Harlequin Superromance September 2017 Box Set. Jeannie Watt

key. The diesel engine gave a few coughing chugs, and Cole limped closer, waving for her to roll down the window. “It’s an older diesel. You can’t start it until the warning lights go off. And don’t put it in gear until the needles on the gauges come to life.”

      She scowled at him. “Is there also a secret handshake?”

      “No. Do those things and you’re fine.”

      She nodded and left the window down. The next time she turned the key, the engine started. A few seconds later, she said, “The needle moved.”

      “You’re good to go.” He stood back as she put the truck into grandma gear and it bucked as she let out the clutch. Low-geared pickups were nothing like a nice little sports car. She didn’t look his way as she moved the truck forward and stopped it under the elm. Once it was parked, she crossed the driveway, her hands pushing deep into her front pockets.

      “Bad clutch,” she said.

      He shook his head. “Different gears.”

      “What now? The doctor?” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

      “Feed the calves.”

      “Where’s the feed?”

      “In the house. Milk replacer. I have to mix it up.”

      “And you feed it in a pan?”

      “A bottle. You’ll love it.”

      She gave him a cautious look. “I’m sure I will.”

      “You’ll need a towel. They slobber and drip.”

      Taylor wrinkled her nose but didn’t say a word. He jerked his head toward the house. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

      * * *

      TAYLOR MADE A supreme effort to keep her eyes from straying over to where Cole walked—or rather limped—beside her. Guys shouldn’t look sexier after sleeping in their clothes. It wasn’t right.

      They shouldn’t threaten people with calf slobber either.

      Or work detail, in retaliation for a perfectly reasonable request. The only thing hurt by her staying on for six months was his sense of isolation and privacy.

      If he wanted to play things this way, fine. She could handle it if he could. No—she could handle it even if he couldn’t.

      She gave in to weakness and shot a quick glance his way. His mouth was tight, his lips close to white. The guy was hurting.

      He was also lucky to have someone there. Lucky last night. Lucky this morning. He probably could have called a friend or relative to help, but if that had been an easy option, she wouldn’t now be looking at a six-month reprieve.

      “You know,” she said as they approached the house, “I’m not staying here to torture you.” He frowned at her, which barely changed his tight, pained expression. “All right, you got me. Now that I know you better, I am.”

      “Ha, ha,” he muttered.

      “That wasn’t a joke,” she said straight-faced. He shot her another sideways look, but she ignored it. “It’s a matter of getting back on my feet as soon as possible.”

      “Yeah, I get it,” he said in a way that told her he got it but didn’t like it.

      “I never thought something like this would happen to me.” She wasn’t certain why she continued to hammer on the matter. Maybe to distract him from his obvious pain. Or maybe because, now that they’d struck their deal, she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t wild about the situation either but was doing what she could to survive.

      “Why not, Taylor? What would make you immune?”

      “Hard work and planning. I worked my ass off for Stratford. More sixty-to-eighty-hour weeks than I care to think about. I got awards. Raises. Bonuses.”

      “Maybe you became too high priced to keep on.”

      A possibility she’d considered more than once. “They got their money’s worth.”

      He slowly climbed the steps, holding his arm against his chest, and Taylor eased past him to open the door.

      “I’m not helpless,” he muttered.

      “And not good at receiving the help you ask for either.”

      “Hey—at least I asked.”

      “Only because you had no other option.”

      “Which you had no qualms about taking advantage of.”

      She smiled sweetly. “I gotta be me.”

      He limped into the kitchen and on into the mudroom. “That’s the replacer,” he said, pointing to a bag.

      He gave her instructions to mix, and once Taylor had three quart-size bottles filled and the nipples in place, Cole placed them in a metal bucket and they once again started for the door.

      “How are you going to catch these guys? It isn’t like you can chase them.”

      “But you can.”

      Her eyes widened as she held up her palms in a defensive gesture. “The calves don’t concern me, but that big one is a renegade.”

      “You can carry a stick.”

      “Comforting,” she muttered. Because he wasn’t kidding.

      Together they crossed to the barn, where Cole had her put alfalfa and grain into the feeders. Following instructions, Taylor went around the house to the backyard, where the heifer was grazing, and raised her arms to shoo her toward the driveway. The black cow eyed her balefully, then kinked her tail and started trotting toward where Cole stood blocking the driveway. Taylor hoped the cow wasn’t going to run over him again, because his limping gait made a tortoise look like a speed demon. He waved his hat, and the cow shied sideways and headed straight for the metal panels Taylor had set up between the corral and the machine shop. Taylor closed in, and the cow, spotting the feed, headed straight into the corral. The calves followed, and she closed the gate, breathing hard—more from nerves than from exertion—as she locked it.

      “Now what?”

      “Now you experience the wonder of milk slobber.” Taylor screwed up her face and Cole continued, “You’re the one who chose to sell your soul for a few months of free rent.”

      “Free?” She’d offered to pay minimal rent. It seemed only fair, and damn it, she was trying to be fair. She wasn’t above capitalizing on his situation, but she was going to do what was right now that she had.

      “But I’m going to work your ass off.”

      “I think we might have to get some of this in writing.”

      “I have stuff in writing with your grandfather and it didn’t save me from you.”

      She smirked at him and reached for the bottle. “I need instructions.”

      “Try not to get mobbed.”

      “Thanks.” He handed her a bottle, and Taylor eased in through the gate, locking it behind her with one hand. The killer heifer barely acknowledged her presence, but the calves, which were nosing through the hay, recognized the bottle. She straddled the first one as Cole instructed, then held up its chin from behind, and it immediately latched on to the nipple. As promised, milk rolled down her hand and arm as the calf slurped, but the gross factor was counterbalanced by the cute factor.

      “This isn’t bad,” she said, glancing up at Cole.

      “Just time-consuming.”

      “And a little sticky.”

      After they were all fed, Taylor was ready for a second shower. She had milk replacer up to her armpits and cow poop on her shoes due to a misstep. “I want to negotiate for use of your washing machine.”