by Linda Kage
“I’ll stop by and say hi on my way home,” he relented.
But that was it. He wouldn’t stay for a meal and allow both his parents to gang up on him as they tried to get a bead on how he was really dealing with his life these days.
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m not digressing again. I don’t need to see a doctor, and I don’t need any kind of medication. There’s no depression and no more insomnia. I’m fine.” Actually, he’d probably prefer the insomnia to the dreams he’d been having about a certain big-mouthed tomboy.
Everything gathered, he lifted his toolbox and started for his truck.
“I know you don’t like my pity, Grady,” Tucker said, falling into step beside him. “But you’re my son, and I can’t stand to see you this way.”
Grady closed his eyes and fisted his hands around the handle of the toolbox, wondering if B.J. had been right in Houston. Did he bring on everyone’s sympathy by acting so pitiful? “There’s nothing to be done about it, though,” he muttered. Sometimes, he just couldn’t stop hurting.
“Yeah, well. . .doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Tucker answered. “If there’s ever anything you need from me or your mother, we’ll be there—”
“I know,” Grady cut in with a reluctant smile. He stopped and turned to face his father. “I know you’d die for me, if you had to. But you can’t live for me, Dad. I have to figure out how to do that myself.”
“That’s why this sucks so much,” Tucker relented as his shoulders slumped. “Because I can’t live your life for you, can I? I can’t get you past this rough patch. God. This has to be the worst part of parenthood.”
Grady wouldn’t know. His child had been born dead, cut out of his wife with a knife.
He busied himself by setting his equipment in the bed of his truck. “I saw him, you know.”
Tucker frowned. “Saw who?”
“Bennett.” His son.
His dad sucked in a breath but didn’t respond. Grady stared into the bed of the truck, assailed by memories.
“He was bloody and still, curled in the fetal position. The doctor and nurses were so busy trying to work on him and Amy, I don’t think they realized I was still in there, watching the cesarean.” Grady lifted his face and glanced over his shoulder at his dad. “He had a really thick head of hair. . .just like Tanner.” Though they would’ve only been cousins, the two boys probably would’ve looked like twins.
Tucker wiped at his face and quietly said, “God, Grady. I was wrong. I haven’t lived through the worst part of parenthood, have I?”
Grady sent him a sad smile. He shook his head, thinking he shouldn’t have said anything. But he couldn’t seem to forget that flight to Houston when B.J. Gilmore had talked about Amy. When she’d told the story about Amy baking Leroy’s porn, he hadn’t felt like someone was cutting him in half. It made him wonder if maybe he was going to get through this after all.
But seeing his father’s sympathetic glance told him otherwise. The despair came rushing back, clogging his windpipe and making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t understand why he’d been able to share an Amy-story with B.J., a woman he wasn’t all that close to, and he couldn’t bear to mention his son to his own father.
Maybe it was because B.J. hadn’t looked at him with pity or tried to find a way to fix his misery. Instead, she’d opted to remember a happy time, and she’d actually made him smile over the recollection. Grady hadn’t smiled from hearing Amy’s name since the day she’d died. But somehow B.J. had given him joy from a simple memory.
He wondered briefly if that was why it’d been so good to be inside her. She was the first person in two and a half years to look at him and see a man. . .not a widower.
In the blink of an eye, all the bitterness and anger he’d been feeling for the tomboy evaporated. Suddenly, he was very glad she’d prodded him into her hotel room.
****
B.J. was late to work the next morning. Not that there was any kind of set schedule around the Gilmore Hangar, but she usually showed up before eight. This morning, though, she slept in for some reason. Stranger yet, she’d gone to bed early the night before. When she’d finally opened her eyes, she hadn’t felt like moving. Thinking she was probably getting a nasty summer flu, she pushed herself up and took a long, hot shower until she worked out the soreness in her muscles.
But as soon as she started the coffee for breakfast, her stomach rejected the smell. So, she dumped out what she’d brewed and fixed herself a couple pieces of dry toast.
