Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