I know Meredith and Edith do yoga every day at 10:00 AM because productivity stalls around the ranch. On Wednesday, I head outside and find half my ranch hands congregating near the fence beside the oak tree. A few of them have the decency to act like they’re working—Max has a hammer in his hand (though not a single nail)—but most of them are just openly gawking.

“This is now the most solid and secure section of fence we have on this whole damn ranch.” My voice booms and they scatter like cockroaches. “You think we can get to work on the east pasture now?”

There are muffled apologies and half-hearted excuses, but most of them are smart enough to get to work without another word.

Chris doesn’t scatter. He comes right up to me and hands me some wildflowers wrapped in parchment paper.

“Can you deliver these to Meredith for me?”

“Why in the hell would I do that?”

He frowns like I’m a blubbering idiot. “Because you just said I need to get back to work.”

He misunderstands me.

I look down at the colorful flowers. “No, I mean why are you trying to deliver these to Meredith?”

He smiles extra wide, really proud of himself. “Oh, yeah. Well, she sent me home with those cookies last week, and I wanted to return the favor. These are from my mama’s garden.”

I yank them out of his hand and motion for him to get back to work, mumbling under my breath.

I don’t deliver the flowers to Meredith. I carry them up to my office and set them down on my desk. I stare at them so long they should catch fire, but they don’t. They stay wrapped up, a pretty gift for the pretty woman everyone on this damn ranch seems to be in love with, and I study them right up until a phone call distracts me.

I answer with a clipped greeting.

“Jack! This is Tucker—Tucker Carroway. How are you?”

“I’m fine, busy.” I push the flowers out of my line of sight. “What can I do for you, Tucker?”

“Oh I’m good too, thanks for asking.” His sarcasm annoys me, and I’m reminded why we didn’t get along in high school. “I’m calling for Meredith. She’s supposed to be my date for Dan and Leanna’s wedding this weekend and I just wanted to confirm pickup time with her.”

“So call her cell phone. I can’t have you two blocking the ranch’s main line.”

“I would, but she never gave me her number.”

I lose the fight against a smug smile.

“Sorry to hear that, man. I hope you figure it out.”

“McNight, why do I get the feeling you’re intentionally being obstinate?”

I hang up.

The phone rings, I pick it up off the base just long enough for him to get the silent message, and I hang it up again.

In the late afternoon, I stroll into the kitchen, though not because I need anything. I’m still full from lunch, and I’m not thirsty since Meredith brought me some lemonade an hour ago. It was a nice gesture, but her gentle smile successfully distracted me for the half hour after that. Now, I’m down here again. I have enough to occupy me upstairs, but I still tug open the fridge and stand in front of it like I’m looking for something. I even shuffle around some yogurt cups for good measure.

“Was lunch too light? I can make you something else if you want to top it off?”

Meredith is by the sink doing dishes. I’m not looking at her, but I still know exactly what she looks like today. She’s wearing cutoff denim shorts and a white t-shirt, her dark hair piled high up on her head in a messy bun. She has more freckles across the bridge of her nose today than she did last week, and I wonder if it’s because of her outdoor yoga sessions with Edith.

I can even tell she’s smiling because of the way she asked the question. I think she knows I’m in here for no good reason.

I close the fridge door at the same time she moves to take the trash out.

It’s filled to the brim, and she has a hard time lifting it out.

“Here, let me get that.”

I try to nudge her out of the way and take the bag from her.

“No, no, I can do it. It’s my job—I’m a professional.”

She groans as she lifts with all her might, but the bag only makes it halfway out of the bin before she’s forced to drop it again.

“Meredith.”

“You pay me to do this. You do realize that, right?”

I level her with a stubborn gaze, and she aims one right back at me.

“It’s my own fault for letting it get too full,” she points out.

I take her shoulders in my hands and gently shift her a foot to the right so I can empty the trash.

“Fine,” she hollers after me as I head out back. “I guess this counts as my first break.”

I pull the lid open on the outdoor trashcan, and just as I’m about to toss the bag on top of the pile, something catches my attention: a bouquet of expensive-looking flowers scattered as if they were dumped straight out of the vase and an envelope ripped down the middle sitting on top. I drop the trash bag on the ground and grab the two halves of the note.

It’s a private message, one definitely not meant for my eyes, but I read it anyway.

They’re the words of a heartbroken man, words that cut through my chest as painfully as if I was the one who wrote them. I knew Meredith left her husband when she came to Texas. I knew she had a whole life back in California, but reading this puts it all in perspective. She’s still married to a man who loves her and expects her back. She didn’t leave a loveless marriage; she left a heartbroken husband who’s still foolishly pining for her. I bet he went half insane when he woke up and found her gone that day three weeks ago. No warning, no discussion—she just vanished and left him to pick up the pieces. I wonder how many times a day he calls her. I wonder what her reasons were for leaving him. I wonder if what Helen said was true, that her husband doted on her and gave her the world, that she is spoiled and bored and left to teach him a lesson.

Honestly, though, I’m not sure her reasons matter. Regardless of why she left, I’m still a fool. I’ve been letting my guard down around her, allowing her into my life inch by inch. I’m acutely aware of her when she walks into a room, and I try to catch every one of her smiles as if they’re meant just for me. I’m smitten, and I have been for longer than I care to admit.

Worse, I’m not the only person under her spell. I’m standing in line clutching a number. The ranch hands, Tucker, her husband—everyone wants Meredith, and I’d bet Meredith wants no one. She’s a heartbreaker, a self-centered woman who wants nothing more than to be wanted.

I think of how she cried when she broke that glass at dinner the other night, how she looked so delicate and fragile in that moment that my heart softened for her.

Was it all a crock of shit? All for show?

I pick the trash bag up off the ground and toss it inside.

If so, it’s about time Meredith took her act back to where it belongs.