Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

The panic that Easy had named reared up in full force as Cole rushed up the steps of the saloon.

He headed straight for the bar, but as he tipped his hat at Jenny, his gaze slid down the line of stools and caught on a sight he hadn’t expected. His panic skipped briefly, like an interrupted song.

Grace was there, parked at the end of the bar, a drink in her hand, her purple hair gleaming under a neon sign.

A beer appeared in front of Cole, and he murmured a thanks to Jenny before he downed half of it.

That helped ease his panic back a little. Then Grace looked up, caught him watching and smiled; Cole’s panic tripped again, and tumbled into something else. Excitement. Distraction.

He’d never seen her smile like that before. Free. Happy. Maybe a little drunk. Jenny approached her and said something, drawing Grace’s attention away. She smiled so hard that her nose crinkled.

Okay, maybe she was more than a little drunk.

Cole finished his beer and sauntered over.

“Miss Grace,” he said, tipping his hat.

“Hey, cowboy,” she drawled.

“Buy you a drink?”

She shot the last two inches of what looked like orange juice and held it up. “I just happened to be in need of one. Thank you.”

Well. He’d half expected her to sneer and tell him she could buy her own drinks. She was different tonight, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. She looked the same at first glance. Tight, worn T-shirt, this one with a British flag on it. Tight, dark jeans. Black combat boots. Shaggy hair that was a sexy mess of black and brown and purple. But her eyes shone with something new.

He tilted his head at Jenny. “Another round, Jenny. I think we’re celebrating something.”

“We are,” Grace crowed.

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or is it a secret?”

“Just a good day. The new job is going really well.” She winked.

“Yeah? That’s great.”

“And with all these hours, I can afford to buy myself a screwdriver. Or two. Thanks to Jenny running a tab. I’ll pay you on Friday, Jenny, I swear.”

Jenny winked. “I know where you live.”

“I guess it’s hard to hide in a town this size.”

She slid Grace another glass. “And there are only so many places to drink.”

“Cheers,” Grace said, raising the drink toward Jenny. Then she turned her smile to Cole. “Thanks, cowboy.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured, meaning every syllable.

“Hey!” a cranky voice shouted from behind them. “You’d better not be giving my booze away, Jenny!”

Cole turned to grin at Old Rayleen, who was glaring at them above the cards she held in her hand. “I bought your niece a round, Rayleen.”

“Oh, yeah? You didn’t ask if I wanted anything. Ingrate.”

Cole winked. “I’m sorry, Miss Rayleen. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I can get my own drinks in my own place,” she groused. Then without looking up from her game, she muttered, “Whiskey sour.”

Jenny was already handing him the drink before he got off the stool. Cole delivered it with a flourish. “I’m sorry, Miss Rayleen.”