Wrangling The Rancher
Jeannie Watt
It's a thin line between aggravation and…attraction! She was definitely not part of Cole Bryan's lease agreement. The rented farm is Cole's only chance for peace and quiet…until his landlord's gorgeous, city-livin' granddaughter, Taylor Evans, shows up looking for a place to stay. With nowhere else to go, Taylor isn't taking his "no" for an answer.Cole plans to wait her out. Taylor's obviously not made for rural life, and she can't get out of Montana soon enough. But he never counted on her grit and determination—or the unexpected pull between them. Now the only way Cole can keep to himself is by compromising his heart…
It’s a thin line between aggravation and...attraction!
She was definitely not part of Cole Bryan’s lease agreement. The rented farm is Cole’s only chance for peace and quiet...until his landlord’s gorgeous, city-livin’ granddaughter, Taylor Evans, shows up looking for a place to stay. With nowhere else to go, Taylor isn’t taking his “no” for an answer.
Cole plans to wait her out. Taylor’s obviously not made for rural life, and she can’t get out of Montana soon enough. But he never counted on her grit and determination—or the unexpected pull between them. Now the only way Cole can keep to himself is by compromising his heart...
“I think you don’t want to like me.”
Cole stilled. His first impulse was to deny it. His second was to admire Taylor’s instincts. His third was to back up fast. “I have nothing against you.”
“But...”
“No ‘but.’”
“Liar.” She spoke softly, holding his gaze in a way that warned him not to underestimate her.
She could have easily moved away, but she didn’t. Her expression shifted ever so slightly, then she reached up to touch his face as he’d touched hers in the SUV the day she’d taken him to the doctor.
She leaned closer. “If we kiss—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence, didn’t wait for her to set goals or outline parameters. He made the “if” a reality, sliding his hand around the back of her neck as he brought his mouth down to hers.
Taylor met him halfway.
She was dynamite in his hands.
Dear Reader (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6),
There’s nothing I love more than an opposites-attract story, so when I wrote Wrangling the Rancher, I decided to triple down. My hero and heroine, Cole and Taylor, have opposite temperaments, lifestyles and goals. He’s an introvert; she’s an extrovert. He wants to work alone; she wants to be part of a major business. He’s a country guy; she’s a city girl.
I had so much fun writing these two. After working on a guest ranch where he catered to the whims of the often-rich patrons, all Cole wants is to be left alone to farm. After being laid off from her firm, all Taylor wants is another high-powered job. Instead she ends up on her grandfather’s Montana farm, which Cole is leasing. Cole has to deal with yet another privileged city girl and Taylor has to work on the farm to earn her keep. In the process, both Taylor and Cole learn a lot—about themselves.
I hope you enjoy Wrangling the Rancher. If so, please check out the other books in The Brodys of Lightning Creek miniseries, as well as All for a Cowboy, in which Cole is first introduced. I also hope you’ll stop by my website, jeanniewatt.com (http://www.jeanniewatt.com).
Thank you, and happy reading!
Jeannie
Wrangling the Rancher
Jeannie Watt
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JEANNIE WATT lives on a small hay-and-cattle ranch in Montana’s beautiful Madison Valley with her husband, dogs and cat, horses and ponies. When she’s not writing or dealing with animal matters, Jeannie likes to work on her almost-finished house (is a house ever really done?), horseback ride, read and sew.
To Rachel, my new daughter.
Contents
Cover (#ue7da69a2-0ad7-510b-a921-69f9c3fd7987)
Back Cover Text (#ue89c9d6f-1561-54f0-966e-e0e7dca88223)
Introduction (#u06643392-851d-5e04-a4df-3d0125de70ba)
Dear Reader (#u0a423d04-adbf-566e-b0a1-b193388e4d3f)
Title Page (#u8d41427a-b166-52dd-a1f4-d5e4f834c6a4)
About the Author (#ua94471fb-d1b8-5bbc-9eee-79a0b2e45a17)
Dedication (#u7b49bb7d-5120-55ed-98ab-a4e79f9d258d)
CHAPTER ONE (#u6fdebe43-887c-5176-a418-cfd334aa6b99)
CHAPTER TWO (#udcda5648-ab9f-54ed-a147-e5c055c97028)
CHAPTER THREE (#u862e38f8-0fb0-57c5-a1fa-516913265863)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u76cc8faf-a43e-5920-b32c-8c784d1751c8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u3acc92fd-e3d6-52e1-89bb-d209b8269a17)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6)
FAILURE DID NOT sit well with Taylor Evans, which was why she did her best to never fail. And she hadn’t...until exactly eight weeks ago today.
Taylor lifted her glass of chardonnay and sipped. It was her last bottle, and she needed to savor every drop. She also needed the false courage if she was going to call her grandfather and confess that she, who’d nailed down full-ride scholarships and been courted by three different companies upon graduating, had been a victim of downsizing—and no one else would hire her.
The truth hurt.
Okay, maybe she’d been a bit vain, thinking she was so integral to her organization that it couldn’t function without her—but in defense of her vanity, how many eighty-hour weeks had she worked for the good of the company? Her cheeks grew warm as she recalled laughing when, after rumors of the reduction in force had started, a colleague stated that everyone was replaceable. She’d rather vehemently disagreed. There were several people in the company, including herself, who were so necessary to the operation that even in this economic climate, they had to be safe. It would be detrimental to the company to cut them loose.
She’d been the first person let go. When she’d been called into her supervisor’s office, she’d assumed that it was to let her in on what was about to happen so that she could help shore things up once the layoffs were announced. Uh...no. Don Erickson had thanked her for her dedication to the company, for the extra time she’d spent working on projects, and then directed her to the next office to discuss severance and the fate of her excellent insurance plan.
Taylor never, ever wanted to experience that cold, numb feeling again. Or to do the walk of shame back to her office, where her belongings had already been packed into a cardboard box. The bus ride home had been hell—until the anger hit. She would get another job with a competing company, and then who would be sorry?
Those thoughts had sustained her for almost two weeks. But when the rent and utilities came due and she hadn’t been called for even one interview, when the headhunters had remained frustratingly unhelpful, she’d known a moment of panic—very similar to what she was feeling now.
Call. Get it over with. Tell Grandpa the truth.
But since Taylor had rarely given her paternal grandfather anything but good news, this was not an easy call. She needed his help.
No. She needed to be bailed out.
Taylor’s throat started to tighten up as she reached for her phone, which was wedged under sixteen pounds of sleeping cat. Max twitched an ear as she tugged the phone out from under him, and then he stretched out to his full length. Telling herself that Max was a big eater so she needed help as much for him as for herself, Taylor dialed her grandfather’s number. It rang four times, which was the norm.
“Hello?”
Taylor froze at the unfamiliar voice, deep and somehow commanding, then held her phone out to check the number. The word Grandpa showed on her screen. Right number. Wrong voice. “Uh...hi. I’m trying to reach Karl Evans.”
“He doesn’t live here.”
Taylor blinked. “What?”
“He’s been gone for almost three weeks.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m renting his place.”
“Your name.”
There was a brief pause, and then the man said, “What’s your name?”
None of your business. Taylor bit her lip. In this day and age, how much information could she afford to give? “Could you please give me the number where I can reach Karl?”
“You don’t have his cell number?”
“My g—Karl doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“He does now.”
That was news. “Then give me the number.”
“Tell me who you are—”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
“Then why don’t you know that your grandfather has a cell phone or that he moved?”
“I—”
“Tell you what...you leave your name and number, and I’ll pass along the message.”
Taylor pressed her lips together to keep from telling this guy what he could do with his suggestion. “Tell my grandfather to call me. I’m his only granddaughter, so there shouldn’t be any mix-ups.”
“That,” the man said softly, “doesn’t speak well for you.”
Then, before she could suggest he take a flying leap, he ended the call, leaving Taylor staring at her phone.
What had just happened?
And more important, who was this guy and where was her grandfather?
* * *
KARL EVANS WAS not answering either his cell phone or his landline. Cole was just about to call his sister when his phone rang in his hand.
“Is everything okay?” Karl asked instead of saying hello. “You called three times.”
“Everything is fine, except that I just talked to someone who is probably your granddaughter, but I didn’t give her your phone number.”
“Why not?”
“Because she didn’t know you’d moved almost a month ago.” In his mind, relatives should know that kind of thing. “Which made me wonder if she was who she said she was.”
“You think young women are in the habit of stalking me?”
“In this day and age you can’t be too careful. Anyway, I told her I’d give you the message.”
“I’ve been meaning to call her. I figured I had time because she hasn’t been in touch since Christmas.”
Five months. That was a while to go without contact.
“How’s everything else?” Karl asked.
“I’m inspecting the equipment. So far, so good.” If all went well, he’d be seeding the fields he’d leased from Karl along with the house.
“Keep me in the loop. I miss the place. And if Taylor calls again, give her my cell number.”
“Are you going to call her?” Personal question, but Cole was curious.
“I’ll try. A lot of the time she doesn’t answer but gets back to me when she can. I’ve kind of given up on being the one to reach out.”
That smacked of family drama, and Cole was not a fan. He’d had enough family drama, which was why he was no longer managing the family ranch turned guest ranch. Drama sucked. “Gotcha.”
“She’s a good kid, Cole. Just busy.”
Too busy to answer her grandpa’s calls? That kind of behavior was flat-out wrong, but again, family drama. Cole wasn’t going to get sucked in.
“Any other relatives I should know about?”
“Taylor’s the only one other than my sister, and you know her.”
