Jeannie Watt - Wrangling The Rancher

“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 environment. Remember that.

At the other end of the room was a small bathroom with a shower and an old toilet, plus a sink with a cheap replacement single-handle faucet that seemed out of place on the antique basin. The flooring was clean but disintegrating.

Taylor sighed as she stood in the doorway and surveyed the shower with the sorry curtain hanging limply from the cockeyed rod. She was so very much a soak-in-the-tub person.

Temporary.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, Taylor turned and headed out to the trailer to start schlepping boxes inside. It appeared she’d have to buy a mattress for the old bed frame. Or better yet...

She pulled the cell out of her pocket and dialed her grandfather’s number.

“You made it okay?”

“I did. I hit a small bump at the motel I stayed at last night, but I’ll fill you in on that later.” Because Karl was protective and, despite what Cole might think of her, she didn’t want to upset him unnecessarily. “I’m calling to ask if there’s an extra mattress in your house that I could borrow while I’m in the bunkhouse.”

“There’s a bed in the spare room with a decent mattress, but you should clear it with Cole.”

“I will. But if he has no issues, then I can tell him you have no issues either, right?”

“Right.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll settle in today and then start the job search tomorrow.” She smiled a little. “I’ll keep you posted this time. Sorry about before.”

“Not a problem. Don’t wear yourself out moving in.”

“No worries. Thanks, Grandpa. Talk to you soon.”

Her smile faded as she pocketed the phone. Twenty-four hours ago she’d said goodbye to her real life, and now she needed to adapt to her new, temporary life. She’d make the best of it, come hell, high water or a good-looking, stubborn farm-mate.

She turned toward the door, going over her schedule in her head. She’d unload the trailer, take inventory and try to figure out what was missing, make a shopping list, return the rental trailer to the local dealer, nicely ask farm guy to help her with the mattress—

The scream ripped out of her throat as a huge rodent appeared out of nowhere, almost running over her feet as it scurried toward the bathroom.

She was barely aware she was moving, but somehow she ended up outside where there were likely many more of the killer rodents. Wasting no time and barely allowing her feet to touch the ground, she made a dash for the SUV and leaped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind her.

Her heart was hitting her ribs so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath, and that was when she felt dampness on her cheeks. What had she done? What horrible thing had she done to deserve losing her apartment, being robbed and getting attacked by a rodent in less than one day’s time?

A tap on the window made her jump a mile. Farm guy was there, peering into her window with a scowl on his handsome face. She took a chance and turned on the ignition so that she could roll down the window a crack.

“What?” The single word irritated her beyond belief, even as she told herself that this wasn’t his fault.

“There’s a rat in the bunkhouse.”

“Really?”

The words that jumped to her lips at his disbelieving tone were not pretty, but Taylor managed to swallow them. “It ran in from outside.”

“I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. He shook his head and stalked away toward the bunkhouse. Taylor rolled the window back up, leaned her head against the backrest and closed her eyes. Her lashes were wet as they hit her cheeks.

Damn.

Her new temporary life sucked.

CHAPTER FOUR

COLE WAS NOT a fan of rodents. Mice destroyed equipment, gnawed on saddles, and made their way into pantries and car engines. Pack rats did even more damage to vehicles, and heaven help you if you cornered one. Ground squirrels destroyed fields, gophers destroyed gardens. If there’d been a rodent in Taylor’s bathroom, things wouldn’t have ended well for Mr. Rat, but Taylor didn’t have a rodent in her house. She had a young cottontail rabbit cowering behind the toilet, staring up at Cole with wide brown eyes. Cole’s lips curled a little as he regarded the young bunny.

How in the hell was Karl, the most down-to-earth guy on the planet, related to a woman who mistook a rabbit for a rat? And how was he supposed to share his farm with her? Because legally it was his farm until the lease expired, which wasn’t for another three years. Karl had the option of living there, but the land and the outbuildings were his.

Was the bunkhouse one of the outbuildings? That hadn’t been spelled out in the agreement, but he assumed that since it could be used for grain or tool storage, yeah, it was.

Cole pulled his gloves out of his back pocket and slipped them on before slowly approaching the frightened baby, just in case Junior decided to bite out of fear.

“How’d you get in here, buddy?”

The petrified bunny rolled into a ball as he took hold of its nape and scooped it up, cradling its furry bottom in one hand. Holding his captive, he toed the door open and then kicked it shut again, in case the little guy had brothers and sisters lurking nearby, then crossed over to Taylor’s car. He motioned with his head for her to roll down the window, and she did—about two inches. He held up the baby, and Taylor gave him a deeply skeptical look.

“This is your rat.”

She gave her head an adamant shake. “No.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow as he raised the bunny a little higher in front of her window. “You’re saying that there’s a rat and a rabbit in the bunkhouse?”