The Trouble With Tomboys Read online

  Sobering, she straightened.

  There was no way she’d find equal footing with Amy. No freaking way. But her heart still wished it. . .and B.J. couldn’t ignore the yearning. Thinking up ways to get him to feel at least half as much for her as he’d felt for his first wife, B.J. put in a discreet call to her new girl buddy, Jo Ellen.

  If anyone knew how to be feminine and win over a man’s heart, it would be Grady’s utterly feminine sister.

  ****

  By five o’clock, B.J. had started taking steps to finding her inner female. She’d stopped by Jo Ellen’s, and they’d talked for hours, discussing all the changes she could make to be less masculine.

  Now, she knelt in the flower garden, muttering under her breath about all the freaking weeds. After visiting with Jo Ellen and then stopping by a boutique on the way home for a new nighty, she’d called Rudy for gardening advice.

  Rudy gave her very strict instructions on weeding, what to pull and what not to pull. So there she kneeled, down on her hands and knees, sweating in the dirt. As she worked relentlessly, a very small, very green grass snake slithered across her hand. B.J. screamed and jumped to her feet, immediately scrambling from the flowerbed. In her mind’s eye, the reptile was ten feet long. She could almost hear the twitching rattle of its tail and feel the white-hot venom from its fangs as it bit her right under the arm.

  Grady flew out the front door. “What’s wrong?” he said, bounding off the porch, his eyes wide with concern.

  B.J. didn’t think. She just leapt, landing in his surprised arms and nearly crawling up his leg she clung to him so tight.

  “B.J.?” Grady took her shoulders in his hands and pulled her back so he could look her up and down, probably for blood. “What’s wrong?”

  Reality finally returned, and she could only shake her head and move out of his concerned grasp. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Yet she scanned the grass frantically as she spoke.

  “You screamed,” he insisted.

  “I did not.” But as soon as she spoke, she bit her lip, realizing screaming was a girly thing, and that was exactly what she’d been trying to accomplish.

  Grady looked at her strangely. “I heard you scream.”

  “I do not. . .scream,” she stated firmly. Okay, so, in some ways she’d always be a tomboy, because no way on God’s green earth would she admit to screaming. “I might’ve let out a sound of surprise. But your goddamn wrong if you think I screamed.”

  Grady gaped a moment. Then he sputtered out a laugh and shook his head. “All right then,” he revised. “I heard your sound of surprise. So, what surprised you?”

  B.J. mumbled about the snake, and Grady moved closer.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said I saw a damn snake, okay?” she practically shouted. It was humiliating. She, B.J. Gilmore—Rawlings—hated snakes.

  Grady fell back a startled step. “You’re afraid of snakes?”

  “Hell, no,” she growled and then snorted, appalled he would even suggest the idea, even though her hand had already raised to cover the spot under her arm where her snakebite scar remained. “I just don’t like them.”

  He grinned, clearly amused, and she ground her molars. But damn it, she didn’t want to be feminine weak; she wanted to be feminine strong.

  “It’s okay to be afraid of snakes, you know.”

  “I am not afraid.” Her voice vibrated with irritation. . .and humiliation.

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Honest mistake.”

  At her glare, he tried to stop smiling, but it didn’t work, and his lips quirked up at the corner. She folded her arms over her chest and let her eyes narrow.

  Shaking his head, he seemed to relent. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Really. Just tell me which way he went, and I’ll see if I can get him out of here.”

  “I didn’t see which way he went,” she answered, looking at him as if he was insane. “The damn thing slithered right over my hand, and I was out of there.”

  Making a sudden gagging sound, she stared down at her fingers in horror. “Oh, God. I need to wash my hand.”

  As she raced inside, she heard Grady’s laughter follow her.

  “Bastard,” she muttered, dashing to the sink.

  Grabbing up the dish soap, she poured half the bottle over her fingers and commenced to scrubbing the skin raw.

  ****

  Still chuckling, Grady shook his head again. For a full-blown tomboy, the woman had a healthy set of lungs on her. He hadn’t heard such a high-pitched scream since Caine had put a spider in his sister Emma Leigh’s hair when she was ten.

