Close Enough to Touch (25 page)

His head snapped up. “What?” Easy didn’t know. Did he? About
Madeline and their history and…

“That purple-haired girl.”

“What?” Cole repeated stupidly.

“Grace. I found her hiding in the backyard a few minutes ago,
awfully upset.”

“Grace? Hiding? You must have that wrong.”

“Did you do something mean to that little girl?”

“Mean?
Me?
You’ve got it all wrong,
Easy. That
little girl
has the heart of a damn
mongoose.”

“She didn’t look very ferocious when I saw her.”

“That’s because she’d just used it all up tearing a piece out
of my hide.”

Easy eyed him with disapproval.

“I’m serious!”

“A woman doesn’t like to be picked up at a bar and used like a
two-bit whore. You’re grown enough to know that.”

Apparently he was more grown than Easy, because Easy was being
naive. Cole was the one who’d been used. “Forget about Grace,” he muttered. He
took off his hat to rub the ache from his forehead, then shoved it back on.
“She’s got nothing to do with my future.”

“All right,” Easy said. “If you say so.”

“I’ll help clean up after these folks tonight, but
tomorrow…”

“Take the time you need. But your father was wrong. This isn’t
what makes you a man. This place or this work.”

“No, he was right. Everything he said to me that night… He was
right.”

“He was
wrong,
” Easy growled. “He
didn’t mean it.”

“You must be kidding. He meant it enough to push me out of the
house. To shove me through the door and tell me not to bother coming back
because I wasn’t his son anymore.”

“He was scared, Cole. He was terrified he was losing you for
good, and he lashed out.”

Cole shook his head. “I broke his heart. That’s what killed
him. He was fine. Never been sick a day in his life. And then—”

“He broke his own damned heart, acting a stubborn fool!”

“You’re wrong. But it doesn’t matter. If I can’t make him proud
being a cowboy, I’ll have to think of another way.”

“We’ll figure it out, Cole.”

He would, because he had no choice. He’d figure it out. But not
here. This place was him and his dad and Easy all pushed into one small space.
He’d been thrown off by the endless sky and the lonely trails, but he could see
now what Easy had tried to say. He’d boxed himself in here, like a kid building
a fort.

He needed to get away. To think. Maybe California wasn’t the
place for that. Or maybe he needed to face it. Get it out of his system. Leave
it behind on his terms.

But more than anything, he just needed not to be here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
T
WAS
OVER
.
M
ADELINE
Beckingham and all her people had left.
Eve’s studio was back to normal. And Grace had nothing to do. Nothing. For
days.

She’d finished Cole’s books, but she couldn’t make herself
knock on his door to give them back. And she couldn’t leave them on his
doorstep. It’d look like she was tossing his stuff on the floor in a huff.

So she read them again and told herself she wasn’t done with
them yet. She read and went for walks and tried her best to avoid any chance of
seeing Cole.

On Sunday, when her phone rang and showed Scott’s number, she
blocked him. She’d purchased a money order on Friday and put it in the mail.
Maybe he’d received it already. Maybe he was calling to tell her it wasn’t
enough.

Maybe he could kiss her ass.

They all could. The next time she needed to scratch an itch,
she’d use a vibrator. Well, once she had the money to buy one, anyway. Until
then, she’d freehand it. Not her preferred method, but desperate times and all
that.

But she wasn’t desperate, she told herself. She was good. She
was fine. Things were looking up. Eve had heard from her friend in Vancouver,
and he’d said to have Grace stop by his office whenever she made it to town. But
even better, she had steady work for at least another week with Eve, who needed
help getting her office back in order after the insanity of the week before.

Things were good. In fact, tonight she was hanging out with
friends. People who liked her. So why did her chest ache like fire when she
forgot to keep her guard up? Why did she want Cole so much?

Just admitting it made her angry. She wanted to slap him.
Scratch him. Push him until he took her down to the floor and made her feel
pleasure instead of this awful pain.

Grace put down the book she wasn’t reading and curled up into a
ball on her mattress. She crooked her arm over her eyes to block out the
afternoon light and breathed as slowly as she could.

It didn’t hurt. There was no reason it should. So it didn’t.
She wouldn’t let it.

But why had he asked for so much from her? Why had he wanted
more? His hands sliding over her back as if she were fragile. His mouth against
the ink on her skin, asking what it meant.

That bastard.

None of that mattered. Because he touched her more truthfully
than that sometimes. He touched her rough and cruel. That was what he’d really
meant, she told herself. That was real. Nothing else.

Her phone rang again. This time it was an unfamiliar
number.

“Hey, girl,” a woman said. “It’s Jenny. Are you ready for the
makeover party?”

“I’m ready! But ‘makeover’? Does that mean more than
makeup?”

“Well, I keep buying hair dye and not using it, so I’m hoping
you’ll help me pick a color. You must be good with color even if it’s hair,
right?”

“I’m not bad.” Regular trips to the salon were expensive. She’d
done her own hair color for years.

