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“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 was 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.
“Lumberjacks are pussies.”
She slapped a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh, and that made Cole smile so hard he felt like a fool. It felt like triumph, making this girl laugh. Like a prize. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to make her moan. Damn.
“So what got you fired this time?” he pressed. He didn’t have to be told that she was an expert at dropping subjects. But she gave in more or less gracefully this time.
“I was working on a movie set. I’d been doing pretty well this year, trying to keep my head down.”
“No punching?”
“No punching. And I got an amazing gig, working on a big film. Working with the stars of a big film, not just the secondaries, you know? I won’t say who it is, but the starring actress is one of America’s sweethearts. And she seemed perfectly nice. Quiet. Polite. And with a couple of fading bruises on her neck. Whatever, though. People are kinky. If she liked a little choking during sex, it’s none of my business.”
Cole coughed and reached for his coffee as his eyes watered. “Sure,” he finally managed to say.
“But one day the producer came to the trailer while I was working on her. He was her boyfriend. It was an open secret. And she flinched when he gestured. That was it. Just a tiny flinch I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been working on her eyes. The next week, her lip was a little swollen. And when he came to the trailer and started berating her about something, I couldn’t keep myself from calling him on it.”
“The producer.”
She glared at him. “An abusive ass is an abusive ass.”
Cole raised a conciliatory hand. “I agree. I’m just impressed you were brave enough to say something.”
Grace snorted. “It’s not bravery. I don’t think about it. I just blow up. Anyway, I cursed him out and told him what I thought of him. He fired me immediately.”
“And?” he asked, aware of the weight in her words.
“And I told him I’d file a complaint with the union. He said he’d ruin my career, and I said I’d tell the press. Unfortunately, I was the one who was bluffing.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Nobody would’ve cared. I could’ve told the tabloids about what I’d seen, and who would it have hurt? Her, maybe. Definitely me. And definitely not him, because he would’ve found some way to prove it wasn’t true. So here I am.”
“You couldn’t get another job?”
“It was complicated. And the word is out that I drink on the job.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Do you?”
