floors. There are French doors that open out to a patio that overlooks gorgeous country. I can already see myself sitting out there watching the sunset with a tall glass of something cool.
My eyes move to the bed. It is large, intricately carved, and painted white. The sheets are all crisp and smooth like in a hotel. The furniture is all white. There is a pretty dressing table with a little dusty-pink velvet-covered stool pushed up against one wall and built-in cupboards on another. Someone has put a blue vase of wild flowers on the nightstand.
I hear him come into the room, and as I turn to look at him, he grabs my suitcases from the floor and hauls them onto the bed.
“Are you bipolar?”
“What?” he growls.
“Why can’t you make up your mind? Either help me with my bags or don’t. I can’t understand why you’d refuse to help me when I needed assistance, and take my bags when I really don’t need your help anymore.”
He runs his hand behind his neck and frowns. “I don’t know why I did either. You’re easily the most ungrateful, cranky woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”
He looks so adorable my stomach flutters. I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“There’s a bathroom through there.” He sighs, indicating a door on his right. “When you finish unpacking, go to the horse barn. It’s down the hill on the left. Choose a horse that takes well to you. Isadora and Pumpkin are both gentle. So is Misty. Devil’s Ride is mine,” he says, walking away.
“Thank you,” I say to the closed door.
I don’t bother to unpack. I’m far too excited about the horses to concentrate on anything else. Only one suitcase is mine anyway. The two big ones are filled with the things Tamara will need when she come to take over on the last day. Shoes, bags, jewelry, dresses, rollers, hair straighteners, and all kinds of things you’d never think one woman would need for one night away from home.
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br /> I quickly open my bag and sift through the clothes, trying to find something to wear on a farm. There is one risqué dress, a very short sundress, a pair of white shorts that I wouldn’t be caught dead in, some T-shirts, and finally, a couple of pairs of jeans. I get into one of them and pull on a black T-shirt. Then I run out barefoot.
The house is absolutely deserted as I run through it. A pair of men’s muck boots sit beside the door and I question whether to take them or to go to the barn barefoot. Unfortunately, while I do enjoy the feel of soil between my toes, I won’t feel the same way about horse crap. I run back to my bedroom, get some toilet paper and fill the boots with it, and slip into them. A bit uncomfortable and heavy, but they’ll do.
Wearing them, I stomp out the door. The driveway is a small hill, so I walk down it and turn left as instructed. I get a weird, almost awed look from a boy in the cow barn, but I ignore him. I am Tamara Honeywell, after all.
It takes only a few minutes to reach the horse barns and I’m practically bouncing with excitement. It’s hard to stay in character when I care so much about this part of the job. As soon as I step foot in the barn, I crinkle my nose. When I thought of barns, I typically imagined a well-groomed building, but I never really thought about the smell. Then a horse in one of the stalls in the rows on either side of me neighs, and I smile widely. Oh, yes. That is exactly how imagined it. I walk into it with a heart full of joy. I seem to be the only one in the barn, which means I can be myself.
Some of the pins are empty, but the majority are full of large, healthy horses. Inside the single barn, there are fourteen stalls—seven on either side. Only a few of them are labeled with names—I see Pumpkin, Isadora, and even Devil’s Ride. The animals watch me nervously, all standing in the back of their stalls. Only one, a gorgeous, sleek black stallion with a star on his forehead, comes forth and sticks his head out. I smile and reach forward to rub his snout while he exhales loudly.
“What’s your name then?” I ask, leaning my face on his warm neck. His black mane is not slicked back like the others, as if he hasn’t been groomed in some time. He huffs beneath my gentle fingers.
“Tamara, you took my boots,” Lars shouts through the barn, and the horse’s head shoots up.
“Shh…He’s mad because I stole his boots but it’ll be all right,” I say soothingly.
“Tamara,” I hear Lars call hesitantly behind me.
The horse nudges my shoulder playfully and I turn around with a laugh. Lars is standing behind me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. My laugh dries up in my throat. “What?”
He closes his mouth. “Can you please come here?” he says quietly.
“Why?”
I see him take a deep breath. “Do you remember what I said about obeying me?”
“Yes.”
“Now is a good time to do that.”
“Fine, but just so you know, I want this horse,” I say firmly.
“Of course, you do,” he mumbles, “but maybe you should select something other than a wild Arabian that spooks easily and doesn’t usually even let people touch him.”
I laugh and reach back to pet the stallion’s long face once more. “He’s doing fine with me.”
“He won’t let you ride him,” he explains and shifts uneasily as if he is hoping I’ll move away from the horse.
“Yes, he will,” I retort confidently, and climbing over the door, jump into his stall.
Lars doesn’t move a muscle as I snuggle up closer to the animal. “He looks like a beast, but he’s just a big softie.”
“He’s never let anyone this close to him,” Lars says in amazement.
I lean against the fence with the horse standing beside me. “Okay, well now he does. What’s his name?”
“His name is Thunder.”
