Harlequin Superromance September 2017 Box Set

CHAPTER EIGHT

COLE WOKE UP with a raging headache—possibly from sleeping upright in Karl’s recliner, but more likely because he smacked his head when the heifer flattened him yesterday. He set the now-warm gel packs on the floor beside the chair and dropped the recliner footrest as gently as he could, but the action of the chair swinging forward sent teeth-clenching pain shooting through his swollen knee, as well as his wrist—which was now double its normal size.

He struggled out of the chair, inhaling deeply as he gritted his teeth to stifle a groan.

How in the hell was he going to feed those calves when he could barely move?

He hobbled to the bathroom, telling himself that rodeo riders went through pain like this all the time. And after downing a dose of anti-inflammatory meds along with his coffee, he started to feel better. Until he moved again.

Son of a bitch.

He was still in yesterday’s clothes, and he clapped his hat on his head, glad that the head wound was superficial. He limped out the door to move the truck and trailer so that he could get the heifer and calves into the pen. At the end of the walk, he changed directions and crossed the driveway to the bunkhouse. He needed help, and he may as well ask and get it over with.

Cursing under his breath, he knocked on the door, and a second later Taylor answered, wearing her running shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. Her forehead was damp and her shoes muddy.

“I need help,” he said simply.

Her expression didn’t change. “I need to stay here for six months at minimal rent.”

He stared at her. Where was the woman who’d helped him into his house last night? Or rather bullied him into his house last night. “You’d hit me when I’m down?”

“I prefer calling it striking while the iron is hot.” She grimaced as she took in his appearance.

He knew he looked like hell. Unshaven, rumpled clothing. It reflected how he felt and how close he was to his last nerve. He could call his sister for help. He could call Jordan. But both would have a lengthy drive ahead of them to get to the farm, and it was possible that he’d need help for several days. His knee would be less painful within the week. The wrist…

“Six months.” Why not? If he didn’t agree, he had a feeling she’d come up with another work-around.

“From my date of employment.”

He gave her a purposely dubious frown. “You’re sure you’ll be employed?”

“I had a second interview yesterday. It went well.”

She spoke with quiet confidence, which made him believe that she wasn’t trying to convince herself. It really had gone well.

Maybe he needed to look at this like a prison term. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over. “Six months from today.” Her expression clouded, but before she could speak, he said, “I thought you were getting this job.”

“I am.”

“Then it’s not a problem.”

She shifted her weight. “Six months from the date I fill out my W-2.”

“For that I need a lot of help.” She wasn’t the only one who could strike while the iron was hot. And he had to admit to enjoying the way her forehead scrunched up as she debated his meaning.

“What are you proposing?”

“When you’re not job hunting, you’re working around the place. And after you land a job, you give me some time before and/or after work.”

She eyed him warily. “I…”

“Think of it as helping out your grandfather. His place will be much nicer when he moves back.”

“Dirty pool.”

“Kind of like extorting me when I’m in a tough spot?”

“Very much,” she deadpanned.

One corner of his mouth tilted up. Okay. He liked honesty. “Can you drive a stick?”

She cocked an eyebrow. The Z. Yes, she could drive a stick.

“I need the truck and trailer moved.” At the moment, he didn’t know how his knee would behave with the clutch and didn’t feel like screwing around.

“Let me change.”

Cole took a limping step backward and tested the pain level of his wrist while she changed. On a scale of one to ten, he was a solid eight. He could handle it, if nothing touched or jarred his arm. The chances of farming without using his wrist were nil, so he would go to urgent care and have someone look at it as soon as he got the cattle corralled and the calves fed.

“Where do you want the trailer?”

“The usual spot by the barn.”

“I said I could drive a stick. I didn’t say I could back up a trailer.”

“Over by the tree, then.”

Anywhere but where it was, blocking the gate to the corral. Taylor was already several yards ahead of him when he called, “The gate is tied to the trailer.” So please don’t rip it off its hinges.

“Good to know,” she called back without looking at him.

He caught up with her just as she’d unhooked the rope securing the gate to the trailer and swung it back against the corral. “That tree there?” She pointed at the elm next to the machine shed.

“Yeah. Watch out for calves.” They were hungry and already cautiously approaching to see if anyone had the bottles. The heifer was grazing in the backyard, and he could see that she’d had a fine old time walking all over Karl’s rosebushes. He might have to replace them if they didn’t snap back. No…his new farmhand could replace them.

