Heaven, Texas (12 page)

Gracie shook her head, only to be reminded by the lingering ache in her temples of her night of drunken debauchery. Holding herself very still, she said, “I'm one of the production assistants. Well, I
was
a production assistant, but now I'm Bobby Tom Denton's assistant.”

Gracie expected Natalie to become melty-eyed like everyone else did whenever Bobby Tom's name was mentioned, but the actress merely nodded. Then her head shot up and her eyes flared with alarm. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

She shot up from the chair. “Elvis. He's crying.” Her long movie star legs flew up the steps. Just before she disappeared inside, she said, “Wait here and I'll show him to you.”

Gracie found herself liking Natalie Brooks, despite her rather intense attitude toward mothering, and she was curious to see her baby. Even so, she knew she couldn't postpone her responsibilities much longer.

At that moment, one of the equipment trucks moved and she saw Bobby Tom by the corral talking with several attractive young women. It was obvious from their fashionable outfits that they weren't members of the crew, and she suspected that the ladies of Telarosa had already begun to line up to take the football quiz. He wore only jeans and boots. The sun sparked in his tawny hair and glowed on his bare chest. Her heart jumped at the sight of him.

One of the makeup artists approached him and began to spray his chest from a plastic bottle so that his muscles glistened with oil. He glanced down at himself. Even from a distance, she could see that he looked befuddled, and she couldn't help smiling as she observed his reaction to what he certainly saw as unnecessary adornment.

Natalie reappeared with a flannel-wrapped bundle in her arms and a beatific smile curling her famous mouth. “This is Elvis,” she said as she settled back down into the chair. “He'll be four months tomorrow. Say hello, precious. Say hello to Gracie.”

Grade gazed into the face of the homeliest baby she had ever seen. He looked like a miniature sumo wrestler. His nose was squashed, his small eyes nearly hidden in wrinkles of fat from his cheeks, his chin almost nonexistent.

“What a—uh—beautiful baby,” she said dutifully.

“I know.” Natalie beamed.

“An unusual name.”

“It's an old and honorable one,” she replied with a trace of defensiveness. And then she looked worried. “I just called my husband to see what had happened to the nanny. He found out last night that she insists on cereal for babies at four months, so I'm afraid we're back to square one. Now he's making inquiries about one of the nannies who worked for the British royal family.”

Gracie saw by the doubtful expression on her face that Natalie wasn't certain even that would be good enough.

She reluctantly excused herself and made her way toward Bobby Tom, only to lose her courage at the last minute and make a detour toward the catering truck. Maybe after another cup of coffee she'd be ready to face him.

B
obby Tom was in a foul mood. Watching grass grow would be more interesting than making a movie. All he'd done since he'd arrived here yesterday was walk around with his shirt off while he drank cold iced tea from a whiskey bottle and pretended to fix the corral fence. Before he could even start to work up a good sweat, they called “cut” and he had to stop. He didn't like wearing makeup, he didn't like being outside without his Stetson, and he especially didn't like having them spray baby oil on his chest, not even when they brushed dirt on top of it.

All the fussing made him feel like a pansy. They'd even fixed the fly on his jeans so he couldn't zip them up all the way. They fell open in a V that dipped so low he couldn't wear his briefs under them. The jeans were also a size too tight, and he hoped like hell he didn't get a hard-on because, if he did, the whole world was sure enough going to know about it.

Compounding his bad mood was the fact that half the population of Telarosa had shown up on the set this morning with matchmaking on their minds. He'd been introduced to so many Tammys, Tiffanys, and Tracys his head was swimming from the overload. Then there was the matter of Miss Gracie Snow. In the light of day, the previous night's incident no longer seemed quite so funny.

The lady was so sex starved that it was only a matter of time before she found somebody to satisfy her itch, and he doubted she'd have the presence of mind to inquire too deeply into her lover's health history before she hopped into bed with him. In New Grundy her prospects had been limited, but here, the men on the crew vastly outnumbered the women, and it probably wouldn't take much persuasion for one of them to put an end to Gracie's virginity, especially if word got out about the sweet little body tucked away underneath those ugly clothes. He resolutely pushed away that particular memory.

It was hard to believe she'd made it to the age of thirty still intact; although between her bossy manner and her guerrilla tactics with car engines, she'd probably scared away the better part of New Grundy's male population. He'd seen her with Natalie Brooks awhile ago. When they'd' finished talking, she'd started to approach him, but then she'd lost her nerve and detoured to the catering wagon, where he imagined Connie Cameron, one of his old girlfriends, had given her a hard time. Now she was lurking behind the cameras, and, unless he was mistaken, she was doing deep breathing exercises. He decided to put her out of her misery.

“Gracie, come on over here, will you?”

She almost jumped out of her skin. He supposed if he'd carried on like she had last night, he wouldn't be too anxious to face the primary eyewitness, either, and as she came toward him, she might as well have been dragging concrete blocks from her feet. Her wrinkled navy suit looked as if it had been made for an eighty-year-old nun, and he wondered how any one human being could have such dismal taste in clothing. She stopped in front of him and pushed her dark glasses on top of her head, where they sank into a lump of hair. He took in her wrinkled clothes, red-rimmed eyes, and chalky skin.
Pitiful.

