The Trouble With Tomboys

by Linda Kage

  “Ready?” she asked, giving him one last chance to make a pit stop before they went wheels up.

  Again, he merely nodded. B.J. held a hand down to him. He frowned at her palm, looking confused.

  “Your bag?” she prompted.

  He lifted his clear blue gaze and quietly said, “I got it.”

  She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Now there was an honest to God gentleman for you. He’d probably cut off his arm before letting some woman lift his load.

  Shrugging, she muttered, “Suit yourself,” and slithered inside the belly of the plane, leaving Mr. Gentleman to follow. She settled into the cockpit, tugged on her headset, and checked the panel controls. Just as she started the engine, Grady slid into the seat beside her, grabbing his own headset.

  She glanced over and thought, Holy Hell. How was she supposed to make it through an hour-long ride with him alone in such a tiny space and be expected to keep her hands to herself?

  Chapter Two

  Having already walked through her pre-flight inspection before the poker game, B J. was ready for takeoff. Daring a second glance Grady’s way as he pulled on his safety harness, she told herself to focus her attention on her job. But she’d never felt someone’s presence so much in her life; it made her want to crawl out of her skin.

  Assuming a joke would help her little funk, she watched him situate his seatbelt into place and said, “That’s not going to do you much good if we crash.”

  At his short frown, she cleared her throat and quickly turned away. Loudly popping her gum, she released the brakes, and they slowly rolled forward.

  She was successfully able to ignore him as she contacted the tower and started toward the runway. But when the plane first lifted into the air, she noticed Grady’s hand clamp around his knee, his short nails digging into dark denim.

  She made a point to look at his white-knuckled grip. “Not too keen on flying, huh?”

  He glanced over, and she wondered how anyone could look so miserable. “Not really,” he answered, which made her feel bad about the crashing joke.

  “So, why didn’t you just drive to Houston?” she wondered. “It’s only a five, six hour run.”

  Grady gave a slight shake of the head. “I had a meeting here this morning. There wasn’t enough time. Besides, I hate driving in Houston more than I hate flying.”

  B.J. was a little shocked he’d actually spoken three sentences to her. . .in a row. She’d never heard him talk this much. Not in the past couple of years, anyway.

  She nodded. “Yeah, big city driving ticks me off too. There’s just too many people who get in my way. Too bad they arrest you for running over dumbasses. You know?” She hitched an ornery grin his way, but Grady didn’t respond. Not even an amused smile. B.J. sighed to herself. Tough crowd.

  She waited for him to say something else. When he remained silent, she returned her attention to the air. She was used to all different types of riders. Usually, customers sat in the back unless they were the chatty or curious type; then they rode in the co-pilot seat and gabbed away as she flew them to their destination.

  But Grady was neither. She figured it was a control issue with him. He needed to be up front where everything transpired, to see what happened. That way, he could get a handle on the situation. She couldn’t blame him there. She hated being a passenger, would rather be the one driving—or flying, as in this case. And man, she loved to fly.

  There was a small load of cargo in the back, so she would’ve been making this flight even if Grady hadn’t needed a lift. But it was nice to have another presence beside her, even if he didn’t talk. What wasn’t so nice was the way her hormones honed in on the poor, depressed widower—a widower whose dead wife used to be her babysitter back in the day.

  Striving to keep her dirty thoughts at bay, she attempted to start a conversation.

  “How’s the twins?” she asked of his two younger sisters. Jo Ellen and Emma Leigh had been a couple of years older than her in school. She hadn’t been close to them, but, hey, what else was there to talk about. . .beside the fact she wanted to put the plane on auto pilot and jump his bones at thirty thousand feet?

  “They’re fine,” Grady answered.

  B.J. nodded. “I haven’t gotten around to seeing Jo Ellen’s kid yet. It was a boy, wasn’t it?”

  Grady nodded. “Tanner,” he said.

  B.J. glanced at him. “Beg pardon?”

  “His name’s Tanner,” he explained. “Jo Ellen’s son.”

