LITMIR.BIZ

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Taylor sat down on the bed and started untying her poor beat-up running shoes. Even her cat agreed. Not a farm girl. Although the tractor was a lot of fun.

      She kicked off her shoes, then rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, which wasn’t stiff at all. The day in the tractor might not have taken a toll physically, but she was tired—tired in a way she’d never been after a day at the office.

      So, what was the difference?

      Maybe it was that she didn’t have the gnawing sense she hadn’t done enough that day?

      And her back wasn’t aching. Taylor’s back was her stress barometer. High stress equaled tight muscles, which meant she could sit for only so long, yet today she’d sat for the entire day without a twinge.

      Okay…score two points for farmwork, but she didn’t see the score getting much higher. The pay was low and the benefits were nonexistent…unless one counted watching a great-looking guy do his thing with chains and posts.

      But that wouldn’t pay a hospital claim.

      “One has to work in a realm of reality,” she said to Max, who didn’t bother to respond, or even open his eyes. He’d never been much of a conversationalist. “It’s not bad doing this stuff, but in reality, do I belong here? No. Does Cole want me here?”

      She didn’t bother to answer the obvious, but instead got to her feet and went to the old refrigerator to see what she could nuke for dinner.

      Her choices were macaroni and cheese or macaroni and cheese.

      She was going to have to go shopping soon. If she were in Seattle, she could have popped down the street for a slice of pizza. It would have filled her belly without breaking the bank. Then she could have gone home, put on some jazz, opened a bottle of wine…

      Yes, she was a city girl.

      With a tight back and a sore neck.

      But no dirt on her hands and in her hair.

      She pulled out the frozen container of cheese and pasta and peeled off the wrapper, then opened a bottle of wine. She didn’t know if red was the best choice for budget fare, but it was what she had and, better yet, what she liked.

      It also made her sleepy. She managed a quick shower, then lay down on her bed, intending to read. Instead she conked out.

      She wasn’t certain what brought her awake, but it was something other than the usual thumping and bumping from below. She sat up, causing the book she’d been reading to slip onto the floor, startling her.

      Taylor closed her eyes as she waited for her heart to stop racing, then reached down to lay a hand on Max, who’d barely stirred. Whatever had awoken her hadn’t disturbed him, meaning no marauding mice or rats had broken through her patch job—which also meant it was safe to put her feet down.

      She crossed to the window and pushed aside the droopy curtain. The driveway, the yard, Cole’s house—everything appeared as it should be. A bluish light came through Cole’s closed curtains. He was still up, watching television? Of course he was. The glowing clock next to her bed read ten thirty.

      She heard the sound again—a distant, hollow thudding, which Cole probably couldn’t hear over the television. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a normal farm sound, or wind in the pines.

      Taylor dropped the curtain and made her way to the door, where she slid her feet into her running shoes and pulled her hooded sweatshirt off the hook. She slipped outside and quietly closed the door, then stopped and listened. The noises were coming from the calf pen—the thuds of running feet on soft dirt. She was about to head across the driveway to alert Cole to the situation when she heard the growl. Not a threatening wolf growl, but a higher-pitched yappy dog growl.

      What the…?

      The next growl was followed by a yip. Or rather a yap.

      Taylor shifted course and headed directly to the calf pen. Unless coyotes now sounded like poodles, she felt confident she could handle whatever it was that was stampeding her calves.

      “Whatever it was” turned out to be a streak of white darting in and out of the calves’ legs, then shooting back under the fence before darting back in again.

      “Hey!”

      The small dog froze middash, then pivoted and zipped past Taylor, making a beeline for the grain shed, where it disappeared under the building through a small hole near the door.

      “Great,” Taylor muttered. She had a feeling that as soon as she went back to bed, the dog would start harassing the calves again. She bent down at the hole, wishing she had a flashlight.

      “Hey, puppy. Come on. Come on…”

      There was no sign of movement under the shed.

      Taylor let out a breath and tried again. “Come on, sweetie. Come on out.”

      Behind her she heard Cole’s door open and shut again. Excellent. Reinforcements. She sat back on her heels as Cole approached, the light in his hand bobbing with his limp.

      “I kind of hate to ask…” he said as he approached.

      “A dog was bothering the calves.”

      “White fluffy dog?”

      “That’s the one.”

      He let out a breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “Mrs. Clovendale’s sister is visiting again. Did you see a black-and-white collie?”

      “No.”

      “She’s the brains of the outfit. Probably on her way home right now. They’ve been here a couple of times before, but I didn’t have animals then. She always takes off when she sees me and the poodle hides.” Cole awkwardly bent down, accommodating his bad knee. He leaned toward the opening. “Come on, Chucky.”

      A whimper sounded from the depths of the foundation.

      “Chuck, Chuck, Chucky.”

      Taylor pressed her lips together as she felt a laugh start to bubble up. “Chuck, Chuck, Chucky?”

      “It works,” Cole muttered, shifting his knee to a new position that looked just as uncomfortable as the old.

      Taylor said nothing and, sure enough, on the fourth Chuck-Chuck-Chucky, the little dog crawled out from under the building on his belly and looked up at Cole with soulful brown eyes. Cole scooped the dog up with his good hand, tried to push up to his feet with the other and almost fell over in the process. Taylor took hold of his arm to steady him as he regained his balance, swallowing drily as his hard muscles flexed beneath her palm. As soon as he was on his feet she let go.

      “Thanks.” He held out the dog. “You want to keep him until morning?”

      “Are you kidding?” she asked, ruffling the silky curls behind the dog’s ear. “Max will eat him.”

      “Probably so.” He cradled the poodle against his chest.

      “Although… I could probably keep him safe from Max if you didn’t want a roommate tonight.” He gave her a quizzical look, and she shrugged. “I like dogs.”

      “Me, too.”

      “Hey. Something in common.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Don’t sound so thrilled.” She reached for the poodle, and he relinquished his hold. The little dog pressed his warm little body into her. He was panting hard from his evening’s work.

      A grudging smile lifted the corners of Cole’s mouth. “I’ll call Mrs. Clovendale in the morning. Deliver Chucky back home when I make my grocery run.”

      “Maybe you’d better take him,” Taylor said. “I don’t want Max’s feelings to be hurt.”

      “Sure. We can finish watching The Caine Mutiny together.”

      “I

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