The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(28)

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Straddling the neck of a broken oil well’s pump jack, Grady fumbled with a piece of baling wire he was using to twine around two hunks of steel to hold them together. Slick with his own sweat, his grip kept slipping. It played havoc on his patience.

His father had been steadily teaching him the 84



The Trouble with Tomboys



rules of trade in order for Grady to one day take over the family business. Since he was the oldest and the only sibling out if his brother and two sisters even interested in oil, it was a given the company would be his some day Rawlings Oil was the only petroleum field

around Tommy Creek. They’d been in business since his grandfather Granger Rawlings had discovered a bubbling crude on his cattle ranch nearly fifty years ago. Since then, the entire herd had been sold, and the range was now covered with nodding donkey oil wells instead of cow patties.

Employing a good portion of the county,

Rawlings Oil supplied jobs and commerce for

hundreds of area residents. Rawlings was a big name in these parts, and being a Rawlings came with a load of responsibility.

Since the new guy Grady had hired on to help repair faulty equipment was afraid of heights, Grady found himself shimmying up the side of a steaming hot piece of grease-coated metal to fix a minor repair.

Since Amy’s death, he’d relished days like these, full of hard, manual labor. Focusing on his job and piling a bigger workload onto his shoulders had been something to keep his mind off...things. So he’d dived headfirst into finding the grimiest, hardest tasks for himself. But today, he couldn’t concentrate.

His mind kept retreating back to the diner.

All he’d wanted was a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee. But no...he’d just had to listen to Ralph Smardo start a fight with B.J. Gilmore.

Skinny dipping.

Grady couldn’t picture it. Not that he wanted to picture it. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She’d gone goddamned skinny dipping with Ralphie, The Junkyard, Smardo. Clenching his teeth, Grady grabbed a hold of both ends of the wire and gave a 85



Linda Kage



violent twist.

He told himself he shouldn’t be jealous. He

shouldn’t even care. Ralph said it’d been years ago, so they’d probably had their fling when he was still married to Amy. But, damn it, the feeling of helpless rage still pounded through his blood. The thought of B.J. with anyone else made him want to break something.

That made no sense at all. He didn’t have any kind of claim on her. Hell, he hadn’t even talked to her since Houston. She could’ve been with a dozen guys in that time and she’d have every right to them. He’d deserted her in the hotel room, and he hadn’t talked to her once since—excluding that whole near-death experience on her plane. Then, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her when he’d seen her out and about.

In anyone’s book, that would signify the end for them.

Yet he still dreamed about her. He remembered what she smelled like, how her skin felt against his.

He wanted the very essence of her coated to his mouth so every time he licked his lips, he could taste her. If only he hadn’t gone to the damn diner for breakfast.

As he lost his grip on the wire once again, a bead of sweat dripped into his eyes. Growling out a curse, he slammed the palm of his hand against the metal neck on which he sat. “Damn it.”

“Need some help?”

Grady jumped clear out of his skin and twisted around. He hadn’t heard the truck pull up, but there was his father, approaching with a slow, loose-legged stride.

“I got it,” he muttered and used his dirt-caked sleeve to wipe at his face.

“Here, take my gloves,” Tucker Rawlings said 86



The Trouble with Tomboys



from the ground where he’d stopped just below where Grady was working.

“I just took mine off,” Grady answered. “I can’t get a hold of anything with them in the way. But my hands are so slick, I can’t get a good grip now, either.

And I lost my pliers somewhere in the north field about an hour ago.”

“I got an extra pair in my truck,” Tucker offered.

As his dad started back to his rig, Grady began to mutter under his breath. The day had been going just fine until he’d decided to stop at the diner on his way to work. “I should’ve just starved,” he muttered to himself.

“What’s that?”

Giving another startled lurch, Grady realized his father had returned. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

Tucker winced against the sunlight and studied him for a moment. “You doing okay today?”

Not quite meeting Tucker’s gaze, Grady

answered, “I’m fine. Why?”

“You seem...distracted.”

Grady ignored him a minute as he once again

tried to twist the two pieces together with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m fine,” he hissed and then cursed again as his thumb slid off and the sharp end of the wire stabbed him in the palm.

“I’m fine,” he snapped once again when Tucker made a move to climb the side of the oil well and check his wound. His father stopped in his tracks and scowled.

“You’re bleeding. I can see it from here.”