She couldn't meet his gaze, so he knew she was still embarrassed. Considering her usual dictatorial ways, he realized he, had to take strong offensive action right from the start if he wanted to keep her in line while she was for him. Although it wasn't normally in his nature to kick somebody who was already down, he knew it wouldn't bode well for the future if he didn't draw back his foot right now and remind her who was in charge.

“Sweetheart, I've got some jobs I want you to do for me today. Now that you're working for me, I've decided I'm going to have to let you drive my T-bird, even though it goes against my better judgment. The car needs gas. My wallet and keys are on the table in the motor home they gave me to use. And speaking of that motor home. It's not nearly as clean as I'd like to see it. You might try to round up a scrub brush and some Lysol while you're in town so you can take a few licks at the linoleum.”

That brought her to attention real quick, just as he'd known it would. “Are you telling me you expect me to scrub the floor in your motor home?”

“Only the dirty parts. And, honey, when you're in town, stop by the drugstore, will you, and pick me up a box of condoms.”

Her mouth flew open in outrage. “You want me to buy you condoms?”

“I sure do. When you've made yourself a walking target for paternity suits, you learn to be real careful.”

A flush crept from her neck all the way up to her hairline. “Bobby Tom, I am not buying you condoms.”

“You're not?”

She shook her head.

He shoved his fingertips in the back pocket of his jeans and shook his head regretfully. “I was hoping I wasn't going to have to do this, but I can see we need to clear our communication channels right from the beginning. Do you happen to remember what your new job title is?”

“I believe I'm to be your—uh—personal assistant.”

“That's exactly right. And what that means is, you're supposed to be assisting me personally.”

“That doesn't mean I'm your slave.”

“And here I was counting on Willow to have explained all this to you.” He sighed. “When she was telling you about your new job, did she happen to mention that I'm in charge?”

“I believe she did mention that.”

“And did she say anything about the fact that you're supposed to do what I tell you to?”

“She— Well, yes, she said— But I'm sure she didn't mean—”

“Oh, I'm sure she did. Starting today, I'm your new boss, and as long as you follow orders, I know the two of us are going to get along just fine. Now I'd appreciate it if you could get to that linoleum before we finish shooting today.”

Her nostrils flared and he could almost see the steam coming out of her ears. She puckered her mouth as if she were getting ready to spit out bullets and hitched up her purse.

“Very well.”

He waited until she'd almost gotten away from him be-fore he called her back. “Gracie?”

She turned, her eyes wary.

“About those condoms, sweetheart. Make sure you get the jumbos. Anything smaller is too tight a fit.”

Until then, Bobby Tom had never seen a woman blush on top of a blush, but Gracie managed it. She fumbled for her sunglasses, slapped them back over her eyes, and fled.

He chuckled softly. He knew he should feel bad about bullying her, but instead, he was inordinately pleased with himself. Gracie was one of those women who could drive a man crazy if he let her. All in all, it was better to establish the natural order of things right from the beginning.

An hour later, with her purchases made, she pulled out of the drugstore parking lot in Bobby Tom's Thunderbird. Her cheeks still burned as she remembered what had just happened at the pharmacy counter. After having reminded herself that modern, socially aware women purchased condoms all the time, she had finally worked up enough nerve to set her purchase next to the register only to have Suzy Denton come up to her at exactly that moment.

The box had sat in plain view like a ticking grenade. Suzy saw it, of course, and immediately busied herself studying a photograph of a two-headed dog on the front page of one of the tabloids. Gracie had wanted to die.

Now she shared her feelings with Elvis, who was tucked into an infant car seat next to her. “Just when I think I can't embarrass myself in front of Suzy any more than I already have, something else happens.”

Elvis burped.

She smiled despite herself. “Easy for you to say. You weren't the one buying the condoms.”

He chortled and blew a saliva bubble. As she'd been leaving the ranch, she'd run into Natalie, who was frantically dashing around trying to find someone reliable to watch over Elvis for an hour or so while she filmed her first scene of the day. When Gracie had volunteered, Natalie had showered her with gratitude and a lengthy series of instructions, relaxing only when Gracie had finally started taking notes.

Gracie's hangover had disappeared and her head no longer ached. She'd retrieved a clean dress, a sadly wrinkled black-and-brown—striped shirtwaist, from the suitcase in the trunk and changed into it in the motor home before she'd left. Now, she once again felt human.

She had just reached the edge of the town when a pungent odor prickled her nostrils, followed by the unhappy sounds of a baby who didn't like lying around in a dirty diaper. She looked over at him. “You stinker.”

He puckered up his face and began to wail. There was no traffic coming so she pulled to the side of the road, where she managed to change the baby. She had just resettled behind the wheel when she was distracted by the crunch of tires in gravel.

As she turned in her seat, she watched an imposing-looking man in a beautifully tailored light gray suit climb out of a burgundy BMW parked on the shoulder of the road behind her. For an older man, he was very attractive: short dark hair barely flecked with gray, an arresting face, and a powerful body that didn't seem to have an extra ounce of

fat on it.

