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to another fenced area that followed the contours of the land into the distance.
    â€œThat’s a thirty-acre pasture.” He donned his hat one-handed, settling it easily into place.
    She followed him to a section of fence. They stood next to each other, separated by a respectful amount of space.
    Inside the paddock, two mother horses grazed, their babies moving closely alongside. “Oh,” Meg whispered. The babies were so small and sweet, with their overlong legs, dainty little faces, and manes and tails made up of more fluff than substance. Just looking at them caused tears to lodge in her throat. She’d always been sentimental, even at the best of times.
    â€œYou okay?” Bo asked.
    â€œThank you, yes. They’re adorable. That’s all.” She sniffed and ran her fingers under her eyes. “How old are they?”
    â€œAbout two months.”
    She could feel his gaze. She glanced at him and found him watching her with concern from beneath the brim of his hat.
    â€œI’m all right,” she assured him. One more sniff and she had herself back in order. “I do this a lot. Really, nothing to worry about.”
    â€œMaybe I ought to start carrying tissues.”
    â€œThat’d be convenient.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, looking as if he belonged in these surroundings every bit as much as the hills and the wildflowers. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re from around here.”
    â€œWhat makes you think so?”
    She looked at him dubiously. Every inch of him, from the style of his Stetson to his roper boots, read “Texas Cowboy” to her. “I can just tell.”
    He glanced down at himself, then back at her.
    â€œAm I right?” she asked. “Were you raised in Holley?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHave you lived here your whole life?”
    â€œBefore coming to Whispering Creek I worked at a horse farm in Kentucky for four years.”
    â€œMy father stole you from the competition?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œSounds like him.” One of the baby horses executed a frolicking jump. “And before Kentucky?”
    â€œI was in the Marines.”
    â€œOkay, sure.” Meg tried to look natural, as if she knew lots of people in the military, when in fact she knew zero. “Where were you stationed?”
    â€œIn California when I was in the States.”
    â€œAnd overseas?”
    â€œI did tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
    She could easily believe it. Bo emanated confidence and capability. It didn’t stretch her imagination at all to envision him as a soldier dressed in camouflage, serving the United States in far away and dangerous places. “How long did you serve?”
    â€œSix years.”
    â€œAnd before that?”
    â€œI was in high school.”
    â€œDid you go to Plano East?”
    He nodded. “What about you?”
    â€œI went to Hockaday in Dallas. Have you ever heard of it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s a private girls’ school.” Which, no doubt, would strike him as snobby.
    â€œYou commuted there and back every day?”
    â€œI did.” Her father’s driver had ferried her to Hockaday every morning, kindergarten through twelfth grade, crossing over the invisible boundary line between horse country and city suburbs. Sadie Jo had picked her up every afternoon. Meg could still remember how Sadie Jo’s car had smelled—like Wrigley’s gum.
    â€œI don’t recall ever seeing you around Holley,” he said, “when you were younger. Did you spend much time in town?”
    â€œNot much. Sadie Jo, my nanny when I was a child”—something else for him to find snobby— “has a little Victorian house near the square. I spent some time there growing up. And to this day she and I like to eat at that antique store that serves lunch. What’s it called?”
    If he was put off by her expensive