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.

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.”