He smiled grimly.

Taylor got into the truck and turned the key. The diesel engine gave a few coughing chugs, and Cole limped closer, waving for her to roll down the window. “It’s an older diesel. You can’t start it until the warning lights go off. And don’t put it in gear until the needles on the gauges come to life.”

She scowled at him. “Is there also a secret handshake?”

“No. Do those things and you’re fine.”

She nodded and left the window down. The next time she turned the key, the engine started. A few seconds later, she said, “The needle moved.”

“You’re good to go.” He stood back as she put the truck into grandma gear and it bucked as she let out the clutch. Low-geared pickups were nothing like a nice little sports car. She didn’t look his way as she moved the truck forward and stopped it under the elm. Once it was parked, she crossed the driveway, her hands pushing deep into her front pockets.

“Bad clutch,” she said.

He shook his head. “Different gears.”

“What now? The doctor?” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Feed the calves.”

“Where’s the feed?”

“In the house. Milk replacer. I have to mix it up.”

“And you feed it in a pan?”

“A bottle. You’ll love it.”

She gave him a cautious look. “I’m sure I will.”

“You’ll need a towel. They slobber and drip.”

Taylor wrinkled her nose but didn’t say a word. He jerked his head toward the house. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

* * *

TAYLOR MADE A supreme effort to keep her eyes from straying over to where Cole walked—or rather limped—beside her. Guys shouldn’t look sexier after sleeping in their clothes. It wasn’t right.

They shouldn’t threaten people with calf slobber either.

Or work detail, in retaliation for a perfectly reasonable request. The only thing hurt by her staying on for six months was his sense of isolation and privacy.

If he wanted to play things this way, fine. She could handle it if he could. No—she could handle it even if he couldn’t.

She gave in to weakness and shot a quick glance his way. His mouth was tight, his lips close to white. The guy was hurting.

He was also lucky to have someone there. Lucky last night. Lucky this morning. He probably could have called a friend or relative to help, but if that had been an easy option, she wouldn’t now be looking at a six-month reprieve.

“You know,” she said as they approached the house, “I’m not staying here to torture you.” He frowned at her, which barely changed his tight, pained expression. “All right, you got me. Now that I know you better, I am.”

“Ha, ha,” he muttered.

“That wasn’t a joke,” she said straight-faced. He shot her another sideways look, but she ignored it. “It’s a matter of getting back on my feet as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said in a way that told her he got it but didn’t like it.

“I never thought something like this would happen to me.” She wasn’t certain why she continued to hammer on the matter. Maybe to distract him from his obvious pain. Or maybe because, now that they’d struck their deal, she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t wild about the situation either but was doing what she could to survive.

“Why not, Taylor? What would make you immune?”

“Hard work and planning. I worked my ass off for Stratford. More sixty-to-eighty-hour weeks than I care to think about. I got awards. Raises. Bonuses.”

“Maybe you became too high priced to keep on.”

A possibility she’d considered more than once. “They got their money’s worth.”

He slowly climbed the steps, holding his arm against his chest, and Taylor eased past him to open the door.

“I’m not helpless,” he muttered.

“And not good at receiving the help you ask for either.”

“Hey—at least I asked.”

“Only because you had no other option.”

“Which you had no qualms about taking advantage of.”

She smiled sweetly. “I gotta be me.”

He limped into the kitchen and on into the mudroom. “That’s the replacer,” he said, pointing to a bag.

He gave her instructions to mix, and once Taylor had three quart-size bottles filled and the nipples in place, Cole placed them in a metal bucket and they once again started for the door.

“How are you going to catch these guys? It isn’t like you can chase them.”

“But you can.”

Her eyes widened as she held up her palms in a defensive gesture. “The calves don’t concern me, but that big one is a renegade.”

“You can carry a stick.”

“Comforting,” she muttered. Because he wasn’t kidding.