  “Oh. . .” B.J. nodded. Then, “Right. Yeah, I think I knew that. Probably a good-looking tike.” Both his parents certainly were.

  “He has a lot of hair.”

  “Well, huh,” B.J. said, wondering what the hell else there was to say about a kid. She knew squat about ankle-biters. The only child she’d ever really been around was her niece. And Buck’s daughter was an honest-to-God brat. “That’s. . .that’s good. I guess.”

  Grady didn’t bother to elaborate; she wondered if he was thinking about his own baby, the one who’d been born dead, the one who’d taken Amy’s life when it’d tried to make its entrance into the world.

  Starting to feel ill at ease, she squirmed in her chair to get more comfortable. Grady kept his face turned away from her as he stared out his side window at the scenery below.

  “Can you see your house from here?” she asked.

  When he glanced at her, she winked. But he merely turned away again and continued window gazing.

  B.J. took a moment to study him, wondering if it was possible to describe someone as skinny and muscled at the same time. He looked like an Ethiopian on steroids, minus the potbelly. Okay, it wasn’t quite to that extreme, but he was pretty thin. He’d always been a slim man. Now he looked. . .hollow. He was definitely leaner than when she’d last seen him, which had probably been about six months ago.

  Before she realized what she was going to blurt out, she commented to herself, “Amy must’ve been a good cook.”

  But no sooner did the words leave her tongue than she snapped her mouth shut, wishing them away.

  Grady’s head whipped around so quickly B.J. swallowed her gum.

  “What?” he said in a strangled voice.

  She froze for a good three seconds. Oh, damn, oh, damn. She’d forgotten Amy was a taboo topic.

  Feeling like she should apologize or something, B.J. stalled a moment by checking all her gauges and making sure everything was still running smoothly. But just as suddenly, she felt like a big weenie. What the hell did she want to apologize for? This was her plane, and B.J. never watched her words. She had a right to talk about her old babysitter if she wanted to.

  Lifting her chin in stubborn rebellion, she nodded her head in his direction and found a fresh piece of gum in her front shirt pocket to stuff inside her cheek. “You ain’t so meaty around the ribs anymore. I just figured you might be missing out on your three square meals.”

  There. She’d shown him. She hadn’t backed down from the formidable Grady Rawlings. And she’d dared to mention his wife.

  He was quiet a moment before he answered with a quiet, “I get by.”

  Thinking back on Amy, B.J. let out a quick laugh. “I remember when she used to babysit Rudy and me. She never did cook much, but this one time it was Pop’s birthday. She wanted to bake him a cake and, man. . .”

  She paused to shake her head at the fond memory. “She didn’t check the oven before she turned it on. Preheated it to three hundred fifty degrees. But not two minutes into whipping the batter, she stopped and sniffed the air. ‘You smell something burning, B.J.?’ she asked me. So, we ran to the oven and pulled it open, only to find a stack of magazines catching fire.

  “I guess since no one ever used our oven, Leroy had been hiding his porn in there. I couldn’t tell who was more upset over the whole ordeal. Leroy because all his good smut was charred black, or Amy because she was afraid she’d ruined our stove.”

  Grady looked a little shell-shoc
ked, like he couldn’t believe someone other than he had a memory of Amy tucked away inside them. He frowned thoughtfully. “I remember her telling me about that.”

  “That’s right,” B.J. said, her shoulders slumping because her story wasn’t as original as it could’ve been. “I forgot. You were seeing her back then too, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he returned. “I was.”

  The way he said “was” about broke her heart. She wasn’t typically such a softy, but she didn’t understand why people had to suffer. If an animal was in pain, you put it out of its misery.

  Once she’d gone with Pop to the vet when they’d had their old, cancer-ridden dog, Charlie Horse, put to sleep. She remembered feeling relieved Charlie wasn’t going to hurt anymore. But B.J. didn’t know how to deal with humans in pain. Couldn’t exactly put them to sleep when they hurt too much.

  It bothered her more than she could describe to watch someone’s feelings bleed out. Since Grady Rawlings’ wound was over two years old, it was even more disheartening.

