Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

Assuming Shane was talking about Grace, Cole just raised an eyebrow and leaned over the table to break.

“There’s a big film production coming to town.”

Cole forced himself to pull the cue back as if those words didn’t affect him. In fact, he managed to sink two balls with a perfect break.

“You know anything about it?” Shane asked.

“Why would I?”

“I thought maybe you were going to go Hollywood again.”

Cole forced himself to smile, even though his mind was spinning. That couldn’t be why Grace was here, could it? “That was a long time ago,” he said calmly.

“Not that long ago,” Shane countered. “Ten years?”

“Thirteen,” Cole said. Thirteen long years, but not even close to long enough. Thirteen years since Hollywood had come to town and he’d jumped in feetfirst. If Grace was part of that crowd…

But no. She was renting an apartment, not staying at one of the fancy resorts. Grace wasn’t part of the film team. No way. But maybe this was a warning that should be heeded. A reminder that city girls had led him astray before. And he’d followed willingly.

This chick was bad news. And she was living across the hall. And he wasn’t the least bit inclined to avoid her.

She should’ve scared the hell out of him, and instead, he was smiling in anticipation.

Somehow that only made him smile harder.

Bad news, indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FRESH AIR STRUCK GRACE as soon as she stepped out, the cleanness of it startling though she’d been outside just a few minutes before. Almost against her will, she took a deep breath, drawing in the beauty of it. Even if she’d been surrounded by stucco buildings and ten lanes of traffic, there’d be no mistaking that she wasn’t in L.A. anymore. The air was too crisp, and when she moved, it hardly even touched her skin. She felt lighter as she headed for the faint sounds of music leaking from the saloon next door.

“The saloon next door,” she murmured. That was something she’d never said before. Bar, yes. Liquor store, sure. And on one occasion even a strip club. But never a saloon.

The strip club had actually made a pretty good neighbor. Unlike bars and liquor stores, no one wanted to hang around outside a strip club. The interesting parts were inside, behind blacked-out windows and plain cement walls. And once the place shut down for the night, the girls dropped everything and left as if the building made their skin crawl.

Grace had always told herself she couldn’t imagine doing that. Pretending to like a man for money. Using her body to win favors. But in the end, she’d done the same thing, hadn’t she?

As she opened the heavy saloon door, she shook that thought from her head. What the hell did it matter? She’d done what she’d done, and now she was just as miserable as she deserved to be.

Old country music filled the saloon, though it wasn’t particularly loud. A friendly buzz of conversation overlaid the music. Even at 3:00 p.m., several of the tables were filled, though not with the usual miserable types she associated with afternoon drinking. Two of the groups looked like young and scruffy college kids that you’d see in any other town. But at the closest table, all five of the men wore cowboy hats. Each man touched the brim of his hat as she passed. Grace felt her face flush at the unexpected courtesy and hurried past them to the long bar that ran along the side of the building.

She hadn’t seen her great-aunt in almost twenty years, but the blonde woman behind the bar was clearly not Aunt Rayleen. This woman was somewhere in her thirties, probably, though her skin was fresh and so pretty she could pas

s for a younger woman.

“Hi,” Grace said, catching her attention. “I’m looking for Rayleen. Rayleen Kisler?”

The woman kept polishing a glass, but offered a wide smile. “Of course, sweetie. She’s right over there. Usual table.”

Grace followed the gesture to a table at the far corner of the bar. An old woman sat there playing solitaire, an unlit cigarette gripped tightly between two thin lips. Yeah. That was Aunt Rayleen. She looked as mean as ever.

“Thank you,” Grace murmured, thinking those weren’t quite the right words as she headed across the bar. What she should have said was “Never mind” or “Pretend you never saw me.” She should have turned around and grabbed her stuff and kept moving. Grace hadn’t even wanted to ask for help from her grandmother, much less this sour-faced woman who’d never had a kind word for anyone, even when Grace had been a child.

And her face had only gotten more sour in the meantime. Though her hair was still beautiful. Pure white and flowing past her shoulders in a gorgeous wave. Rayleen’s one and only vanity, according to Grandma Rose.

Grace finally stood before the table, but the old lady didn’t look up. She just scowled down at her cards, flipping over three at a time in a slow rhythm. Her pale chambray shirt looked about three sizes too big for her.

“Aunt Rayleen?” Grace finally ventured.