Heaven, Texas (21 page)

“It's about time Bobby Tom brought you around.” Terry Jo squeezed Gracie's hand. “I swear, everybody in town like to die when they heard he finally got engaged.
Jo-leen!
I can hear that paper rattlin', and you get out of those Little Debbies right this minute!” She gestured across the clean, but shabby living room, toward the kitchen that lay beyond. “That's Joleen. She's our oldest. Her brother Kenny's over at his friends for the night.
Buddy!
Bobby Tom and Gracie are here!
Budd-ee!”

“Stop yellin', Terry Jo.” Buddy ambled into the living room from the kitchen, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth in a way that made Gracie suspect he had been the one rustling around in the Little Debbies instead of his daughter.

She had met Buddy Baines briefly when she'd taken the Thunderbird to his garage for new tires. Like the house in which he lived, he had a run down quality about him. With his dark hair and swarthy complexion, he-was still a good looking man, but an extra roll of flesh had begun to thicken his waistline and he had the beginnings of a double chin. Still, she could imagine him as he'd been in high school, just as good looking as Bobby Tom, but dark instead of blond. The three of them—Bobby Tom, Buddy, and Terry Jo—must have been quite a sight.

After Joleen had run in to exchange a moist, enthusiastic greeting with her Uncle Bobby Tom, Terry Jo drew Gracie into the kitchen to help her carry the beer and chips. Gracie had no desire for either, but she didn't have the heart to refuse Terry Jo's cheerful hospitality. She had tucked Bobby Tom's ring inside her sweater, and it nestled between her breasts. She touched it there as she looked around the kitchen. It was as shabby and homey as the living room, with children's artwork held to the refrigerator by Bible verse magnets and a pile of newspapers stacked on the floor next to a dog's water dish.

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, among 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.”

“Well, the rumor is that Suzy's keepin' company with Way Sawyer.”

“What?” Bobby Tom laughed. “I can't believe this town. Some things never change around here.”

“See, Buddy, I told you it was a big lie.”

Buddy leaned forward in the recliner. “Angie says she saw Way Sawyer's chauffeur picking Suzy up at her house a few weeks ago. If that turns out to be true, your mother's not going to have a friend left in this town.”

“She'll have me,” Terry Jo said. “I love Suzy, and I'll stand by her, no matter what.”

Gracie realized she'd forgotten to mention her encounter on the highway with Way Sawyer to Bobby Tom, but now didn't seem the time to do so. She'd liked Mr. Sawyer. Not everyone would have stopped to see if she needed help, and it made her uncomfortable to hear them talking about him this way.

Bobby Tom stretched his arm along the back of the couch, grazing Gracie's shoulders, then idly slipped his thumb inside the neck of her sweater and ran it along her collarbone. The skin on her breasts prickled, and she was very much afraid something embarrassing was happening to her nipples, something the clingy material of her sweater was almost certainly revealing to everybody. Heat flooded her cheeks.

Bobby Tom kept rubbing. “I'm sure she'd appreciate your loyalty, Terry Jo, but it's not going to be necessary. Mom loves this town, and I can guaran-damn-tee you she wouldn't even think about keeping company with that sonovabitch.”

“That's what I told everybody,” Terry Jo said. “Honestly, Bobby Tom, I don't know how we're gonna keep goin' after Rosatech pulls out. The town's been having a hard enough time as it is. If Heavenfest doesn't put us on the tourist map, we might as well board up Main Street.”

Buddy cleaned out the last of the potato chips. “Luther says Michael Jordan's playing in the celebrity golf tournament for sure.”

Bobby Tom got a vague look in his eyes that made Gracie suspect he still hadn't invited the athletes as he'd promised. Since very little slipped his attention, she knew it wasn't an accidental oversight. She tried unsuccessfully to wiggle away from the delicious stroking on her neck.

“Not for sure,” he said. “Pretty sure.”

“If Jordan comes, that'll bring in a lot of tourists. How many of the Cowboys did you get besides Aikman?”

