“Sorry,” she said with a small sniff. “We, the entitled, usually focus only on ourselves. Any perceived slight was unintended.”
She was baiting him.
It was working.
Drive away.
He didn’t.
“But you’re trying to do something about that, right? The me-first attitude?” Snide felt good.
“Maybe I am,” she agreed, her mild tone belying the smoldering look in her eyes. “I’m certain you’ll give me updates on how I’m doing.”
“Oh, I will—unless, of course, you manage to get a job and move on.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Hasn’t worked so far, has it? What’s it been? Three, four months since you got fired?”
She started to speak, then closed her mouth. Tight. Really tight. White-lipped tight. A second later she opened it again. “Those cattle are a hazard. Is this Pollson guy in the phone book, or do I need to drive to his place?”
“I’ll go,” Cole said. Enough was enough. He wasn’t generally one for cheap shots, but hey, everyone had their weak moments. He gave her a curt nod and put his truck in gear, easing back onto the road. In his rearview mirror, he saw Taylor standing right where he left her, staring after him and looking very much as if she wanted to flip him off.
So much for peacefully living parallel lives.
* * *
“HOW’S THE JOB search going?” Her grandfather asked the question cautiously, as if afraid of treading on dangerous ground. He was, but after the confrontation with Cole yesterday, Taylor was once again in full job-search mode. That guy was going to eat crow, even though she’d concluded that he’d made his snide comments to fire her up and get her off the farm. Since the result was the same—gainful employment—she decided to let him win this round. Let him think he lit a fire under her—what did it hurt?
Her pride. A little. But she’d taken so many knocks lately that her pride was starting to grow calluses.
“There’s not a lot out there, but I’ve submitted two applications. I should hear soon. Both jobs close in three days.”
The positions were several rungs down the ladder from where she’d been but still respectable, and she would be able to explain to future employers that she’d taken the job when the market had tightened. No shame there.
“Local?”
“Missoula.”
“I wouldn’t mind having you closer on a more permanent basis, you know.”
She knew. Missoula was about seven hours closer to him than she’d been before. And she also knew that her mom was probably going to send her a calendar to mark the days until she could leave Montana.
“How’s Aunt Elise?”
Her grandfather sighed. “Better. Looks like I might be here for the better part of the year, though. Until I convince her to move to the Eagle Valley anyway. So far she’s not real receptive to the idea.”
“Do you hate living there?” She was used to living in a small space, but she wondered how her grandfather was dealing with the confines of the tiny duplex.
After a silence, he said, “Not really. There are things to do. I have new poker buddies, a couple of guys I knew a long time ago.”
“I’ll drive down to see you one of these weekends.”
“You’d better be mindful of the gas.”
“You’re worth a tank of gas.”
“Wait until after you get the job. You can call until then.”
“Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
They said their goodbyes and Taylor hung up, then settled back in her overstuffed chair—the one she’d taken from Karl’s basement, with his permission, while Cole was out doing something in the fields the day before. She’d climbed down the stone steps at the back of the house and unlocked the cellar door with the key from under the flowerpot. It’d been no easy task manhandling the chair up the steps by herself, but she wasn’t in the mood to do battle with Cole—especially when she’d lost the last battle. And she knew better than to think they could do something as easy as moving a chair without snapping at one another. She preferred to do it herself, even if the chair almost did her in when she’d lost her grip and it pushed her back down the steps. She’d been pinned against the cellar door, the wind knocked out of her. Thankfully she was able to push the chair off her, get a better grip and wrestle it back up the stairs. The only damage had been a couple of bruises on her thighs, and now the bunkhouse was a bit more comfortable. Emphasis on “a bit.” It was a dreary place, and what bothered her most was that it represented failure. Living in the bunkhouse was the culmination of a steady downward slide, and even now she wasn’t certain that she was at the end of the ride. If she were in the main house, she could sleep in her old bed. Feel as if she were just visiting. She would have a bathtub, a real kitchen. And she wouldn’t be brought upright in bed by noisy thumps beneath the floorboards.
If she was in the house, maybe she could pretend that she wasn’t so close to the very end of her rope.
Taylor sighed and laid her head back against the soft, crushed velvet cushion.
In five years, this experience will be an interesting anecdote.
But the problem was that, for an experience to become an interesting anecdote, one had to successfully survive it.
A knock on the door startled her, and she scrambled to her feet. There was no question who her visitor was. All the same, Taylor pushed the sheet she’d tacked over the window aside. Safety first and all that.
It was Cole. And while he didn’t look cheerful, he didn’t look angry either.
A neutral visit?
Could be the start of something good. Taylor pulled the door open and she was struck—again—by just how ridiculously good-looking he was. High cheekbones, crazy-hot mouth, blue eyes. Dark lashes.
Touchy temperament.
Taylor smiled coolly. “Hello.”
“Hi. I was wondering if you would mind parking your rig on the other side of the building. I’m having trouble getting my equipment through.” He looked as if he’d like to be anywhere but her tiny porch.
“Sure. I can move my…rig.” If he was going to be polite and nonconfrontational, then so was she. She’d even call her vehicle a rig. “That side?” She pointed at the wall opposite from where Cole stood. Cole who was now frowning at her overstuffed chair.
“Where did you get that?”
Taylor glanced at the chair. “The cellar. Karl said I could get some furniture.”
She knew the instant she looked back at him what was coming next, so she launched into her defense. “I had permission. You were out in the field, and I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
“You shouldn’t enter people’s houses without asking.”
“It was only the cellar, and I entered from the outside. I didn’t set foot in your part of the house.”
He did not appear to be mollified by her reasonable explanation. If anything, his expression hardened even more. Taylor pressed her lips together as she dropped her gaze to study the floorboards. Then she drew in a breath and met his eyes dead-on. “Are you looking for a fight?”
His eyebrows jerked up. “No.”
“I