Close Enough to Touch

“Isn’t it illegal to rent only to men?”

“Beats me. But I guess she gets away with it.”

“Regardless,” she finally said, “I need to find my aunt. Get a key. Let her know I’m here.”

“Well, that’s easy. She’s probably next door.”

“At your place?”

“No! Come on. I meant next door at the saloon.”

“Is she a big drinker?”

“She runs the place,” he corrected. “And she’s a big drinker.”

“Got it. Thanks. I’ll just go see her then.” She was clearly implying he should leave. She even raised an impatient eyebrow and glanced toward the door. But Cole didn’t notice because he was pointedly looking around her apartment.

“You got some furniture coming?”

“Sure. Of course. Thanks for the help.”

He turned his grin on her again. “All right, then, Grace Barrett. Even cowboys can take a hint when you’re bashing them over the head with it. But let me know if you need any more help. I’m only a few feet away.”

“Great. Thanks.”

The sound of his boots on the wood floor of the apartment was softer than Grace would’ve expected, but his steps still echoed against the bare walls. If she were the kind of person who had ever planned to stay in one place more than six months, Grace knew what she would be thinking at this moment. I’ll need to find something to put on these walls. Or at the very least, she would’ve been painting them some warm and inviting color in her mind, and wondering where she could find some rugs. Instead, she just took pleasure in the fact that the white paint was still white and was marred by only a few nail holes.

At least she’d learned to appreciate the small things in life. And the big things, like the sound of the door closing behind Cole Rawlins as he finally left her alone.

“Whew,” Grace breathed, letting the air ease out of her lungs. The place felt a lot bigger without him taking up all her space.

Okay, maybe a little too big. But without him here, she could see the small ways that the apartment wasn’t quite like an old place in L.A. The beautiful, dark wood window frame hadn’t been painted over, and instead of miniblinds, there were white curtains. It also didn’t smell like roach spray.

She strolled over to the window and pulled aside the curtains. Here was another difference. Instead of a view of a parking lot or traffic or a million other apartments, Grace was looking at a huge pine tree. Past that, she had a view of the small street, and a green house with a yellow porch on the other side of it. A snowmobile sat in the open garage.

Grace crinkled her nose at the strangeness of the sight. That was something she’d never seen in L.A. Jet Skis, sure. But the snowmobile looked like a real machine. It looked dangerous and powerful, gleaming black and red in the sunlight. It looked…fun.

Too bad she’d be long gone by winter. She had to get to Vancouver in six weeks and make some money, or she was going to be in even bigger trouble than she was now. Way bigger.

* * *

COLE GRABBED A COKE and leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes on his front door. That had been a surprise. Opening his door to find a raging tornado of a city girl assaulting a stuffed duffel bag. Not at all what he’d expected during his quick run home to shower and grab a sandwich after his half day at the ranch.

The female voice in the hallway had caught his attention. The female herself, spewing curses and kicking things? Whew.

That girl was going to be trouble. If the purple layers in her dark, choppy hair didn’t make that clear, the hard glint in her eyes certainly did. He knew that look. He’d seen it before. And despite his image as the wholesome and friendly good ol’ cowboy, that look stirred something in him. It was like a dare. A challenge.

And he did love a challenge.

Speaking of… She’d basically pushed him out the door, claiming that she needed to find her aunt right away. But five minutes had passed and he still hadn’t heard her leave. Rude little witch. It seemed like she’d taken his attempts to help as some sort of insult.

He should’ve let her stand out in that hallway all afternoon, trying to figure out how to get into an open apartment.

Cole imagined her increasing anger and frustration. That look of hot rage he’d glimpsed when he’d opened his door to find out what the noise was about. She hadn’t even been embarrassed. She’d just glared at him as if he was intruding.

“Trouble,” he murmured as he finally gave up his vigil and stood. Shane was waiting at the saloon to grab a beer, and Cole had nothing to do until physical therapy the next day. He managed not to linger in the entryway, but only because he figured he might see her at the Crooked R soon.

