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Grady approached, and she couldn’t help but glance toward him one more time. When he was close enough for her to make out the features in his face, she drew in a quiet breath. Since his wife and unborn child had died two and a half years earlier, he’d become hardened and withdrawn.
He’d always been fairly serious, yet these days, nothing made him smile. He was a lot tanner and his clothes fit a little loose, yet he was still as hot as hell. That look in his eyes, though, like he didn’t have a friend left on earth, that was what hooked her the most.
B.J. hated to see people in pain, and Grady Rawlings was in a great deal of agony. Posttraumatic stress had leashed a collar around his neck, refusing to let go. He’d become so aloof, other people grew uncomfortable around him. They didn’t know what to say or do. B.J. had heard if someone tried to talk about his wife with him, he’d get nearly violent with his irritation before storming off. With every step he drew closer, B.J. could actually feel the guys around her tense into awkward idiots.
Grady stopped ten feet from the table and planted himself.
No one gave him any kind of greeting, so B.J. cleared a couple more cobwebs from her throat. “I’ll be right with you. Just as soon as tortoise here makes his bid—and I wipe the floor with his face—we can be on our way.”
He jerked his attention toward her like he was surprised by her declaration. “You’re flying today?”
Though his low voice shot an overdose of pure lust into her bloodstream, she frowned. “You got a problem with that?”
There’d been occasions when customers had refused to ride with her because, well, she figured it was because she was a woman. It could be because she wasn’t very polite and had somewhat of a sour disposition, but she reasoned it probably had more to do with her lady plumbing. Some people just couldn’t trust such a little woman—though B.J. was five ten—to fly such a big, masculine plane.
Grady sent her a level look, and his blue eyes penetrated another feminine part she hadn’t even known existed, making her hormones shudder.
“No problem,” he said quietly. “I just wasn’t aware of who the pilot was going to be this trip.”
The last time he’d hired their family’s service, he’d had the misfortune of getting Leroy as his pilot. She guessed he was merely relieved he didn’t have to ride with that maniac again.
B.J. nodded, hoping she understood the situation, and said, “Why don’t you take a seat. I’m almost ready, but. . .who knows when Junkyard here’s going to make his damn bid.”
“I’m thinking,” Ralphie snapped.
Grady remained standing apart from the group. B.J. took another drag from her cigar and eyed Ralphie until he squirmed.
Buck finally found the courage to say, “H-hey, Grady,” which sounded totally lame, coming this late.
The others, all except B.J., chipped in next, mumbling stuttered, uncomfortable greetings.
Grady gave a brief nod. “Fellas.”
No one asked how he was or how his oil business was doing, and he certainly didn’t start any small talk with them. B.J. was about to say something just to fill the silence when Ralphie finally spit on the floor, sent a skittish look Grady’s way, and muttered, “Okay.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good Lord in heaven, he’s going to make his move.”
A couple of the guys chuckled.
Ralphie said, “I want five hundred,” and the laughter at the table intensified.
B.J. sniffed. “Damn, Ralphie, I could buy a brand new set of tires for that.”
“Well, then, why don’t you?” he retorted.
Still frowning, she relented. “All right, fine. But I want you to put ’em on my truck for free if I win.”
“And I want you to take one of them aerial pictures of my mama’s place so’s I can give it to her for Christmas if I win.”
“Deal,” B.J. said, studying her cards. “Add another hundred to my bid.”
At her immediate compliance and raised wager, Ralphie shifted and cringed down at his hand. He scratched his ear and glanced with one eye squinted at his father.
“Damn,” Pete said, puffing on his cigar. “If she’s offering free service, she must have a good hand.”
B.J. chewed on her own cigar and grinned at the old man, sending him a conspiring wink.
“Well, hell,” Ralphie muttered. With another curse, he threw down his cards and forfeited his hand.
