At last I heard the sound of Jimbo’s truck in the driveway, then his familiar knock. I opened the front door, and he grabbed me up off my feet and swung me around.
“We’re on our way to the playoffs!” he announced.
I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder. “Jimbo, you’re not really a genius, are you?”
His whole body stiffened, and he set me back on my feet with a thud. “Now, where’d you hear that?”
He hadn’t denied it. A cold finger of fear touched my heart. “From Tiffany Tyler. It isn’t true, is it?”
“Well, no,” Jimbo answered cautiously. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“Look, Tracy, if I’m gonna have to explain all this, can’t I at least do it sitt’n’ down?” he asked, gesturing toward the living room couch.
“Sure, come on in,” I said, closing the door behind him. “I guess you must be tired. I thought you were wonderful tonight.”
“Yeah, I can tell you’re thrilled,” he said with a dry laugh. He settled himself comfortably on the couch, then asked, “Now, what do you wanna know?”
“Are you a genius?”
“No.”
“Did you make a perfect score on the ACT?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Jimbo! Why didn’t you tell me?”
The boy genius shrugged his shoulders. “You never asked.”
“You know very well what I mean! All this time I thought you were just a plain Alabama farm boy.”
“I am,” Jimbo answered with more than a hint of pride in his voice. “Besides his NASA job, my dad raises beef cattle on a hundred and twenty acres of the prettiest rollin’ hills you’ve ever seen. One of my uncles is takin’ care of it while we’re away. Maybe I can take you there someday.”
The prospect of a visit to Alabama with Jimbo as tour guide had its attractions, but I was determined not to be sidetracked. “Tiffany said your dad was in charge of the space shuttle project at TeknoCorp. That really was his picture in the newspaper, wasn’t it?”
“I told you it was,” Jimbo said innocently.
“I thought you were joking, and you knew it! You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the first!”
“Tracy, I never meant to lie to you,” he said, taking my hands and giving them a squeeze. “It was just a joke that sorta got out of hand.”
“I see,” I said stiffly. “Like leading small boys into the woods in search of imaginary birds. Only this time I’m the one left holding the bag.”
“It’s not like that at all! The whole thing started the first time I practiced with the football team—way back before we ever met. It didn’t take a genius to see that all the guys were expectin’ me to be some kind of hick, so I decided to play along and see how much they’d swallow.” Jimbo grinned, and his dimples danced. “Some of ‘em swallowed a lot, too! You should’ve seen Brian’s face when I told him I used to take my girl to the Sears store every Saturday night to watch TV!”
“Jimbo Maxwell, you should be ashamed of yourself!”
“What for?” Jimbo asked, looking the very picture of wounded innocence. “Nobody forced ‘em to believe all that stuff, you know. Just because a guy’s got an accent doesn’t mean he’s stupid. You might say they were victims of their own prejudices,” he announced, as if he were proud of knowing such big words.
“I might, but I probably won’t,” I retorted, unimpressed.
“And what about you? It was easier for you to believe I cheated in physics than to think I might be smarter than you gave me credit for.”
Actually, I had never really believed he’d cheated, but that was entirely beside the point. “What was I supposed to think, with you acting like a reject from The Beverly Hillbillies, and Anthony putting ideas in my head? And anyway, that’s a pretty rotten way to get a girl—telling lies and making me feel sorry for you!”
Jimbo, unrepentant, merely grinned at me. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
Before I could protest, he took me in his arms and kissed me thoroughly, and suddenly his deception didn’t seem quite so important anymore.
“So,” I said breathlessly, when we finally came up for air, “where are we going tomorrow night? Snipe hunting?”
“Shoot, no,” drawled Jimbo. “I’m gonna take you to the Sears store to watch TV!”
About the Author
Sheri Cobb South is the author of five young adult novels in Bantam’s long-running Sweet Dreams series, including the popular Wrong-Way Romance, which have been translated into Chinese, Dutch, Polish, and French. More recently, she has turned her attention to writing historical novels for adults, most set during the Regency period popularized by Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer. Her works in this genre include the critically acclaimed Regency romance The Weaver Takes a Wife as well as a series of Regency-set mysteries featuring Bow Street Runner John Pickett. A native and longtime resident of Alabama, Sheri now lives in Loveland, Colorado with her husband. She loves to hear from readers, and encourages them to email her at [email protected], “like” her author page on Facebook, or visit her website at www.shericobbsouth.com.
Author’s Note
I’m often asked why I don’t issue an e-book release of my first published novel, a young adult romance called Wrong-Way Romance which was published in 1991 by Bantam Books as part of its long-running Sweet Dreams series. While I’m flattered that Wrong-Way Romance is remembered so fondly, the terms of the contract I signed so many years ago still prohibit me from publishing a new edition of it today.
There was another of my young adult romances, however, my favorite of all my work in that genre, which was apparently lost while in the pipeline at Bantam, and never published. Since I moved to Colorado, where my pronounced Southern accent provokes much comment, I’ve found myself thinking of this book, and wondering how well it had stood the test of time. I decided not to attempt to update it, but to leave it in its original late 1980s setting. For the thirtysomethings who enjoyed Wrong-Way Romance as teenagers, or for today’s young adult readers who may be tired of the paranormals and/or dystopian societies so prevalent in the genre today, I hope you will enjoy Bama Boy, the Sweet Dreams title that never was.
Copyright © 2013 by Sheri Cobb South
Electronically published by Belgrave House and Sheri Cobb South
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Cover photography (from top):
© kurhan/Shutterstock
© Brocreative/Shutterstock
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