On the drive to work, she frowned, wondering why she didn’t have a sore throat. Experimentally, she coughed and then pressed her fingers to her larynx, but her windpipe wasn’t even raw. Then she sniffed through her nose and frowned. None of her nasal passages were congested. It was just her stomach going to town with a nasty cramp fest and a strange dizzy feeling, making her continually lightheaded. She wasn’t achy like she usually got when she was sick, but she sure felt tired.
It made no sense. What was even more confusing, she started to recover by the time she hit the airport. Shaking her head in bemusement, B.J. parked her truck and started for the hangar. She veered toward the office so she could check the day’s schedule. She had a few aerial pictures she wanted to take, but other than that, she didn’t remember any particular runs that had to be made.
The second she opened the office door, however, where her father was already seated behind the desk, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit her like a twister attacking a trailer park. The aroma went straight to her gut and started the uneasy feeling all over again.
Covering her mouth, she pushed inside and plowed her way to the bathroom. Five minutes later, she exited on unsteady feet and glared at the coffee machine as she headed toward the water cooler.
“Weren’t you scrawny yesterday too?”
B.J. nodded and guzzled water, mopping at her face when some spilled over the brim and dribbled down her chin.
“Well, you pregnant or something?” Pop asked.
B.J. stopped drinking, lowered the cup, and stared at her father. A sudden vision filled her of Grady levered above her, straining as he said, “I want slow.” Her mind had been so busy on trying to speed him up, she hadn’t even worried about protection.
“Damn, Pop,” she murmured, running a hand over her suddenly clammy face. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
He scowled and pulled a can of chew from his back pocket. “Well. You been with a feller?” he asked as he flipped the lid and pinched out a finger full of tobacco.
She nodded, not able to meet his gaze as she silently answered.
“Use rubbers?”
B.J. gave a slight shake of the head. She risked a brief glance his way and watched him tuck the chew in his cheek and then wipe his hands on his pants.
“Well,” he said and sighed as if he was too old for this. Frowning disapprovingly, he started in. “What’d I always tell you about protection, girl?”
“I know, Pop,” B.J. muttered in absolute mortification. But, hell. It had been years since she’d gotten any lectures on sex from her father. He’d never had any prejudices about her being female. He’d line her up with her brothers and give her the same exact speech on safe sex he gave the boys.
“I know,” she repeated quietly and closed her eyes. “I just. . .this was different.”
He made a sound that said he’d heard that line before and didn’t buy it. “Was it that Smardo boy then?”
“What?!” B.J. burst out. Her eyes flew open, and she whipped her head up to stare at him in horror. “God, no. What in the world made you think—”
The facts struck her, and her mouth dropped open. Feeling her face heat, she glanced away and wiped at her mouth. “Guess you heard about that little scene with him in the diner yesterday morning, huh?”
“Guess I did,” Jeb answered.
She could feel him trying to crawl into her brain and figure out who might be responsible for a possible pregnancy, but B.J. wasn’t
about to tell him anything. Not yet. She wanted to make sure it was true first.
“If it wasn’t Smardo, then who’re we talking about here?”
B.J. refused to speak. She refused to even think of the person they were talking about. Not yet. . .not until she had all the facts. She’d already caused Grady Rawlings to suffer enough in the past month. She wasn’t going to throw his name around until she was certain. And probably not even then.
“Well, then. . .tell me or don’t tell me. It don’t matter none,” Jeb said with suddenly tired-looking eyes. “You still got a situation here to deal with. So, I’d say you best get yourself checked out and see if there’s a bun in there or not.”
Chapter Eight
Two days later, B.J. sat in the doctor’s office, numb and dazed. The twenty-seven-year-old tomboy of Tommy Creek, Texas was pregnant.
“I’m going to give you a list of over-the-counter prenatal vitamins,” Dr. Carl told her. He was the only gynecologist for a hundred miles, so B.J. had scheduled an appointment with him. Now she wished she’d just taken one of those home pregnancy things, because hearing a professional’s word on the subject made this feel way too real and unavoidable.
