“I can’t go on,” the taxi driver says, pulling over to the side of the road and putting his car in park.

“Boy, do I know what you mean,” I agree ruefully.

“No, I mean, you gotta get out.”

“Oh, actually, I don’t think we’re there yet. We still have a while.”

I lean forward and point through the front windshield as if to prove my point. There’s nothing but trees and dirt road until the sky meets the horizon.

“Lady, this is it. Odometer says I’m officially losing money on you. I run a business, not a church shuttle.”

I officially regret my bold, symbolic gesture with the diamond ring.

“How about you give me your address and I’ll send more money after my first paycheck—”

“Yeah right, I’ve heard that one about a million times.”

I’m going to have to get creative.

“If only there was something I could do for you…” I say, making my eyebrows dance suggestively. “Non-sexually, of course. I could clip those hard-to-reach toenails, or—or, how about plucking back some of that unibrow you’ve got going on—”

“GET OUT,” he insists, and I know it’s hopeless.

The crabby old man kicks me to the curb—or rather, the edge of the dirt road. His tires stir up dust as he turns back for the main road. A sign back there claimed Blue Stone Ranch was only a few miles in this direction. A few miles…shit.

For the first time all morning, I’m grateful I don’t have much with me, just my purse. Inside, hilariously, I have what used to be my life’s essentials: a dead cell phone, a makeup bag for touchups, a bottle of perfume, my wallet, breath mints, a tub of La Mer moisturizer, and the wrapper of a protein bar I failed to ration properly.

No tennis shoes. No GPS tracking system. Hell, a compass would be much appreciated at this point.

As it is, I’m on my own, for real this time. I even left the last of my precious peanuts in the seat pocket of the taxi.

It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Everything is fine.

I hoist my purse higher on my shoulder and set off down the road. The soles of my loafers have such little padding that I feel every pebble. I’d walk in the grass beside the road, but it’s thick and overgrown, and I fear snakes more than I fear pebbles digging into the soles of my feet. I have nothing but time as I trudge along in the dirt. I try to convince myself I only have a little bit longer, but truthfully, I have no way to gauge how far I’ve gone. I left the fancy watch that tracks my steps back in California.

I distract myself by trying to see the positive details of my current situation: I am alive and well, I’ve taken back control of my life, and I am on my way to building something new. I am at the start of a grand adventure. Sure, there will be bumps along the way, but anything is better than the direction I was headed with Andrew.

I think I hear the rumble of a car behind me. I whip around, half convinced I’m hallucinating from dehydration (should’ve opted for low sodium peanuts), and spot an old truck rumbling down the road. It’s coming straight for me, and two things run through my mind at once. First: Hallelujah! My salvation has arrived! Second: In what part of Texas did that chainsaw massacre take place?

Honestly, I’m just happy to see another human being, even if he turns out to be a cannibal with power tools. The truck barrels closer and it’s too late to escape detection, so I settle for a cheerful wave and one of my big, enchanting smiles. The gesture should say, Hi there! Look at me, I’m too pleasant to murder!

The truck pulls to a stop beside me and two older, tanned men with beat-up cowboy hats take up the entire bench seat. The one closer to me rolls down the window and props his elbow on the sill. I scan the front seat for killing implements but instead spot a tub of chewing tobacco and two matching Big Gulps.

“Lost, darlin’?”

DARLIN! I swoon and forget I’m supposed to be fearing for my life.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I smile and explain confidently, “I’m looking for Blue Stone Ranch.”

The man near me frowns and tips his head, confused. “You mean Blue Stone Farm?”

I’m pretty sure Helen said Blue Stone Ranch in her email.

“Umm, now I’m not sure. Is there a difference?”

“Blue Stone Farm is the fancy restaurant a few miles that way.” He points back in the direction I’ve been walking and my heart sinks. No. NO. I am not turning back. “Blue Stone Ranch is…well, a ranch.”

“Where would I find Jack McNight?”

He nods. “Jack’ll be at the ranch.”

“Okay then that’s where I’m going.”

They exchange a glance, and then the one closer to me nods toward the bed of the truck. “We’re going that way too. It ain’t the smoothest ride, but you’re welcome to hop in there if ya want.”

The driver thumps his friend on the head. “Karl, don’t be an idiot—you get in the back and let the nice lady sit up here. Didn’t your mama teach you jack shit?”

I leap into action before Karl can move. “No! No. It’s all right. I insist on riding in the back. It’ll remind me of hayrides when I was a kid. I’m very nostalgic.”

My survival instincts have kicked in again: at least if I’m sitting back there, I can toss myself out of the truck if I get the feeling they’ve decided to kidnap me.

It takes me a few tries before I’m able to hoist myself into the bed of the truck using one of the back tires. I am a picture of grace and elegance as I take a seat near the tailgate, situate my purse on my lap, and then smack the bed twice to signal that I’m ready. The truck shifts into drive and away we go.

