The Trouble With Tomboys Read online

  “He better see me whenever I want,” Grady growled from between gritted teeth. “The man was holding a bloody knife in his hand and standing over my wife when she died.”

  As B.J.’s mouth dropped open, he glanced away. He didn’t blame Dr. Carl for Amy’s death. He knew the doctor had done everything in his power to save her. But neither would he ever forget the stunned look on the man’s face as he gaped at the heart monitor blaring out one long, continuous beep.

  “I didn’t even think,” B.J. said. “Of course, he would’ve been her doctor too, wouldn’t he?” Her face went pale as she glanced at him. “God. If you want me to find another OB/GYN—”

  “There is no other baby doctor around here,” he muttered and pushed his way out of the truck. He nodded a greeting to Dr. Carl, who was already striding forward to meet him.

  “Grady,” he said, stretching out his hand. “This is quite a surprise. What brings you by?”

  After giving the older man a brief handshake, Grady reached into the cab of the truck and tugged B.J. out through the driver’s side. “She just passed out and hit her head. Hard.”

  The doctor blinked at B.J. and then whirled back to Grady. He didn’t have a medical degree for nothing. From the utter shock in his expression, he caught on immediately. Grady had impregnated B.J. Gilmore.

  “Oh,” he whooshed out the word and then seemed to return to reality. “Well then, B.J. Why don’t you step up onto the porch for minute?”

  As he took her elbow and drew her forward, B.J. said, “I’m fine, Doc. Really. Noggin’s a little sore, but that’s to be expected.”

  Grady trailed them with restless impatience. A little sore his ass. “Her skull hit a wood floor so hard I swear it bounced.”

  Ignoring B.J.’s scowl at Grady, Dr. Carl said, “Why don’t we just have a seat up here.” He pulled a black steel swiveling stool out from the tall round table under his covered porch and patted the seat. “I’ll have a look for myself.”

  “She threw up too,” Grady said. “Two times. I’ve never seen anyone vomit as much as she did.”

  The doctor nodded and disappeared inside the house.

  “Tattletale,” B.J. muttered.

  Glancing up in time to catch her sticking out her tongue, then folding her arms over her chest and turning away from him, Grady should’ve been amused. Instead, a vision of Amy laid out in her casket—only an empty, lifeless shell—hit him hard and fast. He couldn’t picture B.J. dead. She was too lively, spirited, animated. Like Grandpa Granger, she was meant to grow old and sassy, zipping around in a wheelchair and flirting with the younger generation.

  She could not die.

  Grady was tempted to grab her and yank her to him, kissing her till she lost her irritation, kissing her while she was still so alive and healthy. But Dr. Carl saved him from making a fool of himself, returning with a stethoscope and a handful of other medical goodies.

  The doctor studied B.J.’s pupils before he checked her blood pressure and took her temperature. “Nausea is perfectly common among pregnant woman.” He plucked the stethoscope plugs from his ears and turned toward Grady.

  Grady merely shook his head. “Amy had a queasy stomach a few times when she was pregnant, but she never threw up,” he insisted, “in either pregnancy. And she certainly never passed out.”

  When the doctor sent him a sad, sympathetic smile, he ground his teeth. God, he hated this. He hated the helpless fear, and he hated everyone feeling so damn sorry for him.

  “Amy was a different case entirely. Each woman goes through her own unique symptoms. B.J. has none of the complications your wife did.”

  Grady merely scowled. His eyes slid to the woman sitting on the stool. With her legs dangling over the side, she looked like a child, waiting for the pediatrician to plant a “Good Job” sticker on her shirt. It made his stomach knot with tension. The thought of losing her the way he’d lost Amy made him physically ill. And the fact he was just now realizing this caused his skin to tighten about two sizes too small for his body.

  He didn’t want her to die. He didn’t want their child to die. He wanted them both to stay healthy. And that insight scared the living hell out of him.

  “This gal here has about the most ideal equipment for a pregnant woman I’ve seen in a long time,” Dr. Carl praised, setting a hand on B.J.’s shoulder as he sent Grady an intense, reassuring smile. “Everything I’ve checked is normal and healthy, and I foresee no problems at all in the upcoming months. You have nothing to worry about, Grady.”