“Thank God. I need help. So I was thinking six, if that’s not
too early for you.”

“Perfect. Should I bring anything?”

“Nope. I’m making lasagna, and Eve’s bringing wine, so I think
we’re covered. Just bring makeup and your amazing skills.”

“Sure,” Grace agreed, but she was stopping for a cake anyway.
She didn’t make new girlfriends often, and she wanted to do everything
right.

Grace felt horribly nervous when she jumped into the shower to
get ready. She was confident with men. She knew how to handle herself, she knew
what they wanted. But women? Well, assuming they were straight, Grace was never
sure what they were looking for.

She did her makeup very carefully, taking it a little softer
with purples and deep gray. She wore her black jeans and a soft,
off-the-shoulder blue sweater that made her look slightly more approachable than
her other clothes. It was probably the most feminine thing she owned, and
hopefully that would put Jenny and Eve at ease.

Stealing a look out the front window, she saw that Cole’s truck
was still missing from the driveway, and wondered if it would be safe to sneak
over to the saloon to ask Rayleen about a bakery.

But if Cole were at the saloon… The thought made her stomach
lurch. She didn’t want to see him. The very idea of seeing him left her cold
with dread.

That decided it. She wasn’t going to hide in her apartment all
weekend, afraid of
him.
Afraid he’d try to explain.
Afraid he’d reveal more and make it so much worse. She didn’t want to know. She
just wanted to escape.

But if she was going to be here for another week or two, she’d
have to face him.

Brave words, considering his truck wasn’t outside.

Grace grabbed her makeup kit and walked outside before the fear
could take over again. “You taking your show on the road?” Rayleen shouted as
soon as Grace walked in.

Grace shook her head as she walked to her aunt’s table in the
corner. “Do you ever leave this place?”

“Not unless I have to.”

The chair in front of Grace slid an inch as if Rayleen had
moved it with her foot.

“Am I allowed to sit down?” Grace asked. Rayleen shrugged as if
she didn’t care, but the chair scooted out a little more, so Grace sat.

Rayleen nudged the kit Grace had put on the floor. “What’s in
the toolbox?”

“It’s my makeup kit.”

“You working tonight?”

“No, I’m going over to Jenny’s. She wants a makeover.”

“Oh,” Rayleen muttered. “A girl’s night, huh? Poker would be
better.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you good with that makeup stuff?”

“I’m pretty good,” Grace answered.

“Yeah? Well, I know your grandma’s proud of you.”

That surprised her. First, that her grandmother had said that.
The only thing she’d ever said to Grace about it was that L.A. wasn’t a safe
place for a young woman on her own. Second, she was surprised that Rayleen would
repeat it. “Thank you for telling me.”

“The last time she visited, she brought two movies and made me
watch the whole damn credit reel after each one, just because your name was
there. Silliness, I say. You get paid for your work. I don’t see why you have to
get a written thank-you, too.”

“She did that?”

“Sure. Damned obnoxious.”

Her grandmother wasn’t as hard as Aunt Rayleen, but she wasn’t
exactly the kind of granny who baked cookies and offered them with an indulgent
smile. She was supportive more than loving, and worried more than affectionate,
but maybe that was how she showed love.

How did Rayleen show love? With insults? With muttered
complaints? Was that even possible?

Rayleen seemed to be done talking, so Grace finished her drink
and stood. “Okay, I’d better head over to Jenny’s. Can you recommend a good
bakery that’s not too expensive? It’s Jenny’s birthday in a couple of days. And
Eve’s, too.”

“The one at the small market is all right. Next to the
park.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

She shrugged again.

“Have a good night, okay?”

Rayleen just grunted, and Grace headed out and down the block,
grateful the bakery wasn’t very far.

Using the last of her spare cash, she picked out a
girly-looking cake that already said
Happy Birthday
in purple frosting. Not Grace’s style, but it did match her hair.

She walked slowly toward Jenny’s place, hoping the walk would
calm her nerves. And it did, despite the fact that every time she heard the
engine sound of a big pickup she worried it was Cole’s truck. It never was. So
Grace relaxed.

The sight of the pretty bakery bag in her hand made her happy.
And the story Rayleen had told about Grandma Rose…that helped, too. She wasn’t
as alone as she sometimes felt. And tonight she wouldn’t be alone at all. By the
time she climbed the stairs to the condo and knocked, her nervousness had been
left behind somewhere, lost on the streets of Jackson.

“Hey, girl!” Jenny shouted when she opened the door. She hugged
Grace one-handed, the other hand occupied with holding a glass of red wine. “I’m
half-drunk already. Eve drove, so she’s insisting I drink one of the bottles by
myself. The other one’s for you.”

“I did not insist!” Eve called. “I said it was an option.”

Jenny snorted. “Option, shmoption. Time to get beautiful!”

Laughing, Grace let herself be pulled in. She held up the bag.
“Happy birthday, ladies. I brought cake.”

“Oh, my God!” Jenny squealed. “Cake! I love you!”

