Close Enough to Touch (5 page)

Hell, yeah, he was tired of bunkhouse living, but that hadn’t
been the problem. As a matter of fact, he’d become ranch boss and moved into the
boss’s house less than a year before.

Cole finished frying the bacon, then set it on a plate and
covered it before breaking the eggs into the hot grease. “I was hurt last year,”
he finally said.

“What happened?”

“A horse landed on my leg.”

“Ow.”

“Yeah.” He wanted to reach down and rub his leg, but he
concentrated on the eggs instead.

“So they made you move out?”

The whole complicated story loomed before him. Cole rolled his
shoulders. “There’s not enough room for guys who aren’t working, so, yeah. But
I’m getting back to work now. I won’t be here much longer.”

“Me either.”

He put bread in the toaster. “You just got here.”

“I’m passing through.”

Cole blinked at that, tension tightening his shoulders, but he
tried not to let it show. “Who could’ve guessed you didn’t want to settle in
Wyoming?”

One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “You telling me I
don’t look like a Wyoming girl?”

“You know damn well you don’t look like a Wyoming girl. And
that’s the way you like it.”

Now both eyebrows rose as if she was surprised. Cole piled two
plates high with eggs and bacon and toast. He slid the plates across the
counter, added forks and knives and paper towels, and joined her at the
barstools to find out exactly who she was.

* * *

T
HE
MAN
WAS
SMARTER
than he looked. She’d been trying to bait
him, force him to say something that she’d find insulting. Instead he’d spoken
the truth as if it were obvious to him. Grace wasn’t sure what to do with
that.

“So how long are you staying?” he asked.

She took a bite of egg instead of answering his question. The
flavor melted over her tongue and she hoped Cole didn’t hear the way her stomach
growled at the sudden pleasure. “Wow. The eggs are amazing.”

“Bacon grease,” he said. “What are you doing out here?
Working?”

Grace cleared her throat and told herself not to stuff the food
into her mouth, but damn, she hadn’t had a real meal in days. On the bus, it had
been granola bars and chips. She took a bite of bacon and spoke past it. “I
already told you. I’m passing through.”

“On your way to where?”

“Vancouver.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “This is a strange route to Vancouver.”

She shrugged and made a point of changing the subject. “Thanks
so much for breakfast. And coffee. The coffee’s great, too. Strong.”

She felt his gaze on her, but caught the movement of his head
when he finally looked away. “You should try it after it’s been sitting at the
edge of a campfire all day. That’ll wake you up.”

She was glad he’d given up the questions, because she wanted to
grab her plate and run back to her place so she could shovel the food in the way
she wanted to. If he pushed her anymore, that’s exactly what she’d do. But he
dropped the subject, so she slathered too much butter on the toast and managed
to get nearly a fourth of it into her mouth in one bite.

God, she’d been really hungry. Now she wanted to groan in
pleasure. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. As a matter of fact, at this moment, Cole
Rawlins was pretty awesome.

She didn’t register how many eggs were on her plate until she
dug into the third one. “How many eggs did you make?” she asked.

“Four for you, four for me.”

She laughed. “Do I look like I eat as much as you do?”

“You look like you’re doing okay, actually.”

Grace laughed so hard she almost had to stop eating for a
moment. “Didn’t I tell you I was a lumberjack back in L.A.?”

“Ah. Of course. You’ve got that look about you.”

Jesus, he was funny. A funny cowboy. Who’d have thunk it. She’d
thought they were all silent and brooding. Hell, they’d all definitely been
silent and brooding in
Brokeback Mountain.
But she
tried not to think about that when she looked at Cole.

“So, you’re from L.A.”

“Unfortunately.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Nothing right now.”

“Did—”

“I think I’m getting full,” she interrupted with an apologetic
wince. “Want my last egg?”

“No, I’m full myself.” He reached for the plate, but Grace
couldn’t quite bear to let it go, so she snatched the last piece of bacon before
he could whisk it away. He put the plate back down. Full or not, her mouth still
watered when she bit into the bacon. She tried not to think about how long it
had been since her last hot meal. It didn’t matter. She’d get a job today. Or
the next day. She’d have a check within a week. She’d start paying back the
money she owed so she’d never have to think about her ex again.

“You want help moving in?” Cole asked.

“No, I’m fine.” Now that she was full, Grace really needed to
escape. He kept asking the wrong kinds of questions. Not that there were any
right questions. Not about her.

“Come on.”

“I don’t have much.” Or anything. “Anyway, you’re injured.”

“I think I can handle moving a futon.” He gestured as he said
that, and Grace could see he was right. His hands were wide, and scars stood out
white against the tan. And she was pretty sure she’d never seen such
nice
forearms. Assuming one thought thick and muscled
and masculine was nice. She had a brief temptation to touch his arm, to see if
the hair was crisp or soft.

“So you’ll let me help?” he pressed.

Shit. She hopped off the stool and edged toward the door, away
from him and his questions. “I’m good. But thank you for the breakfast. And
coffee.” She forced herself not to ask for another cup, but it was hard. She’d
already taken too much from this man. “I’ll see you around.”