He’d forgotten about this type of girl during the past decade. But he was remembering everything now. The way they made his heart beat faster. The way they seemed to dare him to act on his impulses. He’d once had a thing for dangerous city girls. And he’d ended up in a bad way because of it.

He shoved the thought away as he walked into the saloon and spotted Shane setting up a game of eight ball. “Hey,” he said as he grabbed a cue.

“Hey. When are you getting your lazy ass back to work?”

Despite the rude words, Cole noticed the look of concern that Shane shot him. He ignored it. “I’m part-time at the ranch now. It won’t be long.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Shane watched him for another long moment. “Good,” he finally said. “Because I want my first-floor apartment back.”

“The stairs too much for you, old man?”

“You’re one to talk.” He gestured toward the table. “You want to break?”

“Was that a joke about my leg?” Cole asked, but he was immediately distracted by the door of the saloon opening. The flash of daylight obscured the person, but as soon as it closed, he saw it was a blonde. No black-and-purple hair in sight.

“You ready to play?” Shane asked.

Yeah, he was ready to play, but he wasn’t thinking about pool. Instead he was thinking about his new neighbor.

“Hey, did you hear the news?”

Assuming Shane was talking about Grace, Cole just raised an eyebrow and leaned over the table to break.

“There’s a big film production coming to town.”

Cole forced himself to pull the cue back as if those words didn’t affect him. In fact, he managed to sink two balls with a perfect break.

“You know anything about it?” Shane asked.

“Why would I?”

“I thought maybe you were going to go Hollywood again.”

Cole forced himself to smile, even though his mind was spinning. That couldn’t be why Grace was here, could it? “That was a long time ago,” he said calmly.

“Not that long ago,” Shane countered. “Ten years?”

“Thirteen,” Cole said. Thirteen long years, but not even close to long enough. Thirteen years since Hollywood had come to town and he’d jumped in feetfirst. If Grace was part of that crowd…

But no. She was renting an apartment, not staying at one of the fancy resorts. Grace wasn’t part of the film team. No way. But maybe this was a warning that should be heeded. A reminder that city girls had led him astray before. And he’d followed willingly.

This chick was bad news. And she was living across the hall. And he wasn’t the least bit inclined to avoid her.

She should’ve scared the hell out of him, and instead, he was smiling in anticipation.

Somehow that only made him smile harder.

Bad news, indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FRESH AIR STRUCK GRACE as soon as she stepped out, the cleanness of it startling though she’d been outside just a few minutes before. Almost against her will, she took a deep breath, drawing in the beauty of it. Even if she’d been surrounded by stucco buildings and ten lanes of traffic, there’d be no mistaking that she wasn’t in L.A. anymore. The air was too crisp, and when she moved, it hardly even touched her skin. She felt lighter as she headed for the faint sounds of music leaking from the saloon next door.

“The saloon next door,” she murmured. That was something she’d never said before. Bar, yes. Liquor store, sure. And on one occasion even a strip club. But never a saloon.

The strip club had actually made a pretty good neighbor. Unlike bars and liquor stores, no one wanted to hang around outside a strip club. The interesting parts were inside, behind blacked-out windows and plain cement walls. And once the place shut down for the night, the girls dropped everything and left as if the building made their skin crawl.

Grace had always told herself she couldn’t imagine doing that. Pretending to like a man for money. Using her body to win favors. But in the end, she’d done the same thing, hadn’t she?

As she opened the heavy saloon door, she shook that thought from her head. What the hell did it matter? She’d done what she’d done, and now she was just as miserable as she deserved to be.

Old country music filled the saloon, though it wasn’t particularly loud. A friendly buzz of conversation overlaid the music. Even at 3:00 p.m., several of the tables were filled, though not with the usual miserable types she associated with afternoon drinking. Two of the groups looked like young and scruffy college kids that you’d see in any other town. But at the closest table, all five of the men wore cowboy hats. Each man touched the brim of his hat as she passed. Grace felt her face flush at the unexpected courtesy and hurried past them to the long bar that ran along the side of the building.

She hadn’t seen her great-aunt in almost twenty years, but the blonde woman behind the bar was clearly not Aunt Rayleen. This woman was somewhere in her thirties, probably, though her skin was fresh and so pretty she could pass for a younger woman.

