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“Sunday,” Grace whispered. But she needed the break tonight.
At this point she had three choices: run away, sit here alone or move back to the other end of the bar. Sitting here alone was nearly as bad as running off. Nearly everyone she knew in this town was seated just a dozen feet away. Sitting alone was like a terrible limbo. Too afraid to face Cole, too afraid to leave.
Plus, her beer was over there.
“Screw it,” she muttered and pushed off her barstool to face the tension she’d caused.
This was the problem with small towns. She’d only been here a few days, and already people knew her. And in a small town, they’d be there even if she tried to avoid them. In L.A. there were a thousand neighborhoods, a thousand bars.
Oh, there were a few bars in Jackson, but most of them were geared toward tourists. There were a few grocery stores, a few banks, a few apartments she could afford. And people she would know even on those days when she didn’t want to know anybody.
There had been a lot of those days. Days she didn’t want to be seen. Days she didn’t want anyone to look at her and find her lacking. Or days when she was so full of everything—life and anger and hurt and fear—that she wouldn’t be able to hide it, and everyone would see.
But she’d had time to compose herself, so she stopped next to Cole and reclaimed her beer. “Why do you hate your boss so much?” she asked.
He looked down at her, his gaze tense and far away for a moment. He blinked and shook his head. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“About what?”
“About you coming here for help. About needing it. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“You say a lot of things you shouldn’t say but really believe. I’m getting used to it.”
“It’s just you,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little.
“Just me, what?”
“I lose my temper with you. I don’t know why. I’m sorry.”
She waved off his apology and watched Rayleen and Easy both lay cash on the table.
She knew why Cole lost his temper with her. Because she had some sort of supernatural ability to piss people off. Everybody lost their temper with her. She was abrasive or unlikable or irritating. Probably all three.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said. It was always fine, because she wouldn’t let it be any other way. She wouldn’t let it hurt her that he said things to her he wouldn’t say to anyone else. Or that he was rougher with her in bed than he was with other girls. She wanted him to think she was tough—to know she was tough—so it only made her happy that he treated her as if she wasn’t fragile. Right?
It was fine. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain why I left,” she murmured. “This morning, I mean. I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything, so Grace finished her beer and gestured for Jenny to bring another pitcher to replace the one Shane had just finished off. “Did Rayleen and Easy date at some point?”
“Not that I know of,” Cole said.
“I think she likes him.”
Rayleen hooted and scooped up a pile of dollar bills. “You’ll have to find some other way to pay for your little blue pills, old man. I’m gonna bleed you dry.”
“You certainly know how to suck the life out of a man,” he answered.
“That’s what my dear departed husband used to say.”
Shane snorted in amusement as Easy’s neck turned beet-red. Cole didn’t crack a smile.
But Rayleen grinned. “Don’t tell me nobody ever told you about the ol’ fellatio, Easy. Why, these young cowboys tell me it’s all the rage.”
“You’re incorrigible, woman.”
“That comes with the fellatio, you fool.”
Even Cole snorted at that.