  B.J. didn’t do sympathy well, so she shut her trap for the rest of the ride.

  ****

  If a pair of white-hot needles had been jammed into each of his temples, Grady didn’t think his skull could ache any more than it throbbed now. But flying always did that to him, messing with his equilibrium until his head felt like it was going to internally combust.

  By the time his meeting let out, all he wanted to do was crawl back to his hotel, find a bed, and overdose on some Tylenol so he could fall into a coma-like state for a week or so.

  As his buyer pushed to his feet, he did the same, ignoring the persistent pulse behind his eyes. They both moved out of the way of the table and toward the exit.

  “Always good doing business with you, Grady,” Hammond Weatherly said as he thrust out his hand for a hearty shake.

  “You as well,” he murmured, accepting the Texas-sized grip Weatherly strapped onto his palm.

  “Been a while since you came around here, though. I’d been dealing with your dad so much lately, I kinda figured you’d stepped out of the family business.”

  “No,” Grady said. He probably would’ve tacked on a few more comments if his head weren’t so sore. Then again, he really didn’t want to get into any of the reasons why he’d been off the grid in the past few years. “I’ve been around,” he finally supplied with a lame attempt not to sound rude.

  “Well, I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw you,” Weatherly mused more to himself, scratching his chin and frowning a second before his face cleared. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at Grady. “Now I remember. Your wife was expecting her first last time we met up.” He grinned. “Was it a boy or girl?”

  For a second, Grady couldn’t talk. . . couldn’t breathe. Agony clogged his chest, and he forgot about the hammering in his temples. His vision blurred, going foggy and slanted. He concentrated on sucking oxygen back into his lungs and blinking until the world veered back into focus.

  Weatherly didn’t know. About Amy, or the baby, or any of it.

  Grady cleared his throat, lowered his eyes to the floor and mumbled, “It was a boy.” Which wasn’t a lie. It had been a boy. A dead boy, but Grady didn’t particularly want to divulge that detail and make the both of them uncomfortable.

  Weatherly chuckled and slugged Grady companionably on the shoulder. “Guess I owe you a belated congratulations, old son. Had any more since the first?”

  Unable to speak, Grady shook his head. He lifted his face and managed a tight smile. “I need to go.” His voice sounded like shredded gravel, but at least he’d managed to utter understandable words.

  “Oh, sure, sure,” Weatherly said, taking a step back to let Grady pass. “You got a long drive ahead of you.”

  Grady didn’t mention he’d chartered a plane for the trip. Instead he nodded and said over his shoulder as he moved toward the exit, “I’ll make sure our secretary gets back to you on that tax issue.”

  “Thanks, Grady. See you around.”

  In the outer office, Grady nodded toward the receptionist and strode straight for the exit, looking neither left nor right. He held his briefcase stiffly down at his side as he pushed his way out the door. The transportation service he’d made arrangements with before coming to Houston already had a car waiting at the curb. The driver held the back door open for him, and without a word, he slid into his seat.

  The ride back to his hotel was a silent misery. He stared out the side window, waiting until he could close himself alone in his suite. If he could keep it together until he got to his room, he knew he’d be okay. But traffic was a bitch. They had to take two detours before reaching their destination. Nearly an hour passed before his chauffer pulled to a stop.

  Grady managed a brief thank you and exited before the man could come around and open his door. He walked through the overly long lobby, feeling as if everyone was staring at him, thinking he must look miserable, like some kind of defeated widower. An urge rose inside him to stop under the jeweled chandelier in the center of the vestibule and shout at the top of his lungs for everyone to look somewhere else. He was fine. But he knew he was merely being paranoid. No one stared. No one here pitied him. And no one paid him any attention as he pressed the elevator button to wait for the doors to open.

  Thankfully, no one entered with him, and the mirrored cubicle remained empty as he stepped inside. The doors slid shut, and finally he was alone. Grady’s shoulders sagged a fraction of an inch, letting out some of their starch. He closed his eyes and leaned to the side to rest his cheek against the cool surface of the elevator walls.

