I have a surprise the next day. Emma Jean says that I’m getting a riding lesson after my chores. Someone called James will teach me. I wonder why Lars can’t be around. What is it that makes him too busy to see me for days at a time. He’s supposed to be my trainer, after all.

Nevertheless, I rush through my chores excitedly. As I am running to the barn, my phone rings. It’s Ms. Moore checking up on me. I quickly assure her that everything is hunky dory.

“Has Tamara been in touch?” she asks.

“Yeah, she called me last night at 2 a.m.”

“Hmm,” she says disapprovingly.

We talk a bit more before she rings off. I have just enough time to race to the barn for my four o’clock lesson.

“Are you James?” I ask breathlessly.

A man, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, with a Miley Cyrus hairstyle, turns around with a broad smile on his face. “And you must be Miss Tamara,” he says, walking in my direction with long strides. Like Lars, he too is good-looking, but where Lars is rugged and masculine as hell, this man is more of a pretty boy with sparkling blue eyes and cute lips.

“I am her,” I say.

He stops right in front of me, and to my surprise, pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

My eyebrows rise. I did not expect this type of gallantry from a guy in the middle of nowhere.

“You’re nothing like…” he begins, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I’m not what he was expecting. My hair is scraped back in an unglamorous ponytail and I’ve stopped wearing the thick foundation I’m supposed to wear. Mainly because it takes too long to slap on, but also, it seems stupid to layer it on thick when all I seem to do is the most disgusting tasks anyway. So, I’m not glamorous but I’ll have to do because I don’t have enough energy to be painstakingly put together and fulfill my responsibilities on this ranch.

“… what you expected?” I finish his sentence dryly.

“No,” he says, his eyes calculative. It’s obvious he’s read stuff about Tamara and thinks she’s some kind of slut he can have a roll in the hay with. He has no idea what a tyrant she really is. If I had been her, he’d be licking my boots right about now.

“Life is full of surprises,” I say lightly.

“It sure is.” I see him make a quick recalculation of his strategy. His eyes darken as he takes his time looking me up and down.

I frown at the slow look. “Shall we start?”

‘Sure thing, doll.”

“Well, the last time I rode Misty,” I say, getting straight to the point.

But he doesn’t take his eyes off me or move an inch. “You got a man waiting for ya back in the city.”

“What?’ I explode.

“You know. A boyfriend.” He winks. “A lover.”

“None of your damned business,” I say through clenched teeth. There are all kinds of bad words clawing up my throat, but I swallow them down. I just want to learn to ride.

“Pipe down, sweet cheeks. It was a fair question. City folk are always runnin’ around.”

That does it. I suddenly decide I don’t like the idea of him training me one bit. What if I fall and he has to catch me the way Lars did the last time?

A) I didn’t trust him.

B) I didn’t want him anywhere near me, let alone, touching me.

But if I refuse to let him teach me, I’ll just get into trouble. Lars could tell Tamara’s father. There is a better way.

“This time I want to ride Thunder?” I say.

“Thunder?” he exclaims with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah, Thunder,” I reply firmly.

He shakes his head. “You want to learn horseback riding on a wild Arabian race horse?”

I nod.

A sly look comes into his face. “You’re used to handling big males, huh?”

I know what he is alluding to, but I don’t bite. “Don’t you think I can ride him?” I counter, knowing instinctively that I can. For the last few days, I’ve been sneaking carrots and sugar cubes to him and we’ve become buddies. I think he completely trusts me.

“Oh, baby. I know you can ride a big man, but how about we do your riding lesson on another horse—any other horse.” The man with the perfect smile, straight nose, and crystal blue eyes finally shows an imperfection. He’s scared of Thunder.

I raise an insolent eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re afraid of a horse?”

“Damn straight, I am? That horse is a hammerhead.”

“Hammerhead?”

“A bad horse,” he explains briefly.

“No, he’s not. Anyway, you won’t be riding him. I will.”

He shakes his head and takes a step away from me. “Nah, no way. I ain’t taking that responsibility.”

“It sounds to me like you don’t have the balls.”

He flushes brick-red with anger and I want to laugh. Men are so predictable. Maybe this is the only way to get what I want.

“You betcha,” he snarls. “That brute is damn near two thousand pounds dry, and I ain’t stupid enough to put a greenhorn prune picker on it.”

“Did you just call me a prune picker?”

“You’re from California, ain’t you?” he asks belligerently.

I fold my arms stubbornly.

“I was told to teach you to ride. Are you going to make my job impossible?”

“Your job wouldn’t be impossible if you’d let me ride the horse I want,” I snap.

“Quit your yammerin’, woman,” he bellows. “That horse deserves to be sent to the glue factory for the trouble it’s already caused. I’m telling you now. You’re not riding that horse. We can’t even get him to cooperate being led on a rope.”

“I can lead him,” I retort.

“No, you can’t,” he says, jamming an accusing finger at me.

“Want me to prove it?” I challenge.

“No, I don’t. For Pete’s sake, just pick another goddamn horse, or I’ll pick one for you.” His face is nearly purple, and he is irate and completely frustrated at this point. I consider backing off. My dad used to say there are times when pressing to get something you want is a good, healthy action, and there other times when it is downright dangerous and it’s best to concede to the whims of your rival. Unfortunately, I’ve always been bad at determining which situations are dangerous and which are acceptable.

“No,” I growl.

“You will get on a damned horse if I have to throw you over my shoulder and put you on the horse myself,” he shouts, completely losing his temper with me.

“Screw you,” I shout and stomp away from him.

For a second, he is too shocked to respond, then I hear him coming up behind me with the rapidity of a wild animal. I stop dead in my tracks and whirl around. “If you so much as touch me, you’ll have a roomful of sharp-suited lawyers come down so hard on your ass you’ll wish you never heard of Tamara Honeywell.”

And just like that, I unintentionally become Tamara Honeywell’s protégée. My sass combined with her money is probably not a good combination.

He blinks as if suddenly remembering that I’m not his equal.