Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl
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didn’t answer for a few seconds. Cole heard her close the door softly as he headed for the coffeepot.
“Bacon and eggs would be great,” she finally said. “And toast, too, if you’re offering.”
“Sure.” He poured her coffee and refilled his own cup. What the hell. A little aching in his thigh was worth spending some time with her. He didn’t have anything else interesting going on. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’d endured aching for an attractive woman.
Cole put sugar and milk out on the counter, tossed a pan on a burner and grabbed the bacon and eggs. He felt her gaze on his back as he worked. “Over easy okay?” he asked as he laid bacon on the cast iron.
“Great,” she answered. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”
He glanced back to find her seated on a stool, hunched over her coffee as if she was cold. Mornings were chilly up here if you weren’t from the mountains. He reached past the fridge to turn up the thermostat. “We all take turns cooking in the bunkhouse.”
“Oh, the bunkhouse,” she said, making the word sound mysterious. There was nothing mysterious about it, unless you thought cooking and sleeping in what was essentially a live-in locker room was mysterious.
“So what are you doing here?” she asked. “Did you get tired of bunkhouse living?”
Hell, yeah, he was tired of bunkhouse living, but that hadn’t been the problem. As a matter of fact, he’d become ranch boss and moved into the boss’s house less than a year before.
Cole finished frying the bacon, then set it on a plate and covered it before breaking the eggs into the hot grease. “I was hurt last year,” he finally said.
“What happened?”
“A horse landed on my leg.”
“Ow.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to reach down and rub his leg, but he concentrated on the eggs instead.
“So they made you move out?”
The whole complicated story loomed before him. Cole rolled his shoulders. “There’s not enough room for guys who aren’t working, so, yeah. But I’m getting back to work now. I won’t be here much longer.”
“Me either.”
He put bread in the toaster. “You just got here.”
“I’m passing through.”
Cole blinked at that, tension tightening his shoulders, but he tried not to let it show. “Who could’ve guessed you didn’t want to settle in Wyoming?”
One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “You telling me I don’t look like a Wyoming girl?”
“You know damn well you don’t look like a Wyoming girl. And that’s the way you like it.”
Now both eyebrows rose as if she was surprised. Cole piled two plates high with eggs and bacon and toast. He slid the plates across the counter, added forks and knives and paper towels, and joined her at the barstools to find out exactly who she was.
* * *
THE MAN WAS SMARTER than he looked. She’d been trying to bait him, force him to say something that she’d find insulting. Instead he’d spoken the truth as if it were obvious to him. Grace wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“So how long are you staying?” he asked.
She took a bite of egg instead of answering his question. The flavor melted over her tongue and she hoped Cole didn’t hear the way her stomach growled at the sudden pleasure. “Wow. The eggs are amazing.”
“Bacon grease,” he said. “What are you doing out here? Working?”
Grace cleared her throat and told herself not to stuff the food into her mouth, but damn, she hadn’t had a real meal in days. On the bus, it had been granola bars and chips. She took a bite of bacon and spoke past it. “I already told you. I’m passing through.”
“On your way to where?”
“Vancouver.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “This is a strange route to Vancouver.”
She shrugged and made a point of changing the subject. “Thanks so much for breakfast. And coffee. The coffee’s great, too. Strong.”
She felt his gaze on her, but caught the movement of his head when he finally looked away. “You should try it after it’s been sitting at the edge of a campfire all day. That’ll wake you up.”
She was glad he’d given up the questions, because she wanted to grab her plate and run back to her place so she could shovel the food in the way she wanted to. If he pushed her anymore, that’s exactly what she’d do. But he dropped the subject, so she slathered too much butter on the toast and managed to get nearly a fourth of it into her mouth in one bite.
God, she’d been really hungry. Now she wanted to groan in pleasure. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. As a matter of fact, at this moment, Cole Rawlins was pretty awesome.
She didn’t register how many eggs were on her plate until she dug into the third one. “How many eggs did you make?” she asked.
“Four for you, four for me.”
She laughed. “Do I look like I eat as much as you do?”
“You look like you’re doing okay, actually.”
Grace laughed so hard she almost had to stop eating for a moment. “Didn’t I tell you I was a lumberjack back in L.A.?”
“Ah. Of course. You’ve got that look about you.”
Jesus, he was funny. A funny cowboy. Who’d have thunk it. She’d thought they were all silent and brooding. Hell, they’d all definitely been silent and brooding in Brokeback Mountain. But she tried not to think about that when she looked at Cole.
“So, you’re from L.A.”
“Unfortunately.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing right now.”
“Did—”
“I think I’m getting full,” she interrupted with an apologetic wince. “Want my last egg?”
“No, I’m full myself.” He reached for the plate, but Grace couldn’t quite bear to let it go, so she snatched the last piece of bacon before he could whisk it away. He put the plate back down. Full or not, her mouth still watered when she bit into the bacon. She tried not to think about how long it had been since her last hot meal. It didn’t matter. She’d get a job today. Or the next day. She’d have a check within a week. She’d start paying back the money she owed so she’d never have to think about her ex again.
“You want help moving in?” Cole asked.
“No, I’m fine.” Now that she was full, Grace really needed to escape. He kept asking the wrong kinds of questions. Not that there were any right questions. Not about her.
“Come on.”
“I don’t have much.” Or anything. “Anyway, you’re injured.”
“I think I can handle moving a futon.” He gestured as he said that, and Grace could see he was right. His hands were wide, and scars stood out white against the tan. And she was pretty sure she’d never seen such nice forearms. Assuming one thought thick and muscled and masculine was nice. She had a brief temptation to touch his arm, to see if the hair was crisp or soft.
“So you’ll let me help?” he pressed.
Shit. She hopped off the stool and edged toward the door, away from him and his questions. “I’m good. But thank you for the breakfast. And coffee.” She forced herself not to ask for another cup, but it was