“Maybe, my ass. I’ve been saving up to buy this land for a dozen years. You need me to prove something now? Me?”
“Maybe I do. See, I was wondering how you’d react to our new friends out there in the yard. It’s been a long time, Cole. Too long for you to look so spooked.”
“I’m not spooked, damn it. I don’t like these people. There’s a difference.”
“Is that what it was on your face? Dislike? Looked more like panic.”
He didn’t think he’d felt panic before, but he was starting to feel it now. What the hell was Easy trying to pull? None of this made any sense. They’d talked about this years ago. Easy would run the ranch until he couldn’t, and then Cole would buy it from him at a fair price. Slightly below market, maybe, because Easy didn’t have any kids and Cole was like family. But a fair price for the small ranch.
So maybe Easy had changed his mind. Maybe he’d decided not to retire or sell his land. Or maybe he’d gotten a better offer. “You thinking about selling to someone else, Easy?” Cole asked quietly, hoping it would sound like mild curiosity. Instead, it came out sounding like fury, even to Cole’s ears.
“I haven’t thought about selling to anyone else since the moment you told me you’d buy it.”
“Until now?”
“This isn’t about someone else. I took the offer from the producer because the money’s good. I wasn’t thinking much about you until you showed up here yelling. Now, if you haven’t spent thirteen years hiding, show me that.”
“I’m telling you I haven’t.”
“Yeah. You’ve also got a whole heap of pride and arrogance and stubbornness pushing those words out. So show me.”
“How?” he snapped. “By playing lapdog to a bunch of Hollywood assholes?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck you, Easy!”
“Nah, that won’t help.” There wasn’t an ounce of tension in Easy’s voice now. In fact, he sounded genuinely amused with himself.
Cole’s shoulders fell. Hell, Easy was a misnomer. Oh, sure, he seemed laid-back and good-natured, but underneath that, the man was made of pure steel.
If he needed Cole to prove something, Cole was going to have to prove it. Why the man needed proof was another question. For another day. And Cole would damn well be asking it. But for now…
“Fine,” he sneered. “I’ll play your little game.”
“It’s not a game,” Easy said softly. “And it’s not a test. At least, I won’t be the one grading it.”
“If you’re going to make me do this, at least don’t speak in riddles. Christ.”
“You’re gonna do it?”
“Sure. Yeah. I’ll do it. Just to prove you’re being ridiculous.”
“I might be. But it’s better than watching you cripple yourself over something you may not even want.”
This broken leg was ruining his life. First, he’d lost his brand-new position as ranch boss. He’d waited five years for Raoul to move back to New Mexico the way he’d been threatening. Finally, the position had been Cole’s, and the little house that came with it. But that was gone, too. After all, someone had to be boss when Cole couldn’t be, and that someone got the boss’s house.
And now this broken leg might cost him his sanity. Maybe even his whole way of life.
“Just tell me what you want me to do, so I can do it.”
“How would I know anything about it? Go talk to the lady in charge.”
“Fine. Which lady?”
Easy said the name. It fell into Cole’s ear and then expanded like an explosion. He hadn’t been expecting to hear it and, strangely, the shock gave him the moment he needed to compose himself. Easy didn’t see what Cole was really feeling, and that was damned good, because this time, it was definitely panic.
CHAPTER NINE
THE TRUCK TIRES SQUEALED as Cole took the turn into Jackson. He needed new tires. Hell, he’d needed new tires since last year, but he’d been trying to eke one more season out of them. Then that stallion had fallen on him and fifteen hundred dollars for a new set of tires had seemed an extravagance. More savings gone. More hours he’d have to work.
Now they were hours he’d have to work with Madeline.
Easy couldn’t have known. He’d never have forced the issue otherwise. Maybe Easy knew Cole had worked with Madeline, maybe he even knew they’d had a fling, but he didn’t know how badly it had ended.
“Damn,” he bit out, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he waited for a stoplight to turn green. But when it turned green, no one moved. A buffalo had wandered onto the shoulder of the highway, and now tourists were getting out to snap pictures. By the end of the week, they’d barely even glance at a standing bison, but it was only Tuesday. It was still special. Cole would’ve smiled at them on any other day.
But not today.
