Wrangling The Rancher. Jeannie Watt

      “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

      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.