Read Online Grady's Wedding by Patricia McLinn - Free Book Online

didn’t single her out to walk next to. He didn’t even make eye contact. It was darn annoying.
    She lugged out the emotional sandbags in preparation for hurricane, then ended up with a drizzle.
    Actually, they all ended up with a drizzle. The clouds completed their takeover of the sky as the six of them neared the house.
    From the porch, they watched the drizzle turn to steady rain, and enjoyed the coziness of their shelter. Bette sat in the circle of Paul’s arm on the swing they shared. In a nearby chaise longue, Michael’s light hold drew Tris’s back against his chest.
    Fighting a twinge of isolation, Leslie sank into a canvas deck chair. Rather to her relief, Grady didn’t take its twin, but returned to his spot on the railing.
    “So, Tris, how did your talk with the potential donor go last night?” he asked as he settled comfortably with his back against the roof support.
    “It went fine, but it didn’t go far enough.”
    “What does that mean?”
    From long experience, Leslie knew what it meant. The prospect was still a prospect, which was better than no prospect but not as good as a check. She’d already heard these details, so she let her mind and her eyes stray.
    From a contemplation of the mesmerizing rain, her focus turned to the foreground—the man perched on the railing. The position emphasized the strong lines of his neck. The open collar of his shirt revealed a dusting of hair that showed golden even in the dim light.
    Grandma Beatrice had long blamed curiosity for leading Leslie into numerous scrapes. Now that regrettable curiosity prompted her gaze to follow the line of his broad shoulders down a rolled-up cotton sleeve to his forearm. With his right foot on the railing, his bent knee propped up his left forearm. She had a clear view of a thicker covering of hair there, but of the same golden color, almost a delicate tint. His forearm was well muscled and his wrist thick with tough bone—nothing delicate there.
    Below the ragged line of his shorts, the same golden glint was visible, but the long, defined muscles were just as tough as his arms and wrists. Maybe more so, she thought as she noticed a number of lighter-skinned scars.
    His golden perfection being marred by something as mundane as scars seemed incongruous.
    “Wondering where I got them?”
    She looked up sharply and met his gaze. How long had he followed her survey? Her neck heated with rising color. She countered the embarrassment with wry humor.
    “That’s all right. This way I can let my imagination run wild.”
    His face seemed to tighten. “Don’t let it run too wild. They’re very prosaic scars.
    She opened her mouth to repeat that she didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know how he got them. But he seemed to feel a need to explain them to her.
    “I got them playing tag football.”
    “Oh, with your family?” That surprised her, and she had no idea why.
    “No.” He clipped the word uncharacteristically. “Tag football’s not their style.”
    “No,” said Paul. “Mayhem on the lawn is more my family’s style.” Despite his humorous tone, Leslie thought she detected a bit of protectiveness in his interruption.
    Grady said nothing. Without changing his relaxed position, he seemed to tighten. She wasn’t surprised Paul took over the conversation; it was clear the tense figure on the railing wasn’t going to continue.
    “We used to have marathon games in our backyard. Dad swears he never could keep grass until I left for college.”
    “Even after that,” said Michael. “I’ve played in some Thanksgiving Day games that came long after high school.”
    “And not just football,” Tris added. “Volleyball and badminton.”
    “Badminton! My sister’s a badminton fiend,” Paul said. “You met my kid sister at Tris and Michael’s wedding, didn’t you, Leslie?” She nodded. “Well, Judi may look like your everyday college student, but don’t ever get around her when she’s got a badminton racquet in