“What I want you to do is choose one brand and start taking it immediately. Your body needs all sorts of nutrients it didn’t before, and your remaining healthy is of the upmost importance. Now, don’t forget to schedule an appointment with Lara at the front desk for next month before you leave. And here’s a couple pamphlets you need to read through.”
Too stunned to argue with the man, B.J. nodded, slipped the pile of papers from his hand with limp fingers, and walked like a zombie toward the secretary’s desk.
Dr. Carl’s receptionist, Lara Alberts, was a middle-aged woman who liked to stick her long nose in other people’s business. When B.J. approached her, she stumbled a step, realizing Lara was going to discover her condition. Shit.
“Well, hey there, B.J.,” Lara greeted. “I didn’t realize it was time for your yearly already. I thought you visited more around the end of the. . .” Her words died off as she opened B.J.’s file and read the reason for her visit. “Oh my!” she gasped and raised wide, curious eyes. “You’re. . .you’re. . .” Her gaze fell to B.J.’s stomach.
“I’m ready to check out,” B.J. growled, glowering as she plopped her checkbook on the counter. “What’s the co-pay?”
Lara fumbled for a minute, glancing at her with wide, curious eyes every few seconds as she looked up the amount.
Yes, it’s a goddamned supernatural phenomenon. Someone knocked up B.J. Gilmore. What a freaking wonder. The world must be coming to an end.
But B.J. kept her trap shut and settled for a healthy glare. Lara, thank God, didn’t pry for more details, though she did try to talk about the weather as they hashed out a date for B.J.’s next appointment. Not in the mood for any kind of chitchat, B.J. merely booked it out of there as soon at Lara handed her a card bearing the date of her check up.
She walked to her truck in a trance.
Pregnant.
It didn’t seem real. What in the hell was she going to do with a baby? It was like Santa Claus moving to the Bahamas, Nashville turning rock and roll, the White House hosting the worldwide mud wrestling competition. It just didn’t happen.
B.J. didn’t know anything about kids. She’d been one a long time ago, but that had sucked, end of story. She saw her brother’s daughter every couple of weeks, but his girl was the spitting image of her mother, begging and whining all the time until her parents gave her what she wanted.
Shuddering in horror, B.J. hoped like hell she didn’t have a kid like Buck’s brat. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the steering wheel, trying to picture a little brown-eyed girl with her hair and Grady’s—
An image of Grady flashed through her mind.
Grady. Oh, God. Grady.
Remembering him, she sat up straight, her eyes flying wide open. “Holy shit.”
This was his kid too. Grady was going to be a daddy. . .again. Suddenly, she felt like curling into a ball and weeping—yet another sign of how pregnant she really was. Her hormones were already whacked out of control.
But, damn it, how was this going to affect Grady? He’d be devastated. He’d already lost two children before they’d ever been born. Amy had miscarried halfway through one pregnancy before she’d died in the delivery room with her second.
Amy had wanted a baby so bad. Even B.J.’d heard about all the trips to the fertility doctor she’d taken to get pregnant. And then she hadn’t been able to stay that way without having problems. Grady and Amy’s attempt to start a family had been a long, tortuous battle, ending in tragedy.
The fact that his one act of indiscretion with another woman had ended with a conception was going to be a bitter pill for him to swallow. He probably already felt like he’d committed adultery on Amy, and now the ultimate horror had happened. He was going to have a baby with another woman. God, why didn’t B.J. just go and spit on Amy’s grave while she was at it?
She didn’t want to be the one to tell him. She wasn’t a coward by any means. In fact, she never backed away from a good confrontation. But she did not want to see his face when he found out. It might send him over the edge. She feared he was already having a hard enough time dealing with the fact he’d had sex with someone who wasn’t his wife. She didn’t want to pile a kid on him as well.
It wasn’t fair. Everything was wrong. Amy should still be alive. She should be the happy mother of a whole brood by now. And Grady should be with her, not shackled to B.J., of all people, because she’d pressured him into one hot, unforgettable encounter.
Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to think up a way to escape this. Maybe she could flