Читать книгу Harlequin Superromance September 2017 Box Set - Jeannie Watt, Janet Lee Nye - Страница 17
ОглавлениеTAYLOR 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 of 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 glanced 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?”
“He has plenty of money…for now,” Cal said, slapping down three kings and pulling in the pot.
Dylan gave a snort as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then sat. He rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. “I’m ready to be fleeced.”
Cal rolled his eyes and passed the deck to Mike. “Hey…you said you were going to have to get someone new to help out at the store. Maybe Taylor, if she can’t find anything else.”
Dylan and Cole instantly looked at one another, and Cole saw that Dylan’s thoughts were the same as his own. Fat freaking chance.
Mike coughed. “Uh, yeah.” He stretched his mouth into a tactful smile and started dealing.
“Taylor never really fit in with the locals,” Dylan said when Cal gave him a “what?” look. “She had bigger and better things planned than a life in the Eagle Valley.” He picked up his cards before saying under his breath, in a voice that only Cole could hear, “And she wasn’t shy about sharing that sentiment.”
* * *
“THEY’LL LET ME know on Tuesday.” Taylor handed Carolyn her drink. “It’s a big step down, but I can work my way back up. It sounded as if that’s what they expect me to do.”
Carolyn gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she picked up her espresso. “If you were going to settle, I wish you’d done it in Seattle.”
Taylor didn’t agree. What would it be like not to head out with Carolyn on their famous shopping expeditions? Or meet for drinks or dinner once a week? If she had to take a step down in pay, she was glad she wasn’t in the city she loved. This way she could pay her penance, then return to Seattle and resume her former existence—only this time with more savings and the sad knowledge that no one was irreplaceable, not even those who worked eighty-hour weeks.
“Where would I have lived?”
“It wouldn’t have been in a farm barn thing.”
“Bunkhouse.” Taylor sipped her tea latte. “But it would have been something equivalent in Seattle, in neighborhoods I’d be afraid to live in.”
“Roomies?”
“Who?” Where would she find someone compatible to live with? It was such a crapshoot.
She’d move in with Carolyn in a heartbeat, but her friend was locked into a lease on her studio for the next seven months.
“Sell the Z?”
Taylor sighed and set down her cup. “I’ve been so close…but…” It was stupid to be emotionally attached to a piece of metal. “I think it’ll be good for me to work my way up again. Gain new experiences.”
“Live in the sticks.”
“Missoula isn’t exactly the sticks. It’s got a lot to offer.” More than the Eagle Valley, even if it did have its share of the rich and famous. Most of the people of means who moved there did it to escape city life rather than bring it with them.
“Will you move to Missoula?”
“Just as soon as I get a nest egg built up. I figure six months of commuting and then I’ll get an apartment. Right now driving is cheaper than renting.” By a large margin, or she wouldn’t have considered commuting.
They finished their drinks while chatting about people they both knew. Most of the staff who had been downsized with Taylor had also left Seattle for other cities, other jobs. Some had done what Taylor was about to do, accepting jobs at a lower level or in a different field entirely. One of their mutual friends had decided that this was the nudge she needed to head to LA and try her luck at acting.
Taylor paid the tab, over Carolyn’s protests, saying it was only coffee and she wasn’t destitute. Max complained loudly from inside the SUV and scraped his claws down the side of the plastic cat carrier as they approached the vehicle. Taylor made a face.
“His Majesty is about to take the kennel apart from the inside out.” She pushed her windblown hair back. “I can’t thank you enough for keeping him and bringing him to me.”
“Least I could do.” Carolyn’s smile faded. “I miss you.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Taylor promised, “and I’ll be back home before you know it.”
Max let out a plaintive yowl. Taylor hugged her friend, then opened the car.
“Tay…” Taylor looked back at Carolyn. “Call anytime. No matter what.”
“You know I will.”
* * *
TAYLOR HAD DRIVEN away late Saturday morning as Cole headed out to the fields and returned to the farm midafternoon, parking the SUV closer to the bunkhouse door than usual. Cole stood at his kitchen window, eating a sandwich and watching as she opened the rear door and pulled out a large animal crate. It toppled awkwardly in her arms, and she struggled to lower it to the ground without dropping it.
Taylor half carried, half dragged the crate to her door and disappeared inside. A moment later she came back and collected a box and then closed the hatch door.
Taylor had a pet. Cat? Dog? Dragon?
Cat. He vaguely recalled her mentioning a cat.
He finished his sandwich then went to the slow cooker, where his dinner was simmering, and took off the lid. The one perk of the guest ranch was that he rarely had to cook for himself during the guest season, and during the slack times, he threw whatever was available into a slow cooker and let it do its thing. Tonight it was doing frozen meatballs in sauce. Pasta, lettuce, Italian dressing and a loaf of bread, and he was set. Not bad for a non-cook.
He’d just put the lid back on the cooker when a knock sounded on the door. He set down the spoon he’d used to stir the sauce and headed across the kitchen, wondering what Taylor needed now.
After he and Dylan had lost all their money to Mike and Cal, they’d shared one last beer in Mike’s living room while the old guys settled in for the news, and he’d been tempted to turn the conversation back to Taylor. But Taylor’s past was none of his business, and he had no reason to be curious. Still, he kept flashing on Mike mentioning that if Taylor wanted something, her grandparents made certain she got it. If Cole read things right, Karl now regretted overindulging Taylor. Cole certainly regretted it, but that didn’t stop him from being struck by just how good she looked standing there on his doorstep, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders instead of being caught back in an elastic or swept up in a bun-thing.
“Hi,” she said in a voice that made him think that she was taking pains not to engage him in any way. “I’d like to go into the cellar via the back door, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.”