Together they crossed to the barn, where Cole had her put alfalfa and grain into the feeders. Following instructions, Taylor went around the house to the backyard, where the heifer was grazing, and raised her arms to shoo her toward the driveway. The black cow eyed her balefully, then kinked her tail and started trotting toward where Cole stood blocking the driveway. Taylor hoped the cow wasn’t going to run over him again, because his limping gait made a tortoise look like a speed demon. He waved his hat, and the cow shied sideways and headed straight for the metal panels Taylor had set up between the corral and the machine shop. Taylor closed in, and the cow, spotting the feed, headed straight into the corral. The calves followed, and she closed the gate, breathing hard—more from nerves than from exertion—as she locked it.

“Now what?”

“Now you experience the wonder of milk slobber.” Taylor screwed up her face and Cole continued, “You’re the one who chose to sell your soul for a few months of free rent.”

“Free?” She’d offered to pay minimal rent. It seemed only fair, and damn it, she was trying to be fair. She wasn’t above capitalizing on his situation, but she was going to do what was right now that she had.

“But I’m going to work your ass off.”

“I think we might have to get some of this in writing.”

“I have stuff in writing with your grandfather and it didn’t save me from you.”

She smirked at him and reached for the bottle. “I need instructions.”

“Try not to get mobbed.”

“Thanks.” He handed her a bottle, and Taylor eased in through the gate, locking it behind her with one hand. The killer heifer barely acknowledged her presence, but the calves, which were nosing through the hay, recognized the bottle. She straddled the first one as Cole instructed, then held up its chin from behind, and it immediately latched on to the nipple. As promised, milk rolled down her hand and arm as the calf slurped, but the gross factor was counterbalanced by the cute factor.

“This isn’t bad,” she said, glancing up at Cole.

“Just time-consuming.”

“And a little sticky.”

After they were all fed, Taylor was ready for a second shower. She had milk replacer up to her armpits and cow poop on her shoes due to a misstep. “I want to negotiate for use of your washing machine.”

He gave her a pained look that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“It isn’t like I’ll use it and forget to leave the house.” Although she wouldn’t mind doing that. The wind had blown the previous evening, and the bunkhouse was drafty.

“Let’s get that in writing, too.”

If it wasn’t for the grimace on his face, she would have thought he was playing with her. But he was grimacing. And hurting.

“Are you going to see someone about your wrist?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me drive you.”

The “all right” didn’t come easily, but Cole got it out and Taylor said, “I need to change again and wash up, then I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Probably the sooner the better. There might be a crowd, and I don’t want to kill the whole day.”

“Yes. Because you can do so much in the shape you’re in.”

“I have someone to do my stuff for me now.”

She sneered at him because he seemed to expect it. “Are you going to change?” Not that he didn’t look good rumpled.

“I think the medical personnel will understand why I don’t.”

As did she. “Just making sure you don’t need help before we go,” she said, hoping against hope that he didn’t call her bluff. Because she would help him…but that might not be the wisest move on her part. Interesting, yes. Wise? No.

“And baiting me in the process?”

“A little. Habit.” She smiled tightly. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES BECAME twenty, but since Cole expected to wait at least half an hour, he was impressed. It wasn’t that he thought that Taylor was going to waste time primping, but he figured it would take her a while to clean her shoes. Instead, she left her running shoes outside and wore ballet flats with jeans that hugged her legs in a way that made him want to peel them off. And he didn’t feel bad about that, because it was more of a reaction than a plan. She looked good in her jeans, and he was a guy. One who hadn’t peeled off anyone’s jeans in quite a while. Obviously, he wouldn’t be peeling these jeans, but he could think about it in a hypothetical way.

They took Taylor’s SUV, and once Cole was signed in to the urgent care facility, she left him and went grocery shopping. He had her cell number, but from the looks of the crowded waiting room, he didn’t think he’d need it. Two and a half hours, several X-rays, a knee brace and a wrist splint later, he was good to go. The only thing he’d been spared was an MRI, but only because he had to travel to get it done.

Taylor was waiting in the outer office when he came out of the treatment area, staring down at her lap. When he limped closer, she looked up at him, her expression instantly blanked out. The force field was in place. Something was wrong.

Why?

She got to her feet, shouldering her purse in one smooth move. “All wrapped up and ready to go, I see.” Oh, yeah. Brisk voice, no-nonsense manner. Something had happened. But he played along.

He held up his wrist. “Sprained, not broken.” Although sprains could take as long to heal as breaks, he was relieved not to have a cast knocking around.

“The knee?”

