The Trouble With Tomboys Read online

  Looking eager to leave, she scurried toward the exit.

  B.J. hoped Grady would decline for the both of them. But he obeyed his mother’s suggestion and started toward a cushioned high-back chair. She would’ve called the other woman back and told her she needn’t bother with trying to entertain them, but she already knew if she tried to talk, nothing would come out except a dry croak.

  As soon as his mother disappeared around the corner, B.J. whirled toward Grady, who’d plopped into the chair already. She didn’t want any “refreshments.” She wanted to drop the news like a stink bomb and get the H-E-double hockey sticks out of there before she caught a whiff of the rotten hang time.

  But when she spotted the crushed look on his face, she paused.

  “I didn’t realize he received so many after-hour calls,” he murmured to himself. “I never get a call from work.”

  The unspoken question, Why don’t I ever get a call?, lingered in the air between them. B.J. suddenly remembered the nasty words she’d said in Houston. You make everyone in town uncomfortable whenever you’re around because you freeze the living folks out like they should all feel sorry they’re still alive and your wife isn’t.

  He lifted his eyes then, and he looked at her as if he were remembering that exact same line. She opened her mouth to apologize for being such a butt that night, for hurting him like she had. But a rough male voice spoke from behind them.

  “Well, well. Be still my heart. If it ain’t that little Gilmore gal.”

  B.J. spun around and sucked in a delighted breath. “Now there’s the love of my life,” she said and surged forward.

  Grady’s grandfather, Granger Rawlings, had to be over eighty years old if he was a day. He’d lived in the Rawlings mansion since the moment he’d it built nearly fifty years ago. In a wheelchair now, he’d lost one arm and half a leg in an explosion on the oil field years ago. But she’d always adored the gruff old man. And he returned the affection one hundred percent.

  Where other children had shied away from the intimidating oil tycoon, B.J. had been drawn to him. She still remembered the first time she’d ever seen him. It had been at one of Tommy Creek’s annual homecoming festivals. Since the Rawlings had sponsored the event, the entire family had gathered around a booth where they passed out free drinks to the townsfolk. B.J. had walked right up to Granger and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

  “Who stole your arm and leg, mister?” she’d wanted to know.

  Instead of snapping at her for the rude question, he’d thrown back his head and hooted with glee. Then, slapping at his good knee, he’d urged her to climb onto his lap and commenced to tell her the story of exactly how he’d lost his missing appendages. She’d found the old timer’s gory account so fascinating, she’d gone back to him every time she’d seen him after that—at Fourth of July picnics, Christmas parades, and Spring dances—crawling into his grandfatherly lap and demanding another story. The man had never failed to entertain her with some type of tall tale.

  Knowing she’d disappoint him if she did otherwise, B.J. plopped down on Granger’s lap now and pressed a loud, sloppy kiss to his wrinkled cheek. He grinned approvingly and tugged at the back of her ponytail. She might’ve gained a good fifty pounds since the first time she’d sat on his knee, but neither of them cared.

  “Where you been, darling?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

  Slinging an accommodating arm around his neck, she continued to grin into his dancing blue eyes, which she realized were the same hue as Grady’s. “Well, hell, I thought you were long dead by now, old man.”

  Granger laughed and smacked her leg in a light, playful gesture. “Missy, I’m way too young to croak yet.” The smile on his face made him look twenty years younger than he had to be. He winked. “Besides, I can’t go anywhere until you finally agree to marry me.”

  “Marry you?” B.J. said in surprise. God, what was up with these Rawlings men all of the sudden? None of them would shut up about getting hitched. “Why in the world would I want to marry an ancient, lecherous coot like you?”

  Really getting into the flirtatious mood, Granger leaned closer and said, “Give me five minutes alone away from my grandson over there, and I’ll show you why.”

  B.J. couldn’t help but laugh, all the while thinking it must run in the family. She was just as drawn to Grady as she’d always been to Granger.

  Glancing Grady’s way, she was curious to see how he was taking all this interaction. But he merely sat slumped back in his chair, looking amused. Arching her a look, he asked, “Want me to go?”

  “Do you mind terribly?” she asked, leaning toward Granger and resting her cheek on his forehead.

  But before he could comment, his mother came bustling into the room with a silver serving tray full of cups and saucers and a coffee pot. The smell of Folgers hit B.J. almost instantly. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she surged off Granger’s lap and stared wide-eyed at Tara Rose.

  “Do you have a bathroom?” The words rushed from her mouth as her stomach rebelled.

  “Er. . .of course. . .it’s down the hall to the. . .” She never even finished the sentence, because B.J. had already turned and fled.

  ****

  “Is she okay?”

  Grady turned his gaze away from the doorway where B.J. had beat a hasty retreat and glanced at his mother. “Uh. . .” was all he could manage to say.

  “Looked like she was going to upchuck to me,” his grandfather said, wheeling closer to where his daughter-in-law was setting down the tray on the coffee table in front of Grady. “Leaped up like the smell of that coffee didn’t agree with her.”

  Tara Rose frowned and glanced down at her refreshment. “Hmm,” she said, giving the coffee pot a strange look. “How odd. I’ve never seen anyone have an aversion to the smell of—”

  Breaking off in mid-sentence, she lifted her face and pinned an accusing look at her son. He could tell immediately when the truth dawned. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he stared back, unable to wipe the guilt off his face. As her face drained of color, Tara Rose glanced toward the abandoned doorway.

  “I heard the strangest rumor yesterday at the beauty shop,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” Granger asked, reaching forward to help himself to a cup of coffee.

  Tara Rose frowned at her father-in-law. “Dad!” she hissed. “I didn’t bring out enough for you too.”

  “Well, it’s not like she’s going to drink any if the very smell makes her hurl.” He glanced at Grady. “What? She pregnant or something?”

  As Tara Rose sucked in a breath and spun toward him to hear the answer, she covered her gaping mouth with two hands.

  Grady sank further into his seat. “Is that what you heard at the beauty shop yesterday?”

  She nodded. All he could see over her fingers was her large brown eyes.

  Grady hissed out a curse. “Well, doesn’t that just beat all. My own mother found out before I did.”

  “Oh, God,” Tara Rose said in a small voice.

  “What’re you two talking about?” Granger wanted to know. He glanced up from where he was stirring in a healthy spoonful of sugar. He studied Tara Rose and then turned to Grady. Pausing, he lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Holy hell. Are you the one responsible for her condition?”

  Grady scratched at the back of his neck and winced. “How long till Dad gets home?”

  “Could be hours,” Granger boomed. “Now, quit holding out on us, boy. That your baby in her or not?”

  Grady nodded once and quietly murmured, “It’s mine.”

  “Oh. Oh, my Lord,” Tara Rose whispered and sank into a seat, staring glazy-eyed at the wall.

  Granger grinned. “Well, boy, howdy,” he cheered, smacking Grady’s hip. “I always knew you had good taste in the ladies, kid. But you topped the cake with this one. That Gilmore girl’s a fine woman. Good breeding stock. Why, the two of you will have strong, healthy babies. Damn, boy. . .”

/>   He beamed as he continued to pummel Grady’s thigh like he was giving a congratulatory slap on the back. “What a way to carry on the line. I couldn’t have picked out anything better for you if I’d chosen her myself. B.J.’s a sturdy one. Got nice, wide, child-bearing hips and—”

  “Dad!” Tara Rose hissed in a strangled voice.

  Grady lifted his face in time to see B.J. standing frozen in the doorway, her face drawn and pale.

  “Oh, good,” she said as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face. “I missed the big announcement.”

  Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she passed out cold.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Now, why are you driving my truck again?”

  Grady held in a deep sigh. But then he glanced at B.J. in the passenger seat, and the frustrated weariness dissolved instantly. She still looked pale. Too pale.

  “How’s the head?” he asked, reaching out to once again feel the bump she’d accrued from landing noggin-first on his mother’s hardwood floor.

  She quickly lifted her hand to the spot before he could touch it, sinking her finger into the thick mass and wincing.

  “It’s fine.”

  Dropping his fingers, Grady’s eyes drifted over her hair before once again returning his gaze to the road. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her hair down before. It was surprising how long and. . .pretty it was. The brown hue was a rich chocolate with golden hints of natural highlights. The locks were more straight than curly, providing a healthy bounce to them that tumbled over her shoulder and made him want to bury his nose in her neck and have all that long, silky hair coat his face.

  “Still have a headache?” he asked, forcing his attention back to the road as he realized he hadn’t even seen her hair down the night they’d slept together. But he’d certainly been quick about pulling the ponytail holder from her skull so he could feel for a bump when she’d passed out nearly twenty minutes ago.

  B.J. muttered, “It’s not so bad I can’t drive my own freaking truck.”

  Grady ignored the comment, all the while trying to forget the fear that had pounded through him when he’d seen her wilt to the floor like a stage actress in some dramatic Shakespearean performance. Only this had been real. . .way too real. Still upset he hadn’t been able to make it to her in time to catch her, Grady winced as the thump her skull had made when she hit the floor continued to echo through his ear canal.

  “Oh, my God,” his mother gasped as Grady fell to his knees in front of the collapsed B.J.

  “B.J.?” he rasped, irrationally afraid she’d already passed on to the next world. He scooped her into his arms, gently cradling her head and feeling around for blood and brain-tissue.

  “She okay?” his grandfather asked as he drove his motorized wheelchair up behind Grady and stopped next to Tara Rose, who was standing with both hands covering her chest.

  The injured party herself answered. “What the hell am I doing on the floor?”

  Grady thought he was going to take his own turn on the floor and pass out from relief. B.J. cursed as he found the tender spot on her scalp. Instinctively, she swatted his hand away. But he’d already felt for himself the skin had not been split open. There was a decent-sized goose egg growing, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, immediately reaching out to help her when she tried to sit up.

  “Just dandy,” she muttered, wincing and then swaying as soon as she was upright.

  Grady reached out to steady her, tightly wrapping his hand around her shoulder. Even after she caught her bearings, he continued to hold onto her, grateful she was at least conscious. Worry pounded through him, he couldn’t seem to breathe right.

  “What happened?” she asked, glancing past him at his mother and grandfather.

  “You passed out cold, kiddo,” Granger said. “Took the prettiest little nose dive to floor I’ve ever seen.”

  B.J. snorted. “Really? I guess all that practice in front of the mirror paid off then?”

  Tara Rose sputtered out a surprised laugh at her sarcastic comment, and Granger threw back his head and hooted, slapping gleefully at his good knee. Grady couldn’t understand how they could make jokes. Just because she was up and talking didn’t mean she was okay. There could be a concussion, internal bleeding. . .Amy had been alert right up to the minute she’d died.

  B.J. started to rise. Since he still had a hold on her shoulder, he tightened his grip, tempted to push her back down until he was convinced she was fine. But from the determined look in her eye, he knew she’d struggle against him if he held her against her will. To avoid hurting her, he helped her up.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Tara Rose asked, hopping forward to take B.J.’s other arm. He was glad his mother had asked since he’d wanted to. But his vocal chords were still frozen with fear. If anything happened to her—

  “I’m good,” B.J. said, giving both Grady and his mother a confused scowl as they each latched onto an arm and didn’t let go. The blasted, independent woman honestly didn’t think she needed help. But she soon learned otherwise when she set her feet under her.

  “Ooooo. . .” she said, wincing and latching a hand around her stomach. “Coffee.”

  She turned as if to head back toward the bathroom but swayed dizzily in the process. Grady tightened his grip to steady her. But she didn’t seem to like his restraint.

