Wrangling the Rancher Page 10

  It didn’t exist. He’d seen the half-buried wire days ago and had fully planned to dig it up, but since it was smooth and not barbed, he’d put it off.

  His fault.

  Taylor once again started jogging back toward him, then she dodged sideways, stifling a small scream as the heifer trotted around the house toward her. She stopped running, pressing her hand to her chest as calves trotted after the heifer.

  “I see you got your calves.”

  Cole let out a breath, gently cradling his injured wrist. “I got them. They got me.”

  “What happened?”

  “Long story.” She folded her arms over her chest. Cole looked past her for a moment, then met her gaze. “I tripped opening the gate.”

  She sucked in her cheeks as she considered his very simple and very truthful explanation. “I guess there’s a certain danger factor involved in living alone on a farm.”

  “That’s why I carry a phone.”

  “Didn’t do you much good tonight, did it?”

  Because it was on the seat of the truck instead of in his pocket.

  “What if I hadn’t been here to close the gates?” she asked, jerking her chin toward the cattle now taking a turn around the barn.

  “I would have managed.”

  “You hope.” She dropped her hands. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know.” It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with her.

  “Emergency room?”

  He made a sputtering noise. “I don’t think so. I sprained my knee. It’s not the first time.”

  “You might need stitches.”

  “I’ll decide when I clean up the cut.”

  “With your broken wrist.” She glanced meaningfully at his injured hand.

  “It’s also a sprain.” He knew full well that it was probably broken—he’d heard the snap—but until that was proven, he was going with best-case scenario. “I can clean one-handed.”

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “Being hurt?”

  “Needing help from others...especially when you’ve been so adamant about not helping others.”

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. This was not a conversation they needed to have now. Or ever. “I owe you,” he said.

  “Yeah. You do. What are you going to do about your animals?”

  At the moment he was going to be thankful that Jancey had given the calves a goodbye feeding so he didn’t have to deal with bottles until the morning.

  “I’ll see about luring the heifer into the pen with some feed. The calves will follow. Even if I can’t get the heifer immediately, the calves are bottle babies. They’ll be easier to put back in the corral.”

  “Bottle babies?” Another pointed look at his wrist and then she gave a small shrug and turned around, heading back to the bunkhouse, thus driving home the point that his life would be a lot easier if they worked together. It would also be a lot less solitary.

  But tonight, for the first time, it didn’t seem like a total imposition to have Taylor there. She’d been a lifesaver, as hard as that was to acknowledge. He lifted his chin toward the sky and saw the first stars starting to shine through the twilight. Like she said, this situation sucked.

  * * *

  TAYLOR DEBATED WITH herself all the way back to the bunkhouse. Help with the cattle, or let Cole wallow in the mess he’d made? When she glanced over her shoulder, he was still standing where she’d left him, making her wonder if he could move. He caught her staring at him and started limping toward his house in a determined way.

  He’d blown a knee and was going to need help, and she’d bet dollars to doughnuts that he wouldn’t ask until he was on the brink of desperation. No—he wouldn’t ask until he was truly desperate, as he’d been when he’d needed her to close the gates.

  But what if she offered to help—in exchange for something she needed and he didn’t want to give her?

  Taylor abruptly turned and walked back toward him, easily catching up with him. He was in full guy mode when she stopped a few feet in front of him, bringing him to a standstill. He actually looked relieved to not be moving, though he practically snarled as he asked, “What?”

  “You need to try to sound more defensive. You’re not quite at maximum level yet.” His jaw muscles tightened, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I’m going to help you into the house.” She slid in under his shoulder on the side, wrapping her arm around his back. “For purely selfish reasons, of course. This way I don’t have to keep checking to see if you made it home.” She glanced up at him, reminding herself of the times she’d done this when her track teammates had been hurt. Nothing personal.

  But none of her track teammates’ bodies had felt like this. They’d been whipcord thin and wiry. For all his lean appearance, Cole was solid muscle. And he smelled good. He let out a breath as she eased her shoulder up under his, making her wonder if he was feeling the exact same thing as she was. Because she might drive him crazy, but she’d seen the way he’d reacted the few times they were close.

  And now they were way too close.

  “I can make it,” he said on a growl. “Like I said, this isn’t the first time.”

  “Ready?” she asked as if he hadn’t spoken, cursing the husky note in her voice. She couldn’t help it. The guy pissed her off, but at a primal level, he also turned her on.

  Stop being turned on...

  As if hormones listened to logic.

  “Taylor...”

  “Here we go.” Taylor gritted her teeth and focused on getting Cole to the house rather than jumping him, curling her fingers into his hard side as he leaned on her. He was heavy, and she could only imagine how long it would have taken him to get to the front door under his own steam. He did his best to keep his weight off her as they slowly climbed the three porch steps, but he wasn’t all that successful. Both were breathing heavily by the time they limped into the kitchen. Cole immediately sat himself in a chair, and Taylor pushed the hair back from her damp forehead.