“I’m not getting an expensive test to tell me what I already know. It’s also sprained.”

“They can’t do something for that?”

“Not a hell of a lot. I have to live with it.” Just as he had before.

They drove most of the way home in silence, but not the same kind of silence that had settled between them on the trip to urgent care. This was a brittle silence, one that begged to be broken.

Taylor turned onto the county road leading to the farm, and Cole decided enough was enough. He shifted in his seat and was about to ask what the deal was when Taylor spoke.

“I didn’t get the job.”

Well, that sucked. Cole stared at her profile, wondering what the hell had gone wrong. She’d been confident about the second interview. “Did they give a reason?”

She shook her head. “Nothing beyond the usual being-very-sorry kind of thing.”

“That bites.” She was never leaving the farm.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “The search continues.” She cleared her throat. “I hate telling Grandpa.”

“Don’t.”

“That got me into trouble last time.” She glanced at him. “You had something to say on the matter, if I recall.”

Yeah, he did, but he hadn’t thought about the reason she hadn’t called Karl. “You didn’t call him because you were embarrassed? About losing your job, I mean.”

“I’d never failed so massively before.”

“Did you fail? Like…do something wrong that got you fired?” Because he was curious if he’d gotten the entire story.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she snapped. “Other than putting in more hours than most people on staff. But it still felt like failure.” The corner of her mouth turned down. “No…actually, it felt like getting screwed—and not the good kind.”

She pulled into the farm driveway and parked beside the bunkhouse, turned off the ignition and pulled the key out. She was reaching for the door handle when Cole asked the burning question. “Realistically, what are your chances of being employed here, in this area?”

“Well, I thought they’d be better here than in Seattle.”

“And because this is where you can afford to live while you look?”

Her jaw shifted. “You know that’s the case.”

“You’re in finance, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’re in financial trouble.”

Her expression iced over. “Do you ever get tired of judging me?”

“What the hell happened, Taylor?”

“Student loans. Tons of them. I didn’t save as much as I should have, because I felt safe and was concentrating on trying to pay off loans—like the one from my grandfather. And I enjoyed my life in the city.”

“Not to mention your car.”

“That car is special.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Jordan’s eyes had practically glazed over when he heard about it. “Selling it would probably keep you solvent for—”

“A few months. Then the money would be gone and the car would be gone.”

“But you’d have a few more months of living expenses. Sometimes you have to sacrifice—”

“My dad left me that car.” The words came grinding out, then Taylor jerked her gaze away, as if she hated showing him emotion that wasn’t pure anger or snark. As if vulnerability was a bad thing. Maybe it was in her world. “I was fourteen when he passed away, and he left me that car. Before I could drive. He wanted me to have it.”

“Okay,” he said after a crackling stretch of silence. “I get it.”

He let out a breath and leaned his head back, telling himself to get out of the vehicle. He didn’t move.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be kicked to the curb?”

“I’ve had my share of failures.”

“I’m not talking failures. I’m talking rejection—from the very people you were trying to help.” She let out a breath. “You don’t have a clue.”

She grabbed for the door handle, but before she got out, he put his good hand on her knee, and she froze. So did he. But he didn’t move his hand. He didn’t want her to leave yet…and he had to admit to liking the way her leg felt beneath his palm.

“Your attitude when you arrived…it wasn’t exactly defeated.”

“I’m here, Cole. Living in a shack. Doesn’t that smack of defeat?”

He pulled his hand away. Now that they were in the heat of battle, there was no way she was leaving. “It smacked of you expecting to kick me out of the house and get a free ride while you sorted things out.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted.” She didn’t sound one bit sorry. “To tell you the truth, it’s what I still want. I’m tired of the floor bumping under my feet and the wind whistling in through the window frame and having no bathtub, but you know what? I can deal.”

“Because you have no choice?” he asked softly.

“That’s the best reason to suck it up, don’t you think?” She gave a small sniff. “What happens if I refuse to help you?”

“Then I guess I kick you off the property.”

She let out a breath as she stared out the windshield at the bunkhouse. “That’s what I thought.”

Another silence fell, thick with tension. Finally, Cole gave in. “Of course, your grandfather will hate me because I’m messing with his princess.”

“There is that.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes slowly closed, and she inhaled again, as if centering herself. Or trying to come up with ways to do him bodily harm.