Wrangling the Rancher Page 13

  She scowled at him, stung that he thought she was kidding. “Grandpa taught me.” But they weren’t supposed to tell her mother, because Cecilia would have gone through the roof if she’d known her daughter was doing anything farm related. “I drove that tractor right over there.” She pointed at the blue-and-gray tractor parked next to the barn.

  “Let’s see how well he did.”

  The answer was that he’d trained her well enough that she didn’t embarrass herself. It took her a few seconds and some direction from Cole to remember exactly how to start the beast, but after that, muscle memory kicked in. Her clutch work was jerky, but it wasn’t long before she drove in a smooth circle, then up the driveway and back. Cole signaled for her to reverse the tractor to an area where a jumble of fence posts had been buried under other, smaller debris. Cole limped over to the pile and looped a heavy chain around a post.

  “Put it in gear and pull forward slowly. Emphasis on slowly.”

  “What if the chain gives?”

  “That’s where the slow part comes in.”

  Taylor put the tractor in gear and eased it forward. The pile shifted and then the wood post slid free.

  Taylor looked over her shoulder once the post clattered onto the gravel driveway and arched an eyebrow at Cole in a decent imitation of his own mocking expression.

  “Do you want to do a victory dance on the hood?” he asked drily.

  “I might,” she called over the noise of the engine. “Care to join me?”

  “The way my luck has been going, I’ll fall off and break a leg.”

  Now this was the way farmwork should be done. Driving the tractor while Cole did the chain work—oh, yeah. A much better day. By noon, the semirotted posts were lying in the yard and the smaller debris was ready to be picked up with the bucket.

  Cole set his hand on the fender of the tractor as Taylor scrambled out of the cab. “Your grandfather did a good job teaching you to run this beast.”

  The compliment probably shouldn’t have made her want to smile, but it did. When a guy who didn’t really like you all that much complimented you, it was heady stuff.

  And the fact that he looked like Cole...well, that didn’t hurt matters.

  “I think in another life I was an equipment operator,” Taylor said after she jumped to the ground. “I had so much fun learning to drive this thing. Had to keep it from my mom, though. She had big plans for me that didn’t involve the farm.”

  “And you followed through.”

  “No. She wanted me to be a lawyer. I didn’t like law. I liked numbers. My dad and my grandpa encouraged me...then only my grandpa.”

  He caught her meaning easily. “It’s rough losing a parent. I lost both of mine.”

  He didn’t say how or when, and Taylor didn’t pry. Instead, she said, “Sorry to hear that.” She and her mother butted heads, but she hated to think of life without her.

  “Yeah.” He looked back at the tractor. “How old were you when you learned to drive this beast?”

  “Probably thirteen?”

  “You spent a lot of time here?”

  “I was supposed to spend a couple of months every summer, but Mom hated me being here, so she always arranged a camp or something so that I wasn’t here for more than a few weeks.”

  “Karl didn’t care?”

  “Karl paid for the camps. He wanted me happy. My dad’s death...the divorce before that. I didn’t see it at the time, but I think he played along with Mom so that I wouldn’t be stressed. I loved the camps and never considered the possibility that they were some kind of a power play by my mom.”

  “She really hated the farm.”

  “She claimed it ate her soul,” Taylor said matter-of-factly.

  “That pretty much says it all.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “How did you feel about the farm?”

  “I loved it when I was young, despite my mom constantly harping about how awful the place was. Grandpa wasn’t much for livestock, but he kept a horse for me and he always had a lot of cats and dogs, so I had fun. If I wanted something badly enough, he bought it.” She gave a reminiscent smile. “He drew the line at the potbelly pig, but in general...”

  She looked up to see Cole smiling back at her. “Those pigs are cute when they’re small.”

  “I thought the mother pig had a certain je ne sais quoi. We saw the litter at a 4-H show. I wanted to join 4-H, but I wasn’t here long enough during the year.”

  “What project would you have taken?”

  “Horse or pig. Maybe both.” He laughed, and she said, “What? Not fitting in with your preconceived notions?”

  “Guilty.”

  “In your defense, that was when I was young—about ten, I think—and farms still seemed cool to me. I changed as I got older.” And her mother continued to warn her about the dangers of stagnating in a rural environment. She rested her chin on her hands as she stared out across Cole’s fields. “I visited the farm less often and started to rely more on phone calls and then emails. Grandpa never did pick up texting.”

  “Pity.”

  “Yeah. I know.” She let out a soft breath. “One of the hard lessons of life is that there are things you can’t go back and fix.”

  “What would you fix?”

  “More face time with Grandpa.”

  “Would you have had time?”

  She gave her head a slow shake. No way, what with the hours she’d put into high school, college and then her job. Could she have adjusted the amount of time? Not if she’d wanted to see the same results.

  Yet now you’re out of work...

  Bump in the road. That was all. Happened to most professionals.

  She glanced up to see Cole studying her and cleared her throat, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “It’s not possible to fix the past,” she said. “So I’m trying to do better with the here and now.”

  “How?”

