By the time we return, Emma Jean is in the kitchen preparing dinner. I tell Lars I want to speak to her alone and he goes off down to road to see to some other chores. When I appear at the doorway, she is busy mixing something in a big bowl.

“Hey, Emma Jean,” I say awkwardly.

“Hello, Poppet,” she says with a big smile. If she has heard anything, she certainly is not showing it.

I walk over to the table and lean my hip on it. “What are you making?”

“Chicken pot pie.”

“Oh.”

“I see someone raided the fridge,” she comments innocently.

I blush. “Yeah, we went for a picnic. The strawberries were delicious.”

“I always said Albert’s strawberries are the best.”

I follow the grain of the wood on the table’s surface with my finger. “Uh…I don’t know whether you heard.” I lift my head. “About last night…”

She snorts. “I’m not one for gossip, but I did tell Mabel Hawthorne that just cause some greenhorn troublemaker put his boots in the oven, that don’t make them biscuits.”

I look at her gratefully. “Thank you for defending me.”

“Aww, honey. I wouldn’t mind her. That woman never did know whether to check her ass or scratch her watch.”

I smile. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not some porn star. I’ve never been in-”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Poppet. I know exactly what you are. You’re a real lady. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet.”

I feel tears start pricking the back of my eyes. “Thank you, Emma Jean, for believing in me.”

“I know what I know, child. Now you run along and go get into something pretty for dinner. I believe you might be having it in the dining room tonight.”

* * *

That night I get dressed in one of Tamara’s sexiest outfits and join Lars in the dining room. The plan is to have dinner, but Lars pushes me up against a wall and rips my panties off.

“It’s your fault,” he whispers in my ear. “You wore that damned dress, got me rock hard, and now you can take the consequences.

Our chicken pot pie is cold by the time we get to it, but I must say, the consequences were worth it. Afterwards, I get into my comfy pajamas while Lars makes a big bowl of popcorn. Then we curl up on the couch and watch a horror movie. It isn’t very good and before long Lars stands up and, scooping me up from the couch, carries me upstairs.

I wrap my arms around his strong neck. “I’ve never been carried to a man’s bedroom to be ravished before,” I whisper.

“And I’ve never carried a woman to my bedroom to be ravished.”

* * *

To my surprise, Ms. Moore calls me the next morning.

“Can you talk?” she asks.

“Sure. There’s no one here.”

“What did you say to put a bee in Tamara’s bonnet?”

“Why do you say that?” I ask anxiously.

“Cass. Can you please tell me what you said to her to get her all riled up?”

My shoulders sag. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. She just found out that I like one of the ranch hands.”

Ms. Moore goes silent for a couple of seconds. Then she sighs heavily. “I see. That’s a shame.”

“Why?” I ask worriedly.

“Because there is a change to the plan.”

My stomach feels funny and I lay my hand on it.

“The original plan was for you to hurt yourself badly enough that you could bow out of riding or attending the masked ball, but you’ll have to pretend to hurt yourself badly enough that you’re too frightened to ride, but you are still able to go to the ball.”

I start to feel sick. “What is her new plan?”

“In a nutshell. She wants to go to the masked ball herself.”

“Oh,” I gasp.

“I’m so sorry, Cass. You shouldn’t have told her.”

“I didn’t. She forced me into admitting it.” My fists clench as angry, helpless tears start running down my face. I am glad that Ms. Moore cannot see them. I swallow hard and try to get a hold of myself, but in spite of my best efforts, a sob tears out of my throat.

“Oh, Cass,” Ms. Moore says. “Come on, be a brave girl. You couldn’t have kept him anyway.”

That makes the tears fall even faster. I take a deep, shuddering breath. Just because she has money she is just going to come down here and steal my man and there’s not a single thing I can do about it. My heart feels as if it is breaking into a million pieces.

“Stop crying, dear.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Moore,” I sob.

“Just a minute. Wait.”

I dash the tears away with the back of my hand. “What?”

“Look, let me see what I can do for you, okay?” she says.

“Thank you,” I choke out and cut the connection. Then I rush to my bathroom, strip my clothes off, and get into the shower. I switch it on and ugly cry for a long time. I never dreamed when I took this job that I’d be asked to step aside and let Tamara take away the man I fall in love with. The tears mingle with the water rushing away down the drain.

* * *

That night, Lars has to go to New York on business. I sit alone on the patio. Part of me refuses to believe that in five days, I will be back in Chicago, to my old life. I can’t get it out of my mind that soon, all this beauty will become just a memory. A dream I once had. I will never see Emma Jean, or Chance, or Butch, or Lars ever again.