I spend the next ten minutes in hell as we trudge along the neglected country road. It’s a bumpy ride, to say the least. I spit dirt out of my mouth and squeeze my eyes closed to keep dust out of them. Pebbles ping off the tires and somehow fling themselves at my head. I’m getting assaulted on all fronts, and that doesn’t even include what the wind is doing to my hair. It takes me too long to realize it’s much more pleasant to sit with my back against the cab of the truck rather than the tailgate. As we pull up to a tall, arched wrought iron gate that boldly announces that we’ve arrived at Blue Stone Ranch, I am convinced I look as if I’ve just stepped off the front line of a war. I think I even have some blood on my forehead from a particularly beefy bug.

My current physical condition aside, I’m shocked by the sight before me. I’ve never set foot on a ranch before, but I had concocted a pretty dismal picture in my head, preparing for the worst so I wouldn’t be disappointed. Instead, it seems I’ve stumbled upon what can only be described as an adorable movie set. The main road we’re on dead-ends into a circular gravel drive, smack-dab in the center of it all. On one side of the circle, there’s a two-story white farmhouse with a metal roof and an inviting porch swing swaying in the wind. There are potted plants and flowers soaking up the sun on the rim of the porch. Beyond that, cows amble in a pasture beneath the shade of massive oak trees. I scan past a large chicken coop and a field with a few glistening horses, and beside that, a massive red barn divides the animals from the largest garden I’ve ever seen.

There are people at work everywhere—scratch that, not people, men. There isn’t a single female in sight, which is probably why I garner quite a few sideways stares as I ride up in the back of the truck like I’m the grand marshal of the saddest one-car parade in history.

The truck pulls up and parks beside the other ranch vehicles. I hop down from the bed and try my best to restore my battered appearance, dabbing tentatively at the blood on my forehead, patting my hair down, and then heaving a sigh of defeat. At this point, it is what it is, and it’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.

“He’ll probably be up in the house,” Karl says, pointing in the direction of the farmhouse I was just admiring. “Jack.”

I tip my head in thanks and offer a limp wave before I set off to meet my new boss. All eyes are on me as I walk the few yards between the truck and the front porch. I stick out like a sore thumb in this setting, but instead of giving in to the sudden flood of nerves, I try to recall any details Helen might have mentioned about her job over the years.

Let’s see, I know she’s an executive assistant, and in that role she…assists. Damn. I know nothing. Has she ever said anything about her boss? I can’t remember. I mean, she must enjoy her job if she’s been here for almost six years…or maybe she’s stayed so long because it’s her only option? It’s probably hard to find work in such a rural area—and I mean RURAL. The journey from San Antonio to Cedar Creek felt like I was going through some kind of time warp. With each passing mile, the countryside became less and less populated, the roads transitioned from concrete to asphalt to dirt, and I’m not sure they even get cell service out here. That’s what I’m thinking about when I knock on the front door of the farmhouse and it’s whipped open a second later.

A tall, thin woman stands on the threshold wearing jeans and a pearl snap shirt. Her white-gray hair is cropped short in a pixie style and her steel eyes seem to cut right through me. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. Still, she’s beautiful, regal almost, with a few wrinkles rimming the corners of her eyes.

I open my mouth to introduce myself, but she beats me to the punch.

“Whatever you’re sellin’, we either don’t want it or already got it.”

Then she steps back and slams the door in my face.

I’m so shocked that it takes me a minute to gather my wits before I knock again. This time I hear her sigh on the other side of the door before she pulls it open.

“Oh, and we’ve all heard the story and found the Lord, and we don’t need any more, thank you.”

Another slam.

I don’t knock again because I can see the woman watching to see if I’ll leave.

“Don’t you people ever listen? Do I need to go get my shotgun or are you gonna leave this porch without me having to chase you off it?”

My eyes are wide as saucers. Is she really going to shoot me if I don’t get off her porch? What kind of place is Texas?

I put my hands up like she’s a police officer and I’m under arrest, then I proceed with caution.

“I’m not selling anything. Please don’t shoot me.”

The door swings open again. She frowns and gives me a once-over before meeting my gaze again.

“What do you want then?”

“A job.”

She finds that pretty hilarious, laughing so hard she has to reach out for the doorframe to steady herself. She slaps her knee with the other hand, looks up at me, and then folds back over in laughter.

“You came all the way out here lookin’ for a job? Oh man, that’s funny,” she says, drying her eyes. “Okay, what’ll it be, missy? Carpenter? Welder?”

“I—”

“Who put you up to this? Dotty? That old trickster. I’m gonna get her back so good, she won’t even see it coming—”

“I don’t know who Dotty is. I’m Helen’s sister, Meredith. She was supposed to call ahead and mention that I was on my way?”