“That I do. Tell her hi for me.” Cole hung up and then crossed the kitchen to the cast-iron pan he’d left heating on the stove. Karl had moved only a small amount of stuff to Dillon because he didn’t believe the move was permanent. That meant the kitchen was still well stocked with pots and pans and cooking needs. As near as Cole could tell from what was left behind, Karl was probably closer to camping than actually occupying his new home next door to his sister while she dealt with her husband’s death. Whatever, Cole had the farmhouse until Karl decided to move back to Gavin, which made life easier on him. When he’d left the family guest ranch after the last blowup with Miranda, his crazed step-aunt, he hadn’t owned much in the way of house gear. He’d lived in what was essentially a larger guest cabin on the ranch property, ate most of his meals in the guest facility and cooked as little as possible. He planned to continue that trend, but he could handle steak and store-bought macaroni salad.
He’d just set his steak square in the middle of the cast-iron pans when he heard a knock on the door. Surprised, since the farm didn’t get that many visitors, he crossed the kitchen, opened the door and found himself face-to-face with two deputy sheriffs.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
One of them met and held his gaze while the other looked past him into the room as if expecting to see a trail of blood or stacks of stolen cash.
“We’re checking on the whereabouts of Karl Evans. Are you Mr. Evans?”
Karl’s granddaughter had called the cops on him. Well, at least she cared enough to do that—or maybe she didn’t take kindly to not getting what she wanted. Whatever the circumstances, Cole was fairly certain that the deputies knew that he wasn’t Mr. Evans. “I’m Cole Bryan. I’m leasing the place from Mr. Evans.”
“Do you know how to get in contact with Mr. Evans?”
“Just got off the phone with him, so I can give you his number and his sister’s number in Dillon. Neither of them are any good at answering their phones, but you might get lucky.”
Neither deputy smiled. “Do you have identification?”
Cole jerked his head toward his wallet that sat next to his keys and sunglasses at the end of the counter. “I do.”
“Get it, please.”
Cole did as the other deputy dialed the number Cole had provided and stepped out onto the porch. The first deputy inspected Cole’s driver’s license.
“You’re close to expiration.”
“Yes.”
He held the license out and waited for his partner to finish his call. Cole was thankful that the guy had gotten through on the first try.
“Do you have a copy of the lease agreement?”
Cole glanced over his shoulder at his steak that was starting to snap and pop in the hot skillet. “I do. Can I turn that down?” The deputy nodded and Cole stepped over to the stove and flipped the steak, the cop watching him as if he was going to use the piece of meat as a defensive weapon.
After he carefully put down the fork, he pulled the towel off his shoulder just as the second deputy came back into the kitchen and gave his partner a nod.
“Do you need to see a copy of the lease?” Cole asked.
The deputy who’d made the phone call shook his head. “Mr. Evans established his identity as well as yours to my satisfaction.”
“Good to know.”
“Sorry to intrude on your evening.”
“Not a problem,” Cole said. “I, uh, assume that you got a call from Mr. Evans’s granddaughter?”
“She requested a wellness check, yes.”
“Sorry you guys had to come all this way.”
“It’s our job.”
It was also a five-mile drive that could have been avoided if...whatever her name was...had called her grandfather every now and again. Cole went back to the steak. Hopefully the granddaughter was now satisfied that Karl was safe and sound. She’d call him more often after this scare, and all would be well.
* * *
TAYLOR WAS HOT—the angry kind. Nothing like driving through the night for eight hours, stewing, to get the blood up. By the time she hit the Montana border, she’d reached a decision. She was going to see her grandfather, but first she was stopping by his farm to meet the guy who’d somehow talked him into leasing not only the land, but his house. That didn’t sit right with her.
In fact, there wasn’t one thing about this situation that seemed right. Her grandfather had sworn he would never leave his farm. Taylor’s aunt had tried to get him to Dillon more than once, but he always refused. He’d even gone so far as to say that he wanted to be buried on his property. Yet he had left.
Taylor yawned as she pulled off the freeway onto the state highway toward the Eagle Valley. Dawn was breaking. She’d driven all night, but all night was a way of life with her. It was how she’d become the most productive member of her team. And where had that gotten her?
Her throat started to tighten. Eight weeks in and she still felt hurt, betrayed—thoroughly screwed. The business part of her said that it wasn’t personal.
That didn’t change the fact that it felt personal.
Her job had been such a huge part of her life, her identity—it was impossible not to take the layoff personally...especially when they’d kept Kent McCoy on staff. The guy did half the work she did...
Stop.
Taylor did her best, although stop was not a well-used word in her vocabulary. If anything, she pressed on, but for the last eight weeks she’d been pressing against...nothing. It was exhausting having no goals other than getting a job. Not that she hadn’t thrown herself into it—
Stop.
Think about something else...like where you’re going to live once you give up your apartment.
Arrow to the heart, that. Her lease, which was up in three weeks, didn’t allow subletting, and she certainly couldn’t afford her rent without a job. The rock and the hard place were squeezing her hard, and the thing that most angered her was that for her entire life she’d plotted and planned so that these kinds of things would never happen.
Argh.
Taylor slapped a hand on the steering wheel. What she needed was someone to talk to. Most of her Seattle friends were work acquaintances who now seemed to feel totally awkward around her. Her real friends—Roselyn and Katherine—lived on the other side of the country, working in fields unrelated to her own. She hadn’t talked to them since the layoff. It wasn’t solely a case of not wanting to share her misery—Taylor didn’t know how to share misery.
As she approached the Eagle Valley, nestled in the hollow of three mountain ranges, she felt a growing sense of relief. She was entering a world where no one knew that she’d failed, that her careful life plans had gone askew.
Sweet anonymity.
Even the guy she was stopping to see shouldn’t know what was going on, since she’d only recently—as in nine short hours ago—confessed to her grandfather that for the past eight weeks she’d been unemployed and had no real prospects.
She needed to temporarily lower her standards, find a job—any job—so that she didn’t have a big hole in her résumé. She could deal with a short-term cut in pay and fewer benefits, but if she did that, she had to come up with a way to cover expenses until she once again landed a job in her field. That was where Karl came in. She was going to have to ask her grandfather for a helping hand—no easy task when she’d been incommunicado for months. She’d been bad. And karma had bitten her on the ass.
* * *
COLE WAS DRINKING coffee when he heard the sound of an engine. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Five thirty seemed too early for a social call...maybe the granddaughter had once again called law enforcement?
He set down his cup and went to the door. The car that pulled up was low slung and sexy. A thin coat of dust covered the silver finish, but it was obviously a car that had been well cared for. The woman climbing out of the driver’s side wasn’t that tall, but she was fit and sexy, with long blond hair pulled into a low ponytail. She perfectly matched the vehicle. She shaded her eyes when she caught sight of him standing on the porch watching her, then squared her shoulders and marched toward him.
The granddaughter. This should prove interesting.
Cole leaned against the newel post and waited. A guy didn’t spend eight years working on a guest ranch without learning to both read people and deal with them effectively. His read on this woman—simmering anger. Frustration. In need of a scapegoat for...something. No question as to whom that scapegoat might be.
“Hi,” he said when she hit the end of the broken-up walkway. “Want some coffee?”
Her brisk steps slowed. “You don’t know who I am.”
“I’m guessing that you’re Karl’s granddaughter.” He jerked his head toward the house. “I just made a fresh pot.” He ran his gaze over her. “You look like you could use a cup.”
Her bemused expression changed to something approaching a smirk. “Thanks.”
With a casual shrug, he opened the door. The woman hesitated, then preceded him into the house.
“It hasn’t changed much,” she said.
“Why would I change it?”
She shot him a look. “I guess that depends on why you’re here.”
He went into the kitchen and pulled a second mug down from the cupboard near the sink. “I’m here to farm. Why are you here?”
“I’m here to check on the welfare of my grandfather.”
“Then,” he asked in a reasonable voice before handing her the steaming cup, “why aren’t you in Dillon, where your grandfather is?”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. A woman used to playing her hand carefully. “That is where I’m going.”
“Just thought you’d stop by? Introduce yourself?” He set down his own coffee and held out a hand. “Cole Bryan.”
She returned his handshake. “Taylor Evans.”
“Nice to meet you, Taylor. And thanks for calling the deputies on me.”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice. My aunt wouldn’t answer her phone, you answered my grandfather’s phone and I was concerned.”
“Yet not concerned enough to keep closer tabs on your grandfather over the past several months.”
Her expression iced over. “There were circumstances at play there.” He lifted his eyebrows politely. “Private circumstances,” she said in a tone indicating that if he had any manners at all, he would stop the questions now.
He took a sip of coffee. If she thought cool superiority was going to make him remember his place, she had another think coming. Having worked with a master of the freeze strategy—his step-aunt and former boss, Miranda Bryan—she was going to have to do better than this.
“Are you satisfied now that all is well?”
He could tell the word no teetered on the edge of her lips, but she caught it before it fell. “I guess I don’t understand why you’re here in the house. My grandfather said he doesn’t think he’ll be in Dillon for all that long.”
“Maybe your grandfather is lonely and would like a roommate.”
“My grandfather is not the roommate kind.”
“You sound certain.”
“I know him.”
“Yet you didn’t know he moved.”
Irritation flashed across her features. “Would you stop bringing that up?”
“Sorry.” He set down his cup and gripped the counter on each side of his hips. “Maybe if you told me why you’re here, I can help you out, and then you can continue on to Dillon.”
She smiled tightly. “Yes. What a great idea. I wanted to meet you.”
“Make sure I was on the up-and-up?”
“My grandfather always leased his land to the neighbor to farm. I understand the neighbor is still farming.”
“Are you suggesting that I might have persuaded him to lease to me instead?”
She gave a small shrug. “The thought crossed my mind.”
“I did.”
Her eyes widened, and it took her a few seconds to say, “How long have you known my grandfather?”
“He used to cowboy with my grandfather a long time ago.”
“Karl never was a cowboy.”
Cole said nothing. He wasn’t going to argue the point.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Not that I knew of anyway.”
A slight step back, which gave her a couple of points in his book. “I didn’t use any kind of coercion. I just...talked to him.”
“And ended up living in his house. Using his stuff.”