“Hi,” Grace said, catching her attention. “I’m looking for Rayleen. Rayleen Kisler?”

The woman kept polishing a glass, but offered a wide smile. “Of course, sweetie. She’s right over there. Usual table.”

Grace followed the gesture to a table at the far corner of the bar. An old woman sat there playing solitaire, an unlit cigarette gripped tightly between two thin lips. Yeah. That was Aunt Rayleen. She looked as mean as ever.

“Thank you,” Grace murmured, thinking those weren’t quite the right words as she headed across the bar. What she should have said was “Never mind” or “Pretend you never saw me.” She should have turned around and grabbed her stuff and kept moving. Grace hadn’t even wanted to ask for help from her grandmother, much less this sour-faced woman who’d never had a kind word for anyone, even when Grace had been a child.

And her face had only gotten more sour in the meantime. Though her hair was still beautiful. Pure white and flowing past her shoulders in a gorgeous wave. Rayleen’s one and only vanity, according to Grandma Rose.

Grace finally stood before the table, but the old lady didn’t look up. She just scowled down at her cards, flipping over three at a time in a slow rhythm. Her pale chambray shirt looked about three sizes too big for her.

“Aunt Rayleen?” Grace finally ventured.

The old lady grunted.

“I’m Grace. Grace Barrett.” Still no response. “Your niece?”

Her silver eyebrows rose and she finally looked up. A sharp green gaze took Grace in with one flick of her eyes. “Thought you’d be knocked up.”

“Pardon me?”

Her gaze fell back to the table and she resumed her card flipping. “A grown woman who can’t keep a job or support herself and has to write to her grandmother to ask for money? I figured you were out of commission. But you look perfectly fine to me.”

Grace’s skin prickled with violent anger. “If you—”

“Aside from the hair.”

Grace stiffened and cleared her throat. She didn’t have the right to tell this lady off. God, she wanted to, but maybe a free apartment gave Rayleen the right to get in a few insults. Which was exactly why Grace hated asking for help.

“I was living with someone and it didn’t work out. With the economy—”

“Who told you you could ever depend on a man for anything?”

“I… No one told me that.”

“You probably learned that from your idiot mama. That woman doesn’t have the sense God gave a dog. And dogs ain’t exactly nature’s Einsteins, are they?”

A strange, hot wash of emotion trickled along Grace’s skin. Fury, certainly, but it was mixed up with shame and the awful burn of truth spoken bluntly.

“Listen,” she pushed out past clenched teeth. “If you don’t want me here, say so and I’ll leave right now.”

“Yeah? Where are you going to go?”

“Anywhere. I’ll find a place. I don’t need your charity.”

“Sure you do, or you wouldn’t have taken it in the first place. Your grandma is living in that old folk’s home in Florida, and you can’t stay there, can you?”

No, she couldn’t stay there. Though she’d rather have stayed there than have asked Grandma Rose for money. Unfortunately, her grandmother hadn’t had any money to spare, but she’d called in a favor from Rayleen. If Grace hadn’t been so utterly desperate, she’d never have hopped on that bus.

“I can see you’ve got a spine in you. Must’ve skipped a generation. You want the place or not?”

The burn sank deeper into her skin. She’d always hated that her paleness showed her emotions so clearly. Not that she often tried to hide her anger, but she wanted it under her control. She wanted to be in charge of who saw it and who didn’t. And what she wanted right now was to show this woman nothing. To be calm as she turned around and walked out with her chin held high. Sure, she had nowhere to go, but a city park bench would be better than politely asking this bitch for a key.

“Listen, honey,” Rayleen said, finally setting down the cards. “It’s not a question of me wanting you here. I don’t know you from Adam. But I’m willing to have you here because I have an empty apartment and Rose asked me for a favor. You pay the utilities and you can stay. But just through ski season. August is one thing, but come December? I’ve got my eye on a handsome snowboarding instructor I had to turn away last year.”

That broke through Grace’s fury. A handsome snowboarding instructor? For what? The apartment or an affair? Jeez, this woman really was crazy. But that didn’t mean Grace wanted to accept her grudging handout.

