Close Enough to Touch. Victoria DahlЧитать онлайн книгу.
should’ve just walked away with the lie that he didn’t owe her anything.
She’d really screwed herself over now. But she couldn’t tell Merry this time. At some point, Merry would decide Grace was a loser with too many problems who needed to be ditched.
Merry didn’t need someone like Grace hanging around, after all. Her name actually matched her personality. She was sweet and happy and kind. And a little awkward in a cute way. But for some reason, she loved Grace. In fact, aside from Grandma Rose, Merry was the only person in the world who loved her, and Grace would be damned if she’d ever do anything to damage that. Ever.
Grace tucked her phone away and walked over to the saloon. She didn’t plan on having a drink. But Jenny offered her a celebratory shot of tequila. And then a beer on the house.
“I can’t,” Grace protested.
“Come on. It’s not every day I find someone a job.”
Grace started to shake her head.
“And it annoys the hell out of Rayleen when I give away beer.”
“Well, in that case.”
Jenny laughed and slid her a beer. “I’m so happy for you.”
“You don’t even know me!” Grace said, shaking her head in exasperation.
“Of course I do. You’re Rayleen’s grandniece, Grace.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, but she took the beer. “Thank you. Really.”
“Maybe sometime you can teach me how to do my makeup.”
“Your makeup is fine.”
“I never know what to do with my eyes,” she said. “My eyelids are fat, and now that I’m getting older, they just look puffy.”
Grace laughed and shook her head, but it was the kind of thing she heard all the time. A lot of women felt helpless about makeup. “Let me know when you want some tips.”
“I will. I feel self-conscious around you!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Grace said, and she meant it. She was the one who always felt self-conscious. Not about her looks. She wasn’t pretty, but she didn’t mind. She did what she could to make sure people knew who she was before they even approached her. She wanted them to know that she wasn’t like other girls, so they wouldn’t be surprised by that. She wasn’t soft or sweet or comforting, especially these days. She didn’t know how to be taken care of, much less how to take care of others. She took care of herself. She always had.
No matter what the cost, apparently.
When her thoughts veered back to L.A., Grace gulped down half her beer. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to, but how could she avoid it?
The truths she’d known about herself, the few things she’d been proud of… She’d thrown all that away.
No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t even been strong enough to throw them away. She’d just dropped them, let them scatter in the wind. Her pride, her strength, the weapons she’d armed herself with every single day of her life. All the success she’d carved out of this world through blood, sweat and tears—she’d given that up.
Grace Barrett, a girl who’d never needed anyone…she’d let herself need him.
The worst part was, she’d be in the exact same place right now if she’d left him on her own terms. She’d have nothing and no one, just as she did now. But she’d also have her pride. And everything she’d ever believed about herself.
She’d have that.
Now she had less than nothing. Now she didn’t even know who she was. She certainly wasn’t the tough, kick-ass girl who wouldn’t take shit from anyone. She’d taken plenty of shit from Scott. She’d put her head down and kept her mouth shut, and she’d taken it. And on top of everything, she’d been reduced to living on the edge again. Just like when she’d been sixteen.
One stupid mistake on top of all those others, and ten years of progress had vanished in a snap.
Fuck.
Her beer wasn’t quite finished, but Grace was. She stood, meaning to rush out, but as she turned, her head swam as though the floor was tilting beneath her. “Oh,” she breathed, reaching toward the large shoulder that entered her blurry vision.
“Careful, darlin’,” a deep voice said.
“Sorry. I…” She blinked and her vision cleared. And there was Cole, smiling at her, his eyes shaded by an honest-to-goodness cowboy hat. Or maybe all cowboys looked alike.
“Grace? You okay?”
Yeah, it was definitely him. She jerked her hand away and stood straight. “I’m fine.”
“More than fine, I’d say.”
“I’m not drunk! I only had one beer.” And a tequila shot.
“It’s the altitude. You’ve got to be careful.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, even though she wasn’t sure. She did feel awfully tipsy. Maybe it was the altitude. Or maybe it was that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Or had a drink in weeks.
Damn. She was drunk.
“You look great,” Cole said, his eyes traveling quickly down her body.
She was suddenly glad she was wearing her heeled boots. They gave her four extra inches of leg. But what did that matter? She wasn’t trying to impress this man.
Then she had a sudden flashback to that morning. To looking at herself in the mirror and seeing the mascara under her eyes and her hair standing up in clumps. Oh, my God. “This morning,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize…”
A man cleared his throat from somewhere close by. “This morning, huh?” he said.
She shot a glare at the man who now stood at Cole’s shoulder. His mouth was serious, but his eyes tilted up a little in subtle amusement. She was opening her mouth to tell him to fuck off, when Cole interrupted.
“Grace, this is Shane. He lives upstairs. Shane, this is Grace. Our new neighbor.”
“Oh!” His brown eyes widened. “Pleased to meet you. I heard there was a woman amongst us. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, still prepared not to like him.
Cole elbowed his friend. Hard. “Apologize. You pissed her off with your stupid attempt to be funny.”
“Sorry,” Shane said, touching the brim of his hat. “I’m an idiot.”
He grimaced so sincerely that Grace almost laughed. Almost. But she didn’t want him to think he was off the hook.
“So what were you saying about this morning?” Cole continued. “Something about how the breakfast was spectacular, but the company far surpassed it?”
“No, I…” She looked from him to his friend and narrowed her eyes.
Shane put up his hands. “All right, I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll be over here. Out of firing range.”
She watched him walk away, and suddenly Cole’s voice was in her ear. “I think he’s scared of you.”
She turned and felt his chin brush her hair before he drew back. “He should be scared of me. So should you.”
“Yeah? How come? The purple hair?” He carefully reached up and rubbed a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger, then withdrew before she could knock his hand away.
“No.”
“The black suede pants?”
“They’re not suede, they’re just brushed to