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CHAPTER ONE

FAILURE DID NOT sit well with Taylor Evans, which was why she did her best to never fail. And she hadn’t…until exactly eight weeks ago today.

Taylor lifted her glass of chardonnay and sipped. It was her last bottle, and she needed to savor every drop. She also needed the false courage if she was going to call her grandfather and confess that she, who’d nailed down full-ride scholarships and been courted by three different companies upon graduating, had been a victim of downsizing—and no one else would hire her.

The truth hurt.

Okay, maybe she’d been a bit vain, thinking she was so integral to her organization that it couldn’t function without her—but in defense of her vanity, how many eighty-hour weeks had she worked for the good of the company? Her cheeks grew warm as she recalled laughing when, after rumors of the reduction in force had started, a colleague stated that everyone was replaceable. She’d rather vehemently disagreed. There were several people in the company, including herself, who were so necessary to the operation that even in this economic climate, they had to be safe. It would be detrimental to the company to cut them loose.

She’d been the first person let go. When she’d been called into her supervisor’s office, she’d assumed that it was to let her in on what was about to happen so that she could help shore things up once the layoffs were announced. Uh…no. Don Erickson had thanked her for her dedication to the company, for the extra time she’d spent working on projects, and then directed her to the next office to discuss severance and the fate of her excellent insurance plan.

Taylor never, ever wanted to experience that cold, numb feeling again. Or to do the walk of shame back to her office, where her belongings had already been packed into a cardboard box. The bus ride home had been hell—until the anger hit. She would get another job with a competing company, and then who would be sorry?

Those thoughts had sustained her for almost two weeks. But when the rent and utilities came due and she hadn’t been called for even one interview, when the headhunters had remained frustratingly unhelpful, she’d known a moment of panic—very similar to what she was feeling now.

Call. Get it over with. Tell Grandpa the truth.

But since Taylor had rarely given her paternal grandfather anything but good news, this was not an easy call. She needed his help.

No. She needed to be bailed out.

Taylor’s throat started to tighten up as she reached for her phone, which was wedged under sixteen pounds of sleeping cat. Max twitched an ear as she tugged the phone out from under him, and then he stretched out to his full length. Telling herself that Max was a big eater so she needed help as much for him as for herself, Taylor dialed her grandfather’s number. It rang four times, which was the norm.

“Hello?”

Taylor froze at the unfamiliar voice, deep and somehow commanding, then held her phone out to check the number. The word Grandpa showed on her screen. Right number. Wrong voice. “Uh…hi. I’m trying to reach Karl Evans.”

“He doesn’t live here.”

Taylor blinked. “What?”

“He’s been gone for almost three weeks.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m renting his place.”

“Your name.”

There was a brief pause, and then the man said, “What’s your name?”

None of your business. Taylor bit her lip. In this day and age, how much information could she afford to give? “Could you please give me the number where I can reach Karl?”

“You don’t have his cell number?”

“My g—Karl doesn’t have a cell phone.”

“He does now.”

That was news. “Then give me the number.”

“Tell me who you are—”

“I’m his granddaughter.”

“Then why don’t you know that your grandfather has a cell phone or that he moved?”

“I—”

“Tell you what…you leave your name and number, and I’ll pass along the message.”

Taylor pressed her lips together to keep from telling this guy what he could do with his suggestion. “Tell my grandfather to call me. I’m his only granddaughter, so there shouldn’t be any mix-ups.”

“That,” the man said softly, “doesn’t speak well for you.”

Then, before she could suggest he take a flying leap, he ended the call, leaving Taylor staring at her phone.

What had just happened?

And more important, who was this guy and where was her grandfather?

* * *

KARL EVANS WAS not answering either his cell phone or his landline. Cole was just about to call his sister when his phone rang in his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Karl asked instead of saying hello. “You called three times.”

“Everything is fine, except that I just talked to someone who is probably your granddaughter, but I didn’t give her your phone number.”

“Why not?”