  “You’re a mess,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Cole closed his eyes. To shut her out or to deal with the pain? No telling. Taylor moved past him to the paper towel holder, which she happened to have made herself in day camp during one of her short summer visits. Her mother never wanted her to spend much time on the farm, having concluded that her daughter would hate it as much as she did. So she arranged camps for summer. She also arranged for Karl to pay for them.

  Taylor dampened the towels and handed them to Cole, who pushed the folded wad up against his bleeding forehead. He pulled it away, grimaced, then pressed it back into place. Taylor waited until he pulled it away again before saying, “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

  “Small blessings,” he muttered.

  “Blessings all the same.”

  He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “If you don’t need help with anything else—”

  “I’m good.”

  “Great.” She went over to her grandfather’s small kitchen desk and wrote her cell number on the pad there. “Give me a call if you get yourself into trouble.” He scowled at her, but she left it at that. Having once had a broken arm herself, she had no idea how he was going to get out of his clothing, or back into it in the morning, but it wasn’t her problem.

  She cast one last look around the cheery kitchen, recalled the excellent times she’d had there with Karl as a kid—the times when she wasn’t carted off to this camp or that—then with a small twist of her mouth let herself out the back door.

  A cheery kitchen and a big bathtub. Cole had everything she wanted.

  He also had a sprained or broken arm, a blown knee and wild bovines on the loose. And he was probably stuck in his clothing.

  Taylor let out
a small snort. He might end up needing her more than he expected, and she was not above taking advantage of the fact...while firmly ignoring the little voice that said maybe she also kind of liked being around him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  COLE WOKE UP with a raging headache—possibly from sleeping upright in Karl’s recliner, but more likely because he smacked his head when the heifer flattened him yesterday. He set the now-warm gel packs on the floor beside the chair and dropped the recliner footrest as gently as he could, but the action of the chair swinging forward sent teeth-clenching pain shooting through his swollen knee, as well as his wrist—which was now double its normal size.

  He struggled out of the chair, inhaling deeply as he gritted his teeth to stifle a groan.

  How in the hell was he going to feed those calves when he could barely move?

  He hobbled to the bathroom, telling himself that rodeo riders went through pain like this all the time. And after downing a dose of anti-inflammatory meds along with his coffee, he started to feel better. Until he moved again.

  Son of a bitch.

  He was still in yesterday’s clothes, and he clapped his hat on his head, glad that the head wound was superficial. He limped out the door to move the truck and trailer so that he could get the heifer and calves into the pen. At the end of the walk, he changed directions and crossed the driveway to the bunkhouse. He needed help, and he may as well ask and get it over with.

  Cursing under his breath, he knocked on the door, and a second later Taylor answered, wearing her running shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. Her forehead was damp and her shoes muddy.

  “I need help,” he said simply.

  Her expression didn’t change. “I need to stay here for six months at minimal rent.”

  He stared at her. Where was the woman who’d helped him into his house last night? Or rather bullied him into his house last night. “You’d hit me when I’m down?”

  “I prefer calling it striking while the iron is hot.” She grimaced as she took in his appearance.

  He knew he looked like hell. Unshaven, rumpled clothing. It reflected how he felt and how close he was to his last nerve. He could call his sister for help. He could call Jordan. But both would have a lengthy drive ahead of them to get to the farm, and it was possible that he’d need help for several days. His knee would be less painful within the week. The wrist...

  “Six months.” Why not? If he didn’t agree, he had a feeling she’d come up with another work-around.

  “From my date of employment.”

  He gave her a purposely dubious frown. “You’re sure you’ll be employed?”

  “I had a second interview yesterday. It went well.”

  She spoke with quiet confidence, which made him believe that she wasn’t trying to convince herself. It really had gone well.

  Maybe he needed to look at this like a prison term. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over. “Six months from today.” Her expression clouded, but before she could speak, he said, “I thought you were getting this job.”

  “I am.”

  “Then it’s not a problem.”

  She shifted her weight. “Six months from the date I fill out my W-2.”

  “For that I need a lot of help.” She wasn’t the only one who could strike while the iron was hot. And he had to admit to enjoying the way her forehead scrunched up as she debated his meaning.

  “What are you proposing?”

  “When you’re not job hunting, you’re working around the place. And after you land a job, you give me some time before and/or after work.”

  She eyed him warily. “I...”

  “Think of it as helping out your grandfather. His place will be much nicer when he moves back.”

  “Dirty pool.”

  “Kind of like extorting me when I’m in a tough spot?”

  “Very much,” she deadpanned.