“Hey.”

She stopped halfway out the door, but only because he’d fed
her. Anybody else and she would’ve kept walking. When he didn’t say anything,
she stuck her head back in to see him writing something down.

“Here’s my phone number,” he said when he crossed the room.

She didn’t reach for it, feeling immediately wary. “You live
across the hall. I think I can find you if I need you.”

“You know anybody here except Rayleen?”

She met his pale eyes and didn’t answer.
Yes, I’m alone and vulnerable. Good for you to know.

“This isn’t L.A.” he said. “If you get stuck somewhere at night
or your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, you might not see another car
for an hour. So, take my number, all right?”

No, this definitely wasn’t L.A. And if he thought she was
afraid of something like being alone for an hour, then he didn’t know what real
fear was.

But he took one step closer and pressed the paper into her
hand. When her fingers closed over it, he winked. “In case you need me,” he said
again, this time with a hint of amusement.

Grace nodded. “All right. I’ll call you if I have any cows that
need branding, stud.”

“Stud? My God, you L.A. women are forward. I think I’m
blushing.”

She closed the door in his face, and scowled at his laughter as
she crossed the hall.

Did he think she’d been flirting with him? He probably did
think that. He was undeniably handsome, though totally not her type. Too
clean-cut. Too chiseled and… Okay, he was pretty fantastic-looking, but too
confident for his own good. He probably thought she’d add a little exotic
city-girl spice to his bed. And he probably thought he’d have no trouble getting
her there. But Grace wasn’t interested in being his little curiosity. Even if
she had any interest in getting laid right now—and she didn’t—she wasn’t going
to be his experiment in edginess. His walk on the wild side. He could just sit
over there and wonder.

Wanting to get the coffee taste out of her mouth, Grace headed
toward the bathroom, where she’d already unloaded her few supplies and one giant
box of cosmetics. But when she flipped on the light and got a look at herself,
she froze. She’d forgotten to take off her makeup last night, and it had smeared
into a crooked mask around her eyes. She suddenly had to consider that Cole’s
laughter hadn’t been flirtation at all. Maybe it had just been pure
amusement.

Damn.

CHAPTER FOUR

G
RACE
WAS
NERVOUS
. She didn’t like being nervous. It made her
grumpy and defensive, which wasn’t the best attitude for a job interview.

Not that this was exactly a job interview. She’d caught the bus
to the other side of town and was now sitting in Eve Hill’s photography studio,
waiting for her to finish reviewing proofs with someone. Or she assumed that was
what was going on behind the closed door at the far side of the room. That’s
what the sign on the front door had said. The low murmur of voices was a
soothing sound, at least.

So far, so good. There were the obligatory bride portraits on a
side wall, but for the most part, the pictures were a mix of landscape shots,
publicity stills for businesses and some truly amazing fashion shoots that had
been done with the mountains in the background and frost covering everything
except the models.

This woman was good. Really good.

Grace smoothed down her tight black pants, wishing she’d had an
iron. She’d hung her nicest clothes up in the bathroom and turned the shower to
hot, but now she felt self-conscious about the slate-blue sweater. Maybe it was
the wrong choice. It had been knitted to look ancient and torn apart and shot
through with muted grays as if it had faded in the sun. Slightly risky for a job
interview, but Grace was counting on the complex beauty of the wool to catch the
photographer’s eye. The sweaters normally sold for three hundred dollars a pop
at the upscale farmer’s market in La Jolla, but the knitter was a friend who’d
given Grace one as a present. It was her favorite piece of clothing. Ever. But
maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe in Wyoming a raggedy sweater was just a
raggedy sweater that no one would pay two dollars for. Maybe it looked like
something she’d pulled from the trash can behind an L.A. soup kitchen.

God. She should go home and change.

Grace stood up, but then froze without moving toward the
door.

Change into what, exactly? The signed Dead Kennedys T-shirt
she’d bought at a garage sale last year? The silk tunic with the hand-screened
Vargas pinup girl that curved up the hip in vivid colors?

Actually, maybe. Maybe a photographer would appreciate Vargas.
Or maybe she’d consider it no better than soft porn.

“Damn it,” Grace muttered softly. She didn’t like this. Trying
to
please
people. Worrying how to make a good first
impression. She’d put up with this sort of thing for the past year, thanks to
Scott, but what the hell did it have to do with how great she was with makeup?
And she was great. Anyone in L.A. would be lucky to have her as a makeup artist,
much less someone in Jackson, Wyoming. So why was her confidence shaking like a
leaf?

Maybe because this felt like a last chance.

It wasn’t, though. She could work at a restaurant. A gas
station. She could clean hotel rooms. Anything. But those jobs would all pay
minimum wage. How long would it take her to pay back an eight-thousand-dollar
debt at that kind of wage?

