Okay, so maybe she wanted to cuss her out in person.
“Are you busy for the next hour or two?” Jo
Ellen sounded almost hesitant.
Well, hell. A whole hour’s worth of name-
calling? Grady’s sister must have some doozies. She could already imagine the typical insults. Gold digger, hoochie mama, bitch, slut, whore. But damn, a whole hour’s worth?
“I guess I’ve got some time,” she muttered on a sigh. Might as well get this over with now.
“Great,” Jo Ellen gave the perky reply. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
As she hung up, B.J. glanced down at her
clothing. She’d been outside in the heat all day under a grimy plane engine. She should probably take a shower and change first. But, hell. Who honestly dressed up for a dressing down? Shrugging, 145
she wiped her palms on her pants and headed back out the door.
****
Five minutes later, she stood at the Gerhardt’s, ringing the bell. In these parts, everyone knew where everyone else lived. In fact, B.J. could remember who’d lived in this particular house before Jo Ellen and her husband had bought it two years ago when they’d married. It was a modest-sized place, but clean and well taken care of. Jo Ellen was a Rawlings who’d actually married down on the social chain.
Come to think of it, Grady had done the same thing when he’d hooked up with Amy. In fact, Amy’s father still worked for Rawlings Oil in the office as a peon paper-pusher. Then again, the Rawlings family were the top dogs in this area. They couldn’t help but marry down. Emma Leigh, Jo Ellen’s twin sister, had to move all the way to Reno to find someone as rich as her to marry.
While B.J. was still wondering if Grady’s sister was going to accuse her of being an opportunistic social climber, the front door opened before she could knock.
“B.J.!” Jo Ellen said with a pleasant greeting smile, managing to sound surprised as if she hadn’t been expecting company. “That was quick.”
As Grady’s sister held open her front door and stepped aside, B.J. entered a pristine living room that belonged on the cover of one of those home decorating magazines. Glancing down at her boots, she hoped to high heaven she hadn’t stepped in anything gooey lately.
“I made some pastries,” Jo Ellen said as she pushed the door shut, imprisoning B.J. in the house with her. “The kitchen’s this way.”
She started off, and B.J. was helpless but to follow.
146
The Trouble with Tomboys
Jo Ellen Rawlings-Gerhardt was pageant-queen pretty. With her petite build and flawless
complexion, she certainly didn’t look like a farmer’s wife. But B.J. couldn’t fault the woman her choice in men. Cooper Gerhardt was as masculine as Jo Ellen was feminine. He had one of those body-builder physiques with a golden Adonis’s head pasted on his hunky, muscular shoulders.
Though Jo Ellen had short hair, it was styled to perfection. It was dark brown just like every other member of her family’s, but she had hers frosted with thick blonde highlights and sprayed into a neat, fashionable pose. B.J. had to keep herself from reaching up to make sure her ponytail wasn’t hanging limp. She hadn’t touched her mane since that morning after taking a shower.
The kitchen was as immaculate as the front
room. With sparkling white cabinets and counters, it looked brand new and extra clean.
In the depth of her brain, she wondered if Amy had been such a good housekeeper too. B.J. guessed she had. She used to give off that aura of perfection just like Jo Ellen did.
“I made cinnamon rolls.” Jo Ellen opened the oven and pulled out a pan where she’d been
warming them. As she turned to find B.J. fallen to a stop, she grinned. “When I was pregnant, I was utterly ravenous for sweets. I couldn’t get enough of them.”
She held out the tray of still-warm rolls. B.J.
stared at them, heard her stomach growl for a taste and cautiously lifted her face to the woman offering them, expecting some kind of ulterior motive behind such a kind act, like maybe as soon as she reached for a roll, the floor would open under her and she’d fall into the dungeon below.
Jo Ellen frowned, obviously curious as to why her guest wasn’t immediately snatching a roll. Not 147
wanting to offend, B.J. shrugged and followed her stomach’s advice, scooping up one and bringing it to her mouth.
Grady’s sister beamed in approval. “Mama told me how much coffee turned your stomach, so I bought some juice. That’ll be good for the baby.”
When she poured a glass full of apple cider and nudged it encouragingly in front of B.J., B.J. paused and eyed it warily. Suddenly, the entire visit felt like one big trap.