We’ve been kind of avoiding each other since our conversation two days ago. Anyway, Lars has hardly been around at the ranch and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s better that way. We pull ourselves into the truck and sit side by side. Just being in the same space with him is doing things to my insides, and I wring my calloused fingers. They used to be soft, but I’m fine with them being rough, since I prefer my new stronger, firmer body.

“Take that damned hat off,” he says irritably.

Confused, I take Chance’s hat off and place in the space between us.

“What were you doing buying groceries?” he asks. “You have someone who does that for you.”

I shrug casually. “I needed some personal items.”

“Chunky monkey ice cream is not a personal item,” he says dryly.

“Stop, stop, if I laugh any harder I’ll rupture my kidneys,” I retort sarcastically.

He takes the sales receipt out of his pocket and quickly runs his gaze down it. “You bought three hundred dollars’ worth of junk food, Tamara.”

“Okay, I might have gone a little overboard, but I deserve it. I’ve had a rough eleven days.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that the princess had to work for the last eleven days. It must have been such a foreign concept to you.”

I scowl and turn to face him. “Oh, for God’s sake, change the freaking record. Stop patronizing me all the time. I thought we got past this the last time. I’ve had it up to here,” I wave my hand over my head, “with you. Why am I on your shit list now? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You put yourself on my shit list by acting like an entitled bitch. Who goes to the grocery store and spends hundreds of dollars on snack food?”

“I don’t know why you came to my rescue. Let me tell you, I would much rather have put back all the groceries than have to watch the checkout girl fawn all over you or listen to your arrogant crap.”

“You are wasteful and have no concept of money or hard work,” he snarls.

My face is flushed and I have trouble finding words to adequately describe how angry and frustrated I am. “I don’t know who you think you are? I can buy myself whatever I please with my own money.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I forgot to take my credit card, but—”

“—Figures,” he says so knowingly I want to slap his smug face.

“I’ll make sure to pay you back,” I continue as if he had not said anything. “And while we’re at it, I probably have a better concept of money than you. And another thing. Do not call me a bitch ever again or I’ll tell my father.”

His eyebrows rise. “Go ahead. Call your father. Tell him,” he challenges.

He turns that sword back on me. I swallow hard. “I would, but there’s no reception in this damned town.”

“Right, let me get you back to the ranch where there will be plenty of reception.” He starts the engine and the pickup roars onto the street

I chew my lip. Oh, hell. What have I gotten myself into now? There’s no way I’m going to be talking to Tamara’s dad. I sit stewing for about ten minutes, until the better part of my anger cools. Surreptitiously, I sneak a look at him. His face is a dark mask of rage. I decide to swallow my pride and sort this out before I end up blowing everything. I clear my throat. “Are we going to keep fighting just because you like the idea of hating me? Because I don’t hate you, and I am trying hard to see your good points. In fact, I was beginning to think you’re a decent person. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“You know what,” Lars says through clenched teeth, ‘I’ve had enough of this bullshit from you.” Jerking his wheel to the right, he comes to a screeching stop at the side of the road. I place my hand on the dash in front of me to stop myself from banging my head on the windshield. My seatbelt bites into my chest painfully and I wince.

“What is your problem?” I shout. “You could have gotten us killed.”

“You think I like the idea of hating you? Why the fuck would you think that?” he asks, voice calmer than before.

“Is that a serious question?”

“Humor me.”

“Because all you ever do is criticize me. I don’t work hard enough. I don’t have any concept of money. I picked the most difficult horse in the barn, which of course, makes me a selfish bitch. It may have escaped your notice that I was sent to the ranch to learn to ride a horse, work, and learn respect, but you aren’t teaching me any of those things. You’re teaching me that I’m just not good enough to do anything except shovel animal dung all day. If not for Emma Jean, I’d still be doing that twelve hours a day, wouldn’t I? So, you tell me, why do you hate me?”

I’m out of breath by the end of my fiery monologue, and he just stares at me with a weird expression that infuriates me even further. I wrench open the door to his truck and before he can grab my hand, jump outside.

The midday Montana sun burns my bare shoulders. Even my newly scrubbed scalp protests at being in such heat, but I ignore it and start walking down the road in the direction of the ranch. It will be a long walk—maybe a day if I push myself—but I am not getting back into his truck without a damned good explanation from him.

“Tamara, get back in here,” he shouts at me.

“Not in a million years,” I yell back.

“I don’t hate you at all.”

In the still hot air, the sound is no more than a whisper, but it stops me dead in my tracks. I turn and face him. He is standing in front of the truck.

“I don’t hate you,” he repeats louder.

“Well, in that case, you obviously need to work on your manners.”

“Tamara,” he begins, and I have a crazy wish that I could hear my name coming from his lips instead of hers. “I wanted to hate you.”

“I noticed,” I say with a scowl. “You did a really good job, too.”

“Will you shut up and let me finish? I’m trying to apologize.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at apologies?”

He sighs elaborately then continues. “But you’re not what I expected. At first you were someone I couldn’t tolerate, but I realized that wasn’t you. It was a façade, and now that I’ve seen who you really are, I find it hard to believe that you are the person the media tears apart, or the one who wreaks havoc everywhere she goes. You’re down to earth, strong-willed, clever, intuitive with animals, and kind to Emma Jean. I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

I stare into his gray eyes. The sun is burning down on my head and shoulders, but shivers spark up and down my spine. I look at the ground, suddenly unsure of myself. “I wish I hated you too,” I mumble.

Lars takes a step toward me and pulls my chin up to face him. His face is even more beautiful up close. He has scruff that lines his jaw and wind-tossed black hair curling out from under his hat. His molten eyes pierce mine and I can’t look away. Is he going to kiss me? He looks like he is. How did this go from pure hatred to passion in a split second?

I feel my body involuntarily leaning toward him, and he pulls my chin further upward until my neck is almost uncomfortable. I arch my back to accommodate his height, close my eyes like the heroine in some romantic drama, and wait.

And wait.

His hand loosens around my chin. I open my eyes reluctantly and see him standing with his face centimeters away. “Jesus, Tamara, what the fuck are you doing to me?” he groans. Suddenly, he steps away from me. “Get into the truck.”

I obey immediately, my legs like jelly.

What the hell just happened between the two of us.