“I’m a smooth talker.” And since her suspicions—her attitude, really—was starting to piss him off, he saw no reason to mention that Karl had been concerned about the place being broken into during his absence. Having Cole living there solved a problem for both of them, but too much explaining was only going to give her more to latch onto. He glanced past Taylor to the teapot-shaped clock on the wall. “I also have to get to work.”
“You have a job?”
“Yes,” he said in his patient guest-ranch-manager voice. “I’m a farmer.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6)
TAYLOR DIDN’T KNOW what to think when she got back into her car. The guy didn’t seem like a criminal, but he also wasn’t giving her much to work with as far as making judgments about him. Even though he was a self-proclaimed farmer, she’d bet money that he’d worked in a people-related field in the past. And he was ridiculously good-looking. His face was all angles and hollows, and she was fairly certain if he smiled, he’d have some decent creases down his cheeks. Dark hair, light green eyes...a lot to like there. Physically. Having worked with her fair share of attractive guys who turned out to be control freaks and douchebags, she no longer judged the book by the cover. A pretty face didn’t mean the guy wasn’t taking advantage of Karl. She’d ask her grandfather a few more questions once she got to Dillon.
And then she’d sleep. Night was her time, but it had been a long, rainy drive and she was exhausted. She hoped Karl had a spare room so she could crash.
As it turned out, there was no spare room in either place. Her grandfather and great-aunt shared a small duplex—two one bedroom apartments separated by a garage. Elise’s side was crammed with bric-a-brac, pillows, afghans and all manner of comfortable, cushy things, while on Karl’s side furniture was scarce, consisting of a secondhand dinette set, one leather recliner and a hundred-year-old sofa that he proclaimed to be “just fine.” And it was, if you didn’t mind sinking to the floor when you sat down. Taylor had a feeling that her grandfather didn’t much care—he had his recliner and very few visitors, since his friends all lived in the Eagle Valley.
After visiting with Elise, Taylor and her grandfather went through the connecting garage to his side of the duplex. Taylor took the cup of tea he brewed, then made the mistake of sitting on the sofa. She sank low and her knees felt like they were close to her chin. There was no end table to put her cup on, so she was stuck sitting there until she either finished her tea or asked her grandfather for help. She decided to finish her tea. Karl settled in his recliner, and if he noticed her discomfort, he said nothing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she said. “I was in a work frenzy from Christmas until two months ago—”
“And then you got fired.”
“Laid off, Grandpa.” She stared down into her tea. Laid off. Let go. It was the same as being terminated but didn’t carry quite as much stigma. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“After working those crazy hours, I imagine not.”
“Yeah.”
“So now what, Tay?”
“I’ve been looking for work in Seattle, and it seems that everyone is tightening their belts.”
“Have you looked elsewhere?”
“The Bay Area, Portland. Spokane.” But it was going to be expensive to relocate.
“Nothing?” He gave her a look that made her feel as if she needed to say something to convince him that she wasn’t slacking. Or maybe to convince herself she wasn’t slacking.
“Not even an interview. The most I’ve gotten is ‘we’ll keep your name on file.’” She took a sip of tea and managed not to choke. Her grandfather made tea the way other people made coffee. “I just need to be patient. Times are tough, but I know if I persevere, I’ll nail something down.” Another small sip, because small was all she could handle. “Something even better than what I had.”
“And for now?” Her grandfather gave her a shrewd look. “Because it appears that this might take some time.”
Taylor balanced her cup on her knee. “Yes. About that...if I don’t get an infusion of cash soon, I’ll lose my apartment.”
“I can see that happening,” Karl agreed, which was not the response she’d expected.
“I was on a waiting list for almost two years to get into that building.” Downtown, close to the Wharf. She loved it so much—she felt a rush of gratefulness every time she looked out over the city and the Sound from her bedroom window—and since there was only one bedroom, a roommate wasn’t possible.
“Things change, Tay.”
Things change? Yes, they did, but if one was resourceful, they didn’t have to change too much.
“I don’t want to lose my apartment, and I don’t want to drain my savings keeping it.”
“What about your car?”
“I can’t get out of it what I put into it, but yes, I will sell it...if I have to.”
Karl leaned forward in his chair. “What do you want, Taylor? From me, I mean.”
She felt her cheeks go warm. He was gently chiding her. They’d been super close at one time, and he’d always been her biggest cheerleader. But when she went to work for Stratford, she’d started logging the crazy hours, living a crazy life. When she wasn’t working or trying to cram some relaxation in—which was almost as exhausting as working—she was sleeping. She’d meant to call, truly she had.
But she hadn’t.
“The money you lent me to go to school?” Which she’d paid back in full over a year ago. “Could I borrow it again?”
Her grandfather’s mouth tightened, and the fact that he didn’t instantly say yes made her stomach knot up. “I put it into some long-term funds. If I pull it out now, I’m going to lose money.”
Taylor’s heart sank. It was his money, of course, but...honestly? She’d figured borrowing the money back would be a slam dunk and mutually beneficial. Karl would get interest. She’d get a safety net, which, properly managed, would help her if she took one of many much-lower-paying jobs she’d been looking at to tide her over.
Damn, damn, damn.
She tried to work up a smile but had a feeling it looked kind of sick, because she felt kind of sick. “I understand. And...this isn’t the only reason I’m here.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want to tell you that I was a loser.”
“Everyone loses, Tay.”
Not her. Not often, at least, and never in such a huge way.
“I guess.” She pressed her lips together. She couldn’t stomach any more of the strong tea, which meant she was stuck on the sofa forever or until Karl relieved her of the cup.
She looked at her grandfather then and wondered, judging from the way he was looking at her, if he wanted her trapped there.
“You know,” he said slowly, “you’re welcome to live on the farm if you want and look for a job locally to tide you over. I’d invite you to live here, but I don’t have much room.”
That was an understatement. His house had one bedroom, one bath, a tiny kitchen and a living room. It was truly a single-person house.
“I...uh...” Would hate so much to lose my place. The apartment was even more of a symbol of what she’d accomplished than her car. And her mother was so ridiculously proud of her. “I appreciate it, Grandpa. But what about that guy living there?”
“There’s always the bunkhouse.”
“It needs work.”
“You’re resourceful.”
“Me?” Taylor almost spilled her tea. And she felt ridiculously betrayed. “But—”
“He’s paid a month’s rent on the house. It wouldn’t be right to ask him to move midmonth.”
“Just one month?”
“I’m keeping my options open, so we have a month-to-month deal.” He glanced through the window at his sister’s place next door. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Elise is doing better, but she hates being alone.”
“How long has he been on the farm?”
Her grandfather did a mental calculation. “Two weeks yesterday.”
Which meant his month in the house was already halfway over. That made Taylor feel better. To a degree.
Move to the farm...? As much as she appreciated the offer, it was a crazy idea. More than that, it was demoralizing.
“The thing is...if I move to the Eagle Valley—” and somehow keep it quiet from her mother “—it feels like I’m giving up.”
“Why? Aren’t there jobs in your field in Missoula or Bozeman?”
“I’m sure there are.” In her field, but probably not at her level.
“They may not be as prestigious,” her grandfather said, reading her thoughts, “but they’d pay the bills.”
“Yes.” Hard to argue with that. Taylor took a drink of tea, trying to tamp down the feeling that she was being sucked into a farm vortex. She’d never once considered moving two states away from her beloved Seattle, or settling in a rural area, but the idea made an awful kind of sense. Her living expenses would be slashed to next to nothing. She was having no luck in her job search, and each day brought with it a deeper sense of desperation and depression. If something didn’t change soon, she’d have to sell her car, find a new living situation—one that involved roommates—and she’d have to pass a credit check to join a lease and...
“The farm would be a stopgap, until you get back on your feet.”
When had she become so transparent?
Taylor moistened her lips. “How would your tenant take the news if I decided to move in?”
“Cole’s a decent guy.”
If you say so... “What made you decide to rent the house to him instead of just leaving it closed up?”
“I didn’t want it broken into while I’m gone, and with him living there, he can farm more easily.”
He could also farm easily from the bunkhouse. He was a farm guy. Probably used to roughing it.
“How well do you know him?”
“Not all that well personally. His grandfather and I were friends.”
“Did you...cowboy together?”
Karl gave her a surprised look. “I wasn’t much of a cowboy, but I worked for two summers on the Bryan family ranch near Missoula. It’s a guest ranch now. Cole used to manage it until he got his fill.”
So he had indeed worked in a people-related field. Her radar was working.
“And did you approach him, or did he approach you?”
“He approached me.” One corner of Karl’s mouth quirked up. “Are you concerned about him taking advantage of me?”
“It happens.”
“Yes. But not in this case.”
“You’re sure? You said you didn’t know him well, yet you let him live there with all your stuff.”
“Yep. Because you know what? I’m a grown-up and I can make those kinds of decisions for myself.”
“I didn’t mean...” Taylor stopped. Regrouped. “I apologize, Grandpa. It startled me when he answered the phone yesterday. We got off on the wrong foot.”
“He’s a good kid.”
Kid. Ha. He was a grown man. Good-looking. Sexy. But an interloper all the same.
“Do you want to move onto the farm?”
Did she? Was she that desperate? Totally, or she wouldn’t be here right now. She’d started the drive because she was concerned about her grandfather and felt guilty for not being in closer contact, but she’d also needed to talk to him about a way out. The way she’d thought was so reasonable—the loan—wasn’t going to work, so that meant she needed to get tough and try something new.
And lose her beautiful apartment.
“I might. If things don’t change fast.”
“How soon would they have to change?”
Considering what she was paying for rent and utilities...?
“Yesterday.”
“I’ll call Cole.”
* * *
COLE CAME IN from the machine shed, wiping his hands on his bandanna for want of anything better. He was going to have to buy some shop towels. Karl had the equipment he needed to farm the place, but it could all use some work. This first part of the season, he was going to have to rely on baling wire and his wits to get things done on schedule, but after that he’d have time to fix things right.
