Close Enough to Touch (7 page)

“Thanks, but I was going to buy myself a glass of water back at
my apartment. Maybe see if I get lucky. Afternoon, cowboy.” She touched a hand
to an imaginary hat, mimicking the movement she’d found so amusing
yesterday.

As she walked away, she was aware of his eyes on her. She knew
he was watching. She knew it because he’d noticed her boots and the soft fabric
of her black jeans within moments of saying hello. What she didn’t know, what
she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, was why the knowledge of his eyes on her
filled her chest with such a hot burn of satisfaction.

* * *

“W
ELL
,
NOW
,” S
HANE
drawled when he stepped up to join Cole at the bar. “Somebody
likes playing with fire.”

Cole took a swig from his waiting beer and shot a look at the
saloon door that had just closed behind Grace. “I’m not playing with
anything.”

“Oh, but you’d like to. By the way, you’ve got a little drool
on your chin. Might want to wipe that off.”

Cole rolled his eyes.

“You really like that girl? She looks kind of tough.”

“She is tough,” he said, smiling at the memory of her kicking
the shit out of her own bag.

“She looks like she could cut my balls off without
flinching.”

“As long as it’s your balls she’s cutting and not mine, she can
amuse herself any way she likes.”

Shane shook his head. “To each his own, brother. I’m just
saying there are plenty of nice girls around here who you don’t have to wear a
cup around. That woman looks like trouble.”

Hell, yeah, she looked like trouble. Cole’s eyes skimmed over
the room, taking in only vague impressions of the women at the tables. They all
looked so dull. Nice, yes. And normal. Blondes and brunettes and the occasional
redhead. Not a strand of purple among them. No smoky-black eyeliner that made
them look dangerous and vulnerable all at the same time. No black and gray and
blue outfits that covered everything but somehow looked sexy as hell.

Yeah, Grace looked tough. Which had made it that much sweeter
when her black-brown eyes had softened for a moment. When she’d looked up at him
and swayed the tiniest bit closer. Her lips had parted as if she’d needed more
room to draw a breath.

Cole cleared his throat and shifted on the barstool, wondering
if he really did have drool on his chin, because his mouth was sure as hell
watering. He downed his beer and signaled for another. Jenny winked and grabbed
another mug.

“What do you hear about Grace?” he asked when she brought his
second beer.

“Cole Rawlins, are you fishing for information about another
woman from your
ex-girlfriend?
Don’t you think
that’s a little rude?”

He smiled at her mock outrage. “We dated for all of two
minutes. Now, spill it.”

“Grace, huh?” Her eyes sparkled. “She doesn’t exactly seem like
your type, Cole.”

“No?” He didn’t bother correcting her. He wasn’t sure he had a
type, but girls like Grace just pushed his buttons. Or they’d pushed the hell
out of his buttons thirteen years ago. As often as he’d been able to talk them
into it.

“She just got into town yesterday, but you know that already,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s Rayleen’s niece from L.A. A makeup artist.”

That got his attention. Maybe she was part of the film industry
after all. Shit. “A makeup artist? Like special effects and stuff? In the
movies?”

Jenny frowned. “No, I think the kind that make women beautiful.
Maybe she worked with models? She just got a job with Eve Hill, and I don’t
think Eve would have any demand for zombie makeup.”

Cole felt a warm wash of relief. She wasn’t with a film crew.
She wasn’t part of that world.

And no wonder she’d been so embarrassed about her smeared
makeup that morning. He’d have to tease her about it now. See if he could get a
rise out of her.

He chuckled at the thought. Not
if
he could get a rise out of her, but just how pissed off he could make her.

“Cole?” Jenny said softly. “You’re smiling to yourself. You
really like this girl?”

“Hardly know her,” he responded.

“Yeah,” she huffed. “And that usually deters men, right? How’s
your leg?”

He pressed his hand to his thigh automatically, then realized
he hadn’t thought about it once since the moment he’d seen Grace sitting at the
bar. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d taken a seat, and usually he had
to concentrate on not wincing. “Great,” he answered, telling the lie he always
told.

“Back to normal?”

“Just about.”

“Well, you look tired.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in nine
months. His leg and hip throbbed every time he closed his eyes. “I’m back at the
ranch now.”

“Speaking of…” Jenny said, raising her chin toward the
door.