“Still waiting on the final count.” Bobby Tom withdrew his hand from the back of her neck and slipped his hat on. As he rose to his feet, he pulled her up with him. “Gracie and I have to be goin'. I promised her we'd pick out names for all our kids tonight. Right now she's favoring Aloysius for our first boy, and I've got to nip that one in the bud.”

Gracie nearly choked on the potato chip she'd been swallowing.

Terry Jo made an unmistakable gesture of friendship by telling Bobby Tom she thought Aloysius was a perfectly good name. Good manners made it necessary for Gracie to thank her, much to Bobby Tom's amusement. He patted her bottom, and she started blushing again. His hand lingered there, and she could barely manage to say good-bye. The small amount of food she'd consumed that evening had settled into a jittery lump in her stomach.

Silence stretched between them as he backed out of the driveway and headed toward Main Street. She twisted her hands in her lap. The seconds ticked away. He began fiddling with the radio.

“Are you in the mood for country or rock? Or maybe you'd like to hear some classical?”

“I really don't care.”

“You sound a little testy. Is something wrong?”

His inquiry was so innocent, so completely lacking in guile that she knew he was deliberately provoking her. She gritted her teeth. “Classical would be fine.”

“Sorry. That signal doesn't come in too well at night.” Her temper snapped. Knotting her hands into fists, she screeched at him. “What are you trying to do to me? Are you deliberately trying to make me crazy? Never mind. Don't answer that. Just take me home. Right this minute!”

He gave her a satisfied smile, as if she'd done something that pleased him enormously. “Man-oh-man, Gracie, you are one bundle of nerves tonight. Sweetheart, I don't think there's going to be any pain, if that's what you're worried about. Now I'm no gynecologist, but you're thirty years old, and whatever barrier might have been there when you were a youngster has got to have evaporated from old age by now.”

“That's it!
Let me out of this truck right now! I am not putting up with you a minute longer!” Although she'd never been a yeller, it felt so good to yell at him that she yelled some more. “You might think you're funny, but you're not! And you're not sexy, either, no matter what all those women tell you. You're pitiful, that's what you are. Ugly and stupid and pitiful!”

He chuckled. “I
knew
we were going to have a good time tonight.”

She propped her elbows on her bare knees and lowered her forehead onto the heels of her hands. Her shoulders slumped.

He reached up under her sweater and patted her back. “It's going to be all right, sweetheart. Part of the fun's in the. anticipation.” He ran the pads of his fingers over the bumps of her spine.

“I don't want to anticipate,” she moaned. “I want to get started so we can get it over with.”

“Honey, we got started a couple of hours ago. Haven't you figured that out yet? Just because we still have our clothes on doesn't mean that we haven't been going at it ever since you climbed into my truck tonight.” He drew little circles in the small of her back.

She turned her head to look at him. He withdrew his hand from beneath her sweater and smiled at her. She imagined she saw tenderness in his eyes, but that was probably just wishful thinking on her part. The truck began to bounce and she straightened.

“Where are we?”

“By the river. I told you that's where we were headed, just like we used to in high school. We're taking this step-by-step, sweetheart, so you don't feel cheated. Now if I was being real strict about this, we'd have stopped by the Dairy Queen first for a cone, but to tell you the truth, I don't think I can keep my hands off you a second longer.” He brought the truck to a stop, turned off the ignition and headlights, then lowered the window. The cool night breeze drifted in, and she heard the sound of rushing water. Through the windshield, moonlight sparked on the leaves of the pecan and cypress trees that lined the riverbank.

She swallowed. “Are we going to  .  .  . You know. Here. In the truck?”

“You want me to give you an agenda?”

''Well, I . . “

He smiled and took off his hat. “Come here, Gracie Snow. Right this minute.”

G
racie slid into Bobby Tom's arms as easily as she'd ever done anything in her life. He tucked her under his chin and slipped his hand beneath her sweater. With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.

