Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl
old woman was harmless. Eccentric, but harmless. Even the jokes in town meant nothing, which was why everyone thought they were funny. Obviously nothing was going on between Rayleen and her young renters, but with the house being part of the old Studd homestead, the jokes were too easy. Too damn perfect.
And she really never did seem to rent to women.
Cole heard a car door close outside and cocked his head, waiting to see if it was Grace returning from… Where? A boyfriend’s house? A very, very late night with a new acquaintance? He found himself slightly irritated at the thought, and couldn’t help but smile at his own stupidity. That woman was all passion and attitude. If she wanted to sleep with a different guy every night, she damn sure would, and there’d be no apologies either. He’d be a fool to let it get to him.
Raising his cup to his lips, he realized it was empty. He wanted to have another one, but somehow one cup of coffee made his leg feel better and two made it feel worse. And it was already primed for feeling sore as hell today, between working the day before and physical therapy this morning.
Even during the worst of it, just after surgery, he hadn’t been expecting that. That the pain would be so overwhelming. That the injury might be so bad he’d never ride again. He’d been on a horse since he was three. It felt more natural to him than walking. And now, now it felt as though his muscles couldn’t quite remember the way to walk naturally, much less direct a horse with the barest of tension. But his muscles weren’t really the problem. The problem was the crack that went from his hip joint and halfway up his pelvis. With the shattered femur and the metal holding all that together…
“We’re going to have to see,” they’d said. “You could do permanent damage in a saddle.”
But Cole couldn’t accept that. He didn’t know how to accept it.
He’d been completely out of work for eight months, and he’d been cleared to work half days only a month before. But for a cowboy, a half day should’ve been eight hours, with no such thing as a weekend. Cole didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.
It was worse now that he was up and around. He was at the ranch most days, watching his old friends do the things he couldn’t do. Cole was relegated to the yard and corrals, limping from job to job until Easy told him his four hours were up and he had to leave.
Four hours a day, five days a week. It was shameful. And how was he supposed to be ready for the roundup when he wasn’t allowed to push himself?
He wasn’t supposed to go in today, but if he snuck into the tack house and worked a few hours on repairs while everyone else was out checking cattle, he could sneak out before lunchtime. Hell, Easy wouldn’t know anything about it. Cole wouldn’t get paid, but this wasn’t about the money. It was about being where he belonged, doing something useful. And getting his body ready to get back to work full-time.
The front door hadn’t opened yet, so Cole assumed the car had been stopping at another house. Which still left the mystery of his new next-door neighbor. He eyed the coffeepot, then the clock. He still had two hours to waste before he could safely sneak onto the ranch.
So, what the hell? A little curiosity never hurt anyone.
He laughed at that. Curiosity had nearly ruined him once. But he’d been a boy then. Stupid and easily controlled by his sense of adventure. And his dick. One and the same, sometimes, and not exactly a moot point when it came to curiosity either.
After all, Grace was beautiful.
Well, not beautiful. That wasn’t the word. Not pretty either. Or cute. Not with that wild, choppy hair in chunks of brown and black and purple. And those dark eyes that looked like they absorbed everything and let nothing show through. And her pale, flawless skin. She wasn’t pretty—she was striking. Like a kick to the gut. And he hadn’t felt that since…
Hell, he hadn’t felt that since he was an idiot boy getting his first taste of a girl from the big city. So maybe he hadn’t grown up so much after all.
But regardless of where she was from, this wasn’t L.A. and he wasn’t signing up for a life of debauchery. He was just checking on a neighbor.
So, Cole stood up—purposefully not pressing a hand to his thigh as it screamed—and walked out to knock on her door.
The silence that followed wasn’t a good sign. Eight o’clock was late by his standards, but too early for a girl like her, maybe. But the more likely truth was that she wasn’t there. She’d disappeared as quickly as she’d shown up. Seemed about right. Rayleen had sent Grace on her way. Those two would probably get along like a couple of feral cats.
Convinced that the place was just as empty as it had been two days before, Cole started to leave, only to swing back around when a muffled voice interrupted the silence. “Who is it?”
“It’s Cole,” he said, a smile springing so quickly to his face that it startled him. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Your neighbor.”
The door opened. Not all the way, of course, just enough to reveal Grace standing there glaring at him.
“Good morning,” he offered, his eyes dipping to take her in. She was dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, but her feet were bare, aside from the deep blue polish on her toenails.
“Somebody painted over the peephole,” she muttered, running a hand through her crazy hair. It stood up in wild layers that somehow made her look younger. Or maybe that was the faded, smeared makeup. But he noticed that her lips were still a deep pink color, even first thing in the morning. That wasn’t lipstick. That was just the sweet shade of her mouth.
“The what?” he finally remembered to ask.
“The peephole,” she gestured at the door.
“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder at his own door. “I guess I never noticed.”
“I guess you wouldn’t. Did you need something?”
“No. I just wanted to check on you.”
“Me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Well, we’re neighbors. And I hadn’t heard so much as a door shut since I saw you yesterday. I thought maybe Old Rayleen had sent you on your way.”
She started to shake her head, and then seemed to be caught by surprise by a huge yawn. Her hand clutched the edge of the door and swung it farther open. The place looked the same as yesterday. Not one piece of furniture or sign of life. The kitchen was dark and quiet.
Cole was craning his neck to look around her when Grace seemed to realize what he was doing and narrowed the opening. But he’d seen enough. None of her stuff was here yet.
“Want a cup of coffee?”
For a second, her dark, fathomless eyes flared with emotion. Something close to lust.
“It’s already brewed,” he coaxed.
“Mmm.” She glanced toward his door, and he knew she was hoping he’d offer to bring her a cup and leave her alone. Fat chance.
“Come on. We can leave my front door open, since I make you nervous.”
“Ha!” Her laugh was rusty and gorgeous. “Why would you make me nervous?”
Cole wasn’t sure he liked the emphasis she’d put on you, but he just smiled. “No idea. But I obviously do.”
“That’s not nervousness, cowboy. It’s called being smart enough not to get behind closed doors with a strange man.”
“Strange, huh? I hope you haven’t been listening to the stories about me. Half of them aren’t even true.”
“You wouldn’t know strange if it bit you on the ass,” she said, but she waved him back and stepped into the hall with a small smile. “Are you going to give me coffee or not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled,