Wrangling the Rancher

by Jeannie Watt

  And lose her beautiful apartment.

  “I might. If things don’t change fast.”

  “How soon would they have to change?”

  Considering what she was paying for rent and utilities...?

  “Yesterday.”

  “I’ll call Cole.”

  * * *

  COLE CAME IN from the machine shed, wiping his hands on his bandanna for want of anything better. He was going to have to buy some shop towels. Karl had the equipment he needed to farm the place, but it could all use some work. This first part of the season, he was going to have to rely on baling wire and his wits to get things done on schedule, but after that he’d have time to fix things right.

  He found himself smiling as he mounted the porch steps. Broken-down equipment? Not a problem. Not enough time to do what he needed to do? He could deal. Not having to saddle yet another horse for yet another clueless individual who wanted to know whether they provided spurs for the mounts? Priceless.

  Cole didn’t hate people, but he was damned tired of dealing with them. Smiling and pretending all was well when it wasn’t. And dealing with Miranda...if he never saw the woman again, it would be too soon. His cousin Jordan had managed to get the better of her a few years ago, wrestling his small mountain ranch out of her grasp. Cole wished he could do the same with his family ranch, but his dad and his late uncle—Miranda’s husband—had gone into business together and Miranda had slowly but surely taken over both properties. Cole had worked for her until he couldn’t handle it one second longer.

  Still, even though he’d wanted to tell the wicked witch exactly what he thought of her, he’d parted on relatively good terms. He still had stock in the family ranch and didn’t want to make things any more impossible than they already were.

  But he never wanted to saddle anyone’s horse again—ever.

  The landline rang as he walked in the door, and he couldn’t help but flash on the last call he’d taken on that phone. Karl’s granddaughter was a piece of work. Kick-ass gorgeous, but as far as attitude went...well, princess wasn’t the right word. Privileged. Yes. She was privileged and obviously not all that good at hearing the word no.

  Cole pulled the phone off the hook on the fifth ring. “Hello.”

  “Shouldn’t you be making hay when the sun shines?”

  Cole grinned at Karl’s dry tone. “Trying. I have some work to do on the equipment, but everything should be up and running—” for a while anyway “—in short order.”

  “Good to hear. Hey...my granddaughter stopped by the farm, right?”

  “On her way down to see you. She sure didn’t waste any time getting over here after I answered your phone.”

  “Yeah. She’s going through a rough patch. I, uh, told her she could move onto the ranch. I know you’re renting the house, but the bunkhouse is there, and I figured you guys wouldn’t be falling all over each other, in the different buildings, so...”

  “Hey. You’re doing me a favor letting me rent the house.” The bunkhouse was in pretty good shape. It wasn’t that different from the bunkhouses on the guest ranch, minus all the cutesy cowboy shit. “I don’t mind moving.”

  “That makes no sense. You already have your stuff in the house. Taylor’s happy to stay in the bunkhouse.”

  Cole scratched his head. “Are you sure about this?” Maybe he was talking about a different granddaughter. One who didn’t have “pampered princess” written all over her.

  “Yeah.”

  The sheer innocence in the guy’s tone convinced him. “I don’t care if she stays.” Much.

  “She’s looking at getting work in Missoula or Bozeman, so it may not actually be that long.”

  “It’s your place, Karl. I’m good with it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cole hung up the phone and stood for a moment contemplating the floor. Had he been that wrong about Taylor Evans? She’d happily move into the bunkhouse?

  Well, every now and again he’d read a guest wrong...but it didn’t happen often—and he wasn’t all that certain it had happened yesterday. Time, obviously, would tell.

  He’d just started for the door when his cell phone rang. So popular today...

  “Hello.”

  “Stop me before I kill Miranda.”

  He put a hand on the doorjamb and rested his forehead against his hand. “What happened, Jance?” His younger sister, Jancey, let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “Just the usual bullshit. Passive-aggressive sweet stuff, followed by threatening me later.”

  “What happened?”

  Another sigh. “She was embarrassed today because of a mishap in scheduling with some rich guests she wanted to impress, was all nicey-nice about it while the guests were there then pretty much told me that if it happened again, I was going to be demoted to kitchen work. But it wasn’t my fault, it was hers.”

  “Quit.”

  “And then you’ll pay for my living expenses at college, right?” Jancey had taken a year off after graduating from high school to save money for college. Cole would bet that she was counting the days until she could escape the ranch.

  “I would if I could.”

  “I know. But beyond needing this job, I don’t want to let her win.”

  “Are you insinuating I did?”

  “No. Even if that had been your intention, it didn’t work. She is still doing a slow burn over you quitting, and the beautiful part is that she can’t find anyone competent to replace you.”

  Because no one else had enough emotional ties to the place to put up with her poor management style. Cole knew she’d already hired and fired a replacement and had tried out another, only to decide he didn’t fit the bill either.

  “I bet she’d make some concessions if you came back...”

  “Would you wish that on me?”

