Harlequin Superromance September 2017 Box Set. Jeannie WattЧитать онлайн книгу.
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