Wrangling the Rancher Page 7

Cole casually eased back a little and, even though Taylor told herself to hold her ground, she did the same, folding her arms over her middle.

  “How’s the job hunt coming?” A small twist of the knife, but one she welcomed because it eased her toward safer ground, away from thoughts of touching him to see what would happen.

  “I’ve applied here and there. I’m hopeful of landing something soon.” Even though she was overqualified for the positions she’d applied for, and that was almost as deadly as being underqualified. Maybe more, since businesses didn’t want to hire people who were probably still looking for a job more closely suited to their abilities.

  “How soon is soon?”

  Taylor shrugged and then leaned over to grab her keys off the bookcase, feeling the strong need to both end this conversation and put some distance between them. He needed to go back to his fields, and she needed to get back to her battle plans. “You want me to park on the north side of the building?”

  “Yeah. I’d appreciate that.”

  She jingled the keys before palming them and moving past him. She heard him start after her, but instead of veering away, he followed her to the SUV. She opened the door, creating a nice barrier between them, before glancing up at him with a question in her eyes. “Yes?”

  “I need a time line. If you get a job, how long do you think you’ll be here?”

  He settled a hand on the door frame, and while Taylor’s gaze drifted down to his very strong, very tan fingers, she didn’t allow herself to move. “Can’t wait to get rid of me?”

  “I want to store grain in the bunkhouse. I’m getting some calves.”

  Not the answer she expected, but an easy one to reply to. “Then how about I’ll move into the house and you can stay in the bunkhouse with your grain?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t have a time line, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Taylor smiled—kind of—then slipped into the driver’s seat as Cole turned and started walking toward the machine shop, leaving her to wonder which of them had won that round.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TAYLOR TWISTED AROUND, doing her best to see her reflection in the small bathroom mirror, but short of jumping up and down, there was no way to see if her hem was hanging properly in the back. She’d have to assume it was.

  Something thumped on the floorboards beneath her feet, but she no longer startled at the sound. Instead she leaned in over the sink, did a last-minute makeup check, then smoothed her hands over the light gray tailored dress. Simple, but not plain. Applying for a midlevel job in a smaller community was new to her, so she’d done her research. The last thing she wanted was to come off as overdressed for the position—not when she was overqualified for the job. Kiss of death.

  After the interview request, she’d made calls to people she’d meant to contact before but hadn’t because she was embarrassed about not instantly landing a job. Funny how being out of work for several months took some of the edge off her professional pride. She hadn’t rebounded immediately, but she wasn’t the only one. A few of her peers had landed primo jobs, but she was among those who hadn’t. She wasn’t alone—but it kind of stung that she’d twice thought she’d be the exception, as she’d invariably been during her educational career, and she wasn’t. Sailing through life during high school and college hadn’t prepared her for this, and she was starting to see that encountering the occasional obstacle might have done her some good.

  She grabbed her leather carryall and headed out the door to the SUV. Again, probably a good thing she wasn’t driving the Z. And maybe it was a good thing that Max wasn’t yet with her, because she’d been unable to find her lint roller. The trailer thieves were probably having a fine time with it, or it was in the trash somewhere, along with her much-missed bras.

  As she drove to Missoula, Taylor practiced answers to the usual interview questions, focusing on sounding efficient but not coming off as a know-it-all. Again—overqualification. That was a tough one to get past. Would it be wrong to pretend that she was willing to live on less because she loved living in Montana so much?

  She was starting to feel desperate enough to lie.

  Taylor parked in the lot behind the brick building that housed the bank and the financial services offices on the floors above and sat for a few minutes, getting into battle mode. She was competent, a good team player with strong leadership qualities. She was hardworking, willing to go the extra mile, put in the extra time. She was someone they’d be foolish not to snap up.

  Drawing in a breath, she opened the SUV door, got out and caught her heel in a crack in the sidewalk, twisting her ankle hard. She stopped before she fell and yanked her heel free.

  Not an omen. She’d recovered her balance without breaking an ankle, and that was an analogy for what was going to happen next. She was going to recover.

  As it turned out, catching her heel hadn’t been a harbinger of things to come. The interview went well. Really well. Almost-too-good-to-believe well after months of nothing.

  The committee of four were positive throughout the interview and seemed pleased to have someone of her qualifications interested in joining their team. There was no mention of being overqualified, and as the interview wound down, the committee members were nodding and smiling as she spoke. They liked her. She liked them. But more than that, she could do something for their company. They would benefit from her expertise, and eventually she could apply for transfer to the corporate office in Seattle. She had nodded matter-of-factly when they’d mentioned that possibility while answering her questions about advancement within the company, but inwardly she was doing a happy dance. That was why they hadn’t been put off by her résumé—they were looking to grow people. Perfect.

  The salary was exactly half what she made in her former job, but the cost of living in Montana was lower. The cost of maintaining her professional wardrobe would be lower. She wouldn’t be paying an exorbitant sum to her landlord to park the Z under cover to keep the sea air from corroding it. There were a lot of positives.

