The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(3)

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 7



Linda Kage



curse, he threw down his cards and forfeited his hand.

Letting out a deep whoop, B.J. triumphantly

tossed her fist in the air. “Yes!” she hollered, then stood and stubbed out her cigar. “Boys,” she told the table of men as she leaned over to rake in her booty.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“Well, what’d you have?” Ralphie demanded.

When she ignored him, he surged to his feet and reached across the table to snag her cards. B.J. let him have at them.

He stared at them with a saggy jaw a good five seconds before he yelped, “A pair of twos? A pair of

twos!”

B.J. beamed and sent him a two-fingered salute.

“What can I say? My lucky number’s two. And when I get two twos, I figure, hell... Might as well bluff, huh?”

Ralphie’s face turned flamingo bright. He threw his hat off, exposing a head three-quarters gone bald. “I had three jacks!”

B.J. whistled, impressed. “Gee, then maybe you shouldn’t have forfeited,” she told him. “Oh, and by the way, I’m free tomorrow afternoon. Will that be a good time for me to swing my truck by for the new tires?”

Ralphie was so flustered he couldn’t even talk.

Finally, he turned to his father. “What the hell’s the matter with you? ‘B.J.’s betting free service. She must have a good hand,’” he mimicked. “Good hand my ass.”

“Oh, cry me a river, Ralphie,” B.J. butted in, stuffing her new wad of money into her back pocket.

“You threw in your hand.”

“I’m never playing poker with you again.” He sounded like a scorned child who’d just had his ice cream cone taken away.

“I won fair and square.” She glanced toward his 8



The Trouble with Tomboys



dad. “You see me cheat?”

Pete shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

B.J. snorted. “Ma’am? Who the hell are you

calling ma’am? Your old lady just walk in?”

While Pete chuckled, B.J. finally returned her attention to Grady. He’d been passively watching the scene. She had no idea what was going on behind those cool blue eyes of his.

Ignoring the insistent tug in her loins, she arched him a look. “Let me grab my gear, Slim, and I’ll be ready to go. ’Kay?”

He nodded, and she left Ralphie to complain to the others. She wouldn’t be surprised if he reneged on the tires. But if he managed to cough them up, then hey, that’d be okay too. She wasn’t too concerned about it. She’d won fair and square, that was all that mattered to her.

She was still glowing over her victory when she came strolling out of the back room with her cap on forward and her dark hair pulled through the hole in the back. Wearing reflecting aviator glasses and chewing on sour apple bubble gum, she slung a beat-up green duffle over her shoulder and led Grady toward her plane.

Since his meeting was supposed to last late into the evening, this was going to be an overnight run.

Ready for a long, boring stay in her hotel room, she climbed into the opened back doorway of her plane.

After tossing her gear inside toward a corner, she looked over her shoulder at Grady, still standing on the tarmac behind her.

“Ready?” she asked, giving him one last chance to make a pit stop before they went wheels up.

Again, he merely nodded. B.J. held a hand down to him. He frowned at her palm, looking confused.

“Your bag?” she prompted.

He lifted his clear blue gaze and quietly said, “I got it.”