He found himself smiling as he mounted the porch steps. Broken-down equipment? Not a problem. Not enough time to do what he needed to do? He could deal. Not having to saddle yet another horse for yet another clueless individual who wanted to know whether they provided spurs for the mounts? Priceless.
Cole didn’t hate people, but he was damned tired of dealing with them. Smiling and pretending all was well when it wasn’t. And dealing with Miranda...if he never saw the woman again, it would be too soon. His cousin Jordan had managed to get the better of her a few years ago, wrestling his small mountain ranch out of her grasp. Cole wished he could do the same with his family ranch, but his dad and his late uncle—Miranda’s husband—had gone into business together and Miranda had slowly but surely taken over both properties. Cole had worked for her until he couldn’t handle it one second longer.
Still, even though he’d wanted to tell the wicked witch exactly what he thought of her, he’d parted on relatively good terms. He still had stock in the family ranch and didn’t want to make things any more impossible than they already were.
But he never wanted to saddle anyone’s horse again—ever.
The landline rang as he walked in the door, and he couldn’t help but flash on the last call he’d taken on that phone. Karl’s granddaughter was a piece of work. Kick-ass gorgeous, but as far as attitude went...well, princess wasn’t the right word. Privileged. Yes. She was privileged and obviously not all that good at hearing the word no.
Cole pulled the phone off the hook on the fifth ring. “Hello.”
“Shouldn’t you be making hay when the sun shines?”
Cole grinned at Karl’s dry tone. “Trying. I have some work to do on the equipment, but everything should be up and running—” for a while anyway “—in short order.”
“Good to hear. Hey...my granddaughter stopped by the farm, right?”
“On her way down to see you. She sure didn’t waste any time getting over here after I answered your phone.”
“Yeah. She’s going through a rough patch. I, uh, told her she could move onto the ranch. I know you’re renting the house, but the bunkhouse is there, and I figured you guys wouldn’t be falling all over each other, in the different buildings, so...”
“Hey. You’re doing me a favor letting me rent the house.” The bunkhouse was in pretty good shape. It wasn’t that different from the bunkhouses on the guest ranch, minus all the cutesy cowboy shit. “I don’t mind moving.”
“That makes no sense. You already have your stuff in the house. Taylor’s happy to stay in the bunkhouse.”
Cole scratched his head. “Are you sure about this?” Maybe he was talking about a different granddaughter. One who didn’t have “pampered princess” written all over her.
“Yeah.”
The sheer innocence in the guy’s tone convinced him. “I don’t care if she stays.” Much.
“She’s looking at getting work in Missoula or Bozeman, so it may not actually be that long.”
“It’s your place, Karl. I’m good with it.”
“Thanks.”
Cole hung up the phone and stood for a moment contemplating the floor. Had he been that wrong about Taylor Evans? She’d happily move into the bunkhouse?
Well, every now and again he’d read a guest wrong...but it didn’t happen often—and he wasn’t all that certain it had happened yesterday. Time, obviously, would tell.
He’d just started for the door when his cell phone rang. So popular today...
“Hello.”
“Stop me before I kill Miranda.”
He put a hand on the doorjamb and rested his forehead against his hand. “What happened, Jance?” His younger sister, Jancey, let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Just the usual bullshit. Passive-aggressive sweet stuff, followed by threatening me later.”
“What happened?”
Another sigh. “She was embarrassed today because of a mishap in scheduling with some rich guests she wanted to impress, was all nicey-nice about it while the guests were there then pretty much told me that if it happened again, I was going to be demoted to kitchen work. But it wasn’t my fault, it was hers.”
“Quit.”
“And then you’ll pay for my living expenses at college, right?” Jancey had taken a year off after graduating from high school to save money for college. Cole would bet that she was counting the days until she could escape the ranch.
“I would if I could.”
“I know. But beyond needing this job, I don’t want to let her win.”
“Are you insinuating I did?”
“No. Even if that had been your intention, it didn’t work. She is still doing a slow burn over you quitting, and the beautiful part is that she can’t find anyone competent to replace you.”
Because no one else had enough emotional ties to the place to put up with her poor management style. Cole knew she’d already hired and fired a replacement and had tried out another, only to decide he didn’t fit the bill either.
“I bet she’d make some concessions if you came back...”
“Would you wish that on me?”
“No. But I hate losing the last family on the family ranch.”
“Things change, Jancey. All we can do is forge on ahead, make a new path.”
“You’re very philosophical today.”
“I’m trying to distract you so that you don’t do Miranda bodily harm. School is what? A short four months away?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Call anytime you need talking down,” Cole said. “And if things get to the point that you can’t take it anymore, this place has two bedrooms.”
“If you get a knock on your door late at night, it’ll be me.”
“It’ll be open. Just make yourself at home.”
Cole hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket. The only bad thing about leaving the guest ranch was that he was no longer there to put out the fires Miranda caused. He was so totally ready to be a farmer, ride in his tractor and ignore the world.
That might be a little harder to do if Karl’s granddaughter moved into the bunkhouse, but even if she did, he didn’t see her lasting too long. Women who drove classic 240Zs didn’t live in old bunkhouses. She’d find another place to live, and if she didn’t, well, at least he had years of experience dealing with the privileged.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6)
TAYLOR WASN’T A CRIER, but her throat felt ridiculously tight as she drove across the Floating Bridge on I-90. Her cat, Max, was staying with her friend Carolyn until she could send for him, and she already missed him. Her furniture was in storage, and she’d temporarily given up the Z for a former coworker’s SUV. Temporarily being the keyword there. She didn’t like her baby being in someone else’s hands, but the car didn’t work in her new environment. The SUV could tow a small rental trailer with most of her essentials, and it could navigate snow if needed, but it ate gas like nobody’s business. And it felt crazy to sit up so high when she was used to hugging the road. But at least she still owned her car.
Not so her beautiful apartment.
So hard to handle...
Taylor swallowed again.
She had put herself back on the building waiting list, telling herself that if she wasn’t ready to rent when her name came to the top of the list again, then she was well and truly a failure. Which she wasn’t. A few months—maybe a year or two—living and working in the wilds of Montana would do her good. Broaden her horizons.
Her ex-supervisor had said it would humble her, but Taylor had paid no attention. Madison said things without thinking. The woman had no filter, yet she still had a job with Stratford. She was like Kent—neither had put in as much voluntary overtime as she had.
Taylor wasn’t going to think about that.
Nope. She was going to think positive thoughts—like how she was going to work her way into a position of power in a competing company and wreak some havoc on Stratford. Those were good thoughts. Satisfying thoughts.
She finally came clean with her mother, Cecilia, who hated Montana with a passion. Cecilia had moved to the farm shortly after she and Taylor’s father, Tom, were married, but after the romance of rural life had worn off, she’d yearned for her old life in the city. Unfortunately, Taylor’s father was as rural as her mother was urban and the two never found a middle ground. Taylor had been only five when her mother filed for divorce, packed Taylor up and moved back to Seattle. After that, it was vacations on the farm until her father passed away from a heart attack too young.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” was all Cecilia had said after the confession.
“It’s temporary, Mom.” But even though she believed what she said, she still felt like a loser. Her mother had hammered into her over the years what a hellhole the ranch was. Yes, it was a nice place to visit, but if you tried to live there, it would eat your soul.
“I’m so sorry you’ve been driven to this. I’d help you out if I could, but—”
“I know.” And she did. Her mother kept to a stringent budget with her artist husband of ten years in order to live in a tidy two-bedroom apartment in the heart of San Francisco’s North Beach. Taylor had never once considered asking her mother for money, because she knew there wasn’t any to spare.
The little trailer Taylor towed behind the SUV wobbled every now and again as the wind hit it, reminding her that she wasn’t driving the Z, and then she’d slow down. There was really no hurry. She planned to spend the night in a motel in the Eagle Valley in order to avoid dealing with Cole Bryan after a long drive. She wanted to be fresh for that. They had a few issues to iron out, and she wasn’t looking forward to sharing her environment with a stranger. But, as her grandfather had said, she was living rent-free and was within driving distance of job markets. Well worth having to share three hundred acres. As to who ended up in the house...well, her money was on herself.
It was almost nine o’clock when she pulled into the Eagle Valley. She debated about the mom-and-pop motel closest to the farm, then chose to drive through town to stay at the Manor Suites—a business hotel that made her feel more at home. She could grab coffee and breakfast in the lobby the next morning before heading out to the farm. It was good to be properly rested and nourished before tackling a potentially touchy situation. Cole Bryan likely wouldn’t relish her being there, keeping an eye on him. But she’d be a good farm-mate to him, as long as he didn’t cross her. Or try to keep her out of the house.
Taylor checked in and rolled her suitcase along the carpeted hallway to her first-floor room. Her last night of privacy. She’d assumed that she’d spend it stretched out on the bed watching bad television—which had become something of a habit since she’d been laid off—but instead she fell asleep almost instantly. She woke up a few hours later, disoriented. The lights were on and an infomercial blared away on the television. Instead of learning how a Wonder Blend could change her life, she snapped off the TV and peeled out of her clothes, crawling under the covers in her underwear. So very tired...
A car alarm outside her window brought Taylor fully upright in bed. She heard the sound of a kid’s laughter, followed by a man’s warning voice, and then the alarm shut off. Taylor lay back against the pillows, noting that it was daylight before snagging her phone off the nightstand and checking the time.
Eight thirty!
She practically sprang out of bed.
She never slept that late—not even when she stayed up until the early hours. Maybe it was the altitude or something. She headed to the bathroom, showered and dressed. What if that guy was out doing farm stuff by the time she arrived? She’d have to hunt him down or spend the day cooling her heels and waiting. Not acceptable.
