“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.
* * *
“WELL, NOW,” SHANE 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 wa
s 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
SHE 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.
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