Madeline had been off-site today, at least, so Cole had gritted his teeth and told the location manager that he was there to help if they needed it. There had been a few questions here and there about moving horses and parking trailers and finding a place to store lights, but that had been it. Maybe Madeline would stay off-site. There was a river location where they’d film an extensive action scene. Probably on the Snake. Maybe she’d stay put on that site. Maybe Cole would be spared.
But it didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like torture, waiting for that woman to show up. His first eight-hour day back at work and he felt that he’d lost his mind. Actually, he felt that he needed to lose it. And fast. So when he finally got past the tourists, Cole drove too fast for home, then raced through his shower and headed for the Crooked R.
After the long day and too much tension, his leg throbbed, and if he couldn’t have a beer—or four—he was just desperate enough that he might’ve given in and popped an oxycodone.
Not good.
During those first few weeks, he’d taken the pills the doctor had given him, but only sparingly. He’d tried to get by on nothing but high-dose ibuprofen and Tylenol, but sometimes he’d needed the serious stuff. Sometimes he’d suffered enough pain to fantasize about sawing off his own leg just to stop the deep, incessant throbbing. Ridiculous, of course. Amputation would’ve offered more terrible pain, but his whole body had felt like one giant, pulsing light of agony. He’d been hurt plenty of times. This time, he’d realized that the ruthlessness of sharp pain could overwhelm itself somehow. Burn through you until it was done. But that horrible, deep ache…that was something else.
Yet he’d made it through. The long hours of daylight when he’d pretended to be cheerful for his friends, when it had taken all his concentration not to grind his teeth to dust and scream in pain and rage. And the longer hours of the night, when he’d lain sleepless and sweating, and sometimes he’d let tears roll down his cheeks just for the relief of it.
He’d gotten through it, and he was almost clear of it now. No more powerful drugs. Just ibuprofen for a few more months, and he’d be fine. He had to be. And he’d be damned if he was going to let that bitch ruin him. Not again.
Cole walked across the yard, head down, lost in thoughts of what might happen the next day. His stomach turned with the knowledge that he’d see her. This woman who’d once been his lover. This woman who’d used him. Who’d convinced him to use himself.
His face heated at the thought. His shoulders screamed with a tension that traveled down his back to join up with the ache in his hip.
He didn’t want to look at her face. He didn’t want her looking at his.
Would she smirk? Would she sneer, looking him in the face and knowing what he was?
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.”
“Pfft. No one notices an old lady sitting in the corner,” she grumbled. She downed half the drink in one swallow. “Not even if I had purple hair.”
“Your hair’s beautiful and you know it,” he scolded.
That brightened her up. She smiled and patted her gleaming white hair. “You’re sweet to notice, Cole Rawlins.”
“I’m always sweet to you, Miss Rayleen. You know that.”
“Oh, shoot. Charmer. You brought me my drink, now go away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You look better walking away, anyway,” she murmured.
Cole was blushing even before he saw Grace’s wide grin.
“Did my great-aunt just compliment your ass?”
“I’m sure that’s not what she meant.”
“Really?”
“No,” he said and sighed. “That’s exactly what she meant.” He waited for Grace to stop snorting before he touched his glass to hers. “So you had a good day. Does that mean you’re thinking of staying in Jackson?”
“Come on, now.” She laughed. “You said yourself that I don’t look like a Wyoming girl.”
“No, but I think we could all get used to you.”
“Yeah? Am I growing on you?” Her smile gleamed with flirtation. Cole felt lust curl through his body.
“Oh, you’re growing on me, all right.”
She laughed. “Flirt. I’m pretty sure I’m not your type, Cole.”
“How would you know?”
“Because if I am, then you must have been awfully lonely in Jackson Hole. I’d guess your type is more like Jenny here.”
“Oh, I… No…”
Jenny raised both eyebrows and waited to hear what he’d say. Shit.
“I don’t…”
Grace looked from him to Jenny and her eyebrows rose, too. “Oh, God. Were you two… I’m sorry.”
Jenny winked. “It was a casual thing, sweetie. No big deal. You two flirt away. I’ll move out of earshot.”
“Jesus, Cole,” Grace muttered when Jenny moved away. “Well, at least I pegged you right. That’s something.”
He could tell his face was red, but he tried to shake it off, worried it looked like guilt. “We only went out a couple of times. That doesn’t make someone my type.”
“It doesn’t make them not your type either. Pretty? Cute? Cheerful? Move along, Cole. I’m none of those things.”