She was opening her mouth to tell Aunt Rayleen to do something foul to herself, but the old woman grinned, showing off perfectly white teeth past the cigarette dangling from her lips.

“You’re pissed, ain’t ya? I like that. Pride’s a beautiful thing, but you’ve got to ask yourself where your pride has gotten you up to this point. Because as far as I can tell, it’s gotten you homeless and bitter. You enjoying the taste of that?”

Good Lord, the things she wanted to do to this woman would constitute elder abuse, but Aunt Rayleen was just so rude. And mean. And right.

That was the worst part. The hardest to swallow. She was right. Grace had too much pride. Hell, sometimes it was all she had. But pride didn’t fill your stomach or keep the cold out. So she swallowed hard. And swallowed again, tasting every bitter molecule of it. And then she nodded.

“Thank you for the place to stay,” she managed to growl. “I’ll be out in a month.”

Rayleen laughed. “Oh, big words. We’ll see. For now, just don’t knock out any walls or leave a window open when it rains. No smoking. No pets. The key’s in the cash register. Jenny over there will give it to you.”

“Thank you,” Grace managed one more time. The words tasted just as bitter the second time around, and she wished she had the money to spare for a beer as she approached the bar. Wished her life was as simple as sitting down and washing the day away with a cold one. Better yet, a double of whiskey. God, yes.

“Hi, again,” the bartender offered.

Grace made herself smile back. This woman gave off a good vibe. She probably made a lot of money as a bartender. It was a skill. Grace knew that because she’d tried her hand at it and failed. People just didn’t like her. But this woman… She was comforting. “Are you Jenny?”

“I am.”

“Rayleen told me to ask you for a key to apartment A?”

“You?” Jenny asked. Her eyes nearly disappeared when she laughed. “You’ll be quite a change.”

“Do I need to check the place for hidden cameras?” she asked, only half joking.

“You’re probably safe. She just likes to collect them, I think, not spy on them. Nothing too creepy.” Jenny hit a button on the register and the drawer popped open.

“It seems plenty creepy,” Grace muttered.

“She’s pretty harmless. They like to come over here and tease her, but she calls them puppies and tells them to leave her the hell alone.” Jenny held out the key and dropped it into Grace’s hand. “Welcome to Jackson.”

“Thank you.” That was it. No paperwork. No contracts or legal indemnification. “Do you know anyone who’s hiring?”

“Summer’s a little tight and we’re getting to the end of it. What do you do?”

Grace shrugged. “Waitressing. Busing tables. I’ve done some cleaning.”

“Anything else? You look like a woman who might have other skills.”

For a moment, Grace’s blood froze. What did that mean? Other skills? Stripping? Turning tricks? She knew she looked a little harder than people in Wyoming, but she hadn’t expected to be confronted with the same shit she’d lived with on the streets of L.A.

“Have you worked in clothing stores?” Jenny continued, as friendly as before.

Grace blinked. Is that what she’d meant? Something so innocuous? “Uh, sure. I worked in a vintage place when I was young. And I do makeup.”

“Makeup?”

“I work as a makeup artist. In L.A.”

“Oh.” Jenny’s eyes widened. “That’s really cool.”

“But not very useful in Wyoming.”

“Maybe, but it’s got to pay better than waitressing in a tourist town.”

“That depends,” Grace said.

“On what?”

“On whether you can avoid pissing off the fifty different people on a movie set who can get you fired.”

Jenny laughed. “Well, maybe you should go see Eve Hill. She’s a photographer and she’s pretty nice. She might have work for you.”

Grace made an effort not to look doubtful, but she’d almost rather be a waitress than do bridal makeup for wedding shoots. “What kind of photography?” she asked warily.

“I’m not sure. She does some landscape stuff on her own. Sells it in town here, but she does other things, too. Photo shoots for magazines.”

“Here?”

The doubt must’ve been showing clearly now, because Jenny shook her head and offered a look of friendly patience. “We might be in the middle of nowhere, but there’s money here. Lots of money and lots of those people you know from L.A. They like to come and ski and play dress-up, and they like to have a reason to be here. Film shoots and fashion campaigns provide that.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay, I’ll look her up.”