  Realizing he’d gone off the deep end with panic, Grady nodded. But he couldn’t help but linger close to B.J. as she hopped off the stool just in case she hit another dizzy spell. Thanking the doctor, she shook the old man’s hand and immediately turned to him.

  “Satisfied now?” she asked.

  Though she managed to put a pinch of annoyance in her voice, like being forced through this ordeal aggravated her to no end, he still heard the softness in her tone. The irritating woman was more concerned about his mental wellbeing than her own physical health.

  Lowering his gaze, he nodded and mumbled, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twelve

  B.J. glanced down at her wristwatch as her younger brother stumbled into the hangar. It was nearly noon, and she’d asked him to come in at nine to help her take some aerial pictures.

  “Don’t even start,” he groused as he pushed past her, smelling like a stale brewery. “I’ll be out and ready to go in a few minutes.”

  “Whatever,” B.J. said on a shrug. “I’ve already waited three damn hours on you. What’s a few more minutes.” She’d been enjoying the race on television anyway. “Just don’t start the coffeepot.”

  Rudy paused and scowled over his shoulder. “Why the hell not?”

  “What? Are you the only person in the county who hasn’t heard?” She rolled her eyes as she patted her belly. “I’ll be yakking all over you in the plane if I get one whiff of coffee.”

  Her brother blinked. “Yeah, I heard about the baby. But. . .the smell of coffee really makes you sick jus ’cause you got a bun in the oven?”

  “Apparently. I stocked the fridge with cola if you need a caffeine fix.”

  “Yeah? Thanks.” He turned away and started off.

  B.J. returned her attention to the NASCAR race, thanking God Rudy hadn’t freaked out over her condition. Ever since yesterday when she and Grady had gone public with their news, she’d been treated like an alien with two heads. She suddenly understood why he’d withdrawn into himself after Amy had died. It sucked to have everyone staring and talking about you wherever you went.

  The snap and fizz of an aluminum can opening behind her told her Rudy had returned. Without looking up from the screen, she said, “Twenty bucks says Gordon wipes out on that last turn there before the race is up.”

  Rudy stopped at her side, took a five-second long chug, guzzling loudly as he swallowed. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and burped. “You’re on.”

  “Hell, I’ll give you twenty bucks just to tell me who really knocked you up. Rawlings or Smardo?”

  B.J. growled and closed her eyes. “Leroy.” He’d been popping over every couple of hours to annoy her. “I swear to God, if you don’t shut up about that, I’m going to give you another bloody nose.”

  Rudy snorted.

  Leroy ignored her threat. “Twenty bucks,” he coaxed, waving a bill in front of her face. Though he tried to move it fast enough she couldn’t tell what denomination it was, she knew it was a single dollar.

  Rolling her eyes, she shoved his hand out of her sight. “Get out of my face, asshole, and stop asking me stupid questions.”

  “I thought it was a pretty good question myself.”

  At the new voice, all three Gilmore siblings froze and then turned in unison. B.J. felt rather than saw her two brothers slink a respectful step back when they found themselves in the presence of Grady’s father, Mr. Rawlings Oil himself. B.J. had to admi
t her legs quivered a little with intimidation, but she made sure she didn’t change her stance any: cocked hip, arms crossed, and expression bored.

  Giving Tucker Rawlings a single nod, she asked, “Can we help you with something?”

  He flickered a single, meaningful glance toward her brothers.

  “Uh, I’ll just go start the pre-flight inspection before we take off,” Rudy said.

  Leroy added, “Yeah, I’ll help.”

  The two stumbled over each other in their haste to flee.

  B.J. watched them go. Cowards. Thanks a lot, guys, she wanted to call after them. Abandon your own sister to the big bad wolf. But instead she stood her ground and faced off with Tucker Rawlings alone.

  “Well, I guess I should’ve expected to see you sooner or later,” she said.

  Instead of answering, Tucker glanced toward the television just in time to catch Jeff Gordon nosedive into the very wall B.J. had predicted he would. She’d never felt so sick about winning twenty bucks in her life.