Cole turned and narrowed his eyes against the daylight. The
shaft of light narrowed as the door closed, and Easy was walking toward him.
Though the man was only sixty-five, he looked closer to seventy. He was still
lean and wiry, but all those years under the open sky had weathered his skin and
turned his crew cut silvery-blond. His pale eyes locked on Cole and he
glared.

“Were you out at the ranch today?” he demanded.

Ah, shit. Cole stood up and set his beer on the bar. He
wouldn’t lie to Easy, so he kept his mouth shut and crossed his arms.

“Damn it, Cole! You know what the doctor said.”

Quiet fell around them. Cole tipped his head. “Let’s talk
outside.”

“We’re not talking about anything. Come in on Tuesday. You’re
taking Monday off.”

“Goddamn it,” Cole snarled. “I can handle it. I’m doing
fine.”

“What you’re doing is fooling yourself. But you’re not fooling
me. If you don’t do what—”

“I get that, all right? I’m not a child, Easy. Let me do it the
way I need to.”

“Tuesday,” Easy said. “And if it happens again, I’ll do the
same thing.”

Christ. This was outrageous. Easy walked away, though he paused
to tip his hat to Rayleen on the way out. Cole glared, but he let Easy go
without cursing him out for being a mother hen instead of a ranch boss.

Easy cared about him. He knew that. But Cole knew his body and
what he could handle. Sure, his thigh hurt. And now his back and his hip, but
what the hell was he supposed to do? Lounge around in bed? It all hurt there,
too. May as well make himself useful. And he needed to get back in shape.
Quick.

He had insurance that had paid for the surgery and
hospitalization. But half the physical therapy was coming out of his pocket. Not
to mention rent and food and drugs. He had the money to cover it, but that money
was supposed to be locked up in a safe for the day he bought Easy’s ranch. He’d
finally saved up enough, but every month out of work was one step backward. Cole
wanted to be ready the moment Easy said he was ready to sell.

If his leg hadn’t quite healed yet, it could heal on the job.
Hell, how many old cowboys did he know who limped around for forty years? Easy
himself was a damned pile of old breaks and busted-up joints, and he could
barely sit in a saddle for an hour. That was the way it went for old
cowboys.

“Maybe you’re pushing too hard,” Shane said, interrupting
Cole’s internal diatribe.

Cole pressed his lips together.

“You were looking better last week. Now you look tired.”

“Just getting back in the swing of things,” Cole said. “And
maybe all that snoring from your place upstairs is keeping me awake.”

“I don’t snore. At least, your mama never said anything about
it.”

“Really?” Cole asked, forcing his shoulders to relax as he
leaned against the bar. “A your-mama joke, huh?”

Shane tipped his beer. “I know how to bring it.”

“That’s not what my mama said.”

“Touché.” Shane signaled for another beer, but Cole held up his
hand to let Jenny know that he wasn’t joining in. It was only four o’clock, and
he was so damn tired. If he had another beer, he’d go home and fall asleep. And
he knew from experience that meant he’d wake up around midnight and not get
another wink the rest of the night.

The two beers ensured his anger wouldn’t quite bubble over,
anyway. He was too tired and too relaxed. But he couldn’t believe the way Easy
was acting. The man knew how much the work meant to Cole. Jesus.

He needed to get back out there. For the money, yes. For his
savings and his plans and dreams. But he also needed to get his life back.

For the past nine months he’d been a patient. Doing nothing but
reading and watching TV and
waiting
to get back to
work. And now he was so damn close, and the one person in the world who’d always
supported him was blocking his way.

Jenny came to take the cash he set down. “You sure you’re okay,
Cole?” she asked quietly.

He smiled at Jenny and offered a wink. “I’m good.”

“You’re quiet, is what you are. That’s not like you.”

“Come around the bar and I’ll slap you on the ass. Will that
make you happy?”

“Nah.” She laughed. “But I bet it would brighten your day.”

“Damn straight.”

When he stood to leave, hiding his wince, Jenny patted his
hand. “Take it easy out there, all right? I don’t want you falling off a horse
again and rebreaking that leg.”

“I didn’t fall off a horse,” he growled. “It fell and pinned
me.”

“Fell?” Shane interrupted. “I hear that horse went down so slow
it looked like a dog taking a seat. I don’t know why you didn’t get out of the
way.”

Cole elbowed him hard enough that some of Shane’s beer sloshed
out of the mug. “You weren’t even there.”

