Close Enough to Touch

It would be his last roundup for Easy. Oh, he loved Easy like a father, but Cole was ready to own his own ranch. And Easy was ready to sell. Next year, Cole would be rounding up his own cattle, and Easy would be sipping piña coladas on a Mexican beach.

Chuckling at the thought of Easy relaxing on a beach in his Stetson, Cole headed for the shower.

He made the water as hot as he could stand it, hoping no one else in the building had put too much of a strain on the water heater. One of these days he’d do his exercises, take a hot shower and suddenly feel good. Great. Back to normal. He knew it. But for now, the ache hadn’t left. Sometimes it faded to something bearable. Sometimes it swelled into a giant thumping heart in his thigh. The pain was normal, his doctors said. Nothing to be concerned about.

Half an hour later, the ache beaten back to a dull roar, Cole found himself sipping his morning coffee and staring at his door again, waiting for some sign of life from the apartment across the hall.

He hadn’t seen her since he’d watched her talk to Rayleen at the saloon. Grace hadn’t even noticed him over in the alcove that housed the pool tables. He’d been half irritated by that, and half thankful that he’d gotten the chance to watch her openly.

She was a small woman, with delicate bones, but she held her body as though she was coiled to flee at any moment. Or pounce, maybe. He hoped it was the latter.

But as intriguing as she was, she seemed to have disappeared. He hadn’t heard her even once, and they shared a common wall along the hall and bathroom. Jackson was pretty quiet at night, and he’d often heard his previous neighbor moving around, but Grace was silent as a mouse.

Of course, the previous tenant was a drunken college dropout whose number one hobby had been juggling three different girlfriends. At least it had given Cole a soap opera to listen to on sleepless nights.

But where was his new neighbor?

Maybe the deal had fallen through. Maybe Old Rayleen had somehow been under the impression that she was renting the place to a hot nephew. Though… Cole shook his head at the wrongness of that thought.

The old woman was harmless. Eccentric, but harmless. Even the jokes in town meant nothing, which was why everyone thought they were funny. Obviously nothing was going on between Rayleen and her young renters, but with the house being part of the old Studd homestead, the jokes were too easy. Too damn perfect.

And she really never did seem to rent to women.

Cole heard a car door close outside and cocked his head, waiting to see if it was Grace returning from… Where? A boyfriend’s house? A very, very late night with a new acquaintance? He found himself slightly irritated at the thought, and couldn’t help but smile at his own stupidity. That woman was all passion and attitude. If she wanted to sleep with a different guy every night, she damn sure would, and there’d be no apologies either. He’d be a fool to let it get to him.

Raising his cup to his lips, he realized it was empty. He wanted to have another one, but somehow one cup of coffee made his leg feel better and two made it feel worse. And it was already primed for feeling sore as hell today, between working the day before and physical therapy this morning.

Even during the worst of it, just after surgery, he hadn’t been expecting that. That the pain would be so overwhelming. That the injury might be so bad he’d never ride again. He’d been on a horse since he was three. It felt more natural to him than walking. And now, now it felt as though his muscles couldn’t quite remember the way to walk naturally, much less direct a horse with the barest of tension. But his muscles weren’t really the problem. The problem was the crack that went from his hip joint and halfway up his pelvis. With the shattered femur and the metal holding all that together…

“We’re going to have to see,” they’d said. “You could do permanent damage in a saddle.”

But Cole couldn’t accept that. He didn’t know how to accept it.

He’d been completely out of work for eight months, and he’d been cleared to work half days only a month before. But for a cowboy, a half day should’ve been eight hours, with no such thing as a weekend. Cole didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

It was worse now that he was up and around. He was at the ranch most days, watching his old friends do the things he couldn’t do. Cole was relegated to the yard and corrals, limping from job to job until Easy told him his four hours were up and he had to leave.

Four hours a day, five days a week. It was shameful. And how was he supposed to be ready for the roundup when he wasn’t allowed to push himself?

He wasn’t supposed to go in today, but if he snuck into the tack house and worked a few hours on repairs while everyone else was out checking cattle, he could sneak out before lunchtime. Hell, Easy wouldn’t know anything about it. Cole wouldn’t get paid, but this wasn’t about the money. It was about being where he belonged, doing something useful. And getting his body ready to get back to work full-time.

The front door hadn’t opened yet, so Cole assumed the car had been stopping at another house. Which still left the mystery of his new next-door neighbor. He eyed the coffeepot, then the clock. He still had two hours to waste before he could safely sneak onto the ranch.

So, what the hell? A little curiosity never hurt anyone.

He laughed at that. Curiosity had nearly ruined him once. But he’d been a boy then. Stupid and easily controlled by his sense of adventure. And his dick. One and the same, sometimes, and not exactly a moot point when it came to curiosity either.

After all, Grace was beautiful.