“Because she didn’t know you’d moved almost a month ago.” In his mind, relatives should know that kind of thing. “Which made me wonder if she was who she said she was.”

“You think young women are in the habit of stalking me?”

“In this day and age you can’t be too careful. Anyway, I told her I’d give you the message.”

“I’ve been meaning to call her. I figured I had time because she hasn’t been in touch since Christmas.”

Five months. That was a while to go without contact.

“How’s everything else?” Karl asked.

“I’m inspecting the equipment. So far, so good.” If all went well, he’d be seeding the fields he’d leased from Karl along with the house.

“Keep me in the loop. I miss the place. And if Taylor calls again, give her my cell number.”

“Are you going to call her?” Personal question, but Cole was curious.

“I’ll try. A lot of the time she doesn’t answer but gets back to me when she can. I’ve kind of given up on being the one to reach out.”

That smacked of family drama, and Cole was not a fan. He’d had enough family drama, which was why he was no longer managing the family ranch turned guest ranch. Drama sucked. “Gotcha.”

“She’s a good kid, Cole. Just busy.”

Too busy to answer her grandpa’s calls? That kind of behavior was flat-out wrong, but again, family drama. Cole wasn’t going to get sucked in.

“Any other relatives I should know about?”

“Taylor’s the only one other than my sister, and you know her.”

“That I do. Tell her hi for me.” Cole hung up and then crossed the kitchen to the cast-iron pan he’d left heating on the stove. Karl had moved only a small amount of stuff to Dillon because he didn’t believe the move was permanent. That meant the kitchen was still well stocked with pots and pans and cooking needs. As near as Cole could tell from what was left behind, Karl was probably closer to camping than actually occupying his new home next door to his sister while she dealt with her husband’s death. Whatever, Cole had the farmhouse until Karl decided to move back to Gavin, which made life easier on him. When he’d left the family guest ranch after the last blowup with Miranda, his crazed step-aunt, he hadn’t owned much in the way of house gear. He’d lived in what was essentially a larger guest cabin on the ranch property, ate most of his meals in the guest facility and cooked as little as possible. He planned to continue that trend, but he could handle steak and store-bought macaroni salad.

He’d just set his steak square in the middle of the cast-iron pans when he heard a knock on the door. Surprised, since the farm didn’t get that many visitors, he crossed the kitchen, opened the door and found himself face-to-face with two deputy sheriffs.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

One of them met and held his gaze while the other looked past him into the room as if expecting to see a trail of blood or stacks of stolen cash.

“We’re checking on the whereabouts of Karl Evans. Are you Mr. Evans?”

Karl’s granddaughter had called the cops on him. Well, at least she cared enough to do that—or maybe she didn’t take kindly to not getting what she wanted. Whatever the circumstances, Cole was fairly certain that the deputies knew that he wasn’t Mr. Evans. “I’m Cole Bryan. I’m leasing the place from Mr. Evans.”

“Do you know how to get in contact with Mr. Evans?”

“Just got off the phone with him, so I can give you his number and his sister’s number in Dillon. Neither of them are any good at answering their phones, but you might get lucky.”

Neither deputy smiled. “Do you have identification?”

Cole jerked his head toward his wallet that sat next to his keys and sunglasses at the end of the counter. “I do.”

“Get it, please.”

Cole did as the other deputy dialed the number Cole had provided and stepped out onto the porch. The first deputy inspected Cole’s driver’s license.

“You’re close to expiration.”

“Yes.”

He held the license out and waited for his partner to finish his call. Cole was thankful that the guy had gotten through on the first try.

“Do you have a copy of the lease agreement?”

Cole glanced over his shoulder at his steak that was starting to snap and pop in the hot skillet. “I do. Can I turn that down?” The deputy nodded and Cole stepped over to the stove and flipped the steak, the cop watching him as if he was going to use the piece of meat as a defensive weapon.

After he carefully put down the fork, he pulled the towel off his shoulder just as the second deputy came back into the kitchen and gave his partner a nod.

“Do you need to see a copy of the lease?” Cole asked.