“Pretty sure I’m right, though.”

“Hey, Cole,” Jenny said as he turned away. “There’s a big group
of Hollywood people in town up at Teton. You know any of them?”

Cole made sure he didn’t stiffen. “Why would I?” he asked with
a deliberately puzzled smile.

“You lived out there for a while, didn’t you? You were in a
movie, even. Some Western?”

“That was a long time ago, Jenny. And nobody lasts in
Hollywood. Anybody I knew is long gone by now.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Jenny sighed. “I just think it’d be
neat to meet someone famous. Nobody cool ever comes in here.”

“Hey,” Shane responded. “What about me?”

She slapped Shane with her towel and winked at Cole. “Bye,
then. Have a good evening.”

“I will.”

Hollywood people. He felt another moment of anxiety as he
stepped out of the saloon and into the blindingly bright day. But it was the
pure, nearly painful light of a Jackson summer, not that hazy, hot sun of L.A.
He had nothing to fear from those people. The disaster he’d made of his life in
California…he was the only one who could take credit for that.

CHAPTER SIX

S
HE
WAS
SO
DAMN
QUIET
over there.

Shouldn’t a girl like her be loud? Stomping around. Cursing.
Slamming doors. Playing music at all hours of the night.

But Grace Barrett was like a mouse. All he ever heard was the
occasional noise of water running in the bathroom. At least if she were banging
around at 2:00 a.m., he’d have something to think about instead of staring at
the ceiling for… Cole glanced at the clock. Five hours. It was just after seven.
He’d never gotten back to sleep.

He heard a board creak on the other side of the wall and cocked
his head. Water ran through the pipes.

Grace was up, it was seven o’clock on a Sunday and he had no
plans and a hell of a long day to fill. Maybe she needed something to do,
too.

Cole braced himself for that first deep jolt of pain when he
pushed himself from bed. He’d been cutting back on ibuprofen for the past few
weeks, but now he had to admit that this wasn’t the time. He’d have to get back
to the prescription-strength pills for a little while. Just while his body
adjusted to working again. His physical therapist was still trying to push
muscle relaxants to let him get some sleep at night, but Cole wasn’t going to
touch them. He was doing the stretching now. Doing everything he was told to do.
When that didn’t help, he just dealt with it.

Like this morning, when the ache in his leg was spreading up
through his hip to his back and digging in there like a rabid badger.

Jesus, he was only thirty-four. He had another forty years of
injuries ahead of him. If he got back to riding. If he could still be a cowboy.
If not…

No, he wasn’t going to think that way. He’d get through this
and move on. Soon enough, he’d be past it. It’d be a distant bad memory.

He turned the shower up to scalding, then stood there with his
head down for as long as he could take it.

Half an hour later, he knocked on Grace’s door. A tiny glimmer
of light caught his eye, and he noticed that she’d scraped the paint off the
peephole in the door. The light darkened. He smiled and mouthed “Good
morning.”

She yanked the door open a moment later. “Hey,” she said, her
voice still sleepy.

Cole took her in for a moment. She was already wearing jeans
and a T-shirt. Her feet were bare again, blue toenails in such stark contrast to
her white toes. His eyes wandered back up. The T-shirt was rumpled and worn. And
intriguingly tight.

Cole cleared his throat. She was always smaller than he
expected. Petite and almost delicate-looking. Small breasts. Hips that—

She crossed her arms as if she were cold. “Dude. Hello.”

“Have you had breakfast?” He looked past her toward the
kitchen. No coffeepot. Nothing but a jar of peanut butter with a plastic knife
sticking out of it.

“Yes.”

Wow. These L.A. girls really didn’t eat much. No wonder she
looked so small. He could never understand how women starved themselves. He
couldn’t go more than a few hours without grabbing at least a snack.

“What about coffee?” He seemed to remember plenty of coffee
drinking in Hollywood. And smoking. And there were always calories available for
martinis.

“Um. Not yet.”

“I’ve got a pot on now. Want some?”

Oh, he had her number. She didn’t want to say yes. Her mouth,
so wide and full and pink, had pressed itself into a flat line. But her eyes
were sharp with interest. He had something she wanted, and the price for that
was time.

Her nose twitched, and Cole realized the scent was drifting
into the hallway. He smiled. She scowled. Her blue-painted toes curled.

