The Trouble With Tomboys(44)

“Well, well. Be still my heart. If it ain’t that little Gilmore gal.”

B.J. spun around and sucked in a delighted

breath. “Now there’s the love of my life,” she said and surged forward.

Grady’s grandfather, Granger Rawlings, had to be over eighty years old if he was a day. He’d lived in the Rawlings mansion since the moment he’d it built nearly fifty years ago. In a wheelchair now, he’d lost one arm and half a leg in an explosion on the oil field years ago. But she’d always adored the gruff old man. And he returned the affection one hundred percent.

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Where other children had shied away from the intimidating oil tycoon, B.J. had been drawn to him.

She still remembered the first time she’d ever seen him. It had been at one of Tommy Creek’s annual homecoming festivals. Since the Rawlings had sponsored the event, the entire family had gathered around a booth where they passed out free drinks to the townsfolk. B.J. had walked right up to Granger and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

“Who stole your arm and leg, mister?” she’d

wanted to know.

Instead of snapping at her for the rude question, he’d thrown back his head and hooted with glee.

Then, slapping at his good knee, he’d urged her to climb onto his lap and commenced to tell her the story of exactly how he’d lost his missing

appendages. She’d found the old timer’s gory account so fascinating, she’d gone back to him every time she’d seen him after that—at Fourth of July picnics, Christmas parades, and Spring dances—crawling into his grandfatherly lap and demanding another story. The man had never failed to entertain her with some type of tall tale.

Knowing she’d disappoint him if she did

otherwise, B.J. plopped down on Granger’s lap now and pressed a loud, sloppy kiss to his wrinkled cheek. He grinned approvingly and tugged at the back of her ponytail. She might’ve gained a good fifty pounds since the first time she’d sat on his knee, but neither of them cared.

“Where you been, darling?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

Slinging an accommodating arm around his

neck, she continued to grin into his dancing blue eyes, which she realized were the same hue as Grady’s. “Well, hell, I thought you were long dead by now, old man.”

Granger laughed and smacked her leg in a light, 124



The Trouble with Tomboys



playful gesture. “Missy, I’m way too young to croak yet.” The smile on his face made him look twenty years younger than he had to be. He winked.

“Besides, I can’t go anywhere until you finally agree to marry me.”

“Marry you?” B.J. said in surprise. God, what was up with these Rawlings men all of the sudden?

None of them would shut up about getting hitched.

“Why in the world would I want to marry an ancient, lecherous coot like you?”

Really getting into the flirtatious mood, Granger leaned closer and said, “Give me five minutes alone away from my grandson over there, and I’ll show you why.”

B.J. couldn’t help but laugh, all the while

thinking it must run in the family. She was just as drawn to Grady as she’d always been to Granger.

Glancing Grady’s way, she was curious to see how he was taking all this interaction. But he merely sat slumped back in his chair, looking amused. Arching her a look, he asked, “Want me to go?” “Do you mind terribly?” she asked, leaning toward Granger and resting her cheek on his

forehead.

But before he could comment, his mother came bustling into the room with a silver serving tray full of cups and saucers and a coffee pot. The smell of Folgers hit B.J. almost instantly. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she surged off Granger’s lap and stared wide-eyed at Tara Rose.

“Do you have a bathroom?” The words rushed

from her mouth as her stomach rebelled.

“Er...of course...it’s down the hall to the…” She never even finished the sentence, because B.J. had already turned and fled. ****

“Is she okay?”

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Grady turned his gaze away from the doorway

where B.J. had beat a hasty retreat and glanced at his mother. “Uh…” was all he could manage to say.

“Looked like she was going to upchuck to me,”

his grandfather said, wheeling closer to where his daughter-in-law was setting down the tray on the coffee table in front of Grady. “Leaped up like the smell of that coffee didn’t agree with her.”

Tara Rose frowned and glanced down at her

refreshment. “Hmm,” she said, giving the coffee pot a strange look. “How odd. I’ve never seen anyone have an aversion to the smell of—”