what he’d gleaned from the internet, and nothing there would bring one to draw the conclusion that she didn’t stand on her own.
Which meant that he’d drawn the conclusion from other evidence.
What evidence?
That she’d assumed he’d fix the freaking hole?
She didn’t think so.
He’d come here for privacy, which made her wonder what he had against people. Nothing in her online search had clued her in to his past profession. Karl would know, but she wasn’t going to ask.
Max started to purr, but it didn’t have its usual calming effect. Taylor closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. Yes, he’d definitely gained weight. Big cat. Big problems.
Think positively. You’ll get the job, move out. Never have to see this guy again.
She’d also have to scrimp and make do, and you know what? She could do that. It made more sense to stay where she was, do battle with tan walls and judgmental farm-mates, but she would survive if she moved out in four weeks. She was lucky to have this place when she needed it.
Taylor wrapped her arms around her cat, and he pushed his head against her neck as if to say, “Yeah. We’ve got this. We’ll be fine.”
But where the hell did this guy get off judging her?
“That’s his problem, not ours,” Taylor murmured. That didn’t mean she had to like it. She didn’t mind being judged as a professional, but to have someone take a dislike to you simply because you existed…
Not acceptable.
Not one blinking thing you can do about it.
“Wine, Max. We need wine.” Taylor eased the cat onto the seat cushion as she got up, and he curled into a giant ball, settling his tail over his nose and watching her through round green eyes. It felt good not to be alone.
It would feel better when they got their own place. Even though, deep in her gut, Taylor hated giving up and walking away without telling this guy a few home truths.
* * *
TAYLOR AWOKE EARLY on Monday morning, wishing that she could go back to sleep. The longer she stayed in bed, the more she tossed around. Finally she got up, leaving Max snuggled deep in the covers. She made coffee, tried to read the news on her phone, then finally, as the first bit of light showed over the horizon, got into her running gear. She didn’t know if her general sense of being unsettled came from the fact that she’d hear about the job this week, or because of her face-off with Cole.
You need to stand on your own two feet.
Where did he come off saying stuff like that?
She had to stop thinking about it or she was going to march across the driveway and demand answers.
She ran longer than usual, doing her best to exhaust herself and thinking that maybe she could catch up on her sleep later that day. After all, if things went the way she hoped, she wouldn’t have the luxury of midweek naps. She was just approaching the bunkhouse when her phone rang. Quickly, she unzipped her jacket pocket and answered without looking at the number.
“Miss Evans. Mark Roberts, US West Bank.”
“Good morning.” Taylor’s heart was beating faster. His voice did not hold even a hint of “I’m sorry, but…”
“I know this is short notice, but are you available for another meeting tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’m free all day.”
“Excellent. If we could meet at three o’clock, that would fit everyone’s schedule.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. See you then.”
Somehow Taylor kept her feet firmly on the ground—probably because Cole was heading in from the fields and she didn’t want to be caught doing a happy dance. But she did a quick twirl after shutting the door behind her. Max raised his head from the bed, then stretched and went back to sleep.
Second meeting…it had to be that they were offering her the job. Worst-case scenario, round two of the interview process. She reached for the phone to call Carolyn, then remembered that her friend was at work, so she fired off a text instead.
Taylor started pacing the rustic floorboards. If she got this job, then that would be the start of her upward climb. Her journey back to her old life. Proof to everyone that when Taylor Evans was faced with failure, she didn’t break—she bounced. It had been a long, slow bounce, but a bounce all the same.
Taylor brewed a pot of tea, settled in her chair and started perusing rentals in the Eagle Valley. The problem with living in an area that was rapidly gaining in popularity was that housing was tight. New apartments and condos were being built along the lake at the center of the valley, but those prices were too rich for Taylor’s new budget, and the moderately priced housing was at a minimum.
No. It was close to nonexistent, unless she wanted to rent a single-wide trailer on a small lot on the outskirts of town. If she did that, she may as well stay on the farm…for longer than four weeks, that is.
Taylor set her tablet aside and got to her feet, feeling as if she needed another long run. But running wasn’t the answer. She had to come up with a way to convince Cole to let her stay on the farm without involving her grandfather. Definitely without involving her grandfather. In addition to not wanting to add to his stress, that remark about standing on her own two feet still stung.
She’d made mistakes in her attitude toward Cole. No doubt about that. And now she needed to fix things. Mend fences.
Start fresh.
The big question was how.
* * *
COLE HAD JUST gotten out of the shower when a knock sounded at his door. He glanced at the watch he’d left on the counter beside the sink. Seven o’clock. What did Taylor need at this hour?
He thought about ignoring the knock, but it came again as he struggled to pull his jeans up over damp skin. Best to deal with her and get it over with.
When he got to the kitchen door, still buttoning his shirt, he found Taylor waiting on the porch with a small cake pan in one hand and a notebook in the other.
Had he missed a memo?
Taylor held up the pan, which smelled heavenly. “Peace offering,” she said simply. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
He almost said that he didn’t know they were at war, then rethought his words. “Why?”
“I’d like to talk to you.”
He gestured for her to come into the kitchen, and she did, walking past him to set the pan on the table.
“What do you want, Taylor?”
“I want to renegotiate.”
“Renegotiate