  “Gonna puke,” she said, her voice sounding alarmingly frail.

  Tara Rose bounded into action, grabbing a nearby trashcan and handing it to him. B.J. caught sight of it, snatched it to her chest and buried her face in the opening. As her stomach revolted, she started to slide to her knees. Grady assisted the descent to keep her from falling face first. Then, since he’d been the one to rip the ponytail holder out, he gathered her brown locks into his hand and held her hair out of her face.

  “Get that coffee out of here,” he snapped, glancing at his mother with a scowl.

  She leapt to comply. Snagging the cup from her father-in-law’s hand just as he was lifting it to his mouth for a sip, she tossed it onto the silver serving tray and lifted the entire thing in one swoop. Then she was gone, leaving only a trace of the rich decaffeinated brew behind.

  “Bluck,” B.J. muttered when she came up for air. “That was nasty.”

  “Here’s some water,” a breathless Tara Rose said as she reentered the parlor, baring a huge glass of ice water.

  “God bless you,” B.J. gasped and reached for the cup.

  Grady stayed crouched next to her as she guzzled. He rested his forearms on his bent knees and looked up at his mother, concern flush on his face. She bit her bottom lip and winced, shaking her head as if to say such behavior from a pregnant woman didn’t seem normal.

  And that was when he decided he wanted to talk to a professional, right then. “I’m taking her to the doctor.” He removed the empty glass from B.J.’s hand.

  She frowned. “Why? I don’t need to see him for a bump on the head.”

  Ignoring her, Grady grasped her elbow, “Up,” he said.

  “Ugg. . .here we go again,” she groaned as she started to rise. B.J. spread her arms out as if to steady herself, already bracing for the dizziness. When she didn’t sway once, she straightened with a relieved smile.

  “Well,” she said, turning toward Grady. “That wasn’t so bad. See, I’m better already.”

  But he wasn’t convinced. Glancing toward his mother, he said, “You’ll let Dad know?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. And everyone else in the family as well.”

  “Thanks.” He took both of B.J.’s shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “But. . .” She resisted his hold and turned back to his mother. “I just made a mess all over—”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Tara Rose assured her, using her foot to push the trashcan way from B.J.’s grasp. “Just go with Grady so he can make sure you’re okay.
”

  She gave B.J. a speaking look, and something passed between them, some kind of telepathic woman talk he’d never been able to understand. Then B.J. glanced at him. When she nodded and stopped resisting, he gritted his teeth.

  He didn’t want her to agree only to appease his fears, but at this point he didn’t even care. . . He had to know if she was going to be okay. There was no way he could live through killing another woman by making her pregnant, no way he could stand there and watch the life drain out of her after giving birth to his dead baby. He would never do that again.

  As he glanced across the cab of her truck at her now, the anxiety was still causing his blood to course though his body in almost dizzying waves.

  She groaned and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I yakked all over your mother’s floor.”

  “You yakked in a wastebasket,” he corrected.

  “She must hate me right now.” As she spoke, she scooped her hair up with both hands and refastened the locks with her holder.

  “The trashcan was lined with a plastic bag,” he argued logically. “It won’t take anything at all to clean.”

  She glanced over and sent him a dry look. “I wasn’t talking about the trashcan.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. After a moment, he answered, “You know, I think she’d be a lot more forgiving if you married me and made an honest man out of me.”

  B.J. rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to answer. As he pulled into the drive of a ranch-style brown house, she sat up and blinked.

  “Where are we? I thought you were taking me to the hospital?”

  Before Grady could answer, she caught sight of the man in the yard, pushing himself to his feet where he’d been kneeling in a flowerbed.

  She gasped. “Oh, my God. Grady, you took me to Dr. Carl’s house? We can’t just barge in on him when he’s home, relax—”

  “He won’t mind.”

  At the confident note of assurance in his voice, B.J. arched her brows, impressed. “Well,” she said. “I always knew the Rawlings name held a lot of sway in these parts, but—”