“Come on Max, you can’t be serious about this.”

“I think it’ll be good for him, Rebecca. And you could use the help.”

Boy, could I. With my cell phone in one hand, my other curled around the kitchen countertop. Outside my small kitchen window, cows roamed in the pasture and goats ate their hay. I was behind on everything—the cattle, the other animals, the house, and the bills.

Knowing a defeat when I sensed one through the silence coming through the phone line, I asked, “What’s his name again?”

My uncle chuckled good-naturedly. “Cooper Hawke, and you’re probably the only female I know who doesn’t know who he is.”

“Well, who has time to watch TV these days?”

“Movies, Rebecca. He does movies.”

Whatever. That was worse. I had less time for those. I blew out a breath, flipping wisps of my black hair out of my face where they’d escaped my falling apart ponytail. “When will he be here?”

“I have to run it by him first, but I’m hoping by Saturday.”

Great. I had four days to prepare for Hollywood’s heartthrob to step foot on my ranch. I didn’t like the idea of any of this, but Uncle Max was the only family I had left besides my brother Jordan. Even though he lived out in Los Angeles, we’d always been close. He wouldn’t be asking for my help if he didn’t desperately need it.

And because I loved Max so much, I found myself finally putting a voice to the largest fear I had since he called. “There hasn’t been a man here, Max, not since….”

“I know, darling. I know.” His voice went soft, that caring tone being almost enough to burst through the dam I barely held together on the best of days. Today was not one of them. “But Joseph is gone, and you need the help. Cooper needs this. He needs to get out of town, blow off the paparazzi following him. It’s been months and it’s driving him insane. I need him focused before he starts filming in a few months. Put him to work and distract him. He can use it right now, and I promise you he’s a good man.”

I trusted Max implicitly. He wouldn’t set me loose around a jerk.

Although, I also had Jordan to watch my back if I needed it. I rarely got messed with when people find out my brother was Jordan Marx, former MLB Pitcher for the Colorado Rockies. He lived here in town now and ran the Carlton Golf Resort and Spa. He designed and opened it after he walked away from his professional baseball career.

I was excited to have my family back together, finally, after years of wanting nothing more than for us all to be together again, but just like everything else in life, a curveball came my way.

First it was our parents.

Then it was Joseph.

And since then, I’d been treading water. If I didn’t get some serious help, it wouldn’t be long until I drowned completely.

“I trust you, Max, and you know I’ll do anything I can for you, but—”

“I know, sweetheart, and I appreciate this. It’ll be good. I promise. I’ll call you back once I meet with Cooper and we’ve finalized everything.”

“Are you sure he’ll even want to come?” My thumb found its way between my teeth and I nibbled. It was possible this might not even happen.

I despised the idea of another man working on my ranch. It was stubborn pride and lingering grief mixed with a barrel of anger, but I wanted to be enough to do everything like I’d always dreamed of.

“He’ll come,” Max said. “He’ll do what I say because he knows the risk if he doesn’t.”

My uncle was an agent. The best one in L.A. from what he said, and even though I rarely watched television, I didn’t doubt him. He wasn’t only charismatic, he was also intelligent and powerful. He started and ruined more careers than anyone else in Hollywood in the last twenty years. I figured Cooper Hawke knew this.

If he wanted to stay popular in the business, he had to listen to Max.

“Okay, I need to get to work. Call me when you know more.”

“Will do, sweetheart. Make sure you get some rest.”

“Right.”

Right. Because working a ranch allowed for spa days and naps.

We said our goodbyes, and by the time I was back in the horse barn feeding the horses, I’d compiled a mental list of everything to be done before Cooper arrived.

We had a guesthouse, a small, two-bedroom house one hundred yards from the main house. It hadn’t been used since the last time we had company, during my parents’ funeral.

I’d need to spend the nights when I was done with the farm work getting it ready, dusting and vacuuming and cleaning and changing sheets.

“Yeah, definitely no spa days for me,” I muttered to Gray, one of my favorite Arabian horses. He was the horse I learned to ride on. Now that he was getting old, I couldn’t ride him much to do work, but he was my favorite.

He neighed against my palm as I handed him an extra apple, gave him a good rubdown, and then I headed back outside.

By the time night fell and I climbed into bed exhausted, barely managing to find the energy to pull on one of Joseph’s old college shirts from Iowa State University, I’d completely forgotten all about Max’s phone call or the impending visit from Cooper Hawke.

---

I never should have Googled Cooper Hawke. After spending hours preparing the guesthouse for him, looking him up online had to be one of the largest mistakes I’d ever made in my life.

He was everything masculine that single girls dreamed about at night when they didn’t have a man to help them take care of their needs. A few hours spent reading the gossip surrounding his recent estrangement from his wife—a Brazilian supermodel—and I could understand the attraction.

Not that I’d dreamed of him taking care of my needs. That part of me died the day Joseph did—the same night we’d had a horrific fight, our worst ever, and he’d lost control of his truck on icy roads.

The day Joseph died, my world darkened. He left me with a pile of anger and questions that would never be answered.

But I was still a female, one who could understand why Cooper, a ridiculously famous actor, could drive women crazy with a wink from his light green and intoxicating eyes. As I spent my time searching through photos and articles of him, I could also see the friendly and teasing grin he used on red carpet appearances and when talking about his upcoming movies on late night talk shows had darkened over the last few months.

His wife, Camilla Rinaldi, was claiming she came home and found Cooper in a compromising position with their housekeeper. More than once, he’d denied the accusations.

Considering her expression hadn’t changed in the recent months and her voice was the loudest, I figured she was the guilty party. In my experience, the most deafening voice tried to blare out the truth with volume. A part of me admired Cooper for not going for her throat in what had become an evil and contestable pending divorce settlement.

It wasn’t only the financial arguments that made me feel for Cooper. It was the lost look in his eyes. The haze of grief and sadness told me he was mourning the loss of something—someone—dear to him. I recognized that same haze in my own expression.

I didn’t want anything to bind Cooper and I together. He was coming here to get some space from the gossip in Hollywood. He was coming to be put to work on a ranch.

We’d work long hours together. I’d teach him everything I knew, and I hoped like hell he wasn’t too good, too arrogant or too preppy to be afraid of getting his hands and boots a bit dirty while he was here.

I’d help him. Give him some peace and quiet.

And then I’d send him back to California where he could return to his life.

Then, I’d be left alone with mine.