“That’s my husband’s horse.”

Rebecca's voice startled me, not only in her surprise arrival but in the cold snappish tone. I dropped my hand from the horse I was trying to get acclimated with.

“Is it a problem I’m here?”

Something dark flashed in her already dark brown eyes as she stared at the horse, whose name I didn’t know. I’d been foolishly trying to coax it out of the horse like it would speak to me in a language I understood.

“I thought you told me to meet you here,” I said lamely when Rebecca was still rooted in spot barely inside the barn. Next to her, another beautiful horse pressed against her temple, almost as if it was comforting her.

“Stormy.”

She tugged on the horse’s reins and I contemplated the strange word she spoke. I didn’t know if she was talking about the beautiful gray horse she was leading to a stall or the jet black one in front of me.

Since it felt like a storm was brewing in the barn from whatever was going on in Rebecca's mind, she might have been thinking out loud.

I stepped away from the stalls to give her room, but there was no need.

She pulled open a sliding door and the horse with her walked right in. Rebecca followed the horse and slammed the door behind her. The walls came up so high only the top of her head was visible over them, but she made no effort to speak to me.

What the hell? The last thing I expected when I stepped foot into the barn earlier was to get my head bitten off and then ignored by a five-foot-two pretty little cowgirl.

I shook the unwelcome thought from my head. Yeah, she was pretty, but she was Max’s niece and I didn’t need to think about her that way. My head was still too screwed up with another woman.

“Rebecca?” I asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

She pushed out of the stall with her horse’s saddle in her arms barely sparing me a glance. The quick flash of her narrowed eyes in my direction said enough. They swam with tears and the way she bit her lip, fighting back those tears stunned me.

What the hell?

Clearly, I was missing something, something important, but when she disappeared around a corner and slammed down the saddle, I figured I wasn’t going to be given a list of chores to do, and she would probably bite my hand off if I offered her comfort or company.

I swung around and headed out of the barn, staring at my boots. I needed something more substantial for working on a ranch. Mine were too damn fancy for this life, but they were all I had and I didn’t want to waste time shopping before I snuck out of L.A.

I headed back to the guesthouse and pulled up my internet browser on my laptop. Fortunately, the available Wi-Fi didn’t require a password.

Then I pulled up my email and found the address of where I was.

In less than an hour, I’d outfitted myself with boots I wouldn’t care got ruined and a few pairs of thick leather work gloves.

---

I stayed in my room until the sun had set, and by then I’d run out of shows to waste time watching on Netflix, streaming them from my laptop because the television in the guesthouse only got four stations and none of them were showing anything except local weather and news. I was losing my mind with boredom, and me and bored did not mix.

My mom always said I wasn’t happy unless I was moving, and it was true. I was a busy, active toddler, constantly jumping off furniture which escalated to a boy who played sports all year round and then transitioned to a high schooler who played sports all year round, sprinkled in with acting classes. Sports kept me busy growing up, kept me out of trouble surrounded with good friends, and taught me discipline and focus.

But acting was always in my veins, a pulsing need, an itch beneath my skin I couldn’t quell unless I was on stage or in front of cameras. Being someone else was fun and challenging.

Being alone with my thoughts was detrimental to my health. By the time night fell, that now familiar sensation of walls pressing in on me was making me claustrophobic, a needling headache digging in at my temples.

“Screw this,” I muttered and slammed my computer closed. I tugged on my boots and grabbed a sweater from the closet. Then I took off out of the house.

I needed air and space. If Max was wrong and his niece didn’t want help and refused to put me to work, I’d go insane. I needed movement and action. I needed the adrenaline rush of a challenge completed. I needed to work until my fingers ached and my back hurt and the only thought in my head was falling asleep in what looked like a surprisingly comfortable, king-sized bed so I wasn’t plagued with nightmares of Camilla, my marriage when I thought it was the best thing in my life, everything I’d lost since realizing it was all a sham, and most importantly, visions of her being bent over our damn kitchen counter.

I groaned, scrubbing my hands down my face and throwing my head back, staring at the sky. It’d been years since I’d been in a place where the stars were so vivid. Millions and millions of bright flashing lights filled the sky.