He stroked her hair while he caressed the skin on her back with his thumb. “Gracie, sweetheart, you know this isn't forever, don't you?” His voice was gentle and more serious than she'd ever heard it. “You've been a good friend to me, and I wouldn't hurt you for anything, but I'm just not a settlin' down guy. It isn't too late for you to change your mind if you don't think you can handle something temporary.”

She'd known from the beginning this wasn't forever, but she didn't believe he wasn't a settlin' down guy. He simply wouldn't be settlin' down with someone ordinary like her. He was used to bombshell blondes and drop-dead redheads, to women who made a career out of aerobicizing their bodies and augmenting their breasts. To beauty queens and rodeo queens and models who posed in nothing but a smile. His future wife would be somebody like that, but Gracie very much hoped she'd have brains, too, or he'd never be happy.

She breathed in his scent and traced the outline of the faded
L
on his old high school T-shirt with the pad of her finger. “It's all right. I'm not expecting happily-ever-after.” She tilted her face up at him and regarded him with great seriousness. “I don't want anything from you.”

He lifted an eyebrow, clearly bewildered by her statement.

“I mean it, you know. I don't want clothes or money or your autograph for any of my relatives. I'm not going to sell your story to the tabloids or ask you to make business contacts for me. When the picture's done, I'm going to give you back your Super Bowl ring and the keys to your Thunderbird. I'm not going to take anything from you.”

His eyes were shuttered, his expression inscrutable. “I don't know why you're saying all this.”

“Of course, you do. People are always taking something from you, but I won't be one of them.” She lifted her hand and traced the hard line of his jaw with her fingers. Then she removed his Stetson and dropped it behind the seat.

“Bobby Tom, show me how to please you.”

His eyes squeezed shut and, just for an instant, she thought she felt him tremble, but when they opened, she saw the familiar amusement lurking there.

“You got your fancy underwear on tonight?”

“Yes.”

“That's a good start.”

She licked her lips, suddenly remembering she'd forgotten something very important. Determined to sound matter-of-fact, she cleared her throat. “I'm— You probably need to know before we go any farther  .  .  . I'm taking birth control pills,” she said in a rush.

“Are you now?”

“Right before I left New Grundy, I decided that since this was going to be a fresh start for me, I needed to be prepared so I didn't miss any  .  .  . new experiences.” She made eye contact with the flying T on his shirt. “But even though I'm prepared, I know you've led an active life.” Once again she cleared her throat. “Sexually speaking.” She paused. “So I'll expect you to  .  .  . You'll have to use a condom.”

He smiled. “I know this conversation isn't easy for you, but you've done the right thing bringing it up, and you make sure you do exactly the same thing with your future lovers.” A shadow passed over his face, and the muscles around his mouth tightened. Then he rubbed his knuckles across her cheek. “Now, I'm going to tell you something, and even though it's the truth, I don't want you to believe me for a second because men don't like to use condoms, and they'll say just about anything to avoid wearing them.

The fact is, sweetheart, I'm clean as a whistle, and I've had the blood tests to prove it. Even before those paternity suits, I was real careful in my relationships with the opposite sex.”

“I believe you.”

He sighed. “What am I gonna do with you? You know I tell more lies than Pinocchio. I'm the last person on earth you should believe about something this important.”

“You're the first one I'd believe. I've never known anyone who hates to hurt other people as much as you do. It's ironic, isn't it, considering the violent way you made your living?”

“Gracie?”

“Yes?”

“I don't have on any underwear.”

Her eyes shot up.

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. Slowly his smile faded and his eyes darkened. Sliding away from the steering wheel toward her side of the seat, he cupped her jaw between his hands and lowered his mouth to cover hers.

The instant their lips touched, her body flooded with sensation, and she felt as if every part of her throbbed with new life. His mouth over hers was warm and soft, and she opened to him. The tip of his tongue slid between her lips, and she reveled in the intimacy of taking that part of him inside her body. Wrapping her arms around his strong neck, she touched his tongue with her own. Her top rode up, and he slipped his hands beneath it, just above her waist.