“Do that. And if that doesn’t work out, I’ll let you know the good places to be a server here, and the places you want to avoid.”

“Thank you so much.”

Jenny winked with the natural friendliness of a really great bartender, then moved on to serve the two men who’d just pulled up to the bar.

“Eve Hill,” Grace murmured. It probably wouldn’t work out. The woman likely had no need for a makeup artist. But if there was any chance Grace could avoid working tables again, she’d suck up her pride. Maybe she’d even volunteer for bride duty. After all, there was a common denominator among all these people Grace wasn’t very good with. Customers, bosses, lovers, brides. The common denominator was Grace. She was the problem.

She clutched the key tight in her hand and walked out of the bar without meeting the eyes of any of the patrons.

People didn’t like her.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had friends. She even had really good friends, like Merry Kade, who’d been her best friend for ten years. So some people liked her. Just not the ones who controlled her pay. Although up until a few months ago, that hadn’t been a problem. She was good enough with makeup that she didn’t have to kiss butt to keep her job. She’d done just fine. She hadn’t had to ask anyone for help.

But that was before.

It didn’t matter. She’d asked for help this time, hadn’t she? And she hated it. She hated it like she’d never hated anything else. Somehow it was worse than the time she’d spent on the streets as a kid, accepting food from soup kitchens and charities. It was worse than crashing on a friend’s couch for a few days, because she could say she’d done the same for them at some point. This was out-and-out asking for help, and it stung.

But it was better than going to jail.

She stood in front of the pretty blue house and opened up her fist. Her skin showed the exact shape of the key. Every ridge and angle pressed red into her palm.

“Just a few weeks,” she whispered. “Just a month.” And if she didn’t like the feeling of begging for scraps, then she’d better get used to the idea of keeping her mouth shut around people who controlled her paycheck. Because it was one or the other, and she’d be damned if she’d ever ask for charity again.

CHAPTER THREE

COLE GLARED AT THE TOP of his physical therapist’s head, cursing her for an ogre and a devil and a nasty, power-abusing son of a bitch. Farrah looked up and smiled. “You doing okay, Cole?” She pressed his knee tighter to his ribs, resting all her weight against it. Not much heft considering she had the size and appearance of a benevolent fairy. Just another of her evil tricks.

“I’m great,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Easy says you’re bugging the tar out of him again.”

“I need to get back to work.”

“You want this to heal right or not?” She finally released his knee, but his hip joint screamed as she slowly lowered his leg to the ground.

“It’s healing fine,” he said.

Her eyes slid away. “You’re strong and healthy. You were in excellent shape before the accident, but there’s still a chance…”

“Sure.”

“When are you going back to the orthopedist?”

“Two weeks.”

“Okay.” She stood up, dusting her hands as if Cole were a pet project. “I bet a new CT scan will have more answers. But I can definitely tell you’ve been doing the exercises.”

He stood and stretched his back. “Thanks for coming by this morning. I know you don’t have to do that.”

“You’re a special case.” She rolled her eyes, but then smiled brightly. “Really, Cole. I want to help you get back in the saddle as much as Easy does.”

“Oh, yeah? Your uncle isn’t offering much help.”

“You mean he’s following doctor’s orders because you won’t?”

“Jesus, I haven’t ridden, have I?” Cole grimaced as he realized he’d snapped at this girl who was like a little cousin to him. “Sorry, Farrah.”

“Please. You wouldn’t believe the things I hear from my clients. Combinations of words that I shouldn’t even know.” She grabbed her bag. “Take a hot shower. Loosen everything up. And you’re making progress.”

“Sure,” he murmured as he gave her a farewell hug and let her out the door.

He was doing great. Of course he was. Despite what the experts were saying, he was sure he’d be fine.

As fine as could be expected for a cowboy who might never ride again.

Cole shook his head and ran a hand over his sore thigh. He’d be okay. The doctors were hopeful. The shattered femur was healing and the pelvic fracture would mend. Just in time for him to get back out there to round up the stock for fall.

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.