Continuing to glance at the sky as I walked, I surveyed the well-lit path with small solar lights pushed into the ground around the paved walkway that would take me either toward the front of Rebecca's house or the barn. I chose to head toward the barn, around the back of the house, but a strange noise grabbed my attention and my footsteps slowed.

The scent of a campfire burning followed and I took in the small plume of smoke drifting into the air. There was a crackle of fire but above it all another sound.

Crying.

No, it wasn’t crying, it was the sound of a woman fighting back sobs. The constant sniffle, the choking-coughing sound echoed as I neared the house.

For a moment, I debated heading back to the guesthouse and minding my own business. It had to be Rebecca since I hadn’t seen anyone else on the farm, and she’d made it clear that while I was welcome to stay there, I was not welcome.

Something shattered, followed quickly by her shouting, “Shit!”

I hurried to the back patio.

I reached the edge of the raised area and stilled at the beauty of the sight in front of me. There was an enormous paved patio area, a brick retaining wall and landscaped area bobbing and weaving around it. It was lit up from a large fire, and had a variety of chairs and tables and two couches surrounding it.

A pergola covered some of the area, draped with white Christmas lights that put out an elegant glow.

Potted plants and flowers were sprinkled around the edges.

And Rebecca. Crouched down, wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and cut off tight shorts. No shoes or socks to cover her feet, and she was gently picking up what I assumed was the glass I’d heard breaking. She was still sniffling, pausing in her work of cleaning up to sniff and wipe beneath her nose.

If she wasn’t careful, she would end up with shards of glass swiped across her face.

I cleared my throat and hit the first cement step, talking as I moved closer. “I don’t mean to scare you, but I heard something break and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay.” She shook her head and went back to her task. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Perfect.”

She sniffed again. That dark chestnut hair almost sparkled from the light of the fire and, damn it.

My hands curled into fists.

Max’s niece. Married.

Me, too fucked up to give a woman anything good right now. I did not need to feel any attraction to her, but I couldn’t help the fact I was a man in the presence of a beautiful woman.

I fought that back and kept moving toward her, bending down when I got closer, but not too close.

“Where’s your broom? Let me clean this before you cut yourself.”

She held up her hand and a dark trail of what looked like blood dribbled down two of her fingers. “Too late.” Tears streamed down her cheeks in thick, wet lines as she finally looked at me, for perhaps the first time today.

“Damn.” I reached for her hand, but she yanked hers back quicker, shoving it behind her back.

“It’s fine. Just a small cut.”

Screw this. She could barely see with her tears still falling and her entire body trembling.

I kept my hand out, palm up. “Rebecca. Give me your hand.”

She looked up at me. Dark brown eyes, long black lashes wet with tears, eyes red and swollen shot a flash of fire straight through my chest. Slowly, she gave me her hand.

I pressed my fingers against it, using the sleeve of my sweater, and as soon as more blood appeared, I tugged her to her feet. “Let’s get you inside so I can see this in the light.”

“It’s not—”

I was done listening. I kept pressure on her cut and pulled her toward the door of the house, moving carefully around the glass still shattered at our feet.

I pulled open the screen door, holding it with my free hand until she was inside. Guiding her toward the large country farm table in the eating area, I pulled out a chair, glaring at her until she took a seat in it.

“First aid kit?”

“Under the kitchen sink.”

I turned and found what I needed, popped open the kit to ensure it was stocked and moved back to the table, pulling out a chair next to her. “Hand.”

Her face was now clear of tears, but her eyes were still red and puffy.

Reluctantly, she slid her hand toward me and I took it, gathering gauze, antibiotic cream, and bandages.

“It’s not that bad,” Rebecca said.

I glanced up at her. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

“It’s not the worst cut I’ve had, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Her stubbornness made me want to grin, but I hid it, and focused on her cut while I tried to stop the bleeding. “Raise them tough in Kansas, huh?”

“Tougher than folks from Hollywood.”

Sassy woman. I liked it. It was better than the vacancy in her eyes and the tears. A crying woman was a man’s kryptonite. We had no idea how to handle it other than give them whatever they asked for to make it stop.