Grace felt heat climbing up her cheeks and quickly changed the
subject. “Okay, if we’re going to do hair color, we should do that first. Before
makeup.”

“But not before lasagna,” Jenny insisted. “Or cake. Or
wine!”

Eve groaned as she took a seat at the small kitchen table. “I
should’ve taken the bus.”

“You can always spend the night. I only have a double bed, but
after a bottle of wine, I bet you won’t mind cuddling.”

“No, I’m fine with my two-glass limit.”

“Oh, I’m just kidding. You can sleep on the couch.”

Eve laughed, her cheeks turning as pink as Grace’s had felt a
moment before. “I’m honestly no good with alcohol. The last time I got drunk, I
got sick on my stairs. If there’s anything worse than being hungover, it’s being
hungover and having to clean up vomit.”

Grace gratefully accepted the very full glass Jenny offered. “I
can’t imagine you drunk,” she said to Eve. “You’re so dignified.”

“I’m just quiet and boring. Dignified is a trick us boring
people pull.”

Grace eyed her for a moment. “Are we coloring your hair?”

“Oh, God, no. I’d feel too conspicuous. People comment on that
sort of thing. I hate it.”

“I’ll ask you again after the wine. I’d love to—”

“No,” she insisted. “Absolutely not.”

“You can do me any way you want,” Jenny said as she picked up a
big plastic bag and began pulling out boxes of hair-coloring kits.

“Oh, my God.” Grace laughed. There was now an impressive row of
boxes on the table. “How many do you have?”

“Nine. No, ten. Don’t laugh! Every once in a while I get brave
and tell myself I’ll finally do something different, and then I get home and
pull my hair back into a ponytail and go to work, and that’s it. I chicken out.
Plus I bought two more today. What do think?”

“Well…”

Jenny set the lasagna on the table and passed out plates while
Grace moved the boxes around.

“Definitely not the browns. You’ve got a great skin tone for
your natural blond. But this one…” She pushed forward a gorgeous, warm blond
permanent color. “Maybe with a few lowlights with this coppery one.” She moved
another box toward Jenny. “That might be amazing.”

“Really?” she asked, bouncing up and down on her toes. “You
think so?”

“Yes. Do you have good scissors?”

Jenny slapped a hand to her long hair. “Why?”

“I’ll just trim the ends. Then we can color it and straighten
it. You’ll look amazing.”

An hour later, half the lasagna was gone, the cake had been
massacred, Eve had given in and started her third glass of wine, and Jenny’s
head was deep in the kitchen sink as Grace washed the dye from it.

“This is so exciting,” Eve said. She picked up a box of
chestnut-brown and eyed it wistfully. “I can’t wait to see it dry.”

Grace wrapped Jenny’s hair in a towel. “That one’s a temporary
color, you know. It only lasts six weeks. It would just add some shine and a
little depth to your natural color.”

Eve put the box down.

“Come on. You’re a photographer. You know how amazing a little
color depth can be. Let’s do it. It’s six weeks. No big deal.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do it!” Jenny shouted. “Do it, do it, do it!”

Eve refilled her wineglass, even though only half was gone.
“Okay. Fine. Yes. Let’s do it.”

Jenny screamed so loudly that Grace was worried her neighbors
would complain. Then she decided maybe they were used to it.

“Come on,” she said to Eve. “Head in the sink, then.”

Grace was just putting the last of the color into Eve’s hair
when someone knocked hard on the door. Maybe the neighbors had complained,
because that sounded distinctly like the unforgiving knock of a policeman’s
fist.

Apparently Jenny was a good enough person that she’d never
heard that knock, because she breezed over with her wet hair and a smile and
swung the door wide open. And revealed a sight more alarming than the
police.

Standing in the doorway, scowl already in place, was Aunt
Rayleen.

“Good Lord,” Rayleen barked, looking from Jenny to Eve. “I
thought she was supposed to make you look better. You ladies look like a pair of
drowned rats.”

“Sweet as ever,” Jenny announced.

“I am sweet. I brought you the sunglasses you left on the bar
yesterday.”

“Oh, thank you.” Jenny took the glasses, but Rayleen didn’t
give up her post.

“Why’s your hair wet?”

“Grace colored it.”

“Hmph. Some normal color, I hope.”

Grace had been too shocked by her aunt’s arrival to know what
to think, but as Rayleen craned her neck to see in, Grace realized what was
going on. Jenny seemed to see it at the same time. She tossed a helpless look
toward Grace.

Did she want Grace to find a way to get rid of her boss? Or was
she asking permission to let Grace’s great-aunt crash the party? Knowing that
Rayleen had dug up an excuse and walked all the way over here in the hopes of
being invited in… Grace might be tough, but she couldn’t be cruel. Not to this
lonely old woman.

“Want a glass of wine, Rayleen?”

“Maybe,” she barked. “But you’re not getting your crazy hands
on my hair.”

“Okay. I’ll leave your hair alone. Promise.”

Sorry,
she mouthed to Jenny once
Rayleen had settled in at the table.