Close Enough to Touch

by Victoria Dahl

  “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.

  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 b
een 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.