Wrangling The Rancher. Jeannie Watt
EPILOGUE
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