  Peace.

  Well, mostly peace. After Weatherly’s mention of Amy and the baby, the visions swimming around his brain were filled with blood and death, tears and heartbreak. But at least no one else was around to aggravate the agony any further. By himself, he could deal with the memories. Around others, he always had to be so damn strong and unaffected. He much preferred the private pain.

  Images swirled through him until suddenly he could see Amy as a teenager, standing in the Gilmore family kitchen where he often visited when she was babysitting. Her light blonde hair was pulled up into one of her impossibly neat ponytails. She looked so young, it made his chest hurt. When she grinned, a dimple dipped the right side of her cheek.

  “I tried to bake Jeb a cake yesterday,” she told him before throwing back her head and laughing.

  Grady sucked in a breath; his eyes snapped open only to find himself alone in the elevator. He could remember her telling him about burning Leroy Gilmore’s porn as if it’d only happened yesterday. She’d laughed so hard as she recounted the story, he’d barely understood a word she said.

  She’d been young and happy then.

  Grady closed his eyes again and tried to recapture the image. It’d been over two years since he’d envisioned her smile. But in his desperate attempt to grasp a happy memory, the only scene imprinting itself on the inside of his eyelids was of her panting and crying as yet another deadly labor pain struck.

  Sweat trickled down the side of his face. He opened his eyes and wiped the perspiration away with the back of his hand as the elevator doors opened. Grady took a step forward but jerked to a stop when he spotted the woman standing in front of his room door.

  He didn’t recognize her at first with her back to him. In cowboy boots, lean form-fitting jeans, and a pale yellow short-sleeved blouse, she could’ve been anyone. A dark mass of brown hair hung most of the way down her back, held together in a high, sloppy ponytail. She had a nice, feminine figure full of healthy curves in all the right places. Grady narrowed his eyes, wondering who the hell she was and why the hell she was standing in front of his door, staring at it as if she’d just knocked and was waiting for an answer.

  Obviously growing impatient with her wait, she cocked her hip to the side and rested her hand on the generous curve, letting out a loud sigh. Finally, recognition set in. Putting that attitude in her
stance, she told him exactly who she was.

  The Gilmore woman. B.J.

  Grady winced and glanced around, hoping he could spot some kind of deliverance to save him from having to gag through another encounter with her today. They weren’t scheduled to see each other again until eight the next morning when they were to meet at the airplane to return home, and he wanted it to stay that way.

  Not that he minded B.J. Gilmore. He’d never much cared for her family as a whole, but he’d never had any problem with her alone. Maybe that was because Amy used to babysit her, and he couldn’t despise anyone who’d been partially raised by the love of his life. Though, admittedly, her younger brother, Rudy, had been one of Amy’s wards too, and Grady didn’t have much use for that lazy drunk. The two elder Gilmore boys were equally worthless, one a total dumbass and the other so mean and wild he was scarily unstable.

  The one thing Grady remembered about the only female sister was her mouth and how much she liked to use it. She could talk a person into the ground. Since talking was the last thing he cared to do, avoiding her seemed like the best plan. But slipping past her without being spotted and escaping into the blessed silence of his room would to be the real trick.

  Suddenly wishing he hadn’t booked their two rooms adjacent to each other, he decided to stay put and pray she wasn’t hanging around his next pass. But the stupid elevator let out a blaring ding before the doors began to close. B.J. lifted her head and turned his way. Caught, Grady gritted his teeth and stepped between the closing doors and into the hall. He lowered his face, thinking she might not recognize him if he kept walking by.

  “There you are,” she called.

  Damn.

  He glanced up and fell to a pause. She’d moved closer to him, was only about five feet away. A pair of big brown eyes hit him full in the chest. She blinked as if startled to see him dressed in his business gear. Her gaze ran down his suit, missing nothing as it slid over his jacket and slacks. The blatant female appreciation in her stare made his throat constrict. He itched to tug at his tie and breathe again, but refused to show her any sign of weakness.