The deputy who’d made the phone call shook his head. “Mr. Evans established his identity as well as yours to my satisfaction.”

“Good to know.”

“Sorry to intrude on your evening.”

“Not a problem,” Cole said. “I, uh, assume that you got a call from Mr. Evans’s granddaughter?”

“She requested a wellness check, yes.”

“Sorry you guys had to come all this way.”

“It’s our job.”

It was also a five-mile drive that could have been avoided if…whatever her name was…had called her grandfather every now and again. Cole went back to the steak. Hopefully the granddaughter was now satisfied that Karl was safe and sound. She’d call him more often after this scare, and all would be well.

* * *

TAYLOR WAS HOT—the angry kind. Nothing like driving through the night for eight hours, stewing, to get the blood up. By the time she hit the Montana border, she’d reached a decision. She was going to see her grandfather, but first she was stopping by his farm to meet the guy who’d somehow talked him into leasing not only the land, but his house. That didn’t sit right with her.

In fact, there wasn’t one thing about this situation that seemed right. Her grandfather had sworn he would never leave his farm. Taylor’s aunt had tried to get him to Dillon more than once, but he always refused. He’d even gone so far as to say that he wanted to be buried on his property. Yet he had left.

Taylor yawned as she pulled off the freeway onto the state highway toward the Eagle Valley. Dawn was breaking. She’d driven all night, but all night was a way of life with her. It was how she’d become the most productive member of her team. And where had that gotten her?

Her throat started to tighten. Eight weeks in and she still felt hurt, betrayed—thoroughly screwed. The business part of her said that it wasn’t personal.

That didn’t change the fact that it felt personal.

Her job had been such a huge part of her life, her identity—it was impossible not to take the layoff personally…especially when they’d kept Kent McCoy on staff. The guy did half the work she did…

Stop.

Taylor did her best, although stop was not a well-used word in her vocabulary. If anything, she pressed on, but for the last eight weeks she’d been pressing against…nothing. It was exhausting having no goals other than getting a job. Not that she hadn’t thrown herself into it—

Stop.

Think about something else…like where you’re going to live once you give up your apartment.

Arrow to the heart, that. Her lease, which was up in three weeks, didn’t allow subletting, and she certainly couldn’t afford her rent without a job. The rock and the hard place were squeezing her hard, and the thing that most angered her was that for her entire life she’d plotted and planned so that these kinds of things would never happen.

Argh.

Taylor slapped a hand on the steering wheel. What she needed was someone to talk to. Most of her Seattle friends were work acquaintances who now seemed to feel totally awkward around her. Her real friends—Roselyn and Katherine—lived on the other side of the country, working in fields unrelated to her own. She hadn’t talked to them since the layoff. It wasn’t solely a case of not wanting to share her misery—Taylor didn’t know how to share misery.

As she approached the Eagle Valley, nestled in the hollow of three mountain ranges, she felt a growing sense of relief. She was entering a world where no one knew that she’d failed, that her careful life plans had gone askew.

Sweet anonymity.

Even the guy she was stopping to see shouldn’t know what was going on, since she’d only recently—as in nine short hours ago—confessed to her grandfather that for the past eight weeks she’d been unemployed and had no real prospects.

She needed to temporarily lower her standards, find a job—any job—so that she didn’t have a big hole in her résumé. She could deal with a short-term cut in pay and fewer benefits, but if she did that, she had to come up with a way to cover expenses until she once again landed a job in her field. That was where Karl came in. She was going to have to ask her grandfather for a helping hand—no easy task when she’d been incommunicado for months. She’d been bad. And karma had bitten her on the ass.

* * *

COLE WAS DRINKING coffee when he heard the sound of an engine. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Five thirty seemed too early for a social call…maybe the granddaughter had once again called law enforcement?

He set down his cup and went to the door. The car that pulled up was low slung and sexy. A thin coat of dust covered the silver finish, but it was obviously a car that had been well cared for. The woman climbing out of the driver’s side wasn’t that tall, but she was fit and sexy, with long blond hair pulled into a low ponytail. She perfectly matched the vehicle. She shaded her eyes when she caught sight of him standing on the porch watching her, then squared her shoulders and marched toward him.

