Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

“But,” she said carefully, “we can have sex again, if you want.”

“What?” He exhaled the word on a shocked sigh.

“It was good. It’d be even better if you kept your mouth shut afterward.”

They were almost to the ranch. The truck passed under the sign. Shadows flashed over his face and then disappeared. Cole had no idea what to say. He was half horrified and half aroused. The obvious answer was, “Yes. Let’s do that.” But instead, he heard his mouth say, “Why?”

Why? What the hell? He was losing his mind.

“Why not?” she answered.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped, but Grace was opening the door. She hopped out, transferred her box to one hand and closed the truck door without another word.

If you want.

If he wanted? Jesus. He couldn’t even get out of the truck now, not without embarrassing himself. And once again, Grace Barrett had managed to banish every one of his worries. Even the one that was watching from right across the yard.

* * *

FOR A MOMENT, Eve looked genuinely worried. Grace saw it clearly on the woman’s face as she hurried down the steps of the porch and rushed over. “Where’s my car?”

“A tire went flat and there was no spare.”

“Oh,” she said, then the worry was chased away by a grimace. “Oh, my God, I keep forgetting to replace it. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Cole gave me a ride and he’s going back to grab the tire and get it patched.”

“He doesn’t have to do that. I’ll call a tow truck.”

Grace gestured toward the truck that was already pulling away. “Too late.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about the car.”

“It’s no big deal.” No big deal, and yet they both lapsed into silence and stood in an awkward limbo for too many seconds. “It’s not true,” Grace finally said. “What Willa said about me. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, Eve. But I don’t have a drinking problem. I don’t do drugs. And I’m not a…a thief.” The last word was hard to get out. It felt shameful just to have to say it.

She’d made herself back into that teenage girl who’d run from everyone, including the police.

And these days, she might set herself apart from other people in terms of appearance, but she did it on purpose. She tried very hard to walk a fine line between respectability and edginess.

As a kid, she hadn’t had that choice. She’d lived on the streets. If her hair had looked wild then, it was because it had needed a good wash and a cut. And if her eyes had looked dark and angry, they had been. And those tattered clothes? They really had been dug out of a box outside the door of a soup kitchen. She’d lived like that for two years after she’d run away. She’d stolen things. She’d lied and schemed and done what she’d needed to for food. She’d never actually sold her body, but there’d been a constant, unacknowledged negotiation between her heart and her mind, hadn’t there? Men whose interest had been more interesting because they had a place. Or a car. Or enough money to pay for dinner without even thinking about it. She’d rarely slept with a boy who’d been like her. A hustler. A street kid.

So she could say she’d never been a whore. She could tell herself that, but she couldn’t say she’d never been a thief. Maybe that was why it stung so badly now. Because she really was one.

She swallowed hard as the silence pressed harder against her skin. “I’m sorry about that, Eve. And I understand if you think it’s best if we…if I…don’t…”

“Grace, I’ve lived alone since I was twenty-two. I’ve owned my own business for years. I’ve never had a business partner. Never been married. Every decision is my own, and I have to trust my gut. And my gut says I like you. It also tells me that Willa chick is a superficial bitch. So, let’s leave it at that, all right?”

“But you must wonder—”

“Okay, I’ll admit that I had a fleeting moment of thinking I was an idiot to hand a near stranger my car keys and wish her the best. But here you are. And my car is allegedly still intact.” She smiled, and not for the first time, Grace noticed that sadness in her eyes. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it was only obvious when she smiled.

But whatever it was, she was choosing to give Grace a chance.

“I have a reputation in L.A.,” Grace admitted. “It might be my fault. I can have an attitude. I don’t like to kiss anyone’s ass, even if they’re my boss. But I’m good at what I do, and I try to keep my head down. Still, there’s always that one situation, you know? Where you have to say that something isn’t right, even if speaking up will get you into trouble. I’ve made mistakes, but most of them I wouldn’t take back.”

“Good. I’ve wor

ked at the edges of this industry for a while now. I see the bull that goes on. And, um, let’s just say I see hints of inflexibility in your personality.”

“Ha. That’s a nice way to say it.”