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childhood, he didn’t show it. “Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle’s?”
    â€œYes. And I go to the barbecue place now and then.”
    â€œTaste of Texas?”
    â€œRight.”
    One of the horses neared, and Bo reached out and rested his hand on the horse’s nose. He absently rubbed his palm up and down, then fiddled with a strand of mane.
    â€œOh,” Meg remembered. “And my dad liked that diner near the edge of town.”
    â€œWayne’s.”
    â€œHe had breakfast there a lot.”
    Bo waited for a few beats. “Is that it?” He gave her a lazy smile, with just a hint of good-natured challenge in it. “Is that all the experience you’ve got with Holley?”
    â€œThat’s about it.”
    â€œWhat about Sonic, Catfish King, Deep in the Heart?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSally’s Snowcones?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDQ?” he asked hopefully. “Tell me you’ve been there.”
    â€œI’ve never been to the one in Holley. I’ve stopped at other Dairy Queens, though and, no offense, but I don’t think I’m missing much.”
    â€œC’mon,” he chided. “Their chocolate milk shake?”
    â€œI’m not a big ice cream fan.”
    â€œThat’s sorry.”
    She laughed.
    Smile lines crinkled around his eyes, making his handsome face even more handsome.
    He was surprisingly easy to talk to, this man she’d tried and failed to fire. “It’s strange to think that we grew up in the same town but that our experiences were so different, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt is.” Bo gave the horse a pat on the side of its neck, and it ambled off.
    Of course, hardly anyone had grown up like she had. Still, it surprised Meg that she could have been raised in this county and have had so little interaction with men like Bo. She was much more familiar with your average wealthy, private-school-educated Dallas man. That breed wore expensive designer clothes, drove Porsches, and could carry their end of a long conversation about wine.
    Bo’s breed? Unapologetically masculine. Too practical for designer clothes. Drove American-made trucks. Drank beer.
    A breeze combed through the trees, lifting Meg’s hair. As she glanced up to watch the clouds creep across the dusky blue sky, a faint sense that she’d misplaced something needled the back of her mind.
    She’d stashed her glasses in one of her sweater’s deep pockets. That must be it. When she fished them out and put them on, her view of the horizon turned from slightly fuzzy to clear.
    Yet . . . no. That wasn’t it. Something definitely was missing, though. What? She could feel her car keys still in her pocket. She’d left her purse at the big house.
    And then it hit her. The thing that had disappeared?
    Her anxiety.
    Gone, like a wisp of smoke that had vanished into the air.
    Her stomach? Easy. Nerves? Steady. Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure? Normal. It had been months since her body or mind had experienced this peaceful, untangled, lightweight state.
    Astonished, she moved her gaze to Bo. He’d stretched his arm over the fence, his fingers extended toward one of the baby horses. He spoke quietly to the young animal, encouraging it to come closer for a visit.
    He’d done this, she realized. Bo Porter had stilled the roiling inside of her. Or maybe some mysterious combination of the outdoors, the horses, and his nearness had done it.
    She couldn’t believe it! What therapy, antacids, breathing techniques, sudoku, and hours of self-talk had not been able to do for her, he’d done. This person she scarcely knew.
    It mystified rationality, and yet she didn’t want to overanalyze it. She only wanted to stand next to him and gratefully drink in the calm.
    They chatted while the shadows lengthened and the sky turned bronze. When Meg heard the sound of a car starting, she turned to see it drive away and realized