  The question made all traces of self-consciousness evaporate. “Do you really want to know, or are you challenging me?”

  “Really want to know.”

  She had a ready answer, because she’d spent a lot of time thinking about how to set things right and not make mistakes in the future. “I’m calling my grandfather more often. I’ve made a vow to myself not to go to radio silence when things aren’t going right. I may not share the details, but I’ll stay in contact.”

  He nodded, then looked up at the horizon, his gaze coming back to her when she asked, “How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “Any regrets that you need to make right?” His expression shuttered at the question. “Ah...so your life isn’t fair game?” she asked softly.

  “I’m not big into talking about my life,” he said.

  “Yet you feel free to question mine.”

  “You didn’t have to answer.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “I was just making conversation.” He shifted his weight as he spoke, his body language telling her that wasn’t the full truth. He was curious about her. Because he wanted to know more about her as a person? Or because he was trying to figure out her weak spots?

  “Me, too.” Taylor gave him a pert and totally insincere smile, earning herself a frown in return. Cole did frown a lot...

  She leaned her back against the tractor. “Were you like this with your ranch guests?”

  “Like what?”

  “All frowning and disapproving?”

  “I’m not disapproving.”

  “Bullshit. You totally are.”

  Now his mouth flattened, and Taylor had to admit to being fascinated with his mouth. She couldn’t nail down why exactly. The shape was pretty damned perfect, but it was more about the way his
lips moved, the expressions he formed.

  And the potential for exploration...

  Taylor crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the warmth spreading there.

  “If I come off as disapproving, I apologize.”

  She allowed herself a wry half smile. “And if I come off as entitled, I apologize.”

  Cole shook his head. “Taylor—you tried to strong-arm me out of my house.”

  Taylor pressed a hand to her chest. “Moi?”

  “Yes. Vous.”

  Taylor couldn’t resist smiling a little. “Okay, so I’m a little pushy.”

  “A little?”

  The words didn’t sting. In fact, they made things better—or maybe it was the way his fascinating mouth curved as he said them. “I can’t help how I was raised, but I can do something about it now. Losing my job has opened my eyes to a few things.”

  “Like what?” At her lifted eyebrow, he quickly added, “If you care to share.”

  “The stuff I said about keeping better contact with Grandpa.” She pursed her lips, debating about how much she wanted to reveal. No matter what, it would be a hell of a lot more than he was willing to reveal. Cole was one closed-off guy. “I know now that no one is irreplaceable, so I’ll approach my work differently. I’ll have my résumé polished up and at the ready. And—” she eased her thumbs into her front pockets “—there will be more smelling of the roses.”

  “Didn’t do a lot of that before?”

  “Work was my roses. And it’ll still be important to me...but not everything.”

  “It was everything before?”

  “I’ll be honest with you. It was too much of my life before. Yes, I’ll probably bury myself again, but not with the same attitude.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t bury yourself at all.”

  “In my field, burying is part of the territory.”

  “Guess that’s why I like farming.”

  Taylor looked around her, trying to imagine this being her livelihood. Days spent outdoors, driving in circles around a field, sorting junk piles, taking care of animals. To be honest, a day on the tractor had shifted her perspective a bit. She’d had fun and felt a sense of accomplishment. But she hadn’t used her degrees, and after working her ass off for five years to get those degrees...well, not using them seemed like a sorry waste.

  She met Cole’s gaze, started to speak, then stopped. He had gorgeous eyes to go with his gorgeous mouth, and right now she wanted to drink in the way he was looking at her, cautiously, questioningly. There wasn’t much about the man that wasn’t easy on the eyes. What would he look like in Armani?

  Spectacular.

  But he didn’t belong in Armani. He looked ridiculously good in denim, so why go the multithousand-dollar route?

  “Taylor?”

  Telltale color warmed her cheeks as she realized she’d been staring, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I was imagining you in a business suit.”

  Dark eyebrows came together, perplexed. “Why?”

  “You know what I look like in your world. Maybe I wondered how you would look in mine.”

  “Extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah. That was my conclusion, too.”

  “But you don’t look all that uncomfortable in mine.”

  “Yeah?” She didn’t want to look too comfortable in his world, because she didn’t belong there. “I guess I’ll have to work on that.”

  She’d thought Cole would smile, but he didn’t. Instead he jerked his head toward the house. “We’ve talked through a good part of our lunch break.”

  “Beauty of farming,” Taylor replied. “You can set your own hours.” And actually...she could see the beauty of that.

  Score one point for farming.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I’M NOT A farm girl.”

  Max opened his green eyes, gave her the kitty equivalent of a scowl from where he lay on his back in the middle of the bed, and then he closed his eyes again and let out a tired kitty sigh.

  “Right.” Taylor sat down on the bed and started untying her poor beat-up running shoes. Even her cat agreed. Not a farm girl. Although the tractor was a lot of fun.

  She kicked off her shoes, then rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, which wasn’t stiff at all. The day in the tractor might not have taken a toll physically, but she was tired—tired in a way she’d never been after a day at the office.

  So, what was the difference?

