The Rancher's Untamed Heart

"What?" I asked, looking up. "Oh. I love Italian food, sorry," I said, twirling a mouthful of pasta onto my fork and eating it, smiling at my date.

"You don't have to apologize to me," he said.

I hesitated.

"I'm sorry I've been bad company tonight," I said, sighing. The pasta I ate felt like lead in my throat and I gave up, putting my fork down and going for my glass of water.

I didn't pick my fork back up. I didn't feel like eating any more.

"I'm not always a chatty fella myself," he said, "It's not like you, though. I'm a little concerned."

I met his green eyes and hesitated.

Quickly, I looked away, staring around at the restaurant. It was a pretty place, with long white curtains on the windows and candles on the tables, low lighting

and soft-edged artwork on the walls.

Very romantic, and I was ruining the mood.

"I think I did something wrong," I said.

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

I told him about Herman's visit to my office two weeks before, and didn't bother to hide my discomfort when I told him that I did, in fact, knowingly put the wrong date on a government form.

"So, you lied at your job, but only because your boss told you to?" he asked.

I grimaced.

"Yes," I said. "I'm not proud, but I didn't think it was a big deal until, well, today."

"What changed?" he asked.

"Well, I really thought that it was Herman's mistake, and I was doing the right thing to help a rancher avoid a fine for our office's mistake," I said.

Clint nodded, slowly.

"Today, though, I got flowers delivered to my office, with a note that said "Thank you for the date," with the initials of the rancher from that paperwork thing, which made me feel like I was bribed. Now, Sarah thinks I’m going out on the town, but I just feel gross,” I said.

Clint said nothing.

"Was I bribed?" I asked. "Did I break the law?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know about the law," he said, "But if your boss comes to you again and asks for a favor, I'm not sure I'd do it."

I nodded.

"He is my boss, though," I said. "I don't know that I would have a choice."

Clint frowned at me across his plate of meatballs.

"You always have a choice," he said.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Really?" I asked, "If the choice is between losing my job and changing a date on a form, I should give up the job I have worked this long for?"