Grady's Wedding by Patricia McLinn Read Free Book Online Page A

altered his course to where she stood, cornered against a display case by a bushy-haired man, short and rotund in a tweed jacket whose weave had caught crumbs from his repast. Grady traced crackers, cheddar cheese, flaky pastry, a dollop of creamy dip and smear of strawberry juice.
    Bette had to interrupt to introduce the man as Professor Whicken. Assessing Bette’s pale face and the professor’s renewed conversational flood, Grady took action.
    “I think it’s time for all pregnant ladies to be sitting down,” he announced, grasping Bette’s elbow and drawing her away.
    “I’m just telling Mrs. Monroe—” The professor, who showed an inclination to follow, halted when a hand met his chest.
    “We appreciate your concern, Professor,” said Grady to the man who’d expressed no concern. “But I’ll be happy to take care of Mrs. Monroe from here. Thank you.”
    Out of earshot, Bette added, “Thank you. That deserves at least a knighthood.”
    Halfway to the chair Grady had spotted, Michael joined them. “You beat me to it, Grady. How’re you doing, Bette?”
    “I’m fine. And I don’t need to sit down.” She hung back a little. “Really.”
    “Sure you do,” Grady disagreed amiably, still homing in on the chair. It happened to be occupied by a white-haired lady, but that didn’t matter.
    “What’s wrong?” Paul arrived a little out of breath, a wake of surprised looks behind him.
    “Nothing is wrong. Go back to your conversation, Paul,” Bette ordered as Grady ceded his hold on her arm to her husband.
    Paul ignored her. “Michael? What’s up?”
    Not even particularly surprised it was Michael that Paul presumed would know, Grady simply continued to the chair, stopping in front of the white-haired lady.
    “Excuse me, could we possibly have the use of that chair? As you can see, our friend is pregnant, and with all the excitement and everything . . .” He let it trail off and smiled, a man smiling at a woman, sharing an understanding of the world and humanity.
    “Of course, of course.” The white-haired lady fluttered up, joining her insistence to the three men’s until Bette sat.
    “Thank you,” Grady told the woman, and smiled again.
    She smiled back, then headed off, but not before she tossed a distinctly saucy look back over her shoulder.
    Bette covered her mouth with her hand, but the amusement colored her voice. “Grady, you are incorrigible.”
    “What?” he asked innocently. “I just asked if we could have the chair.”
    “Hey, I don’t care if he tangoed with Grandma Moses in front of the Supreme Court,” said Paul. “He got you a chair.”
    “Yes, he did,” she agreed. “Thank you, Grady. It was very nice of you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “I think we should leave,” Paul said abruptly.
    “Leave? But the reception’s only half-over. We can’t leave,” Bette objected.
    “Sure we can."
    “Well, I don’t want to. I came here to bask in the glory of your accomplishment, and I’m not done basking.” Husband and wife exchanged a look. “I’m all right, Paul. Honestly.”
    Paul seemed to relax, moving his hand from Bette’s shoulder to stroke her cheek.
    “Is something wrong?”
    “Are you okay, Bette?”
    The questions from Tris and Leslie tripped over each other as they joined the group.
    “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Grady rescued me.”
    Grady felt the look Leslie flicked at him, but was too late to meet it. By the time he turned to her she was assessing the situation. She looked at Bette closely, then to Paul’s still-stubborn expression, then over her shoulder at the important people Paul had deserted.
    “Well, she looks fine to me,” Leslie declared, then dipped deeper into her drawl. “And if there’s one thing a Southern woman knows, it’s the vapors.”
    Bette gave her a grateful look, turning to her husband she said, “See? The words of an expert. Now will you please go back to the others?”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Bless her