  “You like to gamble, do you, B.J.?” Grady’s father asked, letting her know he’d been standing behind her long enough to catch her wager with Rudy.

  She didn’t answer. But he obviously didn’t expect her to because he continued talking. His eyes met hers, so brilliantly blue, for a moment she felt like she was looking at his son. “What say the two of us make our own wager?”

  Her tension was so great, she couldn’t even sweat. “’Bout what?”

  One corner of Rawlings’s mouth curved up as he sent her an amused look. “’Bout my son, of course.”

  B.J. shuddered out a breath, knowing this conversation was somehow going to leave her damaged. Seriously damaged. “What about him?”

  Instead of responding, he turned away to watch Rudy and Leroy walk around her Cessna. “That airplane’s yours, right?” he asked and glanced back over his shoulder at her.

  She gave a brief nod, uneasy about his interest in her baby.

  “You owe, what, thirty-three grand on it, don’t you?”

  B.J.’s stomach dropped. It felt like someone had just pushed her over the edge of the Grand Canyon, and she dangled there in space for a split second before falling. But what the—

  He’d nosed into her debts? Into her plane? What did he want with her plane? Why would he bring her plane into this?

  Realizing this conversation had just taken a turn she knew was headed down a doomed path, she stood steady. Petrified, but steady. “It’s thirty-two and half,” she corrected, feigning all the courage and bravado she didn’t feel.

  “Actually, it’s thirty-two thousand, six hundred twenty-three dollars and eighty-eight cents if I paid it off today.”

  “If you paid it off?” she repeated.

  “Okay,” he revised on a shrug. “Not if. When.” He reached back to his hip pocket and produced a thick envelope. “The deed to your Cessna. I just paid it off.”

  B.J.’s vision blurred. For a moment, her equilibrium shorted out. She had no idea if she was vertical or not. She must’ve swayed, reached out her hand for support, or something because the next word out of Tucker’s mouth was, “B.J.?” He sounded concerned. Steady fingers dug into her bicep, grounding her.

  She blinked him back into focus and brushed his hand away. “I’m fine.” Turning away so he couldn’t see her face that had no doubt lost its color, she repeated, “I’m fine.” But in the next breath, she rasped, “Oh, my God. You bought my plane.”

  Spotting the pile of tires she’d won off Ralphie, she plopped down on top of the stack and looked up at Grady’s father. “What. . .what do you want from me?”

  He took his time answering her. After blowing out a long, steady breath, he said, “Grady’s bound and determined to marry you to set this thing with the baby right.”

  B.J. snorted. “Well, I already told him no, so you don’t have to worry none there.”

  Tucker gave a slight, amused smile. “You don’t understand. After everything my boy’s been through in the past three years, I’m just as bound and determined to see he gets everything he wants.” His gaze slid to her, his unfinished sentence lingering thick in the air. . . And he wants you.

  B.J. shivered and sucked in a stuttered breath. “So, uh. . .you bought my plane so I would marry him? Wow. That’s not what I expected.”

  Tucker laughed softly. “It’s a little more involved than that.”

  B.J.’s hopes sunk. “Of course it is.”

  “If you thought was I going to pay you off and try to run you out of town, you weren’t too far off,” Tucker admitted. “That was my initial reaction. But. . .Grady’s been different lately. He actually mentioned. . .this week he talked some about what happened to Amy.”

  B.J. felt a lump grow in her throat, wondering if Grady felt as guilty as she did about cheating on Amy like they had. God, of course he did. She lowered her head, ashamed.

  “I’ve waited two and half years for him to open up to me, to say something, anything. And now finally. . .” Tucker shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to what had changed with him until Tara Rose told me about your visit yesterday. Suddenly, I realized it wasn’t what had changed him. It was who.”

  “So, what’re you saying?” B.J. asked, her voice gone hoarse.

  “I’m saying he wants to marry you, so that’s what you’re going to do. And you’ll stay with him for as long as he needs you around. Then, when he grows tired of you, that’s when I expect you to take your plane and get out of Tommy Creek.”

  B.J. cocked an eyebrow. “What if he never grows tired of me?”