With that announcement, her laughter finally dies. She inspects me with new eyes.

“You don’t look like Helen.”

“We have different moms.”

Her eyes thin in speculation. “Hmm. Well your daddy must’ve had broad tastes.”

I smile, unsure whether or not to take that as a joke.

“Right, well, if it’s a job you need, you’ll have to go talk to Jack. He’s over by the barn doin’ an all-hands.”

“An all-hands?” I ask, turning to see where she’s pointing.

There’s a group of men circled up outside the barn, their attention fixed on a tall figure who seems to be giving orders. From this distance, I can’t make out his features.

“It’s a meeting with all the ranch hands.”

“Ah, got it.” I turn back to her. “Maybe I can wait until he’s finished.”

I have nowhere to be.

She shakes her head. “Normally, I’d agree, but he’s got a lot on his plate today what with your sister gone. I doubt you’ll be able to catch him again.”

Perfect. Just great. I was hoping my day would continue down this path. Why would I get to meet with Jack one on one and plead my case when instead, I can slowly limp toward the all-hands meeting, grinding my teeth together as my blisters start to get blisters?

In another life, my knees give out and I face-plant in the dirt, too damn weak and tired to get up. No one helps me. I perish. My Gucci loafers decompose.

But, in this life, I hobble closer to the group and one by one, every head in the circle turns in my direction. Jack’s booming voice carries over the crowd.

I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I like the sound of his voice. It’s rough, almost gritty, and strong enough to command the attention of a dozen ranch hands—well, right up until now, when all eyes are on me.

“Looks like we have company,” someone says, and I finally work up the courage to peel my gaze from the ground. It’s like I just walked onto the stage of a cowboy-themed Chippendales show. I’m surrounded by a dozen young, strong guys wearing jeans and sweating through their work shirts. I scan from one cute face to another, taking in the amused grins until I finally make it to their fearless leader and stop short.

My gut clenches as if my ovaries both lean in toward my uterus to say, Hello! We’re here and we like what we see! My heart stops and then speeds up, confused about how to proceed. My eyes scan up and down him four times before I finally regain enough sense to break the cycle.

Don’t get me wrong, this reaction is not about me being love-struck. Seeing as how I just left a pretty bad relationship, oh, I don’t know…14 hours ago, I’m immune to the chiseled jaw thing he has going on. Really, I’m just surprised. Just like with the ranch, Jack is nothing like what I was expecting. He’s young—mid-thirties, maybe—with a tall frame and wide shoulders. You know that calm confident look every NFL quarterback carries around, that gleam in their eyes that challenges you to try to screw with them? He’s got it. On top of that, he has a wide-set jaw, strong cheekbones, and dark brows.

He’s wearing a baseball cap backward, and the ends of his dark brown hair wing out from beneath it. These are all things I don’t want to notice, I just do. The fact that his black t-shirt stretches across his chest when he props his hands on his hips is a fact, not an opinion, and his steely gaze leveled on me? Yeah, that’s also kind of hard to ignore, especially now that everything has gone silent.

What a strange turn of events to find out that my future boss is a very attractive man. Good for him. I don’t care. I’m too focused on the fact that his chiseled features are locked in an annoyed scowl. Everyone else seemed amused by my interruption of the all-hands meeting, but not him. It’s probably hard enough keeping control of these guys in normal circumstances, and I’ve just waltzed in and stolen their attention.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a hard tone. What he really means to say is, Go away, just like my taxi therapist and the old woman from the house.

I straighten my shoulders and dredge up every ounce of confidence I have left in me. It’s not much, and my voice barely carries over the group.

“What was that?” he asks, impatient.

“Speak up!” someone shouts.

I clear my throat and try again. “I’m here for a job.”

There’s another round of laughter. These people seriously need a comedy club, or at least a few Adam Sandler movies on DVD. They find the most mundane things hilarious.

“Hey Jack, she could be your first manicured ranch hand.”

The guys really crack up at that.

Jack, to his credit, doesn’t laugh.

He shakes his head and steps forward. “You must be the princess.”

“What?”

“I heard your story. I was hoping you wouldn’t show.”

My mouth drops open, but before I can come up with a fiery reply, he wraps his hand around my bicep and drags me away from the group. There are catcalls and profane comments behind us. I scowl at the guys over my shoulder, but it only fuels the fire.

“What about the all-hands, Jack? Watch where you put yours!”

“She can help me out in the fields! I’ll train her quick!”

“This must be that fine southern hospitality you always hear about,” I hiss, trying to yank my arm out of his hold.

His sharp eyes cut to me as he continues leading me toward the house. “You’ll have to forgive our poor country folk manners,” he replies in an affected drawl filled with sarcasm. “We aren’t used to entertaining royalty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He whips open the screen door and pushes me inside the house.

Without a doubt, it’s the worst introduction I’ve ever had.