style="font-size:15px;"> 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.
“I’m not moving into the bunkhouse,” he said.
“You’re renting the house from month to month. After this month is over, we’re switching.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “No.”
“My grandfather made it clear—”
“I don’t think he did. Not to you anyway. He told me that his granddaughter would be in the bunkhouse until she got a job. Those exact words. Granddaughter. Bunkhouse. Until she got a job. Not until the month is over.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Call him.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Add a little more stress to his life instead of just doing the right thing.”
Her blue eyes grew fiery. Oh, yeah. Not too many people had stood up to the princess. And after years of smiling and taking guest abuse, Cole had to admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction at not taking it anymore.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I agree. The bunkhouse is totally habitable. You’ll be gone before long and I’ll still be here.”
Her chest rose and fell, and Cole could see that a mighty battle was waging.
He hooked a thumb in his belt loop. “I’m not leaving the house.”
“Fine.” She almost spat the word out. “For now.” She jerked open the back door of the SUV and hauled out a suitcase, her eyes narrowing as she turned back to him. “You may not be correct when you say that you’ll be here for longer than me.”
As if this woman was going to stay on this farm a moment longer than she had to. But even though he believed that her threat was as empty as the silos on Karl’s farm, it annoyed him. Again, he was no longer in a position where he had to put up with bullshit just because.
“You’re threatening me?” he asked in a low voice. “Because I am within my rights to kick you off this property.”
She stepped up to him and gave him a maddeningly innocent look. “And add stress to Karl’s life? Are you sure you want to do that?”
It sucked to have his own words thrown back at him.
He leaned toward her so that they were essentially chest to chest, or chest to upper abdomen since she was about six inches shorter than him. But she spoke first. “I am not threatening you. I am grateful that you are letting me stay.” Even though it was her right. She didn’t say it, but it was written all over her face.
“Grateful in your own way.”
“However,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken, “be clear on this...if things don’t go smoothly, then we will get my grandfather involved, and I promise you I will come out on top.”
He almost laughed. She didn’t realize that she was currently on the receiving end of some tough love. Fine. He’d allow her the fantasy.
“All I ask is mutual respect,” Cole said. He was done being treated like the help.
“Agreed.” She held out a hand. Her nails were perfectly manicured. Apparently being out of work for two months didn’t affect the beauty budget.
Cole took her hand and shook. “Agreed.”
* * *
TAYLOR WATCHED COLE Bryan head toward the machine shed through narrowed eyes. He was more of an adversary than she’d anticipated. And he had a ridiculously nice ass. All in all, a great physical package coupled with a maddeningly stubborn personality. Well, she wasn’t done yet, but she recognized when it was time to stop and regroup. Plot her strategy.
He hadn’t offered to help her move her stuff into the bunkhouse, which was just as well. She needed time. Getting robbed was bad enough, but finding out that she was going to live in what was basically a primitive motel room while she conducted her job search...well, on the bright side, the circumstances would motivate her to nail something down as soon as possible.
On that positive note, she walked over to the bunkhouse and opened the door. Stale air enveloped her as she stepped inside, and she instantly crossed to the nearest window and attempted to heave it open. No luck. She went to the next. Again, nothing. Finally, the last window screeched open a crack. It would have to do.
Taylor turned to survey her new surroundings, fighting the sinking feeling in her gut. The bunkhouse was just as she remembered it from her childhood visits, except that it seemed smaller. The single room was long and narrow, with beat-up vinyl flooring and dingy tan paint on the walls. In the corner was a bank of cupboards and a cast-iron sink that was worth a small fortune on the renovation market. She crossed the room to run a finger over the cast iron. She had a primo sink in a very sad environment. The only furniture consisted of two old bed frames, neither with mattresses, a chrome-and-enamel kitchen set that had seen better days—but would also bring decent money if Karl chose to sell it—and a single ratty, overstuffed chair that she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Who knew how many rodents were familiar with the piece?
Temporary