  “Well, now, that’s where you can lay money on your bet. You keep him happy until the baby’s born, and I get some proof it’s his child, then you can have the deed to your plane, free and clear. Call it a wedding present. If not. . .” He shrugged. “Take your plane and leave town, shipping the baby back when it’s born.”

  B.J. froze. “Excuse me? Did you just say, ‘ship the baby back’?”

  Tucker Rawlings nailed her with an inflexible look. “It’s the baby he really wants.”

  Feeling sick to her stomach, B.J. resisted the urge to cover her belly, instinctively wanting to protect the child inside.

  Okay, yeah, she’d been avoiding the whole I’m-going-to-be-a-mommy issue. Just thinking about having a kid, utterly dependent on her, made her feel queasy and panicked. But to actually give the baby up? That thought had never even crossed her mind.

  “What if I can’t prove the kid’s Grady’s?” she asked, suddenly so desperate she needed Tucker Rawlings to feel a bit of uncertainty as well.

  He sent her a hard smile. “Oh, Grady’s not going to learn about the paternity test. That’s for my own peace of mind. He’s not ever going to learn about this little conversation we’re having either. . .” He paused, sending her a meaningful look. “Is he?”

  Her insides flameed with anger because Tucker Rawlings had her right where he wanted her; she stared at him with a stubbornly stiff jaw. “Do I look like a tattletale to you?”

  He nodded, reassured. “So. . .if you marry him, sign a prenuptial agreement of course, and keep him happy until the baby’s born, I’ll give you the plane, free and clear. You marry him, sign the same prenup, and he realizes what a mistake he’s made, you hand over the baby and take out for parts unknown. . .with your plane. Either way, the Cessna’s yours, B.J. I gotta say, that doesn’t sound like such a bad deal on your end.”

  She gave a short nod. No, it didn’t sound like a bad deal. Except for that part about abandoning her own child. . .oh, and the being-held-under-Tucker-Rawlings-control thing. That sucked eggs.

  The whole agreement made her want to throw something—preferably something sharp and deadly—right at Tucker Rawlings’ head.

  Remaining as cool and collected as she could, she asked, “And if I say no deal? To hell with you and to hell with my plane; you can keep it. What’re you going to do then, Mr. Almighty?”

  His eyes sparked with challenge, and B.J. had a very b
ad feeling she’d just asked the exact wrong question.

  “Oh, I still have an ace up my sleeve.”

  Though she kept her body still and didn’t shrink from the victorious gleam in his eyes, she wanted to cringe so bad, already dreading something more awful than she could comprehend. “An ace in what form?”

  “From what I hear, you run a good bluff. You can act like you don’t care what happens to your plane all you like, B.J. And, hell.” He gave a shrug. “As old and worn out as it is, maybe you don’t care. But can you act so blasé about your family?”

  An uneasy chill raced up the back of her spine. “What about my family?”

  “Seems my family might owe your family’s plane service a lawsuit for nearly killing my boy on that trip home from Houston.”

  All the air vacated B.J.’s lungs. “Just what the hell are you going to sue us for? Grady wasn’t hurt. None of his possessions were damaged or lost. And he was given a full refund for the scare.”

  “Ah, but he was spooked, wasn’t he. You made him fear for his life. . .probably caused lasting emotional damage.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Gimme a break.” B.J. rolled her eyes, even as her stomach rolled with unease. But dear God. If the Gilmore Plane Service got a bad rep from the Rawlings family, no one in Tommy Creek would ever do business with them again. . .hint of a lawsuit or not. No one displeased the Rawlings.

  “So, what do you say, B.J.? Do we have a deal?”

  She shook her head. “I gotta think about this.”

  He gave a short nod. “You do that. And remember. . .breathe a word of any of this conversation to Grady, and all deals are off.”

  ****

  B.J.’s phone was ringing as she stepped inside her back door. She groaned. If it was Tucker Rawlings, she was going to hang up on him. She’d had enough of Grady’s father for one day. He’d ruined her entire afternoon as it was.

  Expecting to hear his voice and dreading it, she dropped the mail and lunchbox she’d carried in with her onto the kitchen table and scurried to the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello. B.J.?” a hesitant female voice asked.