Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(42)

Grace 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.





8




Bobby 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.”