The female voice in the hallway had caught his attention. The female herself, spewing curses and kicking things? Whew.
That girl was going to be trouble. If the purple layers in her dark, choppy hair didn’t make that clear, the hard glint in her eyes certainly did. He knew that look. He’d seen it before. And despite his image as the wholesome and friendly good ol’ cowboy, that look stirred something in him. It was like a dare. A challenge.
And he did love a challenge.
Speaking of… She’d basically pushed him out the door, claiming that she needed to find her aunt right away. But five minutes had passed and he still hadn’t heard her leave. Rude little witch. It seemed like she’d taken his attempts to help as some sort of insult.
He should’ve let her stand out in that hallway all afternoon, trying to figure out how to get into an open apartment.
Cole imagined her increasing anger and frustration. That look of hot rage he’d glimpsed when he’d opened his door to find out what the noise was about. She hadn’t even been embarrassed. She’d just glared at him as if he was intruding.
“Trouble,” he murmured as he finally gave up his vigil and stood. Shane was waiting at the saloon to grab a beer, and Cole had nothing to do until physical therapy the next day. He managed not to linger in the entryway, but only because he figured he might see her at the Crooked R soon.
He’d forgotten about this type of girl during the past decade. But he was remembering everything now. The way they made his heart beat faster. The way they seemed to dare him to act on his impulses. He’d once had a thing for dangerous city girls. And he’d ended up in a bad way because of it.
He shoved the thought away as he walked into the saloon and spotted Shane setting up a game of eight ball. “Hey,” he said as he grabbed a cue.
“Hey. When are you getting your lazy ass back to work?”
Despite the rude words, Cole noticed the look of concern that Shane shot him. He ignored it. “I’m part-time at the ranch now. It won’t be long.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
Shane watched him for another long moment. “Good,” he finally said. “Because I want my first-floor apartment back.”
“The stairs too much for you, old man?”
“You’re one to talk.” He gestured toward the table. “You want to break?”
“Was that a joke about my leg?” Cole asked, but he was immediately distracted by the door of the saloon opening. The flash of daylight obscured the person, but as soon as it closed, he saw it was a blonde. No black-and-purple hair in sight.
“You ready to play?” Shane asked.
Yeah, he was ready to play, but he wasn’t thinking about pool. Instead he was thinking about his new neighbor.
“Hey, did you hear the news?”
Assuming Shane was talking about Grace, Cole just raised an eyebrow and leaned over the table to break.
“There’s a big film production coming to town.”
Cole forced himself to pull the cue back as if those words didn’t affect him. In fact, he managed to sink two balls with a perfect break.
“You know anything about it?” Shane asked.
“Why would I?”
“I thought maybe you were going to go Hollywood again.”
Cole forced himself to smile, even though his mind was spinning. That couldn’t be why Grace was here, could it? “That was a long time ago,” he said calmly.
“Not that long ago,” Shane countered. “Ten years?”
“Thirteen,” Cole said. Thirteen long years, but not even close to long enough. Thirteen years since Hollywood had come to town and he’d jumped in feetfirst. If Grace was part of that crowd…
But no. She was renting an apartment, not staying at one of the fancy resorts. Grace wasn’t part of the film team. No way. But maybe this was a warning that should be heeded. A reminder that city girls had led him astray before. And he’d followed willingly.
This chick was bad news. And she was living across the hall. And he wasn’t the least bit inclined to avoid her.
She should’ve scared the hell out of him, and instead, he was smiling in anticipation.
Somehow that only made him smile harder.
Bad news, indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FRESH AIR STRUCK GRACE as soon as she stepped out, the cleanness of it startling though she’d been outside just a few minutes before. Almost against her will, she took a deep breath, drawing in the beauty of it. Even if she’d been surrounded by stucco buildings and ten lanes of traffic, there’d be no mistaking that she wasn’t in L.A. anymore. The air was too crisp, and when she moved, it hardly even touched her skin. She felt lighter as she headed for the faint sounds of music leaking from the saloon next door.
“The saloon next door,” she murmured. That was something she’d never said before. Bar, yes. Liquor store, sure. And on one occasion even a strip club. But never a saloon.
The strip club had actually made a pretty good neighbor. Unlike bars and liquor stores, no one wanted to hang around outside a strip club. The interesting parts were inside, behind blacked-out windows and plain cement walls. And once the place shut down for the night, the girls dropped everything and left as if the building made their skin crawl.
Grace had always told herself she couldn’t imagine doing that. Pretending to like a man for money. Using her body to win favors. But in the end, she’d done the same thing, hadn’t she?
As she opened the heavy saloon door, she shook that thought from her head. What the hell did it matter? She’d done what she’d done, and now she was just as miserable as she deserved to be.
Old country music filled the saloon, though it wasn’t particularly loud. A friendly buzz of conversation overlaid the music. Even at 3:00 p.m., several of the tables were filled, though not with the usual miserable types she associated with afternoon drinking. Two of the groups looked like young and scruffy college kids that you’d see in any other town. But at the closest table, all five of the men wore cowboy hats. Each man touched the brim of his hat as she passed. Grace felt her face flush at the unexpected courtesy and hurried past them to the long bar that ran along the side of the building.
She hadn’t seen her great-aunt in almost twenty years, but the blonde woman behind the bar was clearly not Aunt Rayleen. This woman was somewhere in her thirties, probably, though her skin was fresh and so pretty she could pass for a younger woman.
“Hi,” Grace said, catching her attention. “I’m looking for Rayleen. Rayleen Kisler?”
The woman kept polishing a glass, but offered a wide smile. “Of course, sweetie. She’s right over there. Usual table.”
Grace followed the gesture to a table at the far corner of the bar. An old woman sat there playing solitaire, an unlit cigarette gripped tightly between two thin lips. Yeah. That was Aunt Rayleen. She looked as mean as ever.
“Thank you,” Grace murmured, thinking those weren’t quite the right words as she headed across the bar. What she should have said was “Never mind” or “Pretend you never saw me.” She should have turned around and grabbed her stuff and kept moving. Grace hadn’t even wanted to ask for help from her grandmother, much less this sour-faced woman who’d never had a kind word for anyone, even when Grace had been a child.
And her face had only gotten more sour in the meantime. Though