  Just getting a job would be a positive.

  You are getting this job.

  It had taken a while to get the first interview, but she was moving forward in a positive way. It would be days before she heard anything, but she felt good. Hopeful. Positive.

  Finally.

  Taylor stopped at the coffee shop near the building supply center where she’d bought her new macho drill and again treated herself to a chai latte. She settled at a table in the corner and texted Carolyn, telling her that she’d interviewed and felt good about it, but that was as far as she could go before her jinx factor kicked in.

  Regardless of what happens, I’ll be getting Max soon.

  She missed her cat.

  The reply came back quicker than she’d expected, since Carolyn’s phone was always lost somewhere in her humungous purse.

  Can we meet in Spokane this weekend?

  Taylor frowned before writing: Sure.

  Her phone rang a split second later. Carolyn must have been on break. “Is Max being bad?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, no,” Carolyn said with a laugh. “Nothing like that—well, no more than usual anyway. It’s just that I have an opportunity to take the Alaska cruise with my new guy and I’d hate to put Max in kitty day care.”

  “He’d hate that, too. So yes, I can drive to Spokane on, what? Saturday?”

  “That would be great. And you said the interview went well?”

  “I think so. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  They figured out a time and place for the cat-and-gossip swap, and then Taylor drained her latte. She had to buy cat food and kitty litter and maybe a nice bottle of wine to be opened upon the occasion o
f her employment.

  Her jinx voice whispered again as she debated about the celebratory wine, and she told it to be quiet. If she didn’t get the job, then she could drown her sorrows before continuing the search.

  * * *

  TAYLOR HAD JUST been to an interview. Either that or she’d dressed to the nines to go grocery shopping. Cole stopped sweeping out the barn storage room where he planned to store his grain and watched as Taylor slid the rest of the way out of the SUV and then reached in to grab a leather carryall, showing about a mile of leg in the process. No grocery bags. Interview for sure.

  He swept a couple of decades’ worth of dirt into a broad flat shovel and then dumped it into the small barrel he’d brought into the room to collect debris. A cloud of dust went up, and he grimaced as he bent to load another shovelful of barn dirt. The bunkhouse would be better, since it was already clean, and it had been used to store grain in the past. But Cole wasn’t going to push things. Every time he came in contact with Taylor, some sort of small explosion seemed to occur. It was as if they somehow sparked one another—and not in a good way.

  In fact, he resented the number of times she’d shoved her way into his head while he was trying to work. This was not the solitary farmwork he’d envisioned. He shouldn’t be wondering how the person who lived across the drive was going to aggravate him next.

  On top of that, he’d broken his promise to himself and searched her name on the internet, finding pretty much what he’d expected via online news articles and professional profiles. Valedictorian of her graduating class. Magna cum laude in college. MBA from an impressive university. She’d been part of a state champion cross-country team, held a state record for the 800 in track for a couple of years. Life had gone well for Ms. Evans.

  It showed.

  He wasn’t saying she hadn’t worked for what she got, but he had a feeling that being at the top of the heap kind of skewed her view. And kept her from calling her grandfather as often as she should have. It also had her making assumptions about who would do what for her and the legality of breaking into people’s cellars.

  A few minutes after Taylor had gone into the bunkhouse, she came back out dressed in running gear. She didn’t so much as look his way as she started down the driveway at a brisk walk that turned into a jog. Her movements were fluid and unconsciously graceful, as if running were second nature to her, which he assumed it was, given her background.

  Could he still run a mile?

  Probably.

  Did he want to? No. Not one bit.

  * * *

  TAYLOR HAD PURPOSELY left her phone behind when she went on her run. It was too soon to hear anything from the interview—they’d said she would hear on Friday at the soonest—and she wanted to focus on the moment, something that did not come easily to her. When she got back and saw two missed calls, she kicked herself for indulging in phone freedom. The first was a robocall, but the second came from Stratford. No hope that they were offering her a job, since they’d gone through another wave of layoffs, but...

  She called them back.

  “Paul Medford.”

  “Hi, Paul.” Taylor’s shortness of breath had more to do with nerves than just finishing a punishing run. Paul had been her first supervisor at Stratford before moving to a different department. “Just returning your call.”

  “Hey, Taylor.” He sounded so much more relaxed than he had during the week preceding her layoff. “I was contacted by US West Bank less than an hour ago.”

  “And...?”

  “I gave you a glowing recommendation. Told them it would be difficult for them to do better.” She could hear him switch the phone to his opposite hand as he did when he relaxed during a call. “I assume you want the job.”

  Even though it was many rungs down the ladder from where she’d been previously.

  “Their main office is in Seattle.”

  “I know.” There was a smile in his voice. “Do you have yourself back on the apartment lists?”

  “Just the one. Until I get back in, I’ll make do.”

  “Just so you know... I’ll only be with Stratford for another week. I’m making a move to Whitcote Management.”

  “Congratulations.” She meant it with all of her heart, even though her application to the same company hadn’t even garnered a response.