  The prospect made him feel a little lighter. B.J. was such an independent, self-sufficient woman, he liked knowing she’d actually need him for something every once in a while. Hey, maybe if he was lucky, she’d “dislike” spiders too, and he’d get to play hero even more often.

  Searching the ground for a long black slithering object, he thought back to B.J. at breakfast. She was definitely something else. One minute, she could be a seductive vixen, driving him out of his mind with what she could do with her mouth. Then she was shrieking her head off over snakes, only to switch back into the ultimate tomboy a second later, acting too tough to be scared of anything.

  He enjoyed the mix. He enjoyed B.J. The woman was a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed companionship until she’d crowded her way into his life. But he liked having her around. And he liked catching her unaware when she paused in a room to look down at her still flat stomach in wonder, like she couldn’t believe there was a little human in there.

  Amy had talked constantly about her pregnancy, how her body was changing and what she was thinking. But B.J. remained quiet, hardly ever mentioning the fact she was carrying.

  He found himself wanting to know what was going on her mind when she laid a protective hand on her stomach and stood there lost in thought. He wanted to know what her body was going through and what emotions she was experiencing, because he had a sneaking suspicion the baby secretly delighted her.

  Still lost in thought, he almost missed movement out of the corner of his eye. Jerking around, he watched something slither across the lawn away from the flowers. Surprised such a small thing had made her let out such a big scream, he picked the snake up by the back of its head. It was hardly even a foot long.

  He laughed. She was afraid of this little worm of a thing? It didn’t seem possible. But as the front door opened and she appeared in the doorway, he lifted it to show her. She pulled to an immediate stop.

  “Found it,” he called.

  “Good,” she said. “So. . .go kill it.”

  He frowned. “I’m not going to kill it. Snakes are good to have around. They eat mice.”

  “I don’t have a problem with mice. The mice can stay.”

  He was half-tempted to tease her about being so scared. He probably would’ve if he didn’t fear getting a black eye for his trouble.

  “I’ll just carry it off then,” he relented, grinning.

  B.J. folded her arms across her chest. “Do whatever you want. I’m going to start supper.”

  “You don’t want to finish weeding?” he couldn’t help but ask.

  After sending him a dirty look, she spun around and slammed her way back inside.

  He took off across the yard, chuckling. After finding the snake a new home, he returned to the flower garden. It was only half weeded. Deciding to take up where she’d left off, he knelt in the dirt and pulled at a dead plant. It’d been nearly three years since he’d done this.

  Amy had possessed a black thumb. She’d killed everything she’d ever tried to plant. After a while, Grady had banned her from gardening all together, claiming she was a hazard to the flowers. He’d been the one to keep the plants nice because his wife liked how they looked. But after she’d died, he’d forgotten about them for a good year, too distraught to bother with flowers. When he finally noticed all the weeds, he didn’t see the point in rep
airing them because there was no one to grow them for.

  But if B.J. wanted flowers, he’d grow her flowers.

  ****

  “You know, if we were in Regency England and you were a woman, you’d be in half mourning right now?”

  Grady paused as he entered the bedroom. “Excuse me?”

  Lying with the covers tucked up to her armpits and a load of pillows propping up her back, B.J. lifted the paperback in her hand.

  “It’s right here.” She pointed to the passage in front of her. “The first year is called deep mourning. You seclude yourself in your home, cover the windows with crepe and wear all black.”

  When he merely blinked as if she’d just read the words in a foreign language, she continued. “The second year is second mourning, and you can take the crepe off the windows. The third year is half mourning, and you can wear gray and lavender and mauve.”

  She glanced up and watched him unbutton the gray shirt he was wearing. As her eyebrows lifted with a see-what-I mean look, he shook his head with an amused lift of his lips. “What in the world are you reading?”