“That’s not true. You—”
“Oh, please.” She smiled. “Don’t lie. If you’re going to try to talk me into something, at least be honest about it.”
His mind was spinning with a mix of frustration and hot interest. “What exactly do you think I’m trying to talk you into?”
She laughed again, bright, genuine amusement edged with bitterness. “Hmm. I wonder.” When she leaned closer, Cole’s skin prickled with awareness. “You know that honesty thing I mentioned? Why don’t you try it out? What are you doing over here buying me drinks, stud?”
What was he doing? Trying to distract himself, certainly. Trying to add something good to this fucked-up day. But with what? Her body?
His own body answered that question with a surge of blood that left his cock feeling heavy. He hadn’t had sex in a long time. A really long time. Nearly a year and a half. And something about her pushed his buttons. Buttons he’d forgotten about since he’d come back to Wyoming. That kind of attraction was best left alone, especially considering his current problems.
But his bad mood was making his lust sharper. More aggressive. And she was challenging him. Goading him. All she saw was a charming cowboy. But if she wanted honesty, he was in the mood to give it to her.
“All right,” he murmured, leaning closer until he was only a few inches from her ear. Her smile faded a little. “You want honesty? You don’t know anything about what my type is. But you’re right about something. You’re not pretty or cute or sweet.”
She snapped back a little at that. She tried to keep her smile in place, as if she didn’t care, but two bright spots of pink appeared in her cheeks and they had nothing to do with makeup. “Sure,” she said quickly. “Glad to know I’ve got some things right.”
“You’re something different from that.” He caught a strand of purple hair between his fingers. “You’re fascinating. And interesting. And hot.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. The smile wavered.
Maybe she didn’t like that. Maybe he’d said the wrong thing. But surely any woman wanted to know she was fascinating and hot. And if she didn’t like that, well, she’d asked for it.
“Interesting, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Because I have purple hair?”
He cocked his head and watched her smile fade. “Maybe. There must be a reason you do it. Isn’t it because you want people to notice you? To wonder?”
“No. It’s because I want people to know I’m not like them.”
“Well, that’s pretty interesting. But that’s not what I meant, anyway. I meant that you’re strong. And dark. And I want to know what made you that way. And I want to know what’s underneath it.”
“And you think you’ll find out by fucking me?” she countered.
Cole flinched a little
at the hard word, but he’d said he’d be honest, so… “Maybe. I figure it can’t hurt.”
“Can’t hurt? Maybe you’re not doing it right.”
Oh, shit. Lust shot through him so sharply he almost groaned. Her eyes were dark and hard again, but her mouth had softened into a smile. A smile with a secret. Damn, he wanted to do it right. With her. Tonight.
But she was standing up, scooting off her barstool and away from him.
“Pardon me,” she said with such politeness that he knew she was mocking him. “I’ve got to go to the little girls’ room. See if I can make myself pretty.”
Yeah, she was definitely his type.
* * *
GRACE KNEW SHE was drunk, but she wasn’t stupid drunk. She was just very pleasantly, in-a-good-mood drunk. So why the hell was she thinking about sleeping with Cole Rawlins? It was a stupid idea from any angle.
Oh, she liked a one-night stand as much as the next damaged girl, but not with a man who lived next door. And not when she was still stinging from her last relationship. And not with a damn cowboy, of all things.
And definitely not with a man who didn’t think she was pretty.
“Idiot,” she sneered at herself in the mirror. She knew she wasn’t pretty. Hell, she’d dared him to say she wasn’t pretty. So why did it sting?
Without her makeup, she was fairly plain. A small girl with a pointy chin and dark eyes and pale skin. Her natural hair color was dishwater brown, as her mom used to call it. As plain as the rest of her. But she’d learned how to transform herself at a young age. To make herself look unapproachable and tough without veering into the pitiable, obvious outward hurt of the goth look. To make herself stand out just enough. Maybe even be striking on occasion. But not pretty.
Not that she couldn’t force it. She was damn good at what she did, after all. She could pull off pretty, even for herself. In fact, for a while there, she’d been styling herself to fit in. She’d felt almost comfortable with it. Then Scott had started pushing her to be nicer. To kiss ass. To make herself into part of the Hollywood crowd. For him. And her one small rebellion had been going back to purple hair and black shadow. But she knew how to create the illusion that she was pretty.
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