The cigarette bobbed. “There were enough.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Sold my place in Alaska for a pretty penny after the pipeline went in. Then I just started driving.”
“I can see why you stopped here.”
Rayleen glanced at the cowboys gathered around the pool tables. “Place has its charms.”
“It does,” Grace agreed, almost against her will. Too much charm. She hadn’t wanted to like it here as much as she did. “So, you don’t think you’ll ever end up in Florida with Grandma Rose? She says she keeps trying to talk you into moving.”
“Oh, God. That place old people go to die? Please. The scenery’s a lot better here.” She eyed the cowboys again, making clear she wasn’t talking about mountains.
“They do grow ’em strong,” Grace agreed in an attempt at a drawl.
“Yeah, they do. Go on, now.”
Grace, who’d been feeling a little warm and fuzzy about reaching out to her aunt, frowned at the sudden dismissal. “What?”
“Go on. You’re sitting too close. It makes me look old. The lighting in here is dim, but it ain’t that dim.”
“You’re saying you don’t want me sitting close to you?”
“Well, not on five-dollar pitcher night. Beer goggles aren’t infallible, girl.”
Half exasperated and half amused, Grace moved back to the bar. Maybe if Rayleen learned how to be a little nicer, she’d have real friends. Realizing how close to home that little bullet struck, Grace reached for her beer. She had friends. Well, she had Merry. One really good friend. At that moment, Grace felt a sudden urge to reach out to Merry. Maybe to assure herself that she wasn’t as far gone as Rayleen. Yet.
Making quick work of her beer, Grace tapped Shane on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few, and I’ll buy the next round, okay?”
She worked her way back toward the front, passing close enough to the jukebox to be tempted. She’d loved jukeboxes since she was little. Too many hours spent parked at seedy bar-and-grills as a kid. The jukebox had looked like a carnival to her. Flashing lights, promises of fun, a riot of noise.
She didn’t know a lot of country songs, but she knew a little of the old stuff. George Strait. Dolly Parton. Her mom had gone through a two-stepping phase with an old boyfriend, and the music had played at their apartment around the clock.
Trying to calculate if she had a dollar or two to spare, she slipped out onto the porch and sat in the corner with her phone.
“Hey, Merry.”
“You’re still alive! I was worried you’d been eaten by bears or something.”
“Not yet, but there’s some really creepy antelope here that are out to get me.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No. I’m serious about the antelope. They’re called pronghorn. Look them up. There’s something wrong with them.”
“That’s not what I meant. You just sound so relaxed. And I hear music in the background.”
“I’m at the saloon,” Grace said, smiling at the absurdity of it all.
“Yeehaw!” Merry yelled.
“By the way, did I tell you my apartment building is called the Stud Farm?”
“What the hell? Are you sure you aren’t accidentally living on an Old West porn shoot? It’s an easy mistake to make.”
“No,” Grace said quietly. “But I am fucking a cowboy.”
“What?” Merry squealed, the word disappearing into peals of laughter. She was just as delighted as Grace had expected. “Since when?”
“A couple of days ago.”
“I should hang up just to punish you for not telling me sooner. But I can’t miss this. What cowboy? What do you mean? This sounds like a continuing project!”
“Actually I’m not sure if it’ll continue anymore, but it’s happened a couple of times.”
“Oh, it’s happened?”
Grace could practically hear her friend making air quotes.
“As in, ‘I’m sorry, was that your penis I just sat on several times in quick succession?’”
“Something like that.” She giggled. Maybe she was drunk. She certainly felt warm and loose and happy. She leaned against the corner post and hung her legs over the side of the porch.
“Details,” Merry ordered. “God knows it’s as close as I’ll have been to an actual penis in months.”
Grace looked around to be sure no one was near. “Look, he’s not right for me. Obviously. He’s an actual cowboy. On a ranch.”
“No,” Merry breathed. “No! Shut up. I can’t take it. Does he wear a cowboy hat?”
“Yes.”
“Does he wave it in the air when he’s breaking you like a wild horse?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, my God, he does, doesn’t he? Does he call you his filly?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Okay. Sorry.” There was a sound like a hand slapping flesh. “I’m covering my mouth,” Merry said, her voice muffled and muted. “Go ahead.”
“He lives across the hallway from me. He’s hot. And he’s really, really good in bed.”
“Oh, my God,” Merry whispered.
“But I think it’s over.”
“But why?” Merry wailed.
“It’s too complicated. I’m not at the point in my life where I can get serious. A couple of nights? Sure. But every night? That’s asking for trouble. And I truly, honestly can’t handle any more trouble right now. Not for a while. I really…can’t do it.”
“Hey,” Merry said softly, her voice clear again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m just…” Grace’s eyes burned, and then she felt the cool welling of the tears that spilled past her eyelids. “I’m tired, Merry. That’s all.”
“Oh, Grace. Don’t—”
“No, I’m good. I just need a break, you know?”
“A break from what?” her friend pressed.
Grace wiped the tears from her cheeks and raised her gaze to the deep blue sky to stop any more from falling. She let her head fall to rest against the corner post. “I don’t know. Struggling. Fighting everything. I just want it to be easier.”
“Come to Dallas,” Merry said with such urgency that Grace laughed.
“No, I’m good here. I’m working. I’m saving money. I go to Vancouver in a few weeks. I’ll start over there. I’m almost thirty now. I can’t be pissed off and rebellious my whole life. It’s not as charming once your tattoos start to sag.”
“You’re not saggy.”
“No, but I will be. And I’ll hopefully have more to my name by then than a makeup kit and three pairs of black boots. Oh, and I also own a coffeemaker,” she said, hating that she felt pride at something so stupid.
“I’m worried about you,” Merry said softly.
“Don’t be worried. Nothing’s ever broken me. You know that. And nothing ever will. I promise.”
“I knew you should’ve left Scott a long time ago. I can’t believe he just threw you out. And—”
“This is a good thing, Merry. I’m enjoying this new work. It gives me more options. Everything’s good.”
“All right.” Merry sighed. “While you’re there, try out a few more things. Cowgirl. Rodeo queen.”
“Rodeo clown!” Grace shouted, then looked around, startled by her own outburst.
“Hell, yeah!” a cowboy said from the far side of the saloon porch, but he was already bleary-eyed with drink, and his friends didn’t even glance at her.
“So are you going to go back to L.A. eventually?”
“I don’t know. I thought I was done with it. But I feel better about it here. Maybe it’s the distance. Or maybe it’s just that I’m out of the makeup trailer. I don’t feel cornered. Or it’s because I’m bringing something to them instead of them directing me.”
“You don’t like being bossed? Is that what this is about?”
Grace collapsed into laughter
, swinging her feet against the weeds growing under the porch. “Maybe.”
“God, you are a hot mess.”
“Maybe,” she said, laughing.
“But I love you.”
That sobered her up every time Merry said it. Merry’s life had been nearly as unstable as Grace’s. The big difference being that Merry’s mom had always been there. She even tried to take care of Grace when she visited. So Merry was used to saying that. Grace wasn’t.
“Me, too,” she said.
“Chicken,” Merry said softly.
“Whatever. You’re just trying to distract me, anyway. We need to address the problem of these penises you can’t seem to get near.”
Merry laughed, and everything was normal again, thank God. “You make it sound like I’m chasing them around the neighborhood.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I’m no good with guys. Not like you are.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Grace sighed. “If you think I’m good with men, you’re further gone than I thought.”
“They don’t think I’m sexy, Grace. Not the way you are.”
Grace got angry the way she always did when she thought of people not being nice to Merry. “You are sexy! And you’re the sweetest person I know. Any man would be lucky if you even looked at him.”
“Sweet,” Merry groaned. “That’s the problem. I’m the perpetual little sister. The buddy. Once a guy ruffles your hair, your vagina has ceased to exist for him. And,” she said and sighed, “a lot of guys ruffle my hair.”
Despite her frustration for her friend, Grace laughed. “It’s going to happen. Someday you’ll meet a guy who thinks you’re sweet and wants to see your vagina.”
“You think?”
“I know. And hey, if not, you’ve always got a nice rack to fall back on.”
“That’s true,” Merry agreed grudgingly.
“None of those guys are good enough for you anyway.”
“Which guys?”
“All of them,” Grace said. She meant it. Despite the fact that she’d grown up with no money and no dad, just as Grace had, Merry had somehow come through with her sensitive soul intact. Grace would kill any man who changed that.
“I’d better go,” she finally said.
“All right. But call me again soon. I miss you, Grace.”
She got off the phone, but she stayed where she was on the porch. It was another perfect evening in Wyoming. Cool in the shade. Crickets just starting to chirp. No mosquitoes. No smog. Just the breeze on her skin and the falling dusk. She took a deep breath. And another. And then Cole walked out their front door.
And all her good intentions, all her strength of conviction and determination—everything crystallized. Right there where she could see it. She watched as it all went clear and bright. And then it broke apart and collapsed into sharp shards of lust. They stabbed into her, impossible to ignore.
God, she wanted him again. She wanted him to want her again. The idea was sweet somehow, despite that it was all animal heat and need. It was sweet and strong and devastating. But she closed her eyes and told herself it wasn’t real. He was just a man. It was just sex.
She pushed to her feet and disappeared into the saloon before he could corner her alone. It was safer this way, surrounded by people. She could disappear among them, then slip away without a fight. Or whatever it was that he wanted. He’d called several times today. He probably thought they should talk. Probably wanted to know what she was feeling. But she never told anyone what she was feeling. As far as she was concerned, no one deserved to know what she was really feeling, deep down inside. The idea of admitting that she was scared or worried or hurt to a man… No. Her mouth went dry.
At least it was perfect timing. Shane had already ordered another pitcher.
“I told you I’d get that.”
He shrugged. “Next week.”
“What if I’m not here next week?”
Shane paused in the act of raising the pitcher to pour another glass. One eyebrow rose, disappearing beneath his cowboy hat. “You planning on leaving soon?”
“Sooner rather than later.”
His gaze focused past her shoulder. “Does Cole know that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Right. I see.” He poured her glass and slid it over. “Maybe I’d better order another pitcher, then.”