  “No. But I hate losing the last family on the family ranch.”

  “Things change, Jancey. All we can do is forge on ahead, make a new path.”

  “You’re very philosophical today.”

  “I’m trying to distract you so that you don’t do Miranda bodily harm. School is what? A short four months away?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “Call anytime you need talking down,” Cole said. “And if things get to the point that you can’t take it anymore, this place has two bedrooms.”

  “If you get a knock on your door late at night, it’ll be me.”

  “It’ll be open. Just make yourself at home.”

  Cole hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket. The only bad thing about leaving the guest ranch was that he was no longer there to put out the fires Miranda caused. He was so totally ready to be a farmer, ride in his tractor and ignore the world.

  That might be a little harder to do if Karl’s granddaughter moved into the bunkhouse, but even if she did, he didn’t see her lasting too long. Women who drove classic 240Zs didn’t live in old bunkhouses. She’d find another place to live, and if she didn’t, well, at least he had years of experience dealing with the privileged.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TAYLOR WASN’T A CRIER, but her throat felt ridiculously tight as she drove across the Floating Bridge on I-90. Her cat, Max, was staying with her friend Carolyn until she could send for him, and she already missed him. Her furniture was in storage, and she’d temporarily given up the Z for a former coworker’s SUV. Temporarily being the keyword there. She didn’t like her baby being in someone else’s hands, but the car didn’t work in her new environment. The SUV could tow a small rental trailer with most of her essentials, and it could navigate snow if needed, but it ate gas like nobody’s business. And it felt crazy to sit up so high when she was used to hugging the road. But at least she still owned her car.

  Not so her bea
utiful apartment.

  So hard to handle...

  Taylor swallowed again.

  She had put herself back on the building waiting list, telling herself that if she wasn’t ready to rent when her name came to the top of the list again, then she was well and truly a failure. Which she wasn’t. A few months—maybe a year or two—living and working in the wilds of Montana would do her good. Broaden her horizons.

  Her ex-supervisor had said it would humble her, but Taylor had paid no attention. Madison said things without thinking. The woman had no filter, yet she still had a job with Stratford. She was like Kent—neither had put in as much voluntary overtime as she had.

  Taylor wasn’t going to think about that.

  Nope. She was going to think positive thoughts—like how she was going to work her way into a position of power in a competing company and wreak some havoc on Stratford. Those were good thoughts. Satisfying thoughts.

  She finally came clean with her mother, Cecilia, who hated Montana with a passion. Cecilia had moved to the farm shortly after she and Taylor’s father, Tom, were married, but after the romance of rural life had worn off, she’d yearned for her old life in the city. Unfortunately, Taylor’s father was as rural as her mother was urban and the two never found a middle ground. Taylor had been only five when her mother filed for divorce, packed Taylor up and moved back to Seattle. After that, it was vacations on the farm until her father passed away from a heart attack too young.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” was all Cecilia had said after the confession.

  “It’s temporary, Mom.” But even though she believed what she said, she still felt like a loser. Her mother had hammered into her over the years what a hellhole the ranch was. Yes, it was a nice place to visit, but if you tried to live there, it would eat your soul.

  “I’m so sorry you’ve been driven to this. I’d help you out if I could, but—”

  “I know.” And she did. Her mother kept to a stringent budget with her artist husband of ten years in order to live in a tidy two-bedroom apartment in the heart of San Francisco’s North Beach. Taylor had never once considered asking her mother for money, because she knew there wasn’t any to spare.

  The little trailer Taylor towed behind the SUV wobbled every now and again as the wind hit it, reminding her that she wasn’t driving the Z, and then she’d slow down. There was really no hurry. She planned to spend the night in a motel in the Eagle Valley in order to avoid dealing with Cole Bryan after a long drive. She wanted to be fresh for that. They had a few issues to iron out, and she wasn’t looking forward to sharing her environment with a stranger. But, as her grandfather had said, she was living rent-free and was within driving distance of job markets. Well worth having to share three hundred acres. As to who ended up in the house...well, her money was on herself.

  It was almost nine o’clock when she pulled into the Eagle Valley. She debated about the mom-and-pop motel closest to the farm, then chose to drive through town to stay at the Manor Suites—a business hotel that made her feel more at home. She could grab coffee and breakfast in the lobby the next morning before heading out to the farm. It was good to be properly rested and nourished before tackling a potentially touchy situation. Cole Bryan likely wouldn’t relish her being there, keeping an eye on him. But she’d be a good farm-mate to him, as long as he didn’t cross her. Or try to keep her out of the house.

  Taylor checked in and rolled her suitcase along the carpeted hallway to her first-floor room. Her last night of privacy. She’d assumed that she’d spend it stretched out on the bed watching bad television—which had become something of a habit since she’d been laid off—but instead she fell asleep almost instantly. She woke up a few hours later, disoriented. The lights were on and an infomercial blared away on the television. Instead of learning how a Wonder Blend could change her life, she snapped off the TV and peeled out of her clothes, crawling under the covers in her underwear. So very tired...