By nine o’clock she was checked out of the hotel, her laptop case slung over her shoulder, rolling her luggage with one hand and hanging on to a much-needed cup of coffee with the other. The door had just closed behind her when she stopped dead.
Oh, no.
Taylor dropped the cup, only vaguely aware of the hot coffee splashing on her leg before she started jogging across the parking lot, her laptop beating on her hip and her suitcase bouncing wildly behind her. She skidded to a stop next to the partially open trailer door. Barely able to breathe, she pulled the heavy metal door the rest of the way open and peered inside, her stomach going tight when she saw the ransacked mess inside. Taylor blinked at the clothing carnage, then noted the neatly cut padlock lying on the ground next to her feet.
The bastards!
The trailer wasn’t as full as it had been, but she had no idea what had been stolen. Everything was jumbled up, messed up, screwed up...just like her life.
“Are you okay?”
She gave a small start, then turned to see a man with a small child in his arms standing behind her. “No. I’ve been robbed.” In Eagle Valley, Montana. It just wasn’t right.
“That stinks. I’ll go get the manager.”
“Thank you.” Taylor went to the SUV and peered in through the window, her heart pounding so hard she was having a hard time taking a full breath. Her small jewelry armoire was still in the back seat of the SUV, covered by an old blanket, along with her desktop computer and monitor, which sat on the floorboards, covered with a couple of old towels. Unfortunately, she’d put everything else—her cookware, her bedding, her clothing—in the trailer, and probably half the stuff was gone.
Welcome to Montana, Taylor.
* * *
WHAT WAS IT about balers that made them break down whenever they were most needed? In the case of Karl’s old baler, it was probably a matter of the thing being almost twice as old as Cole was. He’d had the option of leasing Karl’s equipment—some new, some old—or coming up with his own. He’d decided to lease, and still thought it was the best option, if he could get the baler back into commission.
After an hour-long wrestling match, he decided to break for a quick lunch, maybe with a beer chaser, then go back to it. He was on his way into the house when an SUV pulling a trailer slowed and then turned into the driveway.
His stomach tightened. She was here. His space was officially invaded. But, as Karl said, the likelihood of her staying long was nil. How often would he see her anyway? She didn’t seem to be the type to hang around when there were things to accomplish elsewhere. Bottom line, Karl was playing hardball with his granddaughter, but he loved her, and Cole was going to do whatever he could to help Karl out. He owed the guy for letting him escape from the guest ranch. Bottom line, he was going to make the best of a bad situation and hope against hope that she got a job and moved ASAP.
Taylor pulled the SUV to a stop directly in front of the barn door, thereby making access impossible, but one look at her face when she got out of the vehicle made the request to park elsewhere die on his lips.
“Are you okay?”
Her gaze snapped up to his. “No.” The word dropped like a rock. A big, heavy one.
Years of working with guests had taught Cole that sometimes it was best to simply wait. Most people eventually let fly with whatever was bothering them.
“I got robbed.”
His jaw dropped. “What?”
“I spent the night in a hotel in the Eagle Valley, and when I got up this morning, someone had cut the lock and gone through my stuff.”
“Did they take anything?”
“I don’t know. I have to go through my belongings and send a list to the sheriff’s office.”
“Well, that sucks.” Because whoever had robbed her was probably someone passing through and she’d never get anything back. There wasn’t a lot of crime in the Eagle Valley.
“Yeah, it does.”
So much for climbing on his tractor and disappearing into the fields.
“Do you want some coffee or something?” She looked as if she could use a strong belt of whiskey—or, in her case, perhaps flavored vodka—and he didn’t blame her.
“No. I want to unload what’s left of my stuff and go through it.” She gestured toward the house with her chin. “Would it be possible to just move it into the house now?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because it makes no sense to move my stuff to the bunkhouse, then back to the house after your month of rent elapses—you only paid for one month, right?”
“Right,” Cole said noncommittally. Did she really think that he was going to move to accommodate her?
“The first of the month is only a week away.”
“And...?”
“Instead of moving my stuff twice and yours once, we could move mine once and yours once.”
Really? For a moment, Cole considered it. A very brief moment. Whether she’d just been robbed or not, this woman needed to be taken down a peg. Or two. She was so obviously used to getting her way and telling other people how it was going to be that for once in his life, Cole wasn’t going to do the good-guy thing.
“I’m not moving into the bunkhouse,” he said.
“You’re renting the house from month to month. After this month is over, we’re switching.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “No.”
“My grandfather made it clear—”
“I don’t think he did. Not to you anyway. He told me that his granddaughter would be in the bunkhouse until she got a job. Those exact words. Granddaughter. Bunkhouse. Until she got a job. Not until the month is over.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Call him.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Add a little more stress to his life instead of just doing the right thing.”
Her blue eyes grew fiery. Oh, yeah. Not too many people had stood up to the princess. And after years of smiling and taking guest abuse, Cole had to admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction at not taking it anymore.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I agree. The bunkhouse is totally habitable. You’ll be gone before long and I’ll still be here.”
Her chest rose and fell, and Cole could see that a mighty battle was waging.
He hooked a thumb in his belt loop. “I’m not leaving the house.”
“Fine.” She almost spat the word out. “For now.” She jerked open the back door of the SUV and hauled out a suitcase, her eyes narrowing as she turned back to him. “You may not be correct when you say that you’ll be here for longer than me.”
As if this woman was going to stay on this farm a moment longer than she had to. But even though he believed that her threat was as empty as the silos on Karl’s farm, it annoyed him. Again, he was no longer in a position where he had to put up with bullshit just because.
“You’re threatening me?” he asked in a low voice. “Because I am within my rights to kick you off this property.”
She stepped up to him and gave him a maddeningly innocent look. “And add stress to Karl’s life? Are you sure you want to do that?”
It sucked to have his own words thrown back at him.
He leaned toward her so that they were essentially chest to chest, or chest to upper abdomen since she was about six inches shorter than him. But she spoke first. “I am not threatening you. I am grateful that you are letting me stay.” Even though it was her right. She didn’t say it, but it was written all over her face.
“Grateful in your own way.”
“However,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken, “be clear on this...if things don’t go smoothly, then we will get my grandfather involved, and I promise you I will come out on top.”
He almost laughed. She didn’t realize that she was currently on the receiving end of some tough love. Fine. He’d allow her the fantasy.
“All I ask is mutual respect,” Cole said. He was done being treated like the help.
“Agreed.” She held out a hand. Her nails were perfectly manicured. Apparently being out of work for two months didn’t affect the beauty budget.
Cole took her hand and shook. “Agreed.”
* * *
TAYLOR WATCHED COLE Bryan head toward the machine shed through narrowed eyes. He was more of an adversary than she’d anticipated. And he had a ridiculously nice ass. All in all, a great physical package coupled with a maddeningly stubborn personality. Well, she wasn’t done yet, but she recognized when it was time to stop and regroup. Plot her strategy.
He hadn’t offered to help her move her stuff into the bunkhouse, which was just as well. She needed time. Getting robbed was bad enough, but finding out that she was going to live in what was basically a primitive motel room while she conducted her job search...well, on the bright side, the circumstances would motivate her to nail something down as soon as possible.
On that positive note, she walked over to the bunkhouse and opened the door. Stale air enveloped her as she stepped inside, and she instantly crossed to the nearest window and attempted to heave it open. No luck. She went to the next. Again, nothing. Finally, the last window screeched open a crack. It would have to do.
Taylor turned to survey her new surroundings, fighting the sinking feeling in her gut. The bunkhouse was just as she remembered it from her childhood visits, except that it seemed smaller. The single room was long and narrow, with beat-up vinyl flooring and dingy tan paint on the walls. In the corner was a bank of cupboards and a cast-iron sink that was worth a small fortune on the renovation market. She crossed the room to run a finger over the cast iron. She had a primo sink in a very sad environment. The only furniture consisted of two old bed frames, neither with mattresses, a chrome-and-enamel kitchen set that had seen better days—but would also bring decent money if Karl chose to sell it—and a single ratty, overstuffed chair that she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Who knew how many rodents were familiar with the piece?
Temporary environment. Remember that.
At the other end of the room was a small bathroom with a shower and an old toilet, plus a sink with a cheap replacement single-handle faucet that seemed out of place on the antique basin. The flooring was clean but disintegrating.
Taylor sighed as she stood in the doorway and surveyed the shower with the sorry curtain hanging limply from the cockeyed rod. She was so very much a soak-in-the-tub person.
Temporary.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, Taylor turned and headed out to the trailer to start schlepping boxes inside. It appeared she’d have to buy a mattress for the old bed frame. Or better yet...
She pulled the cell out of her pocket and dialed her grandfather’s number.
“You made it okay?”
“I did. I hit a small bump at the motel I stayed at last night, but I’ll fill you in on that later.” Because Karl was protective and, despite what Cole might think of her, she didn’t want to upset him unnecessarily. “I’m calling to ask if there’s an extra mattress in your house that I could borrow while I’m in the bunkhouse.”
“There’s a bed in the spare room with a decent mattress, but you should clear it with Cole.”
“I will. But if he has no issues, then I can tell him you have no issues either, right?”
“Right.”
“Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll settle in today and then start the job search tomorrow.” She smiled a little. “I’ll keep you posted this time. Sorry about before.”
“Not a problem. Don’t wear yourself out moving in.”
“No worries. Thanks, Grandpa. Talk to you soon.”
Her smile faded as she pocketed the phone. Twenty-four hours ago she’d said goodbye to her real life, and now she needed to adapt to her new, temporary life. She’d make the best of it, come hell, high water or a good-looking, stubborn farm-mate.
She turned toward the door, going over her schedule in her head. She’d unload the trailer, take inventory and try to figure out what was missing, make a shopping list, return the rental trailer to the local dealer, nicely ask farm guy to help her with the mattress—
The scream ripped out of her throat as a huge rodent appeared out of nowhere, almost running over her feet as it scurried toward the bathroom.
