The counters are lined with appetizers and food designed for large gatherings, and Emma Jean is wrapping a large glass bowl of potato salad with cling wrap. She sends a big smile in my direction.

“What’s going on tonight?” I ask curiously.

“Lars didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head.

“We have barn parties every few months for the employees who live on site. There are a bunch of them, so the party is usually quite large.”

“A barn party?” I ask.

Emma Jean turns the stove off and moves a large pot off the burner.

“Yup. They’re quite fun. There’s music and dancing.”

“Will…will Lars be there?”

“He hasn’t missed one yet.”

“Right.”

“Lars throws the parties, so he makes sure to be at all of them,” she explains.

“Are the employees the only ones who will be there?” I ask with a frown. I haven’t had to act like Tamara in front of too many people yet, but if I’m surrounded by people who know more about her, how am I supposed to be convincing while acting like myself. For the most part, I’ve been able to be myself lately, but that’s all going to have to change in a crowd.

“No, dear. All the employees will be here, but it’s not limited to staff. Often, they’ll bring family members and friends along with them.”

I bite my thumb. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

Emma Jean turns her full attention to me. “Why would a pretty little thing like you not want to go to a party?”

I shrug. “I don’t know how everyone expects me to act,” I admit.

“No one expects you to be anything but yourself.”

I hesitate. She doesn’t know the real reason I don’t want to go.

“Honey, listen to me. You’re a great person. I don’t know what you’re like when you’re in the big city, or what you’ve done over there, but I’ve never seen you be disrespectful toward me, and I can tell you are a fine person. We’re all simple country folk here and ain’t nobody here gonna expect anything from you. You just be yourself and they can damn well like it, or take a hike,” she says passionately.

I smile and wish I could be honest with her.

“Personally, I think you’ve changed a fair bit since you’ve been here.”

“Really? In what way?” I have tried to gradually become less like Tamara as the days progressed, so if they believe I have changed, I have done my job. That also means that I will be able to act like myself.

“When you came here, you looked like you had your head on the chopping block waiting for the hatchet to drop, but over the last two weeks, I’ve seen the cares drift away from your eyes and you’ve blossomed like a flower.”

I grin at her. “Why, Emma Jean, I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as a flower before.”

“They will when they see you now,” she says with a firm nod.

A door across the kitchen shuts with a click, and I turn toward the entrance. Footsteps grow closer then Lars fills the kitchen door, looking as fine as hell. My heart skips a beat. Only he can make a flannel shirt and jeans look sexy.

His eyes widen as his gaze travels down my body. I realize his choice of clothing is a major contrast to my pale pink top and beach shorts.

“Should I change?” I ask.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know. You’re making me sweat like a sinner in church in that getup, buttercup, but you probably should wear something warmer. Once the sun goes down, it’s going to get cold. Do you have a sweatshirt or a shawl?”

Of course, there isn’t a shawl in my suitcase. I doubt Tamara has even heard of such a thing. She probably thinks it’s one of the ingredients in rat poison. All Tamara’s servants have packed for me to wear when I am around people is small, barely there clothing. There are no sweatshirts, hoodies, or jeans without strategically placed rips. I shrug. “I don’t really have anything warmer.”

Lars looks me up and down once more, his eyes lingering on my legs. Then, he begins unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes get pulled to his chest, which surprisingly, isn’t bare. A white wife beater clings tightly to his frame as he extends his flannel in my direction. “I can’t do anything about the shorts, but at least I can warm your top half.”

My heart lurches at the smoldering expression in his eyes. I take the flannel shyly. “You have another one, right?”

Lars chuckles. “Of course. Be right back.”

After he leaves the room, I strip off my pale pink over-shirt and slide the large flannel over my black tank top. It’s still warm from his body and smells heavenly. I smooth it down and it falls to halfway down my thighs. It’s at least triple my size, but it’s a nice change from the tight clothes I’ve been wearing lately.

“Here, let me,” Emma Jeans says, coming over to me and grasping the two front ends at the bottom of the shirt. Expertly, she ties them into a rose-shaped bow at my waist.

“Wow, that looks cute!” I exclaim.

“Let me go get a pin,” she says and leaves the kitchen.

Lars struts back into the kitchen dressed in a gray and black flannel. He whistles low and long. “You sure give flannel a good name, Honeywell,” he drawls as he approaches me. I allow him to take my hand and guide it to his chest while he rolls the sleeve up to my wrist.

I smile up at him, mesmerized by his piercing gray eyes and dimpled smile.

A small click echoes from across the room and both Lars and I turn our heads simultaneously. Emma Jean is standing on the other side of the kitchen counter with a camera pointed directly at us. Lars turns back, calmly finishes rolling the sleeve, and lays my hand gently back at my side with a slight squeeze. Was it intentional, or was it merely a friendly gesture? Then he blanks his expression—possibly for Emma Jean’s sake—and turns to look at her. “What are you going to do with that?” he asks with a light-hearted tone.

“I’ll keep it with all my other memories,” Emma Jean says with a smile. Carefully slipping the camera back into her pocket, she comes up to me and fastens a pin into the rose bow. “There you go. You’ll be the belle of the ball,” she declares, standing back and looking at me with satisfaction.

“Yes, she will,” Lars agrees.

I swear I blush to the roots of my hair.

“Right, I guess I better load everything up into the truck and head out,” Lars tells Emma Jean.

“Careful not to tip the containers,” she cautions.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lars says, carrying out the first batch of food. I grab two trays and follow him. When we get back inside, Emma Jean is standing over a pot still bubbling on the stove. She stirs the contents and looks up at us. “You can take everything else but the chili. It isn’t ready. I’ll drop it off at the barn when I head out for the night.”

“You don’t have to do that. The pot’s heavy. I’ll come and get it,” Lars says.

“It’s no bother. This is not heavy for me.”

“No, I have to insist that you don’t carry it yourself,” Lars says.

“All right. I’ll call Chance or Barry to come get it.”

“Fine. Do you or Jack need anything?”

“Nope. We’re good. You kids don’t wait around. Go on and have a good time.”

“How is Jack doing anyway?”

“Honey, don’t act like you don’t call him a few times a week to see how he’s doing.”

I turn to look at Lars and a dull flush of embarrassment stains his cheeks, making him look utterly adorable.

“He’s healing up nicely, but I don’t know if I want him training horses anymore. A man of his age shouldn’t be jumping on and off wild horses, but he’s a stubborn mule and won’t back down.”

Lars inclines his head and listens quietly.

Emma Jean clasps her hands together. “He doesn’t want to let you down, but it’s about time for him to retire,” she says quietly. I can tell that she feels awful about her opinion, but I understand why she’s saying it. Her husband is too old to be doing such a physically exerting job.

After having worked with horses for less than a month, I can categorically say that I’ve gained muscle in places where I never even knew you could have muscles. The job is not only physically, but also mentally trying.

“Hey, don’t feel bad, Emma Jean. I completely understand. You two have worked for me long enough, and if either of you wants to retire, it’s okay by me. The pension will kick in as soon as the paperwork’s done. I’ll get Steve to explain the whole process to Jack so he has a better understanding of it all.”

Emma Jean looks at him gratefully, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re a dear, Lars. Thank you.”

I look at Lars’ handsome profile and realize that his ways are brash and arrogant, but his heart is big and generous. When it feels as if he can’t get any more perfect, he surprises me yet again.