LITMIR.BIZ

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cart along the aisles, feeling remarkably out of place. She’d never been in a building supply store—not one that didn’t also sell appliances and curtains and flowers in addition to lumber and hardware. She cruised the aisles, though since there weren’t many, it didn’t take that long. She bought thick plastic and duct tape, then, since she was in no hurry to get back, she stopped at the coffee shop on the other side of the parking lot and took her time sipping a chai latte.

      Chai was her go-to calmer-downer, but instead of relaxing as she sipped the hot, sweet tea mixture, she found herself drumming her fingers. Abruptly, she closed her hand and dropped it into her lap, where it clenched into a fist.

      Plastic and duct tape and a couple of gnarly cats were all that would stand between her and the rodent population of the Eagle Valley.

      How was she supposed to sleep with that kind of a threat hanging over her head? Meanwhile the guy who probably didn’t care about rodents slept in the mouse-proof house.

      Her fist clenched even tighter, and Taylor made a conscious effort to unclench.

      It was clear that her grandfather wasn’t going to suggest to Cole that he trade places with her, even after the month was up. Which meant that she was probably stuck in the bunkhouse hellhole until she got back on her feet.

      Taylor started drumming her fingers again, then she picked up her phone and went to YouTube, searching for videos on repairing rotten floorboards. She scrolled through videos, watching pieces here and there, before concluding that her repair didn’t have to be pretty. It had to be mouse-proof. Who was going to see under the sink except for her?

      And if things played out well, she wouldn’t be there for that long. The obsessive part of her brain wouldn’t have to grapple with the fact that there were messy boards under the sink. She’d spent the better part of the evening reading through job listings within driving distance of the Eagle Valley, so she had hope.

      She felt better as she finished her tea. First she’d conquer home repair, then she’d find a job. Ever upward and all that.

      Taylor got to her feet, shouldered her purse, tossed the cup into the trash and left the shop with a sense of purpose.

      Forty-five minutes later she had short boards that the woman in the lumber department had cut for her, a box of wood screws, a cordless drill that made her feel kind of powerful and macho—and which had cost less than one of her bras—a hammer, just because, and steel wool for plugging extra space around the incoming pipe. She also had two mousetraps, just in case. Taylor smiled grimly as she pushed the cart through the automatic doors.

      It was good to take control.

      * * *

      THE SOUND OF a drill brought Cole’s head up as he walked by the bunkhouse on his way to the barn, where he planned to start fixing the corrals for the three orphan calves he was taking off his sister’s hands. The drilling stopped, followed by a clatter and a muttered curse. When they’d spoken earlier about the hole under the sink, Taylor had seemed clueless about repairs, but judging from where the noise was coming from, she appeared to be tackling them herself.

      None of your business.

      Actually, in a way, it was his business. If it turned out that Taylor was handy with tools, then her assumption that he would fix her problem was going to irk him that much more. In fact, it had already irked him to the point that he single-handedly moved a mattress and box spring out of Karl’s basement and hauled them over to the bunkhouse so that he didn’t have to have any more contact with her than necessary. And if that mattress and box spring happened to be twin-size instead of the queen-size bed in the guest room, so what? A twin bed would fit her just fine, and maybe someday he’d have guests.

      Cole forced himself to ignore the bang that erupted from inside the bunkhouse and walk on.

      He’d spent too much time on the guest ranch. Too much time smiling when he wanted to walk away from some self-important douchebag with a snotty attitude. Granted, for every douche, there were at least ten people he enjoyed helping, but the jerks did tend to stick out. And then there were the ladies who seemed to think that he was fair game. He was game for quite a bit, but not with clients. Something like that was not only wildly unprofessional, it would have given Miranda an advantage over him—and that was the last thing he’d have let happen.

      He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. It felt so damned good working alone, not worrying about politely dealing with the public, or what part of his life Miranda was going to try to control just to prove to him that she could.

      Now if he only had his farm to himself…

      In good time. After all, how long was Taylor Evans going to be able to stand living in a bunkhouse?

      That was the exact question his cousin Jordan put forth to him when they met for beer and burgers at McElroy’s Bar early that evening.

      “Not long. I hope.” Cole took a drink and set his beer back on the table. “But here’s the thing—she must be desperate to be there at all, so maybe how long she stays is out of her control. The fact that she’s there means that she’s in a rough place.”

      “Good point.”

      “You should see her. Not exactly farm material. She drives a freaking classic Z.”

      “What year?”

      “Looks like a ’72.”

      “No.” There was an envious note in Jordan’s voice.

      “Yep.” Cole let his chin drop. “She can’t stay there forever.” He realized that he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

      “You hope.”

      “Thanks, Mary Sunshine.”

      Jordan laughed, and despite his dark mood, Cole grudgingly smiled. It was good to see his cousin so relaxed and happy. Jordan hadn’t had an easy life. He’d been injured and disfigured during his time in the military, and while he was recovering, Miranda had done her best to steal his inheritance on a technicality. He’d been in a bad place for a long time, but now he had his mountain ranch, a wife he adored and a baby on the way. Cole’s problems were trivial in comparison. He had a woman on his ranch when he wanted to live alone.

      In all honesty, how bad was that? Cole let out a sigh. “Sorry to unload. It’s not that big of a deal.”

      “I get what the deal is,” Jordan said simply. “You’ve been working with the kind of people I avoid at all costs for years, and now, after you escaped, you have one of those same people invading your space for an indefinite amount of time.”

      “Pretty much.”

      “You have a right to be pissed off, but I’ll tell you what I think is going to happen.”

      “Yeah?”

      Jordan leaned his forearm on the table. “You’re going to go about your business as if she isn’t there. She’ll do the same once she realizes that you aren’t going to put out her fires for her. The two of you will live parallel lives until she moves on.”

      “If I have anything to say about it, we will.” But she was still going to be there and he was still going to be acutely aware of the fact.

      “You know she’s still looking for jobs in urban areas,” Jordan pointed out.

      “I’d say that’s a given.”

      “And if she gets a job locally, she’ll probably rent one of those apartments on the lake.”

      “Good point.” The lake near the center of the Eagle Valley had seen a lot of development, and there were several new apartment buildings and condo complexes. The little town was growing, and he couldn’t see Taylor hanging out on the farm for a moment longer than she had to.

      “Something will come through and she’ll leave.” Jordan spoke as if Taylor’s departure was a done deal before reaching for the pitcher with his good hand. He topped off both of their

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