She was barely aware she was moving, but somehow she ended up outside where there were likely many more of the killer rodents. Wasting no time and barely allowing her feet to touch the ground, she made a dash for the SUV and leaped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind her.
Her heart was hitting her ribs so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath, and that was when she felt dampness on her cheeks. What had she done? What horrible thing had she done to deserve losing her apartment, being robbed and getting attacked by a rodent in less than one day’s time?
A tap on the window made her jump a mile. Farm guy was there, peering into her window with a scowl on his handsome face. She took a chance and turned on the ignition so that she could roll down the window a crack.
“What?” The single word irritated her beyond belief, even as she told herself that this wasn’t his fault.
“There’s a rat in the bunkhouse.”
“Really?”
The words that jumped to her lips at his disbelieving tone were not pretty, but Taylor managed to swallow them. “It ran in from outside.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. He shook his head and stalked away toward the bunkhouse. Taylor rolled the window back up, leaned her head against the backrest and closed her eyes. Her lashes were wet as they hit her cheeks.
Damn.
Her new temporary life sucked.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6)
COLE WAS NOT a fan of rodents. Mice destroyed equipment, gnawed on saddles, and made their way into pantries and car engines. Pack rats did even more damage to vehicles, and heaven help you if you cornered one. Ground squirrels destroyed fields, gophers destroyed gardens. If there’d been a rodent in Taylor’s bathroom, things wouldn’t have ended well for Mr. Rat, but Taylor didn’t have a rodent in her house. She had a young cottontail rabbit cowering behind the toilet, staring up at Cole with wide brown eyes. Cole’s lips curled a little as he regarded the young bunny.
How in the hell was Karl, the most down-to-earth guy on the planet, related to a woman who mistook a rabbit for a rat? And how was he supposed to share his farm with her? Because legally it was his farm until the lease expired, which wasn’t for another three years. Karl had the option of living there, but the land and the outbuildings were his.
Was the bunkhouse one of the outbuildings? That hadn’t been spelled out in the agreement, but he assumed that since it could be used for grain or tool storage, yeah, it was.
Cole pulled his gloves out of his back pocket and slipped them on before slowly approaching the frightened baby, just in case Junior decided to bite out of fear.
“How’d you get in here, buddy?”
The petrified bunny rolled into a ball as he took hold of its nape and scooped it up, cradling its furry bottom in one hand. Holding his captive, he toed the door open and then kicked it shut again, in case the little guy had brothers and sisters lurking nearby, then crossed over to Taylor’s car. He motioned with his head for her to roll down the window, and she did—about two inches. He held up the baby, and Taylor gave him a deeply skeptical look.
“This is your rat.”
She gave her head an adamant shake. “No.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow as he raised the bunny a little higher in front of her window. “You’re saying that there’s a rat and a rabbit in the bunkhouse?”
“The rat could have gotten in the same way the bunny got in.”
She had a point, but since the bunkhouse didn’t smell of rat, he didn’t think that was the case. “Have you ever gotten a whiff of eau de pack rat?”
Her mouth flattened. Judging from her silence, it appeared that Taylor did not like to be wrong or admit to being wrong. Well, in this case she was. “Trust me. You don’t have a rat.”
Color had crept up her neck and across her fair cheeks. Her mouth worked for a moment, then she reached for the door handle and got out of the car.
“I swear it looked like a rat when it raced in front of me.”
“The dreaded hopping rat?”
She gave a brave attempt at a smirk, but her cheeks were still pink. “He wasn’t hopping. He was running.” She tilted her head to get a better angle, apparently falling victim to the rabbit’s soul-melting brown eyes. “What will you do with him?”
“Let him go.”
Her gaze snapped up to his in an almost accusatory way. “What if he’s an orphan?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s old enough to get his own food. He’ll probably be raiding the garden within the hour.”
“So he’ll be okay?” She cautiously reached out to stroke the bunny’s head with two fingers, and he couldn’t help but notice again that the nails on those fingers were perfectly polished. Maybe if Karl had had more of a down-to-earth, get-her-hands-dirty kind of granddaughter, Cole would have been on board with this whole plan of her living in the bunkhouse and sharing his space. But this woman... The muscles in his jaw tightened as her fingers brushed against his as she stroked the rabbit again, then she looked up at him with a faint frown. “I asked if he would be okay.”
“As okay as any wild creature will be.” Her hand stilled, and he stifled a sigh. “Nature’s a bitch, Taylor. There aren’t any guarantees.”
He could see that she didn’t like his answer, but he wasn’t going to tiptoe around facts.
“I wonder how he got into the bunkhouse.”
“I have an idea.” Cole crossed the drive to the thick juniper hedge and gently set the rabbit on the ground. The little guy sat stock-still for a few seconds, then gave a mighty hop and plunged into the shrubbery. Cole looked up to see Taylor studying him. “Let’s go check out your place.”
It was obvious from the way her mouth tightened that she didn’t think of the run-down bunkhouse as her place, but that was tough. It was hers for as long as she was there.
He led the way down the dirt path to the bunkhouse. Before Karl’s grandfather had broken up the original sprawling ranch into three smaller hay operations and sold them, the ranch’s workers had lived in this building. When Karl returned from the service fifty years ago, he’d been fortunate enough to buy the parcel with the original houses and barns.
Taylor followed him into the dingy interior, and Cole allowed that she might have a legitimate gripe about her living quarters, if it wasn’t for the fact she was getting them for free. Taylor headed toward the bathroom, which must have been where she’d encountered the bunny, but Cole crossed to the opposite side of the common area and pulled open the cupboard under the old iron sink. Sure enough, the floorboards there were rotted and broken from decades of water damage, and there was a hole large enough for a rabbit to squeeze through.
He looked over his shoulder at Taylor. “You’re lucky this place isn’t overrun with mice.” Her expression was so comical that he had to clear his throat to keep from laughing. “Karl has some gnarly cats. They do a decent job of keeping the place clear of mice.”
She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I have a cat, too. I didn’t want to bring him until I was sure of where I’d be living.”
Cole looked over his shoulder at her. “I guess you know now.”
The look she gave him was more of a “We’ll see...” than a “Yes, I do.” She set her keys on the counter and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Let me see the problem.”
Cole gestured at the dark space in front of him. Was it just him, or did everything that came out of her mouth sound like a freaking order?
She crouched down beside him and peered under the sink, frowning as she took in the damage. Then she sat back on her heels. “Will you have time to fix this soon?”
“No.” He pushed himself to his feet without looking at her. “You’ll have to hire someone.”
“This doesn’t appear to be a big job,” she murmured in a reasonable voice.
“Then do it yourself.”
That was when he had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of annoyance cross her face. “I don’t have tools.”
“And I don’t have the time.” He might have had the time if she’d asked, but to simply assume that he would take care of things for her...wasn’t going to happen. “Karl has lots of tools in the shed next to the barn.”
“What’s the problem here?”
“The problem is that I have the lease on this place and you’re not going to come in here and direct my life.”
“Direct your life?”
“I am not at your beck and call, sweetheart. If you have a problem, then you need to handle it. Because you were not part of my lease agreement.”
“I’m out of work, I’ve just been robbed and—”
“Assaulted by a bunny.”
Color flooded her cheeks again. “That’s not funny.”
“Not meant to be.” Much. He took a step closer, halfway wishing that her perfume didn’t smell so damned good. It was a light, teasing scent that irritated him because it made his thoughts drift in directions he’d rather not have them drift. He yanked his thoughts back into line. “Maybe if you’d asked instead of assuming...”
Her chin rose a fraction of an inch. “I don’t think it would have made a difference if I’d asked or told. You’ve decided you’re not going to do one thing to make life easy for me while I’m here.”
“I’m allowing you to stay.”
“So as not to upset Karl.”
“The result is the same. You’re here.”
“Are you always this unpleasant?”
The laugh escaped before he could stop it. “No. Prior to the first of this year, I was a professional pleasant person.” He smiled in a way that felt satisfyingly dark. “But now I’m a farmer and I no longer have to suffer fools gladly.”
“Are you calling me a fool?” She spoke in a slow, measured tone.
“I’m calling you entitled.”
Her eyes flashed, but her expression barely shifted. She, too, was skilled at hiding her true feelings. He wondered briefly what it would take, short of a marauding rabbit, to make her lose her cool—which was not the direction his thoughts should be taking. He was on the farm to enjoy some solitude. Live on his terms, not on the whims of others. And he certainly wasn’t there to cause his unwanted tenant to lose it.
“I have things to do,” she said coolly.
“Me, too.” He headed to the door, stopping at the threshold. “The tools are in the building—”
“I know where the tools are,” she snapped.
“Just making sure.” With that he stepped outside, leaving Ms. Taylor Evans to soak up the ambiance of her new home.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER Taylor was still stewing about her encounter with Cole. Entitled? No. It’d made sense for him to do the repairs. Yes, she could have asked rather than assumed, but in her world, the landlord took care of things like holes in the floor.
She rolled her neck, trying to ease the stiffness out of it. She’d unpacked the trailer and discovered that the losses were less than she’d anticipated. As near as she could tell, the thieves had blindly grabbed boxes, because if they’d looked inside, they wouldn’t have bothered with some of the things they’d taken. She’d lost her flatware, some serving dishes, her lingerie and a box of miscellaneous electronics. The loss of the flatware and dishes she took in stride, but the lingerie...that pissed her off. Bras were expensive, and finding ones that fit properly—that approached nightmare territory, which was why she bought her underwear from a boutique that specialized in bra fitting.
Five hundred bucks of silk, lace and underwire. Gone. Like that.