I pick up the wine bottle by the neck and refill my glass. I have already had two glasses and I feel very, very drunk. But I’ve cried a lot and I need to replace the liquid. My phone rings. At first, I consider not picking it up. It’s probably just Jessie and I don’t want her to see me looking so down, but then I think what the hell. I need to talk to someone. I lurch unsteadily to the phone and find it’s not Jessie. It’s Ms. Moore.

“Hello,” I say.

“Can you talk?” she asks.

“Yes. I’m alone.”

“Cass, do you want to go to the ball?”

I grip the phone hard. “Yes.”

“But you do know that you cannot have that man, right?”

“I know.” She is right. The sooner I accept it, the better it will be for me.

“This is what I will do for you. I’ll send you an exact replica of the dress that Tamara will be wearing. You will wear that and go to the ball. Dance with your ranch hand and have fun, but as soon as I call you on your mobile phone, you must go to the bathroom where you will exchange places with Tamara.”

“Tamara agreed to this?” I ask incredulously.

“She doesn’t know yet. I will work it in such a way that she gets delayed, and it will seem as if you are doing her a favor to appear during the first half of the ball.”

“Thank you, Ms. Moore.”

“Though you cannot let on to him who you are, you can say a private goodbye from your heart. Remember why you’re doing this. When you get back, you can start again with all your debts paid. You are a beautiful girl and there will other men for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, go take a couple of headache tablets and go to sleep. You might escape waking up with a hangover. Oh, and switch your phone off tonight. You don’t need to deal with her until tomorrow. She’s only going to call to gloat.”

“I will switch my phone off. Goodnight, Ms. Moore. You’ve been very, very kind to me. I just want you to know that I really appreciate it.”

“Goodnight, Cass,” she says softly before the line goes dead.

* * *

I go and lie down on my bed. The room is swimming. My life feels empty and sad. I close my eyes and try to think of me galloping across the grasslands with Lars. I was happy that day. I feel a hand stroke my face and open my eyes to see Lars sitting on my bed. In the silver moonlight, he is incredibly beautiful.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?” I whisper.

“I couldn’t stay away. I missed the feel of your skin.”

I turn my cheek to his hand. The alcohol has made me emotional and I just want to cry.

“Hey,” he says, a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow. “Have you been crying?”

“No.”

He switches on the light. “You have been crying. Why?”

I remember that I don’t have my contact lenses in and immediately reach over and switch the light off. Oh, how I wish I could tell him. That I could stop lying to him. How I wish I didn’t have to go back to Chicago, back to my dreary life. How I wish he could be mine.

He strokes my hair. “Tell me, Tamara. Please? Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”

My eyes fill with tears and run down my temples.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. Lord, men are so stupid.

“Has someone else upset you?”

“No,” I say quickly.

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve been drinking and sometimes when I drink, I get emotional. Nothing is wrong.”

“Bullshit,” he growls.

My phone starts ringing. I forgot to turn it off. He frowns. “Who’s calling you at this hour?”

“No one important,” I say. I’ll deal with Tamara tomorrow. At this point, there’s nothing more she can take from me. Rising on my elbows, I kiss his mouth. At first, he is too distracted by the identity of the caller to respond, but then he makes a muffled curse, wraps his hands around me, and kisses me back as if he is a man who has been lost in a desert for a long, long time and has suddenly come upon a creek full of sweet water. After a while, I don’t hear the phone ringing either. All I feel is his tongue, his hands, his body, his cock. As if he can feel my desperation, he makes love to me frantically. Our fingers clawing at each other, our bodies pushing against each other as if trying to meld together.

When it is over, I start drifting to sleep in his arms.

He murmurs something in my ear, but I am too drunk to make it out. My mind and body are too tired. I want to tell him I love him, but even that is too much effort. It is a relief when the blessed darkness comes to claim me.

* * *

I wake up with an electric sledgehammer inside my head. I should have taken those pills before I went to bed. The sun is high in the sky, throwing squares of light onto the wooden floor. I roll over and groan. There is only the indentation in the pillow next to me to show that I did not dream last night. Lars did come to me.

I stumble into the bathroom and stand under the spray of hot water and give myself a stern pep talk. You’ve got to stop with the self-pity. You’ve got Dad to think of. Be strong. Finally clean and feeling a bit more human, I get dressed and go over to the kitchen. There is a note under a magnet on the fridge door for me. Lars is out mending fences with the boys, and Emma Jean has gone to town. I am directed to the fridge where I find a ham sandwich inside.

I take a couple of headache tablets and eat the sandwich. Then, I go out to the stables. For the last few days now I have not been expected to shovel horse dung or patrol the grounds picking up dog poop or trash. In fact, Lars has made sure that I have so little to do, I now spend most of my time grooming the horses or riding them. As soon as I enter the barn, Thunder neighs and calls to me. I stand in front of his pin and hold out the lump of sugar.

“I will miss you,” I whisper sadly against his sleek face.