  She heard a faint buzz and then he said, “I have another call, so let’s talk later. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “I appreciate it, Paul. Thanks.” She put down the phone and spun on her heel, hugging herself. The first good thing to happen in a long time had just happened.

  Take that, Jinx Voice.

  * * *

  COLE HAD OPENED an account at Culver Ranch and Feed shortly after moving onto the farm, and since that time he’d been a weekly visitor. At first, since Karl was such good friends with the owner, Mike Culver, Cole felt as if he had to do all his farm business there. And after a few weeks, he found that he wanted to. And a week ago he’d been invited to take Karl’s place at poker night.

  Cole was a decent poker player, but the way Cal Sawyer, one of Karl’s oldest friends, and Mike had exchanged looks when he’d agreed to play made him think that he was a bird about to be plucked. At least it would get him out of the house and off the farm for a while. He followed the directions to Mike’s house and Mike’s wife, Elaine, greeted him at the door, obviously going out as he was coming in.

  “I just get in the way,” she said with an amused smile.

  “Meaning that she’s heard our stories so many times, she prefers to take refuge elsewhere,” Cal said.

  “So it’s just the three of us?”

  “Dylan’s supposed to stop by, but he got held up,” Mike said, referring to his nephew. “He’ll be here within the hour.”

  Cole hoped he still had some money within an hour. Cal shuffled the cards as if he was about to do an elaborate magic trick. Cole half expected him to fan them across the table and then flip them over in one smooth move.

  “Beer?” Mike asked.

  “You bet.” Cole took his seat, glad that he’d brought only twenty dollars to lose.

  “I saw that you bought grain yesterday,” Mike said as he handed Cole a longneck. “Are you getting livestock?”

  “Bringing some calves in from the ranch. Two leppies and one rejected twin that Jancey hasn’t been able to graft onto another cow.”

  Cal gave a shudder. “Better you than me.” He began firing the cards around the table with deadly accuracy.

  “My sister has a soft spot for orphans.” And usually that wasn’t a problem, but without Cole there to intercede, Miranda was keeping Jancey busy to the point that she was having trouble keeping up with the feedings.

  “Karl’s not really set up for livestock, is he?” Mike asked, picking up the cards as they landed in front of him.

  “His fences are all falling apart and his corrals are little more than a memory, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much. When I moved to town and had to find homes for my livestock, he wasn’t a lot of help.”

  Cal smiled at Cole. “It’s because of Marlene, you know.”

  “Marlene?” A woman had soured Karl on cattle?

  Mike nodded. “His ma’s milk cow. I guess she kicked him whenever she got a chance, slapped him in the face with her tail if he didn’t have it properly pinned to the side. She hated him—”

  “And he hated her,” Cal added. “But his mother kept him milking until he left home. Even the nicer cow after Marlene hated him. Maybe it’s a chemical thing. Maybe he has a scent...or something...that cows instinctively dislike.”

  Mike looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes at the theory. “Whatever the reason, he doesn’t keep livestock. He drew the line at goats, too.”

  Cole glan
ced at his cards and managed not to frown. “But he cowboyed on our ranch when he was a young guy.”

  “He was in charge of the remuda. The horses. He likes horses but never had a mind to own one.”

  “Except for Taylor’s horse,” Mike murmured as he stared at his hand. Carefully he set one card on the table in front of him. Cole looked at his single pair of sevens and debated.

  “That’s right,” Cal said, slapping four cards down. “Paid through the nose for a horse she rode for two months a year.”

  “Sounds like he indulged her,” Cole said. She certainly showed signs of being well indulged. He laid down all but the pair, then picked up the hodgepodge of useless cards Cal dealt him. Okay. Pair of sevens it is.

  “Let’s just say that if Taylor wanted it, and Karl and Becky could afford it, Taylor got it,” Mike murmured, his focus on his cards.

  “But look at her now—living in the bunkhouse until she gets back on her feet,” Cal said brightly as he tossed five chips onto the table. “She’s scrappy, that one.”

  Scrappy wasn’t a word Cole would use to describe Taylor, but he kept his opinion to himself. He pushed forward a stack of chips. “Raise.” He figured with these guys, he’d literally better go big or go home. So he had a pair of wimpy sevens. Bluffing was part of the game.

  Mike tossed some chips onto the table, and then Cal leaned toward Cole, who instantly wondered if the old cardsharp was trying to see his hand. “What will you do if Karl comes back to the ranch? Raise.” He matched the raise and added another five chips. Mike laid down his cards.

  “Keep him away from the cows, I guess.” Cole studied his cards. This didn’t feel right.

  Cal shook his head. “I mean with Taylor in the bunkhouse and all?”

  Cole shrugged carelessly and matched Cal’s bet. “I think she’ll get a job and move before too long. I call.”

  There was a knock on the front door, and before anyone could move, Mike’s nephew, Dylan Culver, came in. “Started without me, I see.” He took off his coat and then grinned at Cole. “Got any money left?”