Let it go. Move on. She could practically hear Karl saying the same words he’d said over the phone whenever she’d failed to ace a test or hadn’t run her best during a cross-country meet. She wouldn’t be sharing this particular loss with him.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Taylor folded the list she’d made and slipped it into her purse. She’d get a copy to the sheriff’s office and another to the insurance company. One more task tacked onto an already full agenda. She still had to return the trailer, buy flatware of some kind—and at the moment she was leaning toward plastic—and hire someone to fix the floor with money she couldn’t spare.
It had to be done. She wouldn’t have minded coming home to bunnies hopping around her house, but mice...she didn’t do mice. The floor needed to be fixed.
So what now? Pick the name of a handyman at random? The way her luck was running, she’d hire a scam artist.
She needed advice in the worst way, and even though she hated to call her grandfather with a sad story again, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed his number. Miraculously, he answered, so after making certain that all was well on his end, she launched into a description of what Cole had called the bunny attack, leaving out the part where she’d mistaken Thumper for a rat, as well as the part where she’d locked herself in her car. She had to hold on to some small shred of dignity. It was bad enough that her farm-mate had seen her. She ended her story with a description of the damaged boards under the sink.
“So what do I need? A plumber or a carpenter?”
“Why don’t you ask Cole to fix it?”
Because she’d had it up to there with tall, dark and irritating. “He’s pretty busy with farm stuff. I thought I could hire someone to do it.”
“Yeah, you could.”
“It’d be pricey, right?” She was guessing based on his tone of voice.
“I’ll call Cole.”
“No.” The word popped out in a way that made it necessary to do damage control immediately afterward. She forced an easy smile into her voice. “I can handle things. I was just looking for a little guidance.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Half an hour later she realized just how long her grandfather was going to have to wait to hear that all was well. All the carpenters and plumbers were booked out for many weeks due to new construction in the area. The two local handymen were also seriously booked up.
“I’ll tell you what,” the last guy said, perhaps hearing the distress and desperation in her voice, “if you can cover the area with thick plastic and duct tape, that might keep the mice from coming in. If they’re not hungry enough to chew. Don’t keep food in the house.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. No food. Right. “And you’ll put me on the schedule?”
“Three weeks out.”
“If there’s a cancellation?”
She heard him suck a breath in between his teeth. “Five people ahead of you, but I’ll slot you into the waiting list.”
“Thank you.” It was kind of hard to say the words in a meaningful way, but she knew better than to annoy a handyman.
Taylor didn’t allow herself any breathing room between ending the call and heading for her car. She had to keep moving because if she stopped to consider her reality—no bras, possible mice, sleeping in a place in which she didn’t yet have a mattress—then she might not move forward at all.
Temporary. Remember?
Maybe she needed to write the word on the back of her hand in indelible ink.
She carefully closed the bunkhouse door as she left so as not to let in more rabbits, and then headed for her car, only to stop when she caught sight of Cole in the big shed where the baler and swather were parked. Abruptly she shifted course. Why? She hadn’t a clue. Maybe because she was still steamed about him calling her entitled. Taylor had never been good about leaving a fight alone. The same obsessive tendencies that had made her a great student also made it hard for her to handle unfinished business. He was bent over the baler, denim hugging the back of his thighs. Yeah, the guy was built. And yeah, he wasn’t getting any points for that. She was more about attitude, and his sucked where she was concerned.
“Hey,” she said. His head jerked up and he turned, the pained expression on his face clearly asking “What now, lady?” He was as ready for a fight as she was...so she wasn’t going to.
“I’m heading to town. Want anything?”
He blinked at her as a suspicious frown formed. “No.”
“Just checking,” she said smoothly.
“Right.” He turned back to the baler.
Dismissed. She didn’t think so. She ambled closer, saw the muscles of his shoulders bunch just a bit. He glared at her again, and she wondered if he knew that scowling only made him look hotter—in the sensual sense, rather than the angry sense.
“I need access to the house this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Karl said I could have the mattress in the guest room.” And rather than ask him to help her move it, she figured she could back her SUV to the side door, lay the seat down and shove it in. Awkward, yes, but she wasn’t going to ask this guy for help.
“Fine.”
She waited. He waited. Taylor was used to charged atmosphere—and there was a definite edgy vibe developing between them as each waited for the other to make a move—but apparently Cole also seemed to be comfortable with tense silences. Neither of them blinked, but Taylor was the one who had to get the rental trailer back within the hour or pay for another day. She’d certainly rather spend her money on new bras than a now-useless trailer.
Finally, she gave in—but only because of extenuating circumstances. With a curt nod she started to turn, but not before she saw the glimmer of victory light his eyes.
Walk away. Return the trailer. This is just one battle, not the war.
Taylor didn’t let battles go lightly, but this time she would.
For now anyway.
* * *
AFTER WINNING THE FACE-OFF, Cole watched Taylor march out of the machine shop to her SUV, wondering what had happened to her Z. Had she done the sane thing and sold it to help make ends meet? Or hung on to it as she waited for some kind of miracle rescue for the situation she’d gotten herself into? A few seconds later he cringed as she peeled out of the driveway. Cool. She could pay to have it regraveled.
Cole stepped back into the machine shop. He could dig into the scrap lumber and fix the floor while she was gone, but he was still pissed about her assumption that he would fix things ASAP for her. More than that, he was irritated that she was there at all. He’d leased the place, and therefore it should be his...but Karl was a longtime friend of his grandfather’s, and had given Cole a healthy break on the farm’s lease. The least he could do was play ball for the undoubtedly short period that Ms. Taylor Evans would be in residence. Which was another good reason why he wouldn’t fix the floor. The more uncomfortable she was, the quicker she’d be out of here. But if Karl asked him to fix it, he would.
Hell, if she asked him to fix it again, he probably would.
The wrench slipped and he banged his knuckles. Shaking his hand and cursing, he then braced his hands on the edge of the baler and let out a breath. It sucked being a decent guy sometimes. Decent guys tended to get taken advantage of. Miranda had taken advantage of him whenever she could, and since he had a conscience as well as a younger sister to protect, he stuck things out on the ranch until Jancey finished high school. Then he told Miranda he was through. The look on her face had been rather satisfying. And even though he no longer managed the ranch, he still had a stake in the place. A stake that Miranda would dearly love to relieve him of.
“Good luck with that,” he muttered.
Once upon a time, the Bryan Ranch had been a joint venture between his father and his uncle. They hadn’t made a lot of money, but they’d eked out a living—and then his uncle married his second wife, Miranda, who proceeded to talk the brothers into increasing their profits by turning one ranch into a guest ranch and leaving the other as a small working ranch for the entertainment of their guests...and to keep Cole’s father happy.
The plan worked. Miranda turned the guest ranch into a popular vacation and retreat destination, making most of the family miserable in the process—everyone except for her husband, who loved her blindly until the day he died. Cole’s father had immersed himself in the working ranch and ignored the guests and everything associated with them, so after graduating from college, Cole had become responsible for the trail rides, the outfitting, the cattle drives—anything that involved animals and guests. He was good at his job, and enjoyed it until his father died and Miranda went power mad. Everything had to be cleared through her and everything had to be perfect. Not just regular perfect, but exceptionally perfect—which was a direct quote from his step-aunt.
After their father died, Jancey had stayed in the family home while Cole had spent most of his time at the main guest ranch, a half mile away so that he could be on call—Miranda’s idea, even though Jancey had been only a junior in high school at the time. The arrangement worked for the most part, if one didn’t mind the animal-population explosion that had occurred once Jancey had the working ranch to herself. Whenever possible, Cole had escaped to his family home to spend time with his sister. Jancey was better at looking after guests than he was, which was why she had continued working at the ranch, saving money for college, after he quit.
Bottom line, the ranch made money and he and Jancey got a cut. But the price they’d paid in emotional turmoil was ridiculous.
Which was why he wanted to be alone, and the fact that he wasn’t ate at him.
Maybe Jancey was right—maybe he was suffering from post-Miranda stress disorder.
* * *
TAYLOR DROVE PAST the hotel parking lot where she’d been robbed, then made her way to the sheriff’s office. After dropping off her list of stolen items, and knowing full well that she needn’t have bothered because she was never seeing any of that stuff again, she returned the trailer, then headed to the building supply store two blocks away.
Taylor pushed an oversize cart along the aisles, feeling remarkably out of place. She’d never been in a building supply store—not one that didn’t also sell appliances and curtains and flowers in addition to lumber and hardware. She cruised the aisles, though since there weren’t many, it didn’t take that long. She bought thick plastic and duct tape, then, since she was in no hurry to get back, she stopped at the coffee shop on the other side of the parking lot and took her time sipping a chai latte.
Chai was her go-to calmer-downer, but instead of relaxing as she sipped the hot, sweet tea mixture, she found herself drumming her fingers. Abruptly, she closed her hand and dropped it into her lap, where it clenched into a fist.
Plastic and duct tape and a couple of gnarly cats were all that would stand between her and the rodent population of the Eagle Valley.
How was she supposed to sleep with that kind of a threat hanging over her head? Meanwhile the guy who probably didn’t care about rodents slept in the mouse-proof house.
Her fist clenched even tighter, and Taylor made a conscious effort to unclench.
It was clear that her grandfather wasn’t going to suggest to Cole that he trade places with her, even after the month was up. Which meant that she was probably stuck in the bunkhouse hellhole until she got back on her feet.
Taylor started drumming her fingers again, then she picked up her phone and went to YouTube, searching for videos on repairing rotten floorboards. She scrolled through videos, watching pieces here and there, before concluding that her repair didn’t have to be pretty. It had to be mouse-proof. Who was going to see under the sink except for her?
And if things played out well, she wouldn’t be there for that long. The obsessive part of her brain wouldn’t have to grapple with the fact that there were messy boards under the sink. She’d spent the better part of the evening reading through job listings within driving distance of the Eagle Valley, so she had hope.
She felt better as she finished her tea. First she’d conquer home repair, then she’d find a job. Ever upward and all that.
