Close Enough to Touch. Victoria Dahl

His pale eyes locked on Cole and he glared.

      “Were you out at the ranch today?” he demanded.

      Ah, shit. Cole stood up and set his beer on the bar. He wouldn’t lie to Easy, so he kept his mouth shut and crossed his arms.

      “Damn it, Cole! You know what the doctor said.”

      Quiet fell around them. Cole tipped his head. “Let’s talk outside.”

      “We’re not talking about anything. Come in on Tuesday. You’re taking Monday off.”

      “Goddamn it,” Cole snarled. “I can handle it. I’m doing fine.”

      “What you’re doing is fooling yourself. But you’re not fooling me. If you don’t do what—”

      “I get that, all right? I’m not a child, Easy. Let me do it the way I need to.”

      “Tuesday,” Easy said. “And if it happens again, I’ll do the same thing.”

      Christ. This was outrageous. Easy walked away, though he paused to tip his hat to Rayleen on the way out. Cole glared, but he let Easy go without cursing him out for being a mother hen instead of a ranch boss.

      Easy cared about him. He knew that. But Cole knew his body and what he could handle. Sure, his thigh hurt. And now his back and his hip, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Lounge around in bed? It all hurt there, too. May as well make himself useful. And he needed to get back in shape. Quick.

      He had insurance that had paid for the surgery and hospitalization. But half the physical therapy was coming out of his pocket. Not to mention rent and food and drugs. He had the money to cover it, but that money was supposed to be locked up in a safe for the day he bought Easy’s ranch. He’d finally saved up enough, but every month out of work was one step backward. Cole wanted to be ready the moment Easy said he was ready to sell.

      If his leg hadn’t quite healed yet, it could heal on the job. Hell, how many old cowboys did he know who limped around for forty years? Easy himself was a damned pile of old breaks and busted-up joints, and he could barely sit in a saddle for an hour. That was the way it went for old cowboys.

      “Maybe you’re pushing too hard,” Shane said, interrupting Cole’s internal diatribe.

      Cole pressed his lips together.

      “You were looking better last week. Now you look tired.”

      “Just getting back in the swing of things,” Cole said. “And maybe all that snoring from your place upstairs is keeping me awake.”

      “I don’t snore. At least, your mama never said anything about it.”

      “Really?” Cole asked, forcing his shoulders to relax as he leaned against the bar. “A your-mama joke, huh?”

      Shane tipped his beer. “I know how to bring it.”

      “That’s not what my mama said.”

      “Touché.” Shane signaled for another beer, but Cole held up his hand to let Jenny know that he wasn’t joining in. It was only four o’clock, and he was so damn tired. If he had another beer, he’d go home and fall asleep. And he knew from experience that meant he’d wake up around midnight and not get another wink the rest of the night.

      The two beers ensured his anger wouldn’t quite bubble over, anyway. He was too tired and too relaxed. But he couldn’t believe the way Easy was acting. The man knew how much the work meant to Cole. Jesus.

      He needed to get back out there. For the money, yes. For his savings and his plans and dreams. But he also needed to get his life back.

      For the past nine months he’d been a patient. Doing nothing but reading and watching TV and waiting to get back to work. And now he was so damn close, and the one person in the world who’d always supported him was blocking his way.

      Jenny came to take the cash he set down. “You sure you’re okay, Cole?” she asked quietly.

      He smiled at Jenny and offered a wink. “I’m good.”

      “You’re quiet, is what you are. That’s not like you.”

      “Come around the bar and I’ll slap you on the ass. Will that make you happy?”

      “Nah.” She laughed. “But I bet it would brighten your day.”

      “Damn straight.”

      When he stood to leave, hiding his wince, Jenny patted his hand. “Take it easy out there, all right? I don’t want you falling off a horse again and rebreaking that leg.”

      “I didn’t fall off a horse,” he growled. “It fell and pinned me.”

      “Fell?” Shane interrupted. “I hear that horse went down so slow it looked like a dog taking a seat. I don’t know why you didn’t get out of the way.”

      Cole elbowed him hard enough that some of Shane’s beer sloshed out of the mug. “You weren’t even there.”

      “Pretty sure I’m right, though.”

      “Hey, Cole,” Jenny said as he turned away. “There’s a big group of Hollywood people in town up at Teton. You know any of them?”

      Cole made sure he didn’t stiffen. “Why would I?” he asked with a deliberately puzzled smile.

      “You lived out there for a while, didn’t you? You were in a movie, even. Some Western?”

      “That was a long time ago, Jenny. And nobody lasts in Hollywood. Anybody I knew is long gone by now.”

      “I’m sure you’re right.” Jenny sighed. “I just think it’d be neat to meet someone famous. Nobody cool ever comes in here.”

      “Hey,” Shane responded. “What about me?”

      She slapped Shane with her towel and winked at Cole. “Bye, then. Have a good evening.”

      “I will.”

      Hollywood people. He felt another moment of anxiety as he stepped out of the saloon and into the blindingly bright day. But it was the pure, nearly painful light of a Jackson summer, not that hazy, hot sun of L.A. He had nothing to fear from those people. The disaster he’d made of his life in California…he was the only one who could take credit for that.