For the next three days, my life revolves around the same pattern of drudgery. A long to-do list that keeps me going until late, and no sign of Lars. The work is hard but it leaves me time to think, and the more time that passes, the more I realize how much I want to see Lars again. Somehow, I manage to avoid other people, which is for the best. I don’t want to act like Tamara to anyone else. I hate being horrible and rude to these simple, good-hearted folks.

By day four, I arrive in Emma Jean’s kitchen, mentally and physically beat. I’m used to hard work, and I knew working on a ranch wouldn’t be easy, but the workload I’ve been given is beyond difficult.

“What’s on the list today?” I ask tiredly.

“There’s no list today,” she says with a satisfied expression.

I perk up. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been overworking you. Twelve hours of physical labor every day with only one break all day ain’t right. Even the highest paid employees here only work a few hours a day and have multiple breaks. It’s too hot to work the way you’ve been doin’.”

I stare at her. Lars dialing down my hours without a good reason? “Wait—what? How did you get him to agree to that?”

Emma Jean smiles and takes the scrambled eggs off the heat. The pan is full to the brim and I wonder how she manages to cook it all so evenly, or avoid spilling any on the stove top. I’m used to Jesse’s burnt scrambled eggs.

“I’ve been around a long time, Poppet. I’ve seen people come and go, but I’ve never met anyone as passionate as you. It’s been three days. You look like you can barely keep your eyes open, but you won’t give up or admit defeat. If he carries on with this silliness, he’ll run you into the ground.”

“I am a bit tired,” I admit with a smile.

“You’re dying on your feet, child. Today you’ll have time to digest your breakfast. You’re not to go to the barns until gone nine-thirty.” I look at her with wide eyes then glance at the clock. It’s only seven.

“What will I do until then?”

“Go look at the animals. Go back to bed. Go explore the ranch. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“When will Lars come back?”

“Probably in the next couple of days.”

“Does he go away a lot.”

“Some,” she says cautiously. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to gossip about him.

I nod unhappily. The next time Tamara calls, she’ll be expecting me to tell her that I’ve mastered riding and at this rate… “I’m only asking because I need to be able to ride a horse by the end of my stay, and if he’s not around much to teach me then…” I leave the sentence trailing.

“I’ll mention it to him when he calls,” she says, switching off the stove.

I stand to grab a plate from the cupboard and Emma Jean gives me a look best described as sit-down-and-don’t-you-dare-try-to-do-my-job.

I raise my hands up and drop back into the chair. “So, you just asked him to shorten my hours and he did it?” It still seems too unbelievable.

She begins to fill my plate and my stomach growls.

“You still have to be in the barns at nine-thirty today, but anytime in the future if you ever get in later than nine o’clock at night, you don’t have to be back in the barns until noon the next day. Also, you get a small fifteen-minute break every hour and an hour lunch break,” she adds with satisfaction.

I gawk at her and shake my head in awe. “Thank you so much.”

“Lars is a good lad. He always tries to do the right thing. The two of you might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

Might? “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

“I know your reputation isn’t great, but you’re not a bad person. Your eyes show that you’ve been through hard times, and eyes never lie.”

“Thank you so much.” To have a stranger who doesn’t know me acknowledge and empathize with how hard my life has been, fills my eyes with unexpected tears. I blink them away, but I can’t stop the tremble in my lower lip. To hide it, I hurriedly stuff a forkful of eggs and sausage into my mouth.

“Do you miss your life back home?” Emma Jean asks.

I slow down chewing to give myself some time to think. I don’t want to lie to her. I like her a lot and find solace with her every morning. In a funny sort of way, she’s almost like a mother to me. Even though she doesn’t even know my real name, she knows me better than most people do. I pick up my glass of orange juice and down it in one long gulp. No longer able to put the moment off, I shift in my seat and look up into Emma Jean’s kind face.

In a flash, I come to a breathtaking solution. I don’t need to pretend to be Tamara with her. Why should I? She’s never meet the real Tamara. I’ll be myself and show her the real me, and all she’ll remember is that someone called Tamara Honeywell was nice and kind to her. I smile warmly at her. “Not really.”

Her eyes sparkle. “So, you do like it here?”

“I should hate it, shouldn’t I?” I ask rhetorically, “with all the endless chores, but I don’t. It’s an awesome place. I’ve always loved animals and the idea of a farm, but I thought of myself as a city girl because that is how I grew up. I realize now I couldn’t have been more wrong. Even with the punishing workload, I still love it.” Other than to Jesse and Emma Jean, I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else.

She nods triumphantly. “I knew your daddy did the right thing when he sent you here. How could anyone hate it here? It’s wide open land and you never run out of things to do. When I was a girl about your age, I was a lot like you—aside from the celebrity aspect, of course. I lived in Dallas, Texas, and I didn’t know hard work a day in my life until I married a ranch hand. Over the years, we drifted about all over the States until we finally found this place five years ago. We’ve been working here ever since.”

I smile at her. “You and your husband are lucky.”

“We are,” she says, smiling softly. “We got each other and we live in beauty.”

I pick up my empty plate to take to the sink, but before I can even take a step forward, Emma Jean snatches it from my hands. She heaps more eggs and a sausage on it and slaps it down in front of me. “After all the work you’ve been doing, Poppet, you need more sustenance.”

I’m not going to argue with her. “Where’s your husband now?” I ask, slicing into a sausage.

“One of the stallions broke a couple of his ribs, so he’s home resting.”

“You mean Thunder?”

“That’ll be the one.”

“How old is your husband?” I ask curiously. She must be at least sixty.

“Jack just celebrated his sixty-eighth birthday last month,” she says with a smile. “After this stunt, I won’t be letting him go back to training horses. He’s getting too old to be jumping on and off horses. It was good of Lars to agree to pay his medical bills.”

“Lars paid for your husband’s medical bills?”

She looks anxious. “You won’t tell anyone I told you, will you?”

I shake my head. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Maybe I’ve misjudged Lars after all.