Taylor got to her feet, shouldered her purse, tossed the cup into the trash and left the shop with a sense of purpose.
Forty-five minutes later she had short boards that the woman in the lumber department had cut for her, a box of wood screws, a cordless drill that made her feel kind of powerful and macho—and which had cost less than one of her bras—a hammer, just because, and steel wool for plugging extra space around the incoming pipe. She also had two mousetraps, just in case. Taylor smiled grimly as she pushed the cart through the automatic doors.
It was good to take control.
* * *
THE SOUND OF a drill brought Cole’s head up as he walked by the bunkhouse on his way to the barn, where he planned to start fixing the corrals for the three orphan calves he was taking off his sister’s hands. The drilling stopped, followed by a clatter and a muttered curse. When they’d spoken earlier about the hole under the sink, Taylor had seemed clueless about repairs, but judging from where the noise was coming from, she appeared to be tackling them herself.
None of your business.
Actually, in a way, it was his business. If it turned out that Taylor was handy with tools, then her assumption that he would fix her problem was going to irk him that much more. In fact, it had already irked him to the point that he single-handedly moved a mattress and box spring out of Karl’s basement and hauled them over to the bunkhouse so that he didn’t have to have any more contact with her than necessary. And if that mattress and box spring happened to be twin-size instead of the queen-size bed in the guest room, so what? A twin bed would fit her just fine, and maybe someday he’d have guests.
Cole forced himself to ignore the bang that erupted from inside the bunkhouse and walk on.
He’d spent too much time on the guest ranch. Too much time smiling when he wanted to walk away from some self-important douchebag with a snotty attitude. Granted, for every douche, there were at least ten people he enjoyed helping, but the jerks did tend to stick out. And then there were the ladies who seemed to think that he was fair game. He was game for quite a bit, but not with clients. Something like that was not only wildly unprofessional, it would have given Miranda an advantage over him—and that was the last thing he’d have let happen.
He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. It felt so damned good working alone, not worrying about politely dealing with the public, or what part of his life Miranda was going to try to control just to prove to him that she could.
Now if he only had his farm to himself...
In good time. After all, how long was Taylor Evans going to be able to stand living in a bunkhouse?
That was the exact question his cousin Jordan put forth to him when they met for beer and burgers at McElroy’s Bar early that evening.
“Not long. I hope.” Cole took a drink and set his beer back on the table. “But here’s the thing—she must be desperate to be there at all, so maybe how long she stays is out of her control. The fact that she’s there means that she’s in a rough place.”
“Good point.”
“You should see her. Not exactly farm material. She drives a freaking classic Z.”
“What year?”
“Looks like a ’72.”
“No.” There was an envious note in Jordan’s voice.
“Yep.” Cole let his chin drop. “She can’t stay there forever.” He realized that he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.
“You hope.”
“Thanks, Mary Sunshine.”
Jordan laughed, and despite his dark mood, Cole grudgingly smiled. It was good to see his cousin so relaxed and happy. Jordan hadn’t had an easy life. He’d been injured and disfigured during his time in the military, and while he was recovering, Miranda had done her best to steal his inheritance on a technicality. He’d been in a bad place for a long time, but now he had his mountain ranch, a wife he adored and a baby on the way. Cole’s problems were trivial in comparison. He had a woman on his ranch when he wanted to live alone.
In all honesty, how bad was that? Cole let out a sigh. “Sorry to unload. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I get what the deal is,” Jordan said simply. “You’ve been working with the kind of people I avoid at all costs for years, and now, after you escaped, you have one of those same people invading your space for an indefinite amount of time.”
“Pretty much.”
“You have a right to be pissed off, but I’ll tell you what I think is going to happen.”
“Yeah?”
Jordan leaned his forearm on the table. “You’re going to go about your business as if she isn’t there. She’ll do the same once she realizes that you aren’t going to put out her fires for her. The two of you will live parallel lives until she moves on.”
“If I have anything to say about it, we will.” But she was still going to be there and he was still going to be acutely aware of the fact.
“You know she’s still looking for jobs in urban areas,” Jordan pointed out.
“I’d say that’s a given.”
“And if she gets a job locally, she’ll probably rent one of those apartments on the lake.”
“Good point.” The lake near the center of the Eagle Valley had seen a lot of development, and there were several new apartment buildings and condo complexes. The little town was growing, and he couldn’t see Taylor hanging out on the farm for a moment longer than she had to.
“Something will come through and she’ll leave.” Jordan spoke as if Taylor’s departure was a done deal before reaching for the pitcher with his good hand. He topped off both of their glasses, then lifted his. “Here’s to all this going down sooner rather than later.”
Cole nodded and then drank deeply.
Let it be so.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua3731951-684f-504e-b71f-41a2654879d6)
TAYLOR LAY IN her narrow bed, wide awake, listening to wind blowing through the pine trees next to the bunkhouse and missing traffic noises. This was her reality—a run-down one-room building with an ancient plug-in electric heater to ward off the night’s chill. If that didn’t spur her on to find meaningful employment, nothing would. Meanwhile, Cole Bryan slept comfortably in a house fifty yards away, quite possibly in the bed she’d slept in as a kid, unless he’d taken over Karl’s room. Definitely in a bed that was a lot bigger than the one she was currently lying in. It ticked her off that he’d brought her the mattress from the cellar, but he had brought it and she decided that complaining would make it seem as if he’d won a round. He might have, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge it. She had a mattress, and that was the important thing.
You also have a roof over your head. And the hole under the sink is patched. No mice. Or bunnies.
It was amazing to think that these were things she was now grateful for. A roof. Patched flooring. So many things that she’d taken for granted as she was attempting to climb the corporate ranks.
Was she supposed to be learning some cosmic lesson from this?
What had she done to be put in a position where she had to learn a cosmic lesson? She’d donated to charity, volunteered, ran 5Ks for good causes. She’d never judged people...much. Okay, she’d judged a few of her colleagues, but that was from a purely professional standpoint.
Taylor rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to make it comfortable. She’d been surprised to find the mattress on her bed frame when she’d come home, but when she’d looked for Cole to thank him, he’d been elusive. Almost as if he were avoiding her. He hadn’t answered her knock on his door, and then, just when she was about to try again a half hour later, his truck had roared to life and he’d left the property.
Avoid away, farm guy. If she wanted him, she’d find him. Right now she couldn’t see any reason she would want him. She was here for only a short time, right? Somewhere out there was a job for her. It might not be as high-powered as the one she’d left, but she’d accept almost anything within reason to keep from blowing a hole in her résumé.
If you take a lower-paying job, then you’ll have to stay here until you catch up financially.
Taylor let out a breath at the very logical thought. How temporary was her temporary? Was she going to have to give up and paint, rather than move, to escape tan walls? And what about a bathtub? At the moment she’d consider giving up her Z for a long soak.
Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t go that far, but she wanted a tub, and amenities, and a fridge that wasn’t from the 1970s. Who knew fridges even lasted that long?
Flopping over on her back, Taylor stared up at the moonlit ceiling. There were stains there that she needed to take care of if she was going to stay in this place. She closed her eyes. Beneath the floorboards, she heard the occasional rustling and thumping. After a particularly loud bump, she pushed back the sheets and crept across the floor, cautiously opening the cupboard to check her repair by the light of her phone. Nothing jumped at her, and she sat back on her heels, admiring her work. Pretty darned good, if she did say so herself. The boards tightly screwed into the nonrotten floorboards and the steel wool would keep the critters at bay, so let them thump and rustle all they wanted.
Besides, it was possible that the gnarly cats that she’d yet to see were responsible for the odd noises under the floor. In a day or two, she probably wouldn’t even notice.
Or so she hoped.
Taylor got back into bed and pulled the blankets up under her chin.
So things had taken an unexpected turn. She could deal. Live her life as she had in Seattle. Reestablish the routines she’d let slide over the past months as she focused on her job hunt. Tomorrow she would take a short run to ease back into her neglected exercise program, make a tea latte on her ridiculously old stove, read the news. Then she’d attack the local—or relatively local—job market. Get something to tide her over while she shopped around for a real job in a company that competed with Stratford.
And then there was Cole. Great-looking guy, until he opened his mouth. Taylor had a feeling that he would, for the most part, continue to avoid her. And if he didn’t, she could deal.
* * *
IT WAS A go-to-town day—for groceries, to be exact—so when the sun peeked over the top of the mountains on the other side of the valley, Cole was at his kitchen table dressed in clean jeans and sipping coffee out of a mug, instead of sucking it out of the beat-up metal thermal cup he used when he farmed or worked on equipment. The lights were on in the bunkhouse, and every now and again he caught sight of a shadow moving purposefully past the curtained window. The window hadn’t been curtained the day before, so Taylor must have nailed something up.
Cool. This way they didn’t need to look at one another. In fact, after talking with Jordan the night before, he was starting to believe they could lead parallel lives and not run into each other that often. He’d overreacted because of the way she’d sailed in and expected him to move into the bunkhouse and fix the hole in the floor. Yeah—it was the expecting part that got to him. But now that they’d hashed things out...what could go wrong?
He started to get up from the table, then sat down again as the bunkhouse door opened and Taylor came out, dressed in shorts and a hoodie, which she zipped up over a cropped top as she headed toward the driveway. She pushed her hands down into her pockets and walked, chin down, to the county road, where she broke into an easy jog. A moment later she disappeared around a gentle bend in the road.
Well, that explained why she was in such good shape. Not that he’d wanted to notice, but it wasn’t all that easy to ignore toned legs and a nice ass.
Cole drained his cup and rinsed it in the sink before heading to the door and slapping on his hat. Thankful that Taylor had run in the opposite direction from town, he glanced that way before pulling out, surprised to see Taylor coming back. Had she spooked herself running along a country road in the early morning hours? But it wasn’t like she was a total urbanite. She’d spent summers on Karl’s place.
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