  A car alarm outside her window brought Taylor fully upright in bed. She heard the sound of a kid’s laughter, followed by a man’s warning voice, and then the alarm shut off. Taylor lay back against the pillows, noting that it was daylight before snagging her phone off the nightstand and checking the time.

  Eight thirty!

  She practically sprang out of bed.

  She never slept that late—not even when she stayed up until the early hours. Maybe it was the altitude or something. She headed to the bathroom, showered and dressed. What if that guy was out doing farm stuff by the time she arrived? She’d have to hunt him down or spend the day cooling her heels and waiting. Not acceptable.

  By nine o’clock she was checked out of the hotel, her laptop case slung over her shoulder, rolling her luggage with one hand and hanging on to a much-needed cup of coffee with the other. The door had just closed behind her when she stopped dead.

  Oh, no.

  Taylor dropped the cup, only vaguely aware of the hot coffee splashing on her leg before she started jogging across the parking lot, her laptop beating on her hip and her suitcase bouncing wildly behind her. She skidded to a stop next to the partially open trailer door. Barely able to breathe, she pulled the heavy metal door the rest of the way open and peered inside, her stomach going tight when she saw the ransacked mess inside. Taylor blinked at the clothing carnage, then noted the neatly cut padlock lying on the ground next to her feet.

  The bastards!

  The trailer wasn’t as full as it had been, but she had no idea what had been stolen. Everything was jumbled up, messed up, screwed up...just like her life.

  “Are you okay?”

  She gave a small start, then turned to see a man with a small child in his arms standing behind her. “No. I’ve been robbed.” In Eagle Valley, Montana. It just wasn’t right.

  “That stinks. I’ll go get the manager.”

  “Thank you.” Taylor went to the SUV and peered in through the window, her heart pounding so hard she was having a hard time taking a full breath. Her small jewelry armoire was still in the back seat of the SUV, covered by an old blanket, along with her desktop computer and monitor, which sat on the floorboards, covered with a couple of old towels. Unfortunately, she’d put everything else—her cookware, her bedding, her clothing—in the trailer, and probably half the stuff was gone.

  Welcome to Montana, Taylor.

  * * *

  WHAT WAS IT about balers that made them break down whenever they were most needed? In the case of Karl’s old baler, it was probably a matter of the thing being almost twice as old as Cole was. He’d had the option of leasing Karl’s equipment—some new, some old—or coming up with his own. He’d decided to lease, and still thought it was the best option, if he could get the baler back into commission.

  After an hour-long wrestling match, he decided to break for a quick lunch, maybe with a beer chaser, then go back to it. He was on his way into the house when an SUV pulling a trailer slowed and then turned into the driveway.

  His stomach tightened. She was here. His space was officially invaded. But, as Karl said, the likelihood of her staying long was nil. How often would he see her anyway? She didn’t seem to be the type to hang around when there were things to accomplish elsewhere. Bottom line, Karl was playing hardball with his granddaughter, but he loved her, and Cole was going to do whatever he could to help Karl out. He owed the guy for letting him escape from the guest ranch. Bottom line, he was going to make the best of a bad situation and hope against hope that she got a job and moved ASAP.

  Taylor pulled the SUV to a stop directly in front of the barn door, thereby making access impossible, but one look at her face when she got out of the vehicle made the request to park elsewhere die on his lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her gaze snapped up to his. “No.” The word dropped like a rock. A big, heavy one.

  Y
ears of working with guests had taught Cole that sometimes it was best to simply wait. Most people eventually let fly with whatever was bothering them.

  “I got robbed.”

  His jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I spent the night in a hotel in the Eagle Valley, and when I got up this morning, someone had cut the lock and gone through my stuff.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “I don’t know. I have to go through my belongings and send a list to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Well, that sucks.” Because whoever had robbed her was probably someone passing through and she’d never get anything back. There wasn’t a lot of crime in the Eagle Valley.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  So much for climbing on his tractor and disappearing into the fields.

  “Do you want some coffee or something?” She looked as if she could use a strong belt of whiskey—or, in her case, perhaps flavored vodka—and he didn’t blame her.

  “No. I want to unload what’s left of my stuff and go through it.” She gestured toward the house with her chin. “Would it be possible to just move it into the house now?”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because it makes no sense to move my stuff to the bunkhouse, then back to the house after your month of rent elapses—you only paid for one month, right?”

  “Right,” Cole said noncommittally. Did she really think that he was going to move to accommodate her?

  “The first of the month is only a week away.”

  “And...?”

  “Instead of moving my stuff twice and yours once, we could move mine once and yours once.”

  Really? For a moment, Cole considered it. A very brief moment. Whether she’d just been robbed or not, this woman needed to be taken down a peg. Or two. She was so obviously used to getting her way and telling other people how it was going to be that for once in his life, Cole wasn’t going to do the good-guy thing.