shook his head. Kissing Taylor had been inevitable. Like it or not, even when he’d thought she was a princess through and through, he’d been drawn to her. At first, he’d assumed it was wanting what was off-limits. Now he knew what he felt toward her was more complex, harder to define. Troublesome.
“No. That was the reason I was trying to push you away.”
“Well,” she said, wiping her hands down the sides of her jeans, as if she’d just finished a tough job, “you should have worked harder at that.”
“It was the thick skin you mentioned. Things seem to bounce off you.”
“At least it appears that way,” she said before clearing her throat. “I have to do my networking.”
Of course she did. Kiss and move on.
But Cole didn’t see this being a done deal. He couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing she was going…and that working with her was going to be a hell of a lot more interesting.
TAYLOR HEADED BACK to the bunkhouse, taking care not to walk too fast. Not to look too affected.
Holy smoke, but that guy could kiss.
This is no big deal. Get your breath. How many times had she kissed a guy and they’d gone their separate ways, no harm, no foul?
Many.
How many times had she done it when she’d had to interact with the guy on a daily basis? None. She’d taken the maxim about not getting involved with coworkers seriously, so maybe that was why this felt different.
He isn’t a coworker.
But still…
A one-time deal. That was all this was. Shake it off. If he thought it was more…well, she’d set him straight.
She let herself into the bunkhouse and settled at the computer, checked her email, researched possible contacts, noted that the market was tightening even more, damn her luck.
There was a text from Carolyn waiting on her phone—a selfie of her and her new beau with a glacier behind them. Carolyn looked happy, and Taylor smiled at the photo. Carolyn sought out relationships the same way that Taylor had avoided them. Depend on yourself, her mother had told her at least five or six times a week as she was growing up. Depend on yourself and you’ll be happier and more secure than if you depend on others.
Cecilia had lived her life that way. She’d been in a relationship with her artist husband, Jess, for almost a decade, but it was on her terms. He was the one who adjusted when compromise was necessary. In Taylor’s mind, it didn’t seem like a healthy way to run a relationship, but they seemed happy, at least on the surface. Surely Jess had to be going a little crazy, always bending and giving?
When Taylor was in a relationship—and usually she was not—she did fine in the beginning, but when it came to adapting and changing, the fear factor kicked in. What if she changed, gave up what was important to her, and then the deal crumbled? Where would she be then?
What if she couldn’t get back what she’d given up, or if she lost a piece of herself?
Getting through the divorce, and her father’s death, and now being fired, she felt as if she’d lost enough of herself.
So where did that leave her with Cole?
Excellent question. The pooling of sensual warmth in her midsection at the thought of that crazy-hot kiss was probably not a good sign—especially when she couldn’t say she didn’t want more. Sure, it was threatening, but it was also heady, and she wasn’t about to run or hide.
Taylor got to her feet and went to the small window over the sink, studied the house where Cole was now…what? Analyzing what had just happened? Or had he pushed it out of his mind?
If he could do that, he was tougher than she was.
And he wasn’t.
Taylor pushed off the sink, rolling her shoulders, which had stiffened up. So she’d kissed him. Whatever.
And, with that, she was right back to where she’d been when she’d crossed the drive from the house to the bunkhouse. And that was exactly where she was going to stay.
No. Big. Deal.
She had an interview to prepare for, and she needed to tidy up and get her equilibrium back. Act as if a big bump hadn’t appeared in the road in front of her.
* * *
AND THAT WAS one decent interview.
Taylor leaned back in the kitchen chair and stretched after the video call had ended. She’d done well, considering the fact that she’d still been off-kilter—thank you, Cole—when the call had connected. But she’d managed to get her hair and makeup done before the call, and had slipped into a dark suit jacket, so all in all she’d been prepared.
And if she got the job…maybe she and Cole could have a last hurrah. Pursue this matter between them.
Taylor pushed her chair back. Not wise. Not when he was living in her grandfather’s place.
Half an hour later she heard the barn door roll open and looked out the window. Cole was feeding the calves without her. Because of the kiss, or because he knew she had an interview?
The latter. It had to be. He probably wanted to move on as much as she did. No sense making things more uncomfortable than they needed to be while they were stuck together. The best thing to do would be to forget the kiss had ever happened.
When she met up with Cole at the barn a few minutes later, he seemed to be on board. There was nothing self-conscious in the way he greeted her or handed her the grain bucket. Together they walked to the calf pen, and if Taylor was more aware of him than usual, tuned into his every move, that was biology in action. Fortunately, she had a brain able to overcome the pitfalls of primal biological responses. She was in control of this situation, not her lady parts.
“How was the interview?”
“I think it went well. It’s a company in Ellensburg, Washington. Close to home.”
“Ah.”
The calves mobbed them, and Cole helped create a space for her to feed first one calf, then the next, without getting knocked down by the hungry trio. When the last bottle was empty and all the calves were picking at hay in the feeder, Cole opened the gate and stood back for her to pass. She was barely through when he said, “So. That kiss.”
Her startled gaze met his. “What about it?” She stepped back so that he could come through and lock the gate. “It happened. We don’t need to dissect it.”
An odd expression crossed his face. “Wait…the queen of analysis doesn’t want to analyze?”
“Maybe that is the result of my analysis.”
“You don’t want input