Chapter 11
Cass
“No fucking way,” Lars roars when he finally gets me to jump out of Thunder’s stall. With an iron grip around my upper arm, he roughly tries to steer me out of the barn.
“Let go of me,” I yell, shocked by his sudden transformation from calm to furious.
He releases me so fast I nearly fall backward.
I try to argue with him, but he isn’t having any of it. The horse, he insists, is untamed. It has already bucked off two highly seasoned men. One broke his leg and the other a couple of ribs.
“If you insist on breaking your neck then go do it on someone else’s watch. I’m not having it on my conscience,” he shouts.
“Please. He won’t throw me off. He…likes me,” I implore.
For a second he stares at me as if I’ve just turned green, or I’ve uttered the most insane thing he’s ever heard. Instantly, I realize that I have already slipped out of character. Tamara would never be begging like this.
“Why do you want him?” he asks, his forehead furrowed.
I can’t tell him because Thunder is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever laid eyes on, or that it is love at first sight, because Tamara would never say such a thing. “Because, I know I can ride him,” I whisper.
He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his hair. “No way. I’ll have to tell your father about this and he can decide what to do.”
My blood runs cold and my hands rise in fear. Bringing her dad’s attention to me would be a very bad idea. “No, no, please,” I plead. “Don’t tell him.”
His eyes narrow into slits.
I swallow hard and think up a lie that would work best. “I just want to do one thing that will make him proud of me.”
Something flashes in his eyes. A softening. Thank God.
“I’ll be very careful. I promise to listen carefully to everything you tell me.”
In the end, we agree (although my fingers are crossed behind my back) that I will learn to ride on Isadora and only attempt to get on Thunder once he can be trusted not to throw his rider.
That evening after a lovely shower, I have an early dinner of cold chicken sandwiches on my patio. The sky is velvet black and studded with millions of stars that shine like diamonds. I mean there are stars in Chicago obviously, but holy hell, the stars in Montana are something else. They glitter like diamonds. I have never seen such a sight in the city, and for a very long time I sit in the cold night air, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at the night sky.
Everybody seems to go to bed early, and by ten o’clock, silence descends. I remain in the darkness alone, more at peace than I have been in my whole life.
My real life feels like it is thousands of miles away. In a different world.
Eventually, I go in and close the French doors. Lars told me to be at the barn by 7:30 a.m., so I set my alarm clock for 6:45 and slip between the fresh, sweet-smelling sheets.
The first thing I do when I wake up is to check the sheets for brown stains from the spray tan. Relieved that the sheets are clean, I pad over to the bathroom.
It takes me nearly twenty minutes to get my make-up right, but I am in the kitchen by seven sharp. There is a delicious smell wafting around and a tiny, white-haired woman is bustling around making breakfast. She must be at least seventy, but she seems to be very sprightly and energetic.
“Morning child,” she greets cheerfully as soon as she sees me.
“Morning, Ma’am,” I say. I don’t know how Tamara treats the elderly, but I was raised to be polite to them above all else, and I’m doing just that. No way I’m going to be rude to this little sweetheart. Ever.
She grins. “Take a pew, honey.”
I sit gingerly on one of the wooden chairs arranged around the long wooden table.
“Lars wants you to fill your belly before going out to the barn to start your chores, so I’ve made you eggs, bacon, beans, and toast,” she says, pushing a plate of warm food in front of me.
“Are you the cook here?” I ask as I start buttering the toast.
“That’ll be me,” she says as she walks over to the stove and stirs whatever is cooking in a small pot.
She spoons some int
o a bowl and puts it in front of me. “Go on and get it all down you.”
The porridge is still steaming hot so I reach for the fork and knife and start eating my eggs. “This is delicious.”
“I wouldn’t be late if I were you. Lars is very punctual. If he says seven-thirty then he means not a minute later.”
I look at her warily. “What time is it?”
She glances at a clock on the wall. “It’s already seven-fifteen, child.”
I follow her gaze and momentarily panic. I’m fifteen minutes later than I thought. Something must be wrong with my alarm clock. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, and then scarf the food down my throat. Even though I rush like mad, it’s 7:20 by the time I finish.
“I was told to give you these before you leave,” she says, handing me a pair of small muck boots.
“Thank you so much…” I begin, realizing I don’t know her name.
She folds her hands over her chest and beams. “Emma Jean Jansen, but you can call me Emma Jean.”
I grin back gratefully. “Thank you, Emma Jean.”
I step into the boots—they are a perfect fit—and rush out of the house. The morning air is lovely and cool as I run down the hill at full speed and race to the barn. I don’t have a watch and I left my new phone on my bedside table, so I pray that I am on time.
“I’m here,” I shout as soon as I get through the entrance.
Lars is standing in between the stalls with a shovel in his hands. He turns his wrist, looks at his watch, and glares at me as I stand there panting hard. “You’re a minute late,” he chastises sternly.
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. I’m late by a minute. I woke up at six forty-five. I wolfed my breakfast down as fast as I could and I ran all the way here. Give me a break.” At that moment, I’m not even attempting to act like Tamara. The arrogance of this man irritates me beyond words.
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