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Terry Jo held the refrigerator door open with her hip while she began pulling out beer cans and passing them to Gracie. “You might know that Buddy’s daddy is Mayor Luther Baines, and he told me to tell you they’ve put you on the birthplace committee. You’ve got a meeting Monday night at seven. If you want to stop by and pick me up, we can go together.”
Gracie gazed at her in alarm as she cradled four cold beer cans against her chest. “The birthplace committee?”
“For Heavenfest.” She shut the refrigerator door, grabbed a bag of chips from the counter, and poured them into two blue plastic bowls. “I know Bobby Tom’s told you how the town bought the house he grew up in. We’re dedicating it during the festival, but we still need a lot of help getting it ready.”
Gracie remembered Bobby Tom’s opinion of the bizarre scheme to turn his childhood home into a tourist attraction. “I don’t know, Terry Jo. Bobby Tom’s not too happy about this.”
Terry Jo took two of the beers back and handed Gracie one of the potato chip bowls. “He’ll come around. One thing about Bobby Tom. He knows what he owes this town.”
Gracie didn’t necessarily think Bobby Tom owed the town anything, but since she was an outsider, she had a different point of view from the local citizens.
As the women returned to the living room, Buddy and Bobby Tom were arguing about the-Chicago Stars’ chances of making it to another Super Bowl. Bobby Tom had his ankle crossed over his knee, and his straw cowboy hat rested on his calf. Gracie walked to the sofa and handed him a beer. His fingers brushed hers, and she felt a tingling that traveled all the way up her arm. He gazed at her with those midnight blue eyes of his, and her knees grew weak.
As she placed the bowl of chips on the coffee table and took a seat next to him, she realized Buddy was watching her with open interest. She felt his eyes moving over her breasts and down her bare legs. When Bobby Tom looked at her like that, she got goose bumps, but Buddy’s perusal embarrassed her. If she’d known they were going to stop here, she would have ignored Bobby Tom’s request and worn slacks.
Buddy took a beer from his wife and, leaning back into the vinyl recliner, regarded Bobby Tom. “So how does it feel not playing in preseason? This is the first time in how many years?”
“Thirteen.”
“That’s tough. You broke some records, but if you’d been able to play longer, you might of got more of the important ones.”
Buddy was deliberately pouring salt into Bobby Tom’s wounds, and Gracie waited for Bobby Tom to deflect the gibe with one of his wisecracks. Instead he shrugged and sipped his beer. She felt oddly protective of him. Here, am
ong his childhood friends, he seemed vulnerable.
Impulsively, she leaned over and patted Bobby Tom’s thigh through his jeans. The muscles beneath her palm felt hard and powerful. “I’m sure most of the people in town are grateful he’s making a movie instead of going off to training camp. Windmill s pouring a lot of money into the local economy. But, why am I telling you this, Buddy? Your garage is getting all kinds of business from Windmill, isn’t it?”
Buddy flushed. Bobby Tom shot her an assessing look. She patted his thigh again as if she had every right to touch whatever part of his body took her fancy. Terry Jo stepped into the silence with a report on the progress the various Heavenfest committees were making and finished by announcing that Gracie had been named to the birthplace committee.
Bobby Tom’s eyes narrowed. “I told Luther I wasn’t having anything to do with that, and neither is Gracie. It’s a damn fool idea, and whoever came up with it ought to have his head examined.”
“It was Luther’s idea,” Buddy said belligerently.
Bobby Tom raised his beer can. “I rest my case.”
Gracie expected Buddy to rise to his father’s defense, but instead, he grunted and grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bowl at his side. His mouth full, he turned to Gracie.
“The town was surprised to hear about the two of you. You’re not Bobby Tom’s usual type.”
“Thank you,” Gracie replied politely.
Bobby Tom chuckled.
Buddy studied her more closely, then regarded Bobby Tom. “How’s Suzy taking your engagement? Or is she too busy spending time with her new boyfriend to pay attention?”
“Hush, Buddy!” Terry Jo exclaimed. “I don’t know what’s got into you, actin’ so mean tonight. And there’s no need to bring up something that probably isn’t anything more than gossip.”
“Bring what up?” Bobby Tom asked. “What are you talking about?”
Buddy stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth. “You tell him, Terry Jo. He won’t believe me.”
Terry Jo’s beer can clicked on her wedding ring as she rolled it between her palms. “It’s just a story going around. There’s probably nothing to it.”
“If it has to do with my mother, I want to know about it.”
“Well, Angie Cotter was talking to Nelly Romero, and you know how she is, couldn’t keep something quiet if her life depended on it. But half of what she says isn’t true. Last month she saw me runnin’ into the day-old bakery in Buddy’s shirt, and the next thing I know, she’s telling the whole town I’m pregnant again. So it’s probably like that.”
Bobby Tom regarded her levelly. “Tell me what she’s saying.”