“I’ll pour you a cup,” he said, then turned his back and walked
into his apartment, feeling a little like he was trying to lure a feral cat. She
snuck in silently a few seconds later. He vowed not to make any sudden
moves.

“Want some bacon? I’m making it for myself, may as well make
some for you.”

“Sure,” she said warily.

He got breakfast started, throwing in some eggs for her, too,
then handed her a cup of coffee. “I hear you were a makeup artist in L.A.”

“Yeah?” She hunched over the cup, and Cole reached for the
thermostat again. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Jenny.” He figured it wouldn’t hurt to be extra sure, so he
asked again. “So, what are you doing out here?”

“Seeing the world.”

“Yeah? And you decided to start with the middle of
Wyoming?”

She glared at him through the steam that rose from her cup.
Today, her makeup was perfect. Apparently, she’d already been up and put it on.
A secret vanity. Interesting.

“What kind of work did you do in L.A.?”

“The makeup kind.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Cole just looked at her until she
slumped a little and conceded. As if telling him about herself was a defeat. “I
worked in fashion a little, but mostly in the movies.”

Ah, shit. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It wasn’t like the
movie industry had screwed him over and broken his heart. It had been a woman
and his own poor judgment. And if Grace’s toughness and edginess reminded him a
little of his ex-lover—not to mention a few other women he’d met in L.A.—then he
just needed to be aware. Aware that he shouldn’t trust people who hadn’t earned
it. Aware that he shouldn’t let himself be used. Aware that sometimes strength
meant hardness, and coolness was cruelty.

But right at this moment, Grace didn’t look hard or cool. Her
brown eyes seemed lighter against the black liner this morning, but still
fascinatingly deep. Unknowable. Which only made him more determined to know her.
“Why’d you leave L.A.?” he pressed.

She shrugged one shoulder as if it didn’t matter to her in the
least. “I got fired. I decided to move on.”

“Fired? What’d you do? Punch someone?”

“Not this time, no.”

Cole was glad he didn’t have any coffee in his mouth. He choked
on nothing instead. “When did you last punch somebody?”

“At work? Probably five years ago.”

He looked down at her small, pale hands. They didn’t look like
much, but she was wearing a couple of clunky rings that might do damage. “I had
no idea Hollywood was a more glamorous version of a cage fight. Or a bunkhouse,
come to think of it.”

“I don’t like it when men stick their hands up my skirt.”

“They do that often, do they?”

“Not after that,” she said with a grin.

He winked and turned away to finish off the eggs. What idiot
would be stupid enough to try something like that? Grace Barrett looked like
she’d shove a makeup brush up your ass if you touched her without invitation.
Then again, he knew firsthand that some people in Hollywood were so arrogant and
narcissistic that signals ceased to exist for them. A fist across the jaw was
the most subtle thing they could understand.

“So this time?” he asked as he piled two plates high. “What
happened this time?”

“I said I’d already eaten.”

Her words didn’t match up with the light in her eyes as he slid
the plate toward her. He wanted to tell her she wasn’t in L.A. anymore and she
could eat real food now. But he knew enough about women to lie. “I was already
cooking. It’s the light plate today. Only three eggs and no toast.”

“You really do eat like a lumberjack,” she said, though she dug
into her eggs right away.

“Lumberjacks are pussies.”

She slapped a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh, and that
made Cole smile so hard he felt like a fool. It felt like triumph, making this
girl laugh. Like a prize. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to make
her moan. Damn.

“So what got you fired this time?” he pressed. He didn’t have
to be told that she was an expert at dropping subjects. But she gave in more or
less gracefully this time.

“I was working on a movie set. I’d been doing pretty well this
year, trying to keep my head down.”

“No punching?”

“No punching. And I got an amazing gig, working on a big film.
Working with the stars of a big film, not just the secondaries, you know? I
won’t say who it is, but the starring actress is one of America’s sweethearts.
And she seemed perfectly nice. Quiet. Polite. And with a couple of fading
bruises on her neck. Whatever, though. People are kinky. If she liked a little
choking during sex, it’s none of my business.”

Cole coughed and reached for his coffee as his eyes watered.
“Sure,” he finally managed to say.

“But one day the producer came to the trailer while I was
working on her. He was her boyfriend. It was an open secret. And she flinched
when he gestured. That was it. Just a tiny flinch I wouldn’t have noticed if I
hadn’t been working on her eyes. The next week, her lip was a little swollen.
And when he came to the trailer and started berating her about something, I
couldn’t keep myself from calling him on it.”

