Harlequin Superromance September 2017 Box Set. Jeannie Watt
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get that in writing, too.”
If it wasn’t for the grimace on his face, she would have thought he was playing with her. But he was grimacing. And hurting.
“Are you going to see someone about your wrist?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me drive you.”
The “all right” didn’t come easily, but Cole got it out and Taylor said, “I need to change again and wash up, then I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Probably the sooner the better. There might be a crowd, and I don’t want to kill the whole day.”
“Yes. Because you can do so much in the shape you’re in.”
“I have someone to do my stuff for me now.”
She sneered at him because he seemed to expect it. “Are you going to change?” Not that he didn’t look good rumpled.
“I think the medical personnel will understand why I don’t.”
As did she. “Just making sure you don’t need help before we go,” she said, hoping against hope that he didn’t call her bluff. Because she would help him…but that might not be the wisest move on her part. Interesting, yes. Wise? No.
“And baiting me in the process?”
“A little. Habit.” She smiled tightly. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES BECAME twenty, but since Cole expected to wait at least half an hour, he was impressed. It wasn’t that he thought that Taylor was going to waste time primping, but he figured it would take her a while to clean her shoes. Instead, she left her running shoes outside and wore ballet flats with jeans that hugged her legs in a way that made him want to peel them off. And he didn’t feel bad about that, because it was more of a reaction than a plan. She looked good in her jeans, and he was a guy. One who hadn’t peeled off anyone’s jeans in quite a while. Obviously, he wouldn’t be peeling these jeans, but he could think about it in a hypothetical way.
They took Taylor’s SUV, and once Cole was signed in to the urgent care facility, she left him and went grocery shopping. He had her cell number, but from the looks of the crowded waiting room, he didn’t think he’d need it. Two and a half hours, several X-rays, a knee brace and a wrist splint later, he was good to go. The only thing he’d been spared was an MRI, but only because he had to travel to get it done.
Taylor was waiting in the outer office when he came out of the treatment area, staring down at her lap. When he limped closer, she looked up at him, her expression instantly blanked out. The force field was in place. Something was wrong.
Why?
She got to her feet, shouldering her purse in one smooth move. “All wrapped up and ready to go, I see.” Oh, yeah. Brisk voice, no-nonsense manner. Something had happened. But he played along.
He held up his wrist. “Sprained, not broken.” Although sprains could take as long to heal as breaks, he was relieved not to have a cast knocking around.
“The knee?”
“I’m not getting an expensive test to tell me what I already know. It’s also sprained.”
“They can’t do something for that?”
“Not a hell of a lot. I have to live with it.” Just as he had before.
They drove most of the way home in silence, but not the same kind of silence that had settled between them on the trip to urgent care. This was a brittle silence, one that begged to be broken.
Taylor turned onto the county road leading to the farm, and Cole decided enough was enough. He shifted in his seat and was about to ask what the deal was when Taylor spoke.
“I didn’t get the job.”
Well, that sucked. Cole stared at her profile, wondering what the hell had gone wrong. She’d been confident about the second interview. “Did they give a reason?”
She shook her head. “Nothing beyond the usual being-very-sorry kind of thing.”
“That bites.” She was never leaving the farm.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “The search continues.” She cleared her throat. “I hate telling Grandpa.”
“Don’t.”
“That got me into trouble last time.” She glanced at him. “You had something to say on the matter, if I recall.”
Yeah, he did, but he hadn’t thought about the reason she hadn’t called Karl. “You didn’t call him because you were embarrassed? About losing your job, I mean.”
“I’d never failed so massively before.”
“Did you fail? Like…do something wrong that got you fired?” Because he was curious if he’d gotten the entire story.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she snapped. “Other than putting in more hours than most people on staff. But it still felt like failure.” The corner of her mouth turned down. “No…actually, it felt like getting screwed—and not the good kind.”
She pulled into the farm driveway and parked beside the bunkhouse, turned off the ignition and pulled the key out. She was reaching for the door handle when Cole asked the burning question. “Realistically, what are your chances of being employed here, in this area?”
“Well, I thought they’d be better here than in Seattle.”
“And because this is where you can afford to live while you look?”
Her jaw shifted. “You know that’s the case.”
“You’re in finance, right?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you’re in financial trouble.”
Her expression iced over. “Do you ever get tired of judging me?”
“What the hell happened, Taylor?”
“Student loans. Tons of them. I didn’t save as much as I should have, because I felt safe and was concentrating on trying to pay off loans—like the one from my grandfather. And I enjoyed my life in the city.”
“Not to mention your car.”
“That car is special.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Jordan’s eyes had practically glazed over when he heard about it. “Selling it would probably keep you solvent for—”
“A few months. Then the money would be gone and the car would be gone.”
“But you’d have a few more months of living expenses. Sometimes you have to sacrifice—”
“My dad left me that car.” The words came grinding out, then Taylor jerked her gaze away, as if she hated showing him emotion that wasn’t pure anger or snark. As if vulnerability was a bad thing. Maybe it was in her world. “I was fourteen when he passed away, and he left me that car. Before I could drive. He wanted me to have it.”
“Okay,” he said after a crackling stretch of silence. “I get it.”
He let out a breath and leaned his head back, telling himself to get out of the vehicle. He didn’t move.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be kicked to the curb?”
“I’ve had my share of failures.”
“I’m not talking failures. I’m talking rejection—from the very people you were trying to help.” She let out a breath. “You don’t have a clue.”
She grabbed for the door handle, but before she got out, he put his good hand on her knee, and she froze. So did he. But he didn’t move his hand. He didn’t