The white door opened and a pair of female voices swelled
through the room. Grace decided to bolt. This whole thing was a ridiculous idea.
But when she started to move, her boot hit the portfolio she’d set on the
ground. She caught herself, but wobbled on the four-inch heel of her nicest
boots. In that moment, she had to make a decision, and instead of falling
face-first in her attempt to escape, she settled on flopping back into her chair
and staying put. She had just enough time to straighten up before the women
glanced her way.

Grace took a breath to steady herself, then grabbed the
portfolio and stood. A woman with a long brown ponytail offered a smile before
saying goodbye to the older woman she was with. “I’ll call you with the numbers
tomorrow, all right? Hi,” she said as she walked toward Grace. “How can I help
you?”

“I’m Grace Barrett.” She held out her hand and thought very
hard about the pressure of her handshake.

“I’m Eve Hill. It’s nice to meet you. What can I do for you,
Grace?”

“Jenny from the, um, saloon? She gave me your name.”

“The saloon?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what it’s called. It’s right next to
the…” She swallowed. “Stud Farm?”

“Oh,
Jenny!
Of course. That’s the
Crooked R Saloon. After Rayleen, I think. Anyway, are you looking for a
photographer?”

“No, actually. I’m a makeup artist. I don’t know how much work
you’d have for someone like me, but I brought my portfolio, if you’d be
interested in taking a look. I’ve been working in L.A. for almost ten years. I
just got to Jackson yesterday.”

Eve took the portfolio. “You’re planning to stay?”

“I’m not sure yet.” It was a lie, but at least she wasn’t
promising to settle down.

“Why don’t we sit down and I’ll take a look.”

“Sure. Thank you.”

She followed Eve to the conference room and sat across the
table from her, watching as she paged through the book of photos. This part
didn’t make her nervous, at least. Her work was good. So she was free to study
the photographer. Eve looked about thirty-five. Pretty in an unassuming way. She
didn’t wear much makeup, but didn’t really need it. Her dark hair contrasted
nicely with her faintly tanned skin. Her hazel eyes were wide-set and
interesting, though she looked the slightest bit tired.

“You’re really good,” Eve said when she looked up.

“Thank you.”

“So, what are you doing in Jackson?”

Well, she wasn’t subtle. Grace liked that. “I needed a
change.”

Eve nodded, and her gaze roamed unself-consciously over Grace,
taking her in. The wild hair. The tattered sweater. “I’m not sure I have steady
work for you in makeup. Brides, sure. Right now they just get their makeup done
at local salons, but they don’t always understand what’s best for photos. I
spend a lot of time touching up the prints.”

Grace was nodding already. It was what she’d expected to hear,
after all.

“But…” Eve said just as Grace was about to pitch herself for
whatever freelance work she could get. “A lot of these are modeling shots and
movie stills. You obviously know the industry.”

“Yes.”

“You know how the business works?”

“Yes.”

“So maybe you could do something more for me.”

“How so?”

“I do some work setting up shoots for the industry. Magazines.
Movie stills. That kind of thing. Right now, I have a lot of that and then some.
More than I can handle. You know the players. You know the language and
politics. If you’d consider taking some of that on, in addition to the
occasional makeup job, we might be able to try something out.”

Grace was too shocked to say anything for a few long seconds.
This woman wanted to give her a chance? This woman wanted to take a risk on a
girl with purple hair, a bad attitude and a completely unknown past? Why?

When Grace didn’t answer, Eve cleared her throat. “If you
really don’t want to do the other work, I’d be happy to call you when I need a
makeup artist for weddings. And sometimes there are big charity events
that—”

“No! It’s not that. I’ve just never done that kind of work
before, but I’d be happy to try.” Would she? She had no idea.

“How much do you charge for freelancing?”

“In L.A., I charged a hundred dollars an hour for freelance
beauty work, but I’m quick, so I’m never more than thirty minutes. Usually less.
But here…forty dollars a session?”

“I think that’s fair. You’ll be totally freelance. I won’t ask
for a cut. But there’s no way I can pay more than fifteen dollars an hour for
the office work, and the hours will be part-time.”

“That’s fine,” Grace said. Fifteen dollars an hour was a hell
of a lot more than zero. And more than she’d make as a grumpy waitress. She knew
that from experience.

“Great!” Eve said, reaching out to shake Grace’s hand again.
“I’ll do a background check, so I hope that’s okay. With all this equipment and
so much seasonal employment, I make it standard practice.”

“Of course.” In L.A., a criminal check was assumed. And Grace’s
record was surprisingly clean, or it had been since she’d turned eighteen,
anyway. But now… Oh, God. She hoped she’d been able to appease Scott. What if
he’d changed his mind since she’d called him? What if he—

“Thank you so much,” she made herself say. “When do you want me
to start?”

“How about Monday? Come in at nine. I can’t always promise you
a lot of hours, but I’ve got an unexpectedly busy week, so can you stay until
five?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Grace left feeling…excited.

Maybe Wyoming wasn’t so bad. Maybe she’d have good luck while
she was here.

Maybe the man she’d left behind in L.A. had been the last
stupid mistake of her life.