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