  Maybe it was that she didn’t have the gnawing sense she hadn’t done enough that day?

  And her back wasn’t aching. Taylor’s back was her stress barometer. High stress equaled tight muscles, which meant she could sit for only so long, yet today she’d sat for the entire day without a twinge.

  Okay...score two points for farmwork, but she didn’t see the score getting much higher. The pay was low and the benefits were nonexistent...unless one counted watching a great-looking guy do his thing with chains and posts.

  But that wouldn’t pay a hospital claim.

  “One has to work in a realm of reality,” she said to Max, who didn’t bother to respond, or even open his eyes. He’d never been much of a conversationalist. “It’s not bad doing this stuff, but in reality, do I belong here? No. Does Cole want me here?”

  She didn’t bother to answer the obvious, but instead got to her feet and went to the old refrigerator to see what she could nuke for dinner.

  Her choices were macaroni and cheese or macaroni and cheese.

  She was going to have to go shopping soon. If she were in Seattle, she could have popped down the street for a slice of pizza. It would have filled her belly without breaking the bank. Then she could have gone home, put on some jazz, opened a bottle of wine...

  Yes, she was a city girl.

  With a tight back and a sore neck.

  But no dirt on her hands and in her hair.

  She pulled out the frozen container of cheese and pasta and peeled off the wrapper, then opened a bottle of wine. She didn’t know if red was the best choice for budget fare, but it was what she had and, better yet, what she liked.

  It also made her sleepy. She managed a quick shower, then lay down on her bed, intending to read. Instead she conked out.

  She wasn’t certain what brought her awake, but it was something other than the usual thumping and bumping from below. She sat up, causing the book she’d been reading to slip onto the floor, startling her.

  Taylor closed her eyes as she waited for her heart to stop racing, then reached down to lay a hand on Max, who’d barely stirred. Whatever had awoken her hadn’t disturbed him, meaning no marauding mice or rats had broken through her patch job—which also meant it was safe to put her feet down.

  She crossed to the window and pushed aside the droopy curtain. The driveway, the yard, Cole’s house—everything appeared as it should be. A bluish light came through Cole’s closed curtains. He was still up, watching television? Of course he was. The glowing clock next to her bed read ten thirty.

  She heard the sound again—a distant, hollow thudding, which Cole probably couldn’t hear over the television. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a normal farm sound, or wind in the pines.

  Taylor dropped the curtain and made her way to the door, where she slid her feet into her running shoes and pulled her hooded sweatshirt off the hook. She slipped outside and quietly closed the door, then stopped and listened. The noises were coming from the calf pen—the thuds of running feet on soft dirt. She was about to head across the driveway to alert Cole to the situation when she heard the growl. Not a threatening wolf growl, but a higher-pitched yappy dog growl.

  What the...?

  The next growl was followed by a yip. Or rather a yap.

  Taylor shifted course and headed directly to the
calf pen. Unless coyotes now sounded like poodles, she felt confident she could handle whatever it was that was stampeding her calves.

  “Whatever it was” turned out to be a streak of white darting in and out of the calves’ legs, then shooting back under the fence before darting back in again.

  “Hey!”

  The small dog froze middash, then pivoted and zipped past Taylor, making a beeline for the grain shed, where it disappeared under the building through a small hole near the door.

  “Great,” Taylor muttered. She had a feeling that as soon as she went back to bed, the dog would start harassing the calves again. She bent down at the hole, wishing she had a flashlight.

  “Hey, puppy. Come on. Come on...”

  There was no sign of movement under the shed.

  Taylor let out a breath and tried again. “Come on, sweetie. Come on out.”

  Behind her she heard Cole’s door open and shut again. Excellent. Reinforcements. She sat back on her heels as Cole approached, the light in his hand bobbing with his limp.

  “I kind of hate to ask...” he said as he approached.

  “A dog was bothering the calves.”

  “White fluffy dog?”

  “That’s the one.”

  He let out a breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “Mrs. Clovendale’s sister is visiting again. Did you see a black-and-white collie?”

  “No.”

  “She’s the brains of the outfit. Probably on her way home right now. They’ve been here a couple of times before, but I didn’t have animals then. She always takes off when she sees me and the poodle hides.” Cole awkwardly bent down, accommodating his bad knee. He leaned toward the opening. “Come on, Chucky.”

  A whimper sounded from the depths of the foundation.

  “Chuck, Chuck, Chucky.”

  Taylor pressed her lips together as she felt a laugh start to bubble up. “Chuck, Chuck, Chucky?”

  “It works,” Cole muttered, shifting his knee to a new position that looked just as uncomfortable as the old.

  Taylor said nothing and, sure enough, on the fourth Chuck-Chuck-Chucky, the little dog crawled out from under the building on his belly and looked up at Cole with soulful brown eyes. Cole scooped the dog up with his good hand, tried to push up to his feet with the other and almost fell over in the process. Taylor took hold of his arm to steady him as he regained his balance, swallowing drily as his hard muscles flexed beneath her palm. As soon as he was on his feet she let go.