“Do you need help?” he asked, coming to a stop next to the side of the car.

“No, but thank you.” She nodded toward the baby. “I had to change a diaper.”

“I see.” He smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back. It was nice to know there were still people in the world who would inconvenience themselves to help out someone else.

“This is Bobby Tom Denton's car, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. I'm his assistant, Gracie Snow.”

“Hello, Gracie Snow. I'm Way Sawyer.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she remembered the conversations she'd overheard on the car phone between Bobby Tom and Mayor Baines. So this was the man everyone in Telarosa was talking about. She realized this was the first time she'd heard Way Sawyer's name without the words “that sonovabitch” in front of it.

“I take it you've heard of me,” he said.

She sidestepped. “I've only been in town a little over a day.”

“Then you've heard of me.” He grinned and tilted his head toward Elvis, who had once again begun to squirm in his seat. “Is that your baby?”

“Oh, no. He belongs to Natalie Brooks, the actress. I'm baby-sitting.”

“This sun's in his eyes,” he said. “You'd better get back on the road. Nice meeting you, Gracie Snow.” With a nod, he turned away and began walking back to his car.

“Nice meeting you, too, Mr. Sawyer,” Gracie called after him. “And thanks for stopping. Not everyone would have.”

He waved and, as she pulled back onto the highway, she wondered if the people of Telarosa weren't exaggerating Mr. Sawyer's villainy. He seemed like a very pleasant man to her.

Despite his dry diaper, Elvis screwed up his face and began to fret. She glanced at her watch and saw that she'd been gone well over an hour. “Time to get you back to the old chuckwagon, cowboy.”

The sack containing the box of condoms bumped against her hip, and she remembered her vow not to ignore Bobby Tom's faults just because she'd fallen in love with him. With a sigh of resignation, she knew she had to take action. Even though he was officially her boss and the man who made her heart race, he needed a reminder that he couldn't run roughshod over her without accepting the consequences.

“Four clubs.”

“Pass.”

“Pass.”

Nancy Kopek gave her bridge partner a sigh of exasperation. “That was Gerber, Suzy. I was asking you for aces. You shouldn't have passed.”

Suzy Denton smiled apologetically at her partner. “I'm sorry; I lost my concentration.” Instead of her bridge game, she had been thinking about what had happened in the drugstore several hours earlier. Gracie seemed to be preparing herself to make love with her son and because she liked her very much, she didn't want to see her hurt. Nancy nodded good-naturedly at the two other women sitting around the table. “Suzy's distracted because Bobby Tom's home. She hasn't been herself all afternoon.”

Toni Samuels leaned forward. “I saw him at the DQ last night, but I didn't get a chance to mention my niece to him. I know he'll be crazy about her.”

Toni's partner, Maureen, frowned and led the six of spades. “My Kathy is a lot more his type than your niece, don't you think so, Suzy?”

“Let me freshen everybody's drinks.” Suzy laid down her hand, glad she was the dummy so she could escape for a few minutes. Normally, she enjoyed her Thursday afternoon bridge game, but today she wasn't up to it.

When she reached the kitchen, she set the glasses on the counter and walked over to the bay window instead of going to the refrigerator. As she stared out at the bird feeder that hung from a magnolia next to the patio, she unconsciously pressed her fingertips to her hip and felt the small flesh-colored patch that supplied her body with the estrogen it could no longer produce on its own. She blinked her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. How could she be old enough for menopause? It seemed as if only a few years had passed since that hot summer day she'd married Hoyt Denton.

An all-encompassing wave of despair settled over her. She missed him so much. He had been her husband, her lover, her best friend. She missed the clean soapy smell of him after he got out of the shower. She missed the solid feel of his arms wrapped around her, the love words he'd whisper when he drew her down on the bed, his laughter, his corny jokes and awful puns. As she gazed out at the empty bird feeder, she folded her arms across her chest and squeezed, trying for a moment to imagine that he was holding her.

He'd just turned fifty the day before his car had been broad-sided by a semi during a terrible storm. After the funeral her desperate grief had combined with a stomach-gnawing anger at him for leaving her alone and putting an end to the marriage that had been the foundation of her life. It had been a horrible time, and she didn't know how she would have survived it without Bobby Tom.

He had taken her to Paris after the funeral, and they'd spent a month exploring the city, driving through French villages, touring châteaux and cathedrals. They'd laughed together, cried together, and, through her pain, she'd been filled with a humble gratitude that two scared youngsters had managed to produce such a son. She knew she'd begun to rely on him too much lately, but she was afraid if she stopped, he'd slip away from her, too.

She'd been so certain when he was born that he would be the first of several children she would bear, but there hadn't been any more, and sometimes she ached to have him small again. She wanted to hold him in her lap, to stroke his hair, bandage his bruises, and smell that sweaty, little boy smell. But her son had been a man for a long time now, and those days of dabbing mosquito bites with calamine lotion and healing hurts with kisses were gone forever.