She was three steps back down the walk before he could say anything else, which was probably a good thing, so he closed the door. Leaned against the counter. Stroked his chin, then headed back to the door and followed Taylor around the house and down the cellar steps. She already had the key in the lock.
He stopped at the top step as she fumbled with the key. “How’d your interview go?”
She continued jingling the stubborn lock until it finally popped free. “Good,” she said without looking up at him. “I hadn’t realized anyone knew about the interview.”
“I guessed,” he said. “From the dress you wore.”
“Ah. And have you guessed where I was today?” There was a note in her voice that put his back up.
“I’m not spying on you. We live together, remember?”
One corner of her mouth tightened before she pushed the door open and stepped into the dark cellar. A light snapped on, and after some scraping and general banging around, she reappeared with a largish empty wooden box. “Bed for my cat,” she explained. After setting the box down beside her, she relocked the door and slid the key under the flowerpot next to the step.
“If you ever lock yourself out, now you know how to get back in—unless you pushed the slide lock at the top of the stairs.”
Cole shifted his weight, and she let out a small snort.
“You did, didn’t you? Well, you never know when someone’s going to sneak into your house, steal a chair and go through your things.”
“It was locked when I moved in.”
“Ah.” He stood back as she wrestled the box up the steep stairs, but couldn’t keep himself from reaching out to take it as she got close to the top. Taylor’s hands dropped to her sides. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell people that I interviewed.”
“Why? You’re here to get a job, right?”
She shrugged carelessly, but Cole wasn’t getting a careless vibe from her. “I like to keep things to myself until they’re a done deal.”
“It isn’t like people are going to make fun of you if you don’t get the job.”
“I don’t like to advertise failure.”
“You haven’t had a lot of failures in your life, have you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you look me up?”
Caught. He’d been…curious. It was good to know one’s adversary.
“Didn’t you do the same with me?” he asked, feeling certain she had.
Her mouth twisted a little. “If I say no?”
“You’ve got more willpower than I do. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“What did you find out?”
“You don’t fail. Or rather you didn’t, until recently.” Mainly because she got a lot of help along the way. “What did you find out?”
“That you are pretty much off the radar.”
He liked things that way. “Yup. No newsworthy successes or failures. No arrests or convictions either.”
“So I assumed, or Karl wouldn’t have let you on the place while I was here.”
“Thereby saving you nineteen ninety-nine for the whole people-finder report?”
“Maybe.”
“Where’d you interview?”
She shook her head and started walking again, leaving Cole to carry the box.
“You don’t think you’ll get the job?” he guessed.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh, I’m going to get the job.” He tilted his head in a questioning way, and she drew in a breath. “I don’t talk about things until they’re settled. Good business practice.”
“Or you’re afraid of jinxing yourself.”
“I’m not afraid of jinxing myself,” she snapped just a little too quickly. “And just so you’re mentally prepared, I’m not moving immediately.”
“Why not?”
She turned back toward him. “I have some catching up to do financially.”
His eyes narrowed. “I assumed—”
“Incorrectly, it seems.” She gave him a cool smile.
“This wasn’t what we agreed on,” he said in a low voice.
“How so?”
“Karl told me you could stay here until you got a job. You just said you were going to get this job, therefore, you’re going to leave once you do.”
She blinked at him. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“It was. Trust me.” He leaned closer. “Better yet, call your grandfather. Ask him.”
He watched her jaw set as she considered his words.
“I leased a farm because I wanted to get away from people, not so that I could share my life with them. I entered into the agreement in good faith. I let you stay here temporarily for Karl’s sake. But what I really want is for you to make your own way in the world. Like everyone else.”
“I don’t have the resources to move again immediately.”
“How long do you need? After you land this job?”
She quickly jerked her head to one side, giving him a perfect profile. “I’d planned to stay for six months.”
He let out a disbelieving snort. “You need to alter your plan.”
“You have no idea how costly it was staying in Seattle while I looked for work. I need those six months.”
“And you have no idea how long it took me to save up to afford this lease.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to let me stay.”
“And it wouldn’t kill you to stand on your own two feet.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, but that was the only way he knew that the arrow had hit home. “I have always stood on my own two feet.” She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “You know nothing about me,” she said in a low voice.
Not exactly true.
“Kind of the way I want things to stay. I like your grandfather and wouldn’t hurt him for the world, but I’m not letting you take advantage of that fact.”
She reached out and snatched the wooden box from him. He let go a little too soon and she almost lost her balance, so he reached out to take her arm. Her muscles tightened beneath his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I know you feel like you’re the one getting the shaft here, but Taylor, you’re not. This is business. I won’t be taken advantage of.”
“I don’t understand how my being here results in you losing any kind of advantage.”
“Imagine if you rented an apartment and the landlord told you that he’d arranged to have someone living in your closet. You could try to ignore them, but they’d still be there, encroaching on the property you’d paid for.”
“I can’t afford to leave until I get a job.”
“I know. That was the agreement. You stay until you get a job.”
“I’ll need at least four weeks after that to get a paycheck and rent a place.”
“Four weeks is agreeable.” It was a pay period. And giving her that was generous of him.
She lifted her chin, and he couldn’t tell if she was angry or on the verge of tears. Maybe both. Maybe because she wasn’t getting her own way.
“I’m not the bad guy here.”
“Do you really believe that?” she muttered. She gave a small snort and then continued on past him, across the driveway to the door of the bunkhouse. She yanked it open with one hand, then shut it almost too carefully, as if doing her best to keep from slamming it.
Cole shook his head and followed the walk around his house. He wasn’t the bad guy. He just wanted what he’d bought and paid for—privacy. And damned if he was going to let Taylor’s needs supersede his own.