“Oh, we’re all big girls here, aren’t we?” She shrugged off the flat doubt in his eyes. “It is what it is.”
“Sure,” he answered, managing to convey a lot of doubt in that word.
When Cole joined them, Shane lifted his chin in greeting and offered a beer. “How’s it going?”
Cole just grunted in that way men did when they were friends. Some shorthand that other men didn’t seem to find rude. He tipped his face toward Grace. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” she said without making any sign that she was willing to move.
Cole’s mouth flattened, but he leaned closer after shooting a look at Shane. Shane cleared his throat and turned away.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just enjoying the evening.”
“What happened this morning?”
“I left.”
“In a huff.”
“It wasn’t a huff. I was genuinely pissed. I didn’t mean to spend the night.”
“Why not?”
She took a sip of beer and let her gaze wander around the room. “Regardless of what you might think, I don’t need your help.”
He leaned closer and spoke through clenched teeth. “What the hell did that have to do with help? We had sex. You spent the night. That’s what people do.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you spend the whole night with a lot of girls you pick up at bars? Make them breakfast? Ask them to stay with you?”
“First of all,” he growled, “I didn’t pick you up at a bar. Second, that very obviously wasn’t a one-night stand, since it’s happened for two nights now. Third, I asked you to stay because I like you in my bed. And you seemed to like it, too, considering the way you were snuggled up against me this morning.”
“You were warm,” she snapped, as if she remembered anything about it.
“I was warm?”
Shane darted a look over his shoulder at Cole’s raised voice, but his face was carefully blank.
Grace was starting to feel a little guilty, and she didn’t like that. Maybe she had been curled up to him because he was warm, but that wasn’t the half of it, and she knew it. She liked touching him. She liked his skin and his hands and his scent. Just the thought of it opened up an ache in her body. It felt like a flower blooming, spreading red-hot petals through her insides. It was need, but not just that. It was want, too. And yearning. And she hated it so much. It felt like weakness.
She lifted her face and looked into his eyes. “I don’t need help.”
“If you think that’s true, maybe you should look around. You don’t even have a bed. You don’t have a place to eat your dinner. A place to sleep. You came here for help!”
Good. He’d pissed her off now, and that thing spreading inside her closed up again, squeezing itself small and invisible and meaningless. “Not from you. I don’t need or want help from you. Got it? Your dick isn’t some rescue line I need to hold on to. It was just sex. Deal with it.”
She stalked away, but not toward the door. She wouldn’t retreat, as if he bothered her so much she couldn’t be in his presence. He didn’t. He was nothing to her. But she was still aware of his eyes on her as she stopped in front of the jukebox and flipped through the selections.
Considering it a good bargain, she spent two dollars for three songs and nearly five minutes worth of time choosing them. Almost all of her anger had sunk back to its normal place by then, below the surface, accessible but not out of control. And her neck no longer burned with awareness. She discovered why when she turned around.
Cole was no longer watching her. Instead, he was watching Rayleen’s table. An
d no wonder. Seated with Rayleen was Cole’s boss, Easy. Cole didn’t look happy to see him. Rayleen, on the other hand…
Oh, the woman wasn’t doing anything so obvious as smiling at Easy, but her eyes were bright and her back straight and she looked ready to fight. It was the same way she looked when she was flirting with her young studs.
Interesting. Had they dated sometime back in the 1900s?
Grace worked her way back to the bar to ask Jenny.
“Oh, Easy comes in here a couple times a month on pitcher night. They play gin rummy for cash.”
“Is that all they do?”
“As far as I know,” Jenny answered. “And that’s all I ever need to know about it.”
Grace wanted to stay there with Jenny, talking and hiding, but pitcher night was busy, and Jenny was too slammed to hang out. “Sunday!” she promised as she rushed away.
“Sunday,” Grace whispered. But she needed the break tonight.
At this point she had three choices: run away, sit here alone or move back to the other end of the bar. Sitting here alone was nearly as bad as running off. Nearly everyone she knew in this town was seated just a dozen feet away. Sitting alone was like a terrible limbo. Too afraid to face Cole, too afraid to leave.
Plus, her beer was over there.
“Screw it,” she muttered and pushed off her barstool to face the tension she’d caused.
This was the problem with small towns. She’d only been here a few days, and already people knew her. And in a small town, they’d be there even if she tried to avoid them. In L.A. there were a thousand neighborhoods, a thousand bars.
Oh, there were a few bars in Jackson, but most of them were geared toward tourists. There were a few grocery stores, a few banks, a few apartments she could afford. And people she would know even on those days when she didn’t want to know anybody.
There had been a lot of those days. Days she didn’t want to be seen. Days she didn’t want anyone to look at her and find her lacking. Or days when she was so full of everything—life and anger and hurt and fear—that she wouldn’t be able to hide it, and everyone would see.
But she’d had time to compose herself, so she stopped next to Cole and reclaimed her beer. “Why do you hate your boss so much?” she asked.
He looked down at her, his gaze tense and far away for a moment. He blinked and shook his head. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
Close Enough to Touch Page 20