  Holding her place with a finger, B.J. turned the spine and read aloud. “It’s called The Trouble With Bluestockings. It’s the first in a series. Jo Ellen lent it to me. And you know what, for a sappy romance, it’s not half bad. There are some great sex scenes in here.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m learning lots of neat tricks.”

  After stripping off his button-up shirt, Grady tugged his undershirt from his jeans. “And why are you reading a romance novel?” he asked, sending her an odd look.

  B.J. rolled her eyes and sighed. The man would never get it, would he?

  “I’m trying to get in touch with my feminine side.” Duh.

  She nearly sighed aloud as he pulled his T-shirt off, leaving his chest bare. His defined pecs glistened in the dim light from her bedside reading lamp. God, he was so beautiful. He probably didn’t even realize his striptease was turning her on like crazy.

  “Your feminine side?” He snorted as he sat on the edge of the mattress to tug off his socks. “Why do you want one of those? I like you how you are.”

  Stunned, B.J. bolted upright, her finger unconsciously slipping from the page she’d marked. “No, you don’t.”

  About to toss his socks toward the laundry hamper across the room, Grady turned to eye her with an incredulous lift of his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “You can’t like me like this,” she told him in no unnecessary terms. “Every man prefers girly women with their frou-frou hairdos and smelly perfumes. God, even Ralphie Smardo preferred Nan Lundy to me.”

  Grady froze. “What? Raphie Smardo? Why the hell is his name coming up in our bedroom? I thought he was only sympathy sex for you.”

  She cracked out a disgusted laugh, and to her mortification, her eyes watered. She blinked repeatedly “Yeah, but still. . .he didn’t have to go and act so appalled afterward. You’d a thought I’d given him an STD or something. Let me tell you, it’s a sobering realization when your own dorky best friend thinks you’re not woman enough for him. I don’t care how much I didn’t want sex with him ever again, he didn’t want me either. He didn’t want me.”

  Lips parting, Grady whispered, “Oh, B.J.” He reached out, but she only smacked his hand away and scowled, suddenly wishing she’d kept her big trap shut.

  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she charged and backed across the bed away from him as he started crawling toward her. “Not you. Not the king of Thou-shall-not-pity-me.”

  “Will you just. . .stay still!” he muttered, leaping until he tackled her, trapping her under the sheets so she couldn’t even move.

  B.J. growled and glared up at him.

  He scowled back a moment before he buried his face in her hair and laughed. “Jesus,” he chuckled. “You are something else, telling me what I do and don’t like.”

  “But—”

  “Will you just shut up and listen to me a second?”

  Taken aback by his attitude, B.J. let her jaw drop open.

  His blue gaze sparkled as it met hers. “B.J., listen to me and listen good. You have the same taste in movies I do. I get to see all the great action flicks and haven’t had to watch a single sappy romantic drama yet since we’ve been married. You prefer sports to the cooking and home decorating channels. Plus you’re fun to talk to because you’re into engines and racing, and you’ve never once tried to stuff healthy junk like salads and vegetables down me.”

  After pressing a light, quick kiss to her mouth, he rested his forehead against hers. “You don’t ask me what I’m feeling every three minutes. If I’m not talking, you don’t think it’s because I’m mad at you. I like how you don’t clutter the bathroom with a load of useless perfumes bottles because, to me, nothing smells as good as a plain, clean woman. It’s like. . .you have all the perks and none of the downfalls. In fact, you just might be the perfect woman. So, don’t go telling me what I don’t prefer. I know what I like. And I like everything about you just as it is. If you even think about trying to change, we’re going to have problems.”

  B.J. could only stare at him in awe as he leaned up to press another light, teasing kiss to her mouth.

  “You really don’t mind if I’m a tomboy?”

  “No,” he murmured against her mouth. “I really don’t.”

  He kissed her for a few seconds longer, before B.J. pulled away. “Well, in that case,” she muttered, wiggling out from under him to get free, “I’m going to change.”

  “Change?” Grady asked, frowning as he sat up to give her space.

  When she ripped aside the covers to expose the silk and lace two-piece she was wearing, his mouth fell open.

