you two are headed in to help with some headless chickens, then I'm in the right place."
Grace froze, one combat boot-clad foot not quite lifting up high enough, and she tripped over the lip of the doorway. I reached out to steady her, but she pulled her elbow out of my grasp before I could.
"Great," she mumbled.
I leaned in as we walked into the gym. "Nice to see you too, Angry Girl."
Her eyes flashed up to mine. "I swear, if you call me that one more time, I will punch you in the throat."
Fran clucked. "Grace Bailey Buchanan, what manners."
Hearing her full name brought a grin to my face, and she knew why I was smiling.
"Oh, it's all right, Mrs. Buchanan. I do love a good threat of violence after lunch." I patted my stomach. "Keeps me alert all afternoon."
The look that Grace gave me could have sent a coat of ice over a flamethrower, and for reasons I couldn't even begin to pinpoint, it was the funniest thing I'd seen all damn day.
In that one moment, she broke up the monotony I'd been feeling with all the subtlety of a newly-sharpened pickax, and all the little pieces of my boring day went scattering into a million pieces.
Not only that, but I had no desire to sweep them up and attempt to put them back into place.
That should've been my first clue that Grace Bailey Buchanan was going to blow my life wide open.
Chapter 5
Grace
Not that I had much practice glaring someone to death, but Tucker Ames Haywood was not only completely unintimidated, his booming laugh echoed through the entire gymnasium.
Heads turned. Eyes widened. Judgment began.
I could practically hear the whispers at the way he was smiling down at me.
Who's she?
Why is Tucker—golden God of Green Valley and ultimate wearer of the starched white dress shirt over the widest chest known to mankind—laughing at her?
If I could have imagined a different entrance to a gaggle of Green Valley women, I could think of forty-seven scenarios that I would have preferred. Because all forty-seven of them did not include him.
Him, all polished to a spit shine in his work clothes and smiling like he was a friggin’ dental ad, which I did not appreciate.
Him standing shoulder to shoulder with me while I was faced with the little old lady equivalent of a firing squad. In place of uniforms, they had circles of pearls around their necks and clothes in varying shades of pastel.
One lifted an eyebrow as her gaze trekked from the top of my head, down, down, down to the steel-toed edges of my boots. Briefly, I thought about lifting my camera to catch an image of that face.
Southern Judgment, I’d title it.
Aunt Fran rubbed hand down my back like she could feel the way my skin started tightening over my bones.
"Come on, sweetpea, let's find a seat." She cleared her throat. "Ladies, quit gawking at my niece or I'll give you something to stare at."
Tucker cleared his throat, a terrible attempt at hiding his laughter, and I closed my eyes while Aunt Fran directed me toward two metal chairs at the corner of the long rectangular table. I took the one on the end of the table, sitting before anyone could speak to me.
Aunt Fran did the same, but she chattered on with a couple of women as she did. Mundane things like the weather and who got what job and who had a baby in the last week since they'd seen each other.
Small town conversations were an entirely different animal than what I was used to, I'd found. Grady and I didn't visit Dad much over the years, but one thing I did know about living in a place like Green Valley was that they had a certain way of speaking to each other.
Greetings didn't require hugs or air kisses. Because you probably saw that person less than twenty-four hours earlier in the Piggly Wiggly, or the gas station, or the library, a nod would suffice, or maybe a smile. But more than likely, they all just picked up where they left off. They talked in a continuous loop, or a figure eight, if I tried to imagine it in my head.
"I told you about that sweater pattern, right?" the woman next to Aunt Fran said.
My aunt nodded, picking through her purse for something. "How'd it turn out?"
"Oh, it's a mess. You'll have to show me where I went sideways the next time you're over."
Aunt Fran patted her