  One corner of his mouth tilted up. Okay. He liked honesty. “Can you drive a stick?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. The Z. Yes, she could drive a stick.

  “I need the truck and trailer moved.” At the moment, he didn’t know how his knee would behave with the clutch and didn’t feel like screwing around.

  “Let me change.”

  Cole took a limping step backward and tested the pain level of his wrist while she changed. On a scale of one to ten, he was a solid eight. He could handle it, if nothing touched or jarred his arm. The chances of farming without using his wrist were nil, so he would go to urgent care and have someone look at it as soon as he got the cattle corralled and the calves fed.

  “Where do you want the trailer?”

  “The usual spot by the barn.”

  “I said I could drive a stick. I didn’t say I could back up a trailer.”

  “Over by the tree, then.”

  Anywhere but where it was, blocking the gate to the corral. Taylor was already several yards ahead of him when he called, “The gate is tied to the trailer.” So please don’t rip it off its hinges.

  “Good to know,” she called back without looking at him.

  He caught up with her just as she’d unhooked the rope securing the gate to the trailer and swung it back against the corral. “That tree there?” She pointed at the elm next to the machine shed.

  “Yeah. Watch out for calves.” They were hungry and already cautiously approaching to see if anyone had the bottles. The heifer was grazing in the backyard, and he could see that she’d had a fine old time walking all over Karl’s rosebushes. He might have to replace them if they didn’t snap back. No...his new farmhand could replace them.

  He smiled grimly.

  Taylor got into the truck and turned the key. The diesel engine gave a few coughing chugs, and Cole limped closer, waving for her to roll down the window. “It’s an older diesel. You can’t start it until the warning lights go off. And don’t put it in gear until the needles on the gauges come to life.”

  She scowled at him. “Is there also a secret handshake?”

  “No. Do those things and you’re fine.”

  She nodded and left the window down. The next time she turned the key, the engine started. A few seconds later, she said, “The needle moved.”

  “You’re good to go.” He stood back as she put the truck into grandma gear and it bucked as she let out the clutch. Low-geared pickups were nothing like a nice little sports car. She didn’t look his way as she moved the truck forward and stopped it under the elm. Once it was parked, she crossed the driveway, her hands pushing deep into her front pockets.

  “Bad clutch,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Different gears.”

  “What now? The doctor?” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Feed the calves.”

  “Where’s the feed?”

  “In the house. Milk replacer. I have to mix it up.”

  “And you feed it in a pan?”

  “A bottle. You’ll love it.”

  She gave him a cautious look. “I’m sure I will.”

  “You’ll need a towel. They slobber and drip.”

  Taylor wrinkled her nose but didn’t say a word. He jerked his head toward the house. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  * * *

  TAYLOR MADE A supreme effort to keep her eyes from straying over to where Cole walked—or rather limped—beside her. Guys shouldn’t look sexier after sleeping in their clothes. It wasn’t right.

  They shouldn’t threaten people with calf slobber either.

  Or work detail, in retaliation for a perfectly reasonable request. The only thing hurt by her staying on for six months was his sense of isolation and privacy.

  If he wanted to play things this way, fine. She could handle it if he could. No—she could handle it ev
en if he couldn’t.

  She gave in to weakness and shot a quick glance his way. His mouth was tight, his lips close to white. The guy was hurting.

  He was also lucky to have someone there. Lucky last night. Lucky this morning. He probably could have called a friend or relative to help, but if that had been an easy option, she wouldn’t now be looking at a six-month reprieve.

  “You know,” she said as they approached the house, “I’m not staying here to torture you.” He frowned at her, which barely changed his tight, pained expression. “All right, you got me. Now that I know you better, I am.”

  “Ha, ha,” he muttered.

  “That wasn’t a joke,” she said straight-faced. He shot her another sideways look, but she ignored it. “It’s a matter of getting back on my feet as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” he said in a way that told her he got it but didn’t like it.

  “I never thought something like this would happen to me.” She wasn’t certain why she continued to hammer on the matter. Maybe to distract him from his obvious pain. Or maybe because, now that they’d struck their deal, she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t wild about the situation either but was doing what she could to survive.

  “Why not, Taylor? What would make you immune?”

  “Hard work and planning. I worked my ass off for Stratford. More sixty-to-eighty-hour weeks than I care to think about. I got awards. Raises. Bonuses.”

  “Maybe you became too high priced to keep on.”

  A possibility she’d considered more than once. “They got their money’s worth.”

  He slowly climbed the steps, holding his arm against his chest, and Taylor eased past him to open the door.

  “I’m not helpless,” he muttered.

  “And not good at receiving the help you ask for either.”

  “Hey—at least I asked.”

  “Only because you had no other option.”

  “Which you had no qualms about taking advantage of.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I gotta be me.”