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Yeah. You’re definitely a kick-ass chick, Grace Barrett. The coolest of the cool.
The tears that had been hanging around for days finally won the battle and spilled down her cheeks. But it didn’t count in the shower, did it? It never did. They weren’t real tears when your face was already wet. So Grace let the water wash them away.
This wasn’t who she’d planned to be. It wasn’t what she’d worked toward. After a couple of years of being angry and lashing out at the world, she’d gone back to school to get her GED, and she’d put herself on a path to do something she’d really loved. For a while there, she’d been so proud of herself. She was good with makeup. More than good. She’d called herself a makeup artist, and she’d meant it.
But then she’d found that the perfect place for her wasn’t so perfect after all. And the space she’d carved for herself was too small. And the anger she thought she’d left behind was still in there, bubbling over at the worst times.
For a while there, she’d been a success. A small one, maybe, but someone who could be proud of herself. Now she was a failure by any stretch of the word. A weak person who’d thought she was strong.
But this was the moment. This was her chance. She could make something of herself, or she could keep being a tragic story. The typical tough girl who was really bleeding inside, pretending she didn’t need anyone when she really just wanted to be wrapped up in strong arms.
“Yuck,” she muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. It didn’t matter. More tears immediately replaced them.
God. She’d come all the way to Wyoming, several worlds away from L.A., and she was doing the same damn thing. Fighting with people, falling into bed, letting a man offer a helping hand. Except it was never a hand, was it?
That thought made her snort with wet laughter, and the tears stopped.
She was going to do this. She was going to go into work today and do a great job. She’d kiss a little ass if she had to, because she was strong enough to do that. She could deal with people who treated her like shit, because she wasn’t shit. And she could walk away from a man who told her she was beautiful and tried to take care of her, because being taken care of and lied to wasn’t love or security or anything but being treated like a wounded bird.
She didn’t need that. Not anymore. She’d pay Scott the money she owed him. Somehow. And that would be the end of her old life. She was moving on.
* * *
COLE COULDN’T BEGIN to guess what had gone wrong this morning. Well, aside from the fact that he was sleeping with an incredibly prickly, difficult woman who couldn’t even cuddle after sex without getting tense about it. So, after standing in the kitchen, stunned, for a few minutes, he’d figured it out. She’d woken up, panicked at the idea of having spent the night and she’d bolted. No big surprise, really. She was more vulnerable than she wanted him to know. He’d already figured that out.
But then she hadn’t answered the door when he’d knocked on his way out. And when neither she nor Eve had shown up at the ranch, he’d tried calling, and she hadn’t bothered answering the phone. Not the three other times he’d called either.
So not a momentary panic, but something deeper.
But what? It had been good last night. Hot and sweet and intense. And even after…she’d finally relaxed in his arms and fallen asleep. For once, he’d been happy for his insomnia, because he’d gotten to see Grace, relaxed in sleep. Her blackened eyelashes resting on pale cheeks. Her wide mouth warm and soft.
She’d looked so young, and it made him wonder what she’d been like as a teen. A runaway, he suspected from what she’d told him, living on the streets sometimes. It made him feel odd and uncomfortable, imagining that. She was so small. How in the world had she made it out of that okay?
Or maybe she wasn’t okay. There was that darkness in her eyes.
Not always, though. Not when she needed him. Not when she was coming.
At the thought, Cole shifted, telling himself not to go there. Because just that hint of a memory had blood rushing to his cock, a pleasant, dull—
“Cole.” A hand curled around his biceps. He hoped it was Grace, but he knew before he even looked that it wasn’t. She’d never touch him that way in front of other people. She’d never deign to slide a possessive hand around his arm as if she were claiming him. But Madeline would.
“Are you avoiding me?” she asked.
Yes. He looked down at her hand on his arm, but she didn’t bother taking the hint.
“You didn’t come by last night. I was a little surprised.”
“I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Madeline.”
“I know, but…for old time’s sake?”
“Old times,” he murmured, shoving away from his place against the barn so that her hand would drop. “But I wasn’t really your boyfriend then either, was I?”
“Hmm. Are you sure? You felt like my boyfriend.”
“Madeline,” he said, hoping she’d hear the warning in his voice and back off.
“It’s lunch break,” she said. “Come ride with me.”
