Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl

made an effort not to look doubtful, but she’d almost rather be a waitress than do bridal makeup for wedding shoots. “What kind of photography?” she asked warily.

      “I’m not sure. She does some landscape stuff on her own. Sells it in town here, but she does other things, too. Photo shoots for magazines.”

      “Here?”

      The doubt must’ve been showing clearly now, because Jenny shook her head and offered a look of friendly patience. “We might be in the middle of nowhere, but there’s money here. Lots of money and lots of those people you know from L.A. They like to come and ski and play dress-up, and they like to have a reason to be here. Film shoots and fashion campaigns provide that.”

      “Right. Yeah. Okay, I’ll look her up.”

      “Do that. And if that doesn’t work out, I’ll let you know the good places to be a server here, and the places you want to avoid.”

      “Thank you so much.”

      Jenny winked with the natural friendliness of a really great bartender, then moved on to serve the two men who’d just pulled up to the bar.

      “Eve Hill,” Grace murmured. It probably wouldn’t work out. The woman likely had no need for a makeup artist. But if there was any chance Grace could avoid working tables again, she’d suck up her pride. Maybe she’d even volunteer for bride duty. After all, there was a common denominator among all these people Grace wasn’t very good with. Customers, bosses, lovers, brides. The common denominator was Grace. She was the problem.

      She clutched the key tight in her hand and walked out of the bar without meeting the eyes of any of the patrons.

      People didn’t like her.

      Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had friends. She even had really good friends, like Merry Kade, who’d been her best friend for ten years. So some people liked her. Just not the ones who controlled her pay. Although up until a few months ago, that hadn’t been a problem. She was good enough with makeup that she didn’t have to kiss butt to keep her job. She’d done just fine. She hadn’t had to ask anyone for help.

      But that was before.

      It didn’t matter. She’d asked for help this time, hadn’t she? And she hated it. She hated it like she’d never hated anything else. Somehow it was worse than the time she’d spent on the streets as a kid, accepting food from soup kitchens and charities. It was worse than crashing on a friend’s couch for a few days, because she could say she’d done the same for them at some point. This was out-and-out asking for help, and it stung.

      But it was better than going to jail.

      She stood in front of the pretty blue house and opened up her fist. Her skin showed the exact shape of the key. Every ridge and angle pressed red into her palm.

      “Just a few weeks,” she whispered. “Just a month.” And if she didn’t like the feeling of begging for scraps, then she’d better get used to the idea of keeping her mouth shut around people who controlled her paycheck. Because it was one or the other, and she’d be damned if she’d ever ask for charity again.

      CHAPTER THREE

      COLE GLARED AT THE TOP of his physical therapist’s head, cursing her for an ogre and a devil and a nasty, power-abusing son of a bitch. Farrah looked up and smiled. “You doing okay, Cole?” She pressed his knee tighter to his ribs, resting all her weight against it. Not much heft considering she had the size and appearance of a benevolent fairy. Just another of her evil tricks.

      “I’m great,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

      “Easy says you’re bugging the tar out of him again.”

      “I need to get back to work.”

      “You want this to heal right or not?” She finally released his knee, but his hip joint screamed as she slowly lowered his leg to the ground.

      “It’s healing fine,” he said.

      Her eyes slid away. “You’re strong and healthy. You were in excellent shape before the accident, but there’s still a chance…”

      “Sure.”

      “When are you going back to the orthopedist?”

      “Two weeks.”

      “Okay.” She stood up, dusting her hands as if Cole were a pet project. “I bet a new CT scan will have more answers. But I can definitely tell you’ve been doing the exercises.”

      He stood and stretched his back. “Thanks for coming by this morning. I know you don’t have to do that.”

      “You’re a special case.” She rolled her eyes, but then smiled brightly. “Really, Cole. I want to help you get back in the saddle as much as Easy does.”

      “Oh, yeah? Your uncle isn’t offering much help.”

      “You mean he’s following doctor’s orders because you won’t?”

      “Jesus, I haven’t ridden, have I?” Cole grimaced as he realized he’d snapped at this girl who was like a little cousin to him. “Sorry, Farrah.”

      “Please. You wouldn’t believe the things I hear from my clients. Combinations of words that I shouldn’t even know.” She grabbed her bag. “Take a hot shower. Loosen everything up. And you’re making progress.”

      “Sure,” he murmured as he gave her a farewell hug and let her out the door.

      He was doing great. Of course he was. Despite what the experts were saying, he was sure he’d be fine.

      As fine as could be expected for a cowboy who might never ride again.

      Cole shook his head and ran a hand over his sore thigh. He’d be okay. The doctors were hopeful. The shattered femur was healing and the pelvic fracture would mend. Just in time for him to get back out there to round up the stock for fall.

      It would be his last roundup for Easy. Oh, he loved Easy like a father, but Cole was ready to own his own ranch. And Easy was ready to sell. Next year, Cole would be rounding up his own cattle, and Easy would be sipping piña coladas on a Mexican beach.

      Chuckling at the thought of Easy relaxing on a beach in his Stetson, Cole headed for the shower.

      He made the water as hot as he could stand it, hoping no one else in the building had put too much of a strain on the water heater. One of these days he’d do his exercises, take a hot shower and suddenly feel good. Great. Back to normal. He knew it. But for now, the ache hadn’t left. Sometimes it faded to something bearable. Sometimes it swelled into a giant thumping heart in his thigh. The pain was normal, his doctors said. Nothing to be concerned about.

      Half an hour later, the ache beaten back to a dull roar, Cole found himself sipping his morning coffee and staring at his door again, waiting for some sign of life from the apartment across the hall.

      He hadn’t seen her since he’d watched her talk to Rayleen at the saloon. Grace hadn’t even noticed him over in the alcove that housed the pool tables. He’d been half irritated by that, and half thankful that he’d gotten the chance to watch her openly.

      She was a small woman, with delicate bones, but she held her body as though she was coiled to flee at any moment. Or pounce, maybe. He hoped it was the latter.

      But as intriguing as she was, she seemed to have disappeared. He hadn’t heard her even once, and they shared a common wall along the hall and bathroom. Jackson was pretty quiet at night, and he’d often heard his previous neighbor moving around, but Grace was silent as a mouse.

      Of course, the previous tenant was a drunken college dropout whose number one hobby had been juggling three different girlfriends. At least it had given Cole a soap opera to listen to on sleepless nights.

      But where was his new neighbor?

      Maybe