The granddaughter. This should prove interesting.

Cole leaned against the newel post and waited. A guy didn’t spend eight years working on a guest ranch without learning to both read people and deal with them effectively. His read on this woman—simmering anger. Frustration. In need of a scapegoat for…something. No question as to whom that scapegoat might be.

“Hi,” he said when she hit the end of the broken-up walkway. “Want some coffee?”

Her brisk steps slowed. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I’m guessing that you’re Karl’s granddaughter.” He jerked his head toward the house. “I just made a fresh pot.” He ran his gaze over her. “You look like you could use a cup.”

Her bemused expression changed to something approaching a smirk. “Thanks.”

With a casual shrug, he opened the door. The woman hesitated, then preceded him into the house.

“It hasn’t changed much,” she said.

“Why would I change it?”

She shot him a look. “I guess that depends on why you’re here.”

He went into the kitchen and pulled a second mug down from the cupboard near the sink. “I’m here to farm. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to check on the welfare of my grandfather.”

“Then,” he asked in a reasonable voice before handing her the steaming cup, “why aren’t you in Dillon, where your grandfather is?”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. A woman used to playing her hand carefully. “That is where I’m going.”

“Just thought you’d stop by? Introduce yourself?” He set down his own coffee and held out a hand. “Cole Bryan.”

She returned his handshake. “Taylor Evans.”

“Nice to meet you, Taylor. And thanks for calling the deputies on me.”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice. My aunt wouldn’t answer her phone, you answered my grandfather’s phone and I was concerned.”

“Yet not concerned enough to keep closer tabs on your grandfather over the past several months.”

Her expression iced over. “There were circumstances at play there.” He lifted his eyebrows politely. “Private circumstances,” she said in a tone indicating that if he had any manners at all, he would stop the questions now.

He took a sip of coffee. If she thought cool superiority was going to make him remember his place, she had another think coming. Having worked with a master of the freeze strategy—his step-aunt and former boss, Miranda Bryan—she was going to have to do better than this.

“Are you satisfied now that all is well?”

He could tell the word no teetered on the edge of her lips, but she caught it before it fell. “I guess I don’t understand why you’re here in the house. My grandfather said he doesn’t think he’ll be in Dillon for all that long.”

“Maybe your grandfather is lonely and would like a roommate.”

“My grandfather is not the roommate kind.”

“You sound certain.”

“I know him.”

“Yet you didn’t know he moved.”

Irritation flashed across her features. “Would you stop bringing that up?”

“Sorry.” He set down his cup and gripped the counter on each side of his hips. “Maybe if you told me why you’re here, I can help you out, and then you can continue on to Dillon.”

She smiled tightly. “Yes. What a great idea. I wanted to meet you.”

“Make sure I was on the up-and-up?”

“My grandfather always leased his land to the neighbor to farm. I understand the neighbor is still farming.”

“Are you suggesting that I might have persuaded him to lease to me instead?”

She gave a small shrug. “The thought crossed my mind.”

“I did.”

Her eyes widened, and it took her a few seconds to say, “How long have you known my grandfather?”

“He used to cowboy with my grandfather a long time ago.”

“Karl never was a cowboy.”

Cole said nothing. He wasn’t going to argue the point.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Not that I knew of anyway.”

A slight step back, which gave her a couple of points in his book. “I didn’t use any kind of coercion. I just…talked to him.”

“And ended up living in his house. Using his stuff.”

“I’m a smooth talker.” And since her suspicions—her attitude, really—was starting to piss him off, he saw no reason to mention that Karl had been concerned about the place being broken into during his absence. Having Cole living there solved a problem for both of them, but too much explaining was only going to give her more to latch onto. He glanced past Taylor to the teapot-shaped clock on the wall. “I also have to get to work.”

“You have a job?”

“Yes,” he said in his patient guest-ranch-manager voice. “I’m a farmer.”