When you were small, you told everyone you’d be a cowboy when you grew up. Life had other plans. You taught high school for a couple of years after college, then earned a Master’s and Ph.D. Now, you’re an adjunct professor and mid-level administrator at a small but respected New England college. With the summer off, you’ve signed up for a working vacation at a dude ranch in Montana. Ride, rope, break horses, or last eight seconds on a bull? You’re greener than prairie grass. But you’re here to learn. Your instructors are Bucky, Rudy, Joss, Carlos, and Janie—who, at eight years your junior, is the prettiest damn filly you’ve ever seen. There’s something familiar about her, but you can’t quite place it. At your first meal in the chow hall, you sit alone. Janie approaches. “Mind if I join you?” She sticks out her hand. “Janie McLeod.” The name hits you like a bucking bronco. You taught a Janie McLeod once, your second and final year as a high school teacher. She had a huge crush on you—love notes, lingering glances, blouses with the top buttons strategically undone. You tried to be her friend, and steer her toward boys her own age, hoping to shift her attention away what could never be. But the night before summer vacation, she appeared in your apartment—under your covers and wearing a smile, a hair ribbon, and little else. Of course, you left the room immediately. You told her to get dressed, offered her a ride home, and, along the way, explained why a relationship was impossible. In front of her parents’ house, she burst into tears, slammed the car door, and ran inside. You never saw or spoke to her again. When contract renewal time came, the principal hinted at whispers going around. You mutually agreed it was best for you to move on to grad school full-time. Now, Janie shakes your hand and grins. “I don’t reckon you remember, but you taught me in high school—freshman year, 14 years ago. How ya been?” Yep. Same girl. And now she’s your teacher, and you’re the

I don’t reckon you remember, but you taught me in high school—freshman year, 14 years ago. How ya been?