Page 47 of Holiday Hire

He goes to his side of the car, and it hits me how I've become accustomed to Alexander opening the passenger door for me. It strikes me as odd, as it never used to bother me. Yet it's a blinking red light, reminding me of another thing Lance doesn't do for me.

Why am I with him?

We have too much history to toss us aside without taking time to think.

Who cares if he opens my door? I never did before.

We just need space,I tell myself.

Lance starts the car, then leans over. He puts his hand behind my head and tugs me close to him, giving me a kiss, but I pull back.

"No kiss for me? You're not excited to see me when I flew all this way?" he accuses.

"I told you we needed space. This is my work environment. I only have until Monday to prove that I can make a positive difference here, and I need to focus on earning my place."

His eyes widen. "Monday? I thought you said you would be here for two months."

I reprimand myself for admitting my situation to him. It's just another thing I have to explain, and he won't understand it.

"Well, which is it?" he pushes.

I confidently assure him, "I'll be here for two months."

His eyes narrow. "Then why did you say Monday?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. This is all going in the wrong direction. I don't need this right now.

"Phoebe, answer my question," he demands.

My chest tightens. I admit, "I'm on a trial run. The family wants to make sure I'm the best person for the job. I came out here for a few days to show them how I'd interact with the kids and that I knew what I was doing."

He grunts. "So you're wasting your time?"

"No!" I protest, wishing I hadn't spilled the beans. I want to stay on the ranch more than anything. I want to prove to everyone that I belong here and that I'm qualified to take care of Wilderand Ace. Plus, I really like everyone—the kids and the entire family.

"The thought of you living as a country bumpkin is amusing," Lance says insultingly.

"The Cartwrights aren't country bumpkins! Plus, they've been very welcoming, and it's been a nice change from California."

Lance snorts. "You must have inhaled too much cow manure. You'll be back home on Monday, and I came all this way for no reason. You should have been honest with me, Phoebe."

Insulted, I glare at him, seething, "How dare you say that to me."

He chuckles. "Jesus. When did you get so uptight?" He takes off down the driveway.

I don't answer him, more irritated with him than I was when I left California. I shake my head, twist my fingers in my lap, and try to calm down.

He turns down another driveway. The orange glow from the lights on the fences looks beautiful, but I can't even appreciate it right now. He mutters, "Where is this place? How does anyone live somewhere this desolate?"

The guesthouse comes into view, the windows bright from the inside lights, and the front porch as decorated as the main house. Yet I'm so angry, I can't remember what guesthouse they put us in. I inform him, "It's right there."

He pulls up to the house, andStallion Houseis lit up and displayed above the porch.

Lance mockingly says, "Jesus, it's straight out ofLittle House on the Prairie."

"Why are you here, Lance?" I demand, offended he's being rude about the Cartwrights and their property. There's nothing out of date or simple about the ranch or guesthouse.

"I told you, to come get you. This is absolutely ridiculous. I know you want some attention, so I'm giving it to you."

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