Well, not beautiful. That wasn’t the word. Not pretty either. Or cute. Not with that wild, choppy hair in chunks of brown and black and purple. And those dark eyes that looked like they absorbed everything and let nothing show through. And her pale, flawless skin. She wasn’t pretty—she was striking. Like a kick to the gut. And he hadn’t felt that since…

Hell, he hadn’t felt that since he was an idiot boy getting his first taste of a girl from the big city. So maybe he hadn’t grown up so much after all.

But regardless of where she was from, this wasn’t L.A. and he wasn’t signing up for a life of debauchery. He was just checking on a neighbor.

So, Cole stood up—purposefully not pressing a hand to his thigh as it screamed—and walked out to knock on her door.

The silence that followed wasn’t a good sign. Eight o’clock was late by his standards, but too early for a girl like her, maybe. But the more likely truth was that she wasn’t there. She’d disappeared as quickly as she’d shown up. Seemed about right. Rayleen had sent Grace on her way. Those two would probably get along like a couple of feral cats.

Convinced that the place was just as empty as it had been two days before, Cole started to leave, only to swing back around when a muffled voice interrupted the silence. “Who is it?”

“It’s Cole,” he said, a smile springing so quickly to his face that it startled him. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Your neighbor.”

The door opened. Not all the way, of course, just enough to reveal Grace standing there glaring at him.

“Good morning,” he offered, his eyes dipping to take her in. She was dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, but her feet were bare, aside from the deep blue polish on her toenails.

“Somebody painted over the peephole,” she muttered, running a hand through her crazy hair. It stood up in wild layers that somehow made her look younger. Or maybe that was the faded, smeared makeup. But he noticed that her lips were still a deep pink color, even first thing in the morning. That wasn’t lipstick. That was just the sweet shade of her mouth.

“The what?” he finally remembered to ask.

“The peephole,” she gestured at the door.

“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder at his own door. “I guess I never noticed.”

“I guess you wouldn’t. Did you need something?”

“No. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Well, we’re neighbors. And I hadn’t heard so much as a door shut since I saw you yesterday. I thought maybe Old Rayleen had sent you on your way.”

She started to shake her head, and then seemed to be caught by surprise by a huge yawn. Her hand clutched the edge of the door and swung it farther open. The place looked the same as yesterday. Not one piece of furniture or sign of life. The kitchen was dark and quiet.

Cole was craning his neck to look around her when Grace seemed to realize what he was doing and narrowed the opening. But he’d seen enough. None of her stuff was here yet.

“Want a cup of coffee?”

For a second, her dark, fathomless eyes flared with emotion. Something close to lust.

“It’s already brewed,” he coaxed.

“Mmm.” She glanced toward his door, and he knew she was hoping he’d offer to bring her a cup and leave her alone. Fat chance.

“Come on. We can leave my front door open, since I make you nervous.”

“Ha!” Her laugh was rusty and gorgeous. “Why would you make me nervous?”

Cole wasn’t sure he liked the emphasis she’d put on you, but he just smiled. “No idea. But I obviously do.”

“That’s not nervousness, cowboy. It’s called being smart enough not to get behind closed doors with a strange man.”

“Strange, huh? I hope you haven’t been listening to the stories about me. Half of them aren’t even true.”

“You wouldn’t know strange if it bit you on the ass,” she said, but she waved him back and stepped into the hall with a small smile. “Are you going to give me coffee or not?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, tipping an imaginary hat before he moved across the hall to open his door. “I was just about to have breakfast,” he lied. He’d eaten almost two hours before, but she didn’t seem to have done much shopping yet. “Will you eat bacon and eggs? If you’re a vegetarian, I can whip up some toast.”

She didn’t answer for a few seconds. Cole heard her close the door softly as he headed for the coffeepot.

“Bacon and eggs would be great,” she finally said. “And toast, too, if you’re offering.”

“Sure.” He poured her coffee and refilled his own cup. What the hell. A little aching in his thigh was worth spending some time with her. He didn’t have anything else interesting going on. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’d endured aching for an attractive woman.

Cole put sugar and milk out on the counter, tossed a pan on a burner and grabbed the bacon and eggs. He felt her gaze on his back as he worked. “Over easy okay?” he asked as he laid bacon on the cast iron.

“Great,” she answered. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

He glanced back to find her seated on a stool, hunched over her coffee as if she was cold. Mornings were chilly up here if you weren’t from the mountains. He reached past the fridge to turn up the thermostat. “We all take turns cooking in the bunkhouse.”

“Oh, the bunkhouse,” she said, making the word sound mysterious. There was nothing mysterious about it, unless you thought cooking and sleeping in what was essentially a live-in locker room was mysterious.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked. “Did you get tired of bunkhouse living?”

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.

* * *

THE 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

GRACE 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?”