Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

“Maybe sometime you can teach me how to do my makeup.”

“Your makeup is fine.”

“I never know what to do with my eyes,” she said. “My eyelids are fat, and now that I’m getting older, they just look puffy.”

Grace laughed and shook her head, but it was the kind of thing she heard all the time. A lot of women felt helpless about makeup. “Let me know when you want some tips.”

“I will. I feel self-conscious around you!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Grace said, and she meant it. She was the one who always felt self-conscious. Not about her looks. She wasn’t pretty, but she didn’t mind. She did what she could to make sure people knew who she was before they even approached her. She wanted them to know that she wasn’t like other girls, so they wouldn’t be surprised by that. She wasn’t soft or sweet or comforting, especially these days. She didn’t know how to be taken care of, much less how to take care of others. She took care of herself. She always had.

No matter what the cost, apparently.

When her thoughts veered back to L.A., Grace gulped down half her beer. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to, but how could she avoid it?

The truths she’d known about herself, the few things she’d been proud of… She’d thrown all that away.

No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t even been strong enough to throw them away. She’d just dropped them, let them scatter in the wind. Her pride, her strength, the weapons she’d armed herself with every single day of her life. All the success she’d carved out of this world through blood, sweat and tears—she’d given that up.

Grace Barrett, a girl who’d never needed anyone…she’d let herself need him.

The worst part was, she’d be in the exact same place right now if she’d left him on her own terms. She’d have nothing and no one, just as she did now. But she’d also have her pride. And everything she’d ever believed about herself.

She’d have that.

Now she had less than nothing. Now she didn’t even know who she was. She certainly wasn’t the tough, kick-ass girl who wouldn’t take shit from anyone. She’d taken plenty of shit from Scott. She’d put her head down and kept her mouth shut, and she’d taken it. And on top of everything, she’d been reduced to living on the edge again. Just like when she’d been sixteen.

One stupid mistake on top of all those others, and ten years of progress had vanished in a snap.

Fuck.

Her beer wasn’t quite finished, but Grace was. She stood, meaning to rush out, but as she turned, her head swam as though the floor was tilting beneath her. “Oh,” she breathed, reaching toward the large shoulder that entered her blurry vision.

“Careful, darlin’,” a deep voice said.

“Sorry. I…” She blinked and her vision cleared. And there was Cole, smiling at her, his eyes shaded by an honest-to-goodness cowboy hat. Or maybe all cowboys looked alike.

“Grace? You okay?”

Yeah, it was definitely him. She jerked her hand away and stood straight. “I’m fine.”

“More than fine, I’d say.”

“I’m not drunk! I only had one beer.” And a tequila shot.

“It’s the altitude. You’ve got to be careful.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, even though she wasn’t sure. She did feel awfully tipsy. Maybe it was the altitude. Or maybe it was that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Or had a drink in weeks.

Damn. She was drunk.

“You look great,” Cole said, his eyes traveling quickly down her body.

She was suddenly glad she was wearing her heeled boots. They gave her four extra inches of leg. But what did that matter? She wasn’t trying to impress this man.

Then she had a sudden flashback to that morning. To looking at herself in the mirror and seeing the mascara under her eyes and her hair standing up in clumps. Oh, my God. “This morning,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize…”

A man cleared his throat from somewhere close by. “This morning, huh?” he said.