“The producer.”

She glared at him. “An abusive ass is an abusive ass.”

Cole raised a conciliatory hand. “I agree. I’m just impressed
you were brave enough to say something.”

Grace snorted. “It’s not bravery. I don’t think about it. I
just blow up. Anyway, I cursed him out and told him what I thought of him. He
fired me immediately.”

“And?” he asked, aware of the weight in her words.

“And I told him I’d file a complaint with the union. He said
he’d ruin my career, and I said I’d tell the press. Unfortunately, I was the one
who was bluffing.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

“Nobody would’ve cared. I could’ve told the tabloids about what
I’d seen, and who would it have hurt? Her, maybe. Definitely me. And definitely
not
him, because he would’ve found some way to
prove it wasn’t true. So here I am.”

“You couldn’t get another job?”

“It was complicated. And the word is out that I drink on the
job.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Do you?”

“No. Never. I rarely even drink at parties.”

“Only in saloons?” he asked.

She smiled. “Only in saloons.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah.” She’d stopped eating, and when her smile faded, she
stared at her plate.

“Hey, Grace?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about that. You being fired by that asshole.”

When she looked up, he saw surprise in her eyes. Just a brief,
bright flash, and then it was hidden by old anger. “It’s no big deal. Nothing
new. I’ve got to learn how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Maybe not. You did the right thing.”

“Ha. The right thing. It didn’t help her. I probably made it
worse. You should have seen her scrambling to defuse the situation. Begging me
to stop. It was all about me, wasn’t it? Me telling myself that I’m not the kind
of person who’d just stand by while a man treated a woman like a worthless dog.
The worst part? Turns out I’m exactly that kind of person.”

“No, you’re not. You said something. You didn’t just sit there
and ignore it because you were scared.”

She smiled again. A grimace of a smile, bitter and hurt. And
then she jumped to her feet. “Thank you for breakfast. Again.”

“Hey, wait. What are you doing today?”

She was already walking toward the door, her bare feet silent
against the wood. She was so much smaller without her heels. “I’ll probably walk
around town some more. See what there is to see.”

“Ah. The antlers.”

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “The what?”

“The antlers. Haven’t you seen the antler arches yet?”

Her expression defaulted to grumpy again. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know how you missed them. They’re right in the town
square.”

“Antlers?”

“Yes. Elk antlers. Thousands of them. The National Elk Refuge
comes all the way up to the city limits.”

“And there are elk there?”

“Not right now, but they’re around if you drive up into the
mountains. They come down to the refuge during the winter.”

“And bring their antlers?”

He grinned. “Something like that, yes.”

“Oh.” She didn’t leave. Her hand was still on the doorknob, but
she just stood there looking thoughtful.

“Want to go for a drive? I’ll show you around. There’s a lot
more to see than just the town, you know.”

She glanced in the direction of the Tetons, even though the
blinds were closed.

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“Nope. I’m off work today, so it’s either you or laundry.”

“I win out over laundry, huh?”

“Only because I did a load last weekend. Otherwise it’d be
laundry all the way.”

That relaxed her. An insult. That was what soothed her prickly
stance and made her laugh. Another thing that set her apart from the women of
his past. “Then I’d better take you up on it. I might not be so lucky next
weekend, and I’ll go crazy if I stay cooped up any longer.”

“Come back when you’re ready, then.”

She was back in three minutes. Cole was still washing the
dishes and shouted for her to come in.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed to help, right? People don’t
cook for me very often. Let me…”

“Believe me. It’s no big deal. A lot easier than cleaning a
stew pot on the trail, I can tell you that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, sounding as if the words scraped
her throat as they came out.

“You can make me dinner sometime.”

She looked slightly panicked. “I hope you like sandwiches.”

“Peanut butter?” he asked.

Grace’s cheeks flamed red. “I haven’t had time for a real
shopping trip,” she said sharply.

Yikes. “I was just kidding.”

She crossed her arms and wandered over to look at the books on
his coffee table. By the time Cole dried his hands, her cheeks had faded to
pink. He was glad he hadn’t been standing next to her and made a note to himself
that she had some sort of peanut butter trigger. Maybe peanut butter was her
secret high-calorie indulgence. If he was going to piss her off—and he wasn’t
averse to that—he wanted it to be over something worthwhile.