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.
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