As their kiss deepened, she felt the damp heat of his body through his T-shirt. She sank her fingers into his shoulders and took his tongue deeper into her mouth. The rest of the world disappeared, and only sensation existed. Her lungs began to burn, and she realized she had forgotten to breathe. Drawing back, she gasped for air. He buried his lips in the
V
of her throat and nipped the delicate bone with his teeth.

“Bobby Tom!” She gasped his name.

“Yes, sweetheart?” His breathing sounded even less steady than her own.

“Can we do it now?”

“No, honey. You're not nearly ready.”

“Oh, I am. I really am.”

He chuckled, then groaned as his thumbs brushed up along her bare sides. “This is just our warm-up. Come here. Closer.” He lifted her so that she straddled his lap.

As she settled on top of him, she felt him, hard and rigid, trying to push into her right through his jeans and her shorts. “Did I do that to you?” she whispered against his lips.

“About three hours ago,” he murmured.

With a shiver of pleasure, she settled down in his lap. Rubbing her hips against him, she took his mouth.

“Stop,” he moaned.

“You're the one who wanted to play games,” she reminded him, speaking against his parted lips.

“Sometimes I'm too much of a smart-ass for my own good. God, don't do that!”

“Do what?” She again rocked her pelvis, wanting all the barriers between them gone.

He grabbed the hem of her top and shoved it up, taking her bra with it. Pushing her back until her shoulders rested against the dashboard, he exposed her breasts.

She let out a cry when he lifted her breast and took the nipple in his mouth. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he suckled her. Her position, straddling him with her knees and leaning back against the dash, was awkward, but her body no longer belonged to her and the unfamiliar strain in her splayed thighs only added to her excitement. She felt the hot suction of his mouth, the throbbing between her legs, the dampness of his thin, worn T-shirt beneath her palms. He shoved his hands beneath her thighs, and his thumbs slid under the legs of her shorts.

Sitting back up, she reached for his T-shirt and pulled it from his jeans, then she fumbled between their bodies for the snap at the top of his strained zipper. It gave, and she worked at the zipper. He had already opened hers, and before she knew it, he had pushed her shorts down to the point where her spread thighs stretched the material too taut to go farther.

The rasp of their breathing filled the cab of the truck. She drew one leg back over his thighs until she was kneeling on the seat next to him and could work at his zipper with both hands. He stripped his T-shirt over his head, knocking the steering wheel with his elbow in the process so that the horn sounded. He cursed, and she dipped for one of his nipples with her mouth as she continued her struggle with the stubborn zipper.

The hard nub bumped her tongue. She abraded it, just as he had done to her, and felt his entire body go rigid.

The zipper gave.

He pushed her away from him just long enough to whip her top over her head and fling it behind the seat. Her bra followed, and she knelt next to him like a pixieish slattern, hair rumpled, a Super Bowl ring hanging between her bare breasts, her unfastened shorts low on her hips.

She gazed down at his open zipper. “It's too dark,” she whispered. “I can't see you.” She touched his belly with her fingertip.

“Do you want to see me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Gracie  .  .  .” He sounded as if he were struggling to breathe. “This seemed like a good idea, but things are going a little faster than I'd figured, and this truck is too damn small.” He gave the key a hard twist and shoved the truck into gear so abruptly she bumped against the door. The tires spit gravel as he shot backward, then reversed. The truck jolted over the hard-packed ground to the dark highway.

She reached behind the seat to grab for her top. He caught her arm before she could locate it. “Come here.” Without waiting for her permission, he pulled her down until she was lying on her back, her head on his thigh. Driving much too fast, he used his free hand to torment her breast.

The truck shot through the night as his fingers caressed her. Through the windshield, she could see the sky flying by and the tops of the trees. She hovered on the brink of something inexplicable, and when she could no longer bear his sweet torture, she turned her breasts against him.

The truck shot down the dark highway, and his open zipper scratched her cheek. She pressed her lips to his hard, flat belly and felt every muscle contract. He groaned and lifted her top thigh. His palm cupped her through her shorts. He moved the heel of his hand, and she began to fly.

