Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl
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right?”
“Yes, but…” She felt like smoke was about to come out her ears, and wanted to snatch her bag away and tell him to get lost. But her arms were so tired. “The door was locked,” she said past clenched teeth.
“It sticks a little. You have to pull back on it before you turn the knob.”
“So it was just open? Unlocked?”
“Nothing to steal here,” he said, gesturing with his free hand. “Where do you want this?”
Where, indeed? Now that they were inside, the apartment looked like an old converted place she’d once rented in L.A. White walls, scuffed wooden floors, a nondescript kitchen. But with little touches from the past, like a fireplace and built-in bookshelves. And not one single piece of furniture.
Somehow that hadn’t occurred to her.
“Right there is fine,” she murmured. “Thanks.” It didn’t really matter, after all. Living room, bedroom. They were equally empty rooms to her.
“Here?” the guy asked doubtfully.
“Yes, there. Thank you. I appreciate the help.”
“Yeah?” He smiled wide enough to show his dimples again. “Then why did you look like those words hurt coming out?”
She tried frowning at him, but he just stuck out his hand.
“I’m Cole, by the way. Cole Rawlins.”
“Grace Barrett,” she said. His wide hand engulfed hers, and though he didn’t squeeze hard, there was no mistaking the strength in those rugged hands. His calluses rasped against her fingers.
“Grace,” he murmured, his gaze rising momentarily to her hair.
“Yes. Grace.” She enjoyed the contradiction of her traditional, gentle name and her physical appearance.
This man recovered more quickly than most. “A pleasure,” he said simply. Then added, “Grace.”
She pulled her hand away at the intimacy of hearing him say her name as if it truly were a pleasure.
Cowboy freak. Though her hand tingled and she tried not to smile.
“You’re not from around here.” The understatement of the year.
“Look, I really do appreciate the help, but I need to find my aunt, so…” Give me some space?
He didn’t seem to hear that last, unspoken part of the conversation. “Your aunt?”
“I’m renting the apartment from her.”
“Wait a minute. Old Rayleen is your aunt?”
“My great-aunt, actually.”
“Ah. I get it, then.”
“Get what?” she asked.
“Why she’d rent this place to you.”
Grace straightened her shoulders and scowled. “Why exactly wouldn’t she rent this place to me, huh? Real nice, cowboy.”
She assumed he would stammer and shift and try to find some excuse, when what he really meant was that she didn’t look like a girl who belonged here. But instead of clearing his throat or changing the subject, he just grinned again.
“Let’s just say you’re a little smaller than the other renters here.”
Grace glanced around as if those other renters had just joined them. “I thought you Wyoming folk were supposed to be plainspoken. How about you try saying what you mean?”
“Talk about plainspoken. They don’t make ’em timid where you come from, do they? All right, here’s the deal. Your aunt has a reputation for renting only to men. Says that they’re easier to deal with.” The wry tone of his voice implied something different.
“Uh, is there something going on here I should know about?” When she shot an obvious look down his body, his eyes widened in horror.
“No! Absolutely not. But, hey, if she likes my face enough to give me a hundred-dollar discount on rent, I won’t argue with her. But that’s the extent of her quirkiness. I swear.”
Even the most cynical person could tell he was offering the truth. And his face? Hell, that was enough to inspire generosity. It was lovely in a very masculine way. A jaw like steel. Strong nose. And blue eyes that crinkled with warmth fairly often, if the laugh lines were any indication. And his short brown hair had just enough wave to make it look unruly and disheveled. He was gorgeous, and his body called for further attention, too, but Grace kept her eyes on his face.
“Isn’t it illegal to rent only to men?”
“Beats me. But I guess she gets away with it.”
“Regardless,” she finally said, “I need to find my aunt. Get a key. Let her know I’m here.”
“Well, that’s easy. She’s probably next door.”
“At your place?”
“No! Come on. I meant next door at the saloon.”
“Is she a big drinker?”
“She runs the place,” he corrected. “And she’s a big drinker.”
“Got it. Thanks. I’ll just go see her then.” She was clearly implying he should leave. She even raised an impatient eyebrow and glanced toward the door. But Cole didn’t notice because he was pointedly looking around her apartment.
“You got some furniture coming?”
“Sure. Of course. Thanks for the help.”
He turned his grin on her again. “All right, then, Grace Barrett. Even cowboys can take a hint when you’re bashing them over the head with it. But let me know if you need any more help. I’m only a few feet away.”
“Great. Thanks.”
The sound of his boots on the wood floor of the apartment was softer than Grace would’ve expected, but his steps still echoed against the bare walls. If she were the kind of person who had ever planned to stay in one place more than six months, Grace knew what she would be thinking at this moment. I’ll need to find something to put on these walls. Or at the very least, she would’ve been painting them some warm and inviting color in her mind, and wondering where she could find some rugs. Instead, she just took pleasure in the fact that the white paint was still white and was marred by only a few nail holes.
At least she’d learned to appreciate the small things in life. And the big things, like the sound of the door closing behind Cole Rawlins as he finally left her alone.
“Whew,” Grace breathed, letting the air ease out of her lungs. The place felt a lot bigger without him taking up all her space.
Okay, maybe a little too big. But without him here, she could see the small ways that the apartment wasn’t quite like an old place in L.A. The beautiful, dark wood window frame hadn’t been painted over, and instead of miniblinds, there were white curtains. It also didn’t smell like roach spray.
She strolled over to the window and pulled aside the curtains. Here was another difference. Instead of a view of a parking lot or traffic or a million other apartments, Grace was looking at a huge pine tree. Past that, she had a view of the small street, and a green house with a yellow porch on the other side of it. A snowmobile sat in the open garage.
Grace crinkled her nose at the strangeness of the sight. That was something she’d never seen in L.A. Jet Skis, sure. But the snowmobile looked like a real machine. It looked dangerous and powerful, gleaming black and red in the sunlight. It looked…fun.
Too bad she’d be long gone by winter. She had to get to Vancouver in six weeks and make some money, or she was going to be in even bigger trouble than she was now. Way bigger.
* * *
COLE