I pressed the gauze to her finger so hard she flinched in my hand, and I couldn’t resist ribbing her. “Good thing I’m not from Hollywood then, huh?”

A silent moment passed, and I almost wondered if she was going to ask where I was from. But, why would she? Like most people in America, she probably knew everything about me, and sometimes, that part of being well-known and adored by fans sucked. Was nothing private anymore? Based on the paparazzi stalking me the last several months, I ventured not.

The sparkle of the modest diamond on her ring finger caught my attention as I moved to reach for a Band-Aid. My curiosity was definitely piqued.

Perhaps he left her. Perhaps he drank the day away at a local bar.

“Max didn’t tell me you’re married.”

I said the words quietly, focusing on her cut while tearing open a Band-Aid but based on the way the room chilled, she heard me perfectly clear.

She said nothing, and as soon as I wrapped the Band-Aids around her fingers, she ripped her hand out of my grip.

“Uncle Max always used to only give the information he felt like giving and nothing more. Nice to know that hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean?”

Her head was turned, giving me her profile, but the vacancy in her expression was still obvious, as was the way she bit her lip to stop her chin from trembling. The gentle curve of her nose, the small crinkle at the edges of her eye, the slope of her lips as she released it from her teeth, and then her tanned, slender neck and shoulders.

Shit.

I looked away before she caught me staring at her. I shouldn’t be staring at her. But there was that unease in her expression that felt so familiar I couldn’t seem to help myself.

“Joseph died last fall. November. A week before Thanksgiving.”

She shoved off the chair and moved to the kitchen. The chair wobbled on its legs before her words stopped rattling in my brain. The hell? Max hadn’t said a thing.

She was a widow? Why wouldn’t Max prepare me for that? I might not have remembered everything he said to me, but I was damn sure I wouldn’t forget that.

There was nothing I could say except ‘I’m sorry,’ but I was so tired of hearing those words directed at me, the pity and the pathetic look in people’s eyes, I refused to give that to her. She didn’t need it and with the way she was standing at the kitchen counter, arms quaking from emotion, head bowed, hair falling down almost to the countertop, those words would unravel the strength she was trying to maintain.

I rose out of my own chair and cleaned up the bandages and trash before I closed everything up, tossed the garbage into the wastebasket at the end of the island and met her at the counter. I found her broom settled in a pantry closet. Giving her space to deal with whatever she was currently feeling, I headed out to the patio and cleaned up the broken glass. I tossed everything away in her kitchen when I returned to see her still at the counter, hands braced on the edge, head twisted and staring out the window over her sink.

She reached for her bottle of wine on the counter, her hands trembling as she tried to remove the cork. I set the broom against the wall and moved quickly toward her. The last thing we needed was another glass on the floor, but at least now I understood her anger earlier about the horse.

I had encroached on her space, her husband’s space.

“Let me handle that.” I kept my gaze on her until she lifted her head.

She blinked back tears and pointed over my shoulder. “Glasses are behind you, cupboard above the bread box.”

I turned and found the glasses, grabbing one for myself. A drink was a good idea. Pouring both of us a hefty serving, I searched for something appropriate to say. I came up totally empty. “I didn’t know and if I had, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I suppose you know all about talking when you don’t want to.” She brought the glass to her lips. When she pulled it away, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“And yet you obviously know why I’m here.”

“Max told me.”

“Then you know I don’t want to cause any trouble, don’t want to make it for you, but I have to be honest, I’m better when I’m busy. Even if I don’t have the first clue what in the hell goes on here. Give me something to do even if it’s just hauling horse shit. I won’t overstep like I obviously did today in the barn.”

“You didn’t. It’s stupid why I got mad about it, it was just—”

“The horse was your husband’s and you didn’t like seeing another man’s hand on it. I understand.”

More than she probably knew. Nothing brought rage quicker than someone touching something that belonged to someone you loved…like your wife’s ass or hips or mouth.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

I took a drink. “I can go if you’d like. But if you want company, even silent company, I’d like to enjoy the fire for awhile.”