“No, you don't,” he whispered, pulling away. “Not this time. Not till I'm inside you.”

She careened to the edge of the seat as he swung into the drive that led to his house. A shower of gravel sprayed the side of the cab. He slammed on the brakes. Within seconds he'd turned off the ignition and jumped from the truck.

She was still searching behind the seat for her sweater when he opened the door. “You don't need that.” He clasped her waist and pulled her out of the truck.

Even though the house was isolated and the yard deserted, she pressed her hands over her breasts as he drew her across the grass. She saw his grin in the dim reflection of the single light that burned on the porch and realized he looked very much as he had the first few days on the movie set, with his bare chest and unzipped jeans. The thud of his boots on the wooden porch steps drowned out the gentler tap of her sandals. He worked the key in the lock and, as the door opened, hauled her none-too-gently into the house.

He maneuvered her to the bedroom with an urgency that both thrilled and scared her. She loved knowing he wanted her, but she wasn't at all certain she could satisfy him. She'd always been a bit clumsy at physical activities, and surely this, was the most physical of all. Her eyes fastened on the Sleeping Beauty bed that dominated the room, and she swallowed hard.

“It's too late for second thoughts, sweetheart. I'm afraid we passed the point of no return a good two weeks ago.” He sat down on the side of the bed and yanked off his boots and socks. His gaze meandered down to the white lace of her panties that showed through the open zipper of her shorts.

The fussy femininity of the bedroom should have made him less intimidating, but instead he had never seemed so overpowering to her, or so completely male. Her sexual excitement gave way to anxiety. She stared at him and could only wonder how she had gotten herself in such a predicament. How had it happened that she was about to offer herself to a multimillionaire Texas playboy jock who'd been pursued by the most alluring women in the world?

And then he smiled at her, and her doubts faded as her heart filled with love. She was offering herself to him because she wanted to. She was building a memory that would keep her company for the rest of her life. He held out his hand and she walked toward him.

The fingers that clasped her own were strong and reassuring. “It's all-right, honey.

“I know.”

“You do?” Catching her by the hips, he brought her to stand between his splayed thighs.

“Uh-huh. You've already told me that you don't do anything you're not good at.”

“That's true, sweetheart. 'Course you are a handful.” He carried his lips to her breast and slipped his hands inside her shorts to pull them down, along with her panties. She set one hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the lacy scrap of fabric, glad to be rid of them, feeling very much like a butterfly finally escaping from a chrysalis that had held it captive far too long. His eyes settled on the nest of coppery curls between her legs. Curling her fingers around as much of his upper arm as she could span, she tugged on him until he stood.

When he was on his feet, she slipped her fingers over the waistband of his jeans, where they had fallen open low on his hips, and discovered he hadn't been teasing when he said he wasn't wearing any briefs. Her hands trembled, and she hesitated.

He cupped the back of her head and lightly twined his fingers in her curls. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It's all right.”

Her mouth felt dry as she slowly tugged on the soft denim. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she knelt. With infinite slowness, she slid the jeans over his hips and along his strong thighs to his ankles. He kicked them aside. With a sense of anticipation, she settled back on her calves.

Lifting her gaze past the scars at his knee, she paused at his hips. “Oh, my  .  .  .”

She hadn't expected it to be quite so imposing, quite so commanding. Her lips parted, and she couldn't take her eyes away. It was magnificent, even better than she'd imagined. Incredible to have something like that thrusting out so boldly. Her forehead creased, but she refused to let the size worry her. Somehow he'd make certain she accommodated.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he murmured.

Her head shot up and she gazed at him with stricken eyes. A red flush burned her skin. Mortified, she jumped to her feet. “I'm sorry! I didn't meant to stare. I—”

“No, baby!” He dragged her into his arms and chuckled. “It's not you. You're perfect. It's me. You're driving me so crazy with the way you're looking at me that we're in imminent danger of having this whole thing over in ten seconds flat.”