  “Holy God,” he breathed, his eyes soaking in the skimpy bra and thong set.

  “I’ll be right back,” B.J. said, popping off the bed to head toward the bathroom.

  “Whoa!” he called, leaping after her and hooking an arm around her waist to drag her back. “Let’s not be too hasty now.”

  He tugged until the smooth globes of her butt brushed his chest. Kissing the base of her back right above her panty line, he cupped her bare backside in his hands and started to lick his way up her spine.

  B.J. gasped and sat down on the edge of the bed in order to let him continue. Bowing her head as he lifted her hair and ran his tongue along the back of her neck, she said, “But I thought you said you liked me being a tomboy.”

  “Mmm.” He slipped his hands around to cup her breasts with both palms. “What does this have to do with being a tomboy?”

  B.J.’s back arched when he slipped his fingers inside the bra to get to her nipples, causing her long, free-flowing hair to tumble over his shoulder like pure silk. “So, this isn’t at all frou-frou or girly, huh?”

  “Hell no,” he growled, fumbling a little in his haste to shed the bra. “Amy, the ultimate supporter of all things frou-frou and girly, wouldn’t have been caught dead in a thong. This is what I call drop-dead gorgeous.”

  B.J. purred when his caress found the center of her heat. Sliding her panties down her thighs, he nibbled his way up her throat.

  “Do you want to know what I think of Ralphie Smardo?” he asked just before catching her earlobe with his teeth.

  Sighing out her pleasure as she tilted her head to the side to give him better access, B.J. asked, “No, I’m not sure I do.”

  He chuckled and told her anyway. “I think he was scared because you’re too much of a woman, and he knew he’d never be able to handle you.”

  B.J. lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, but you think you can handle me, huh?” Her voice held a certain challenge even though her eyes sparked with pleasure at his true meaning.

  He grinned and tossed her underwear over his shoulder. “No, not really. But that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning, Grady woke hard and hungry. And even though his stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling, he decided to ignore his a
ppetite in favor of the other pressing need. An hour later, showered and dressed, he whistled as he strode to his truck.

  Before Houston, he’d always been eager to go to work, to escape his lonely, memory-filled house. But this morning, he felt reluctant to leave. B.J. was inside. It didn’t matter if she’d be heading out soon herself to go to the hangar. She was in there now. And since she was, that was where he wanted to be.

  He cringed, thinking he sounded pathetic for wanting to be with her nonstop. But then he realized, hey, he was a newlywed. Of course he wanted to spend every waking hour with his wife.

  Realizing, yes, he was indeed a newlywed, it suddenly struck him they’d totally bypassed a honeymoon. He should ask her tonight if she wanted to go away for a few days. . .or weeks. He grinned. The woman would probably want to see a NASCAR race, which was perfectly fine by him. He liked her tastes and was happy about the fact he’d never have to attend another craft fair in his life.

  Craving coffee, he decided to stop by the diner on his way to Rawlings Oil. Someone at the office usually made a pot, but whoever did couldn’t brew to save their life. . .and since the smell made B.J. sick to her stomach, he couldn’t make his own at home. As he stepped into the café, however, the smell of frying bacon, scrambled eggs and hot apple pie made his stomach growl.

  He ordered a full meal with his coffee even though he’d already eaten once this morning. Grinning, he realized it was entirely B.J.’s fault. He wouldn’t have worked up such an appetite if she’d kept her hands off him in the shower and hadn’t demanded she wash his back because he’d missed a spot. After that, he’d felt obligated to offer the same courtesy. And pretty soon, they were cleaning each other against the shower wall. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d been inside her only minutes earlier. He was always ready for more with B.J.

  The extra-long shower and double breakfast made him late for work, but he wasn’t too concerned. If he was needed so badly, he’d just stay later this evening. Being late was worth having such a wonderful morning.

  He dropped by the office first thing. After checking his e-mails and answering machine to find no one had left him any pressing matters to attend to, he decided to head out and spend the day in the field. For some reason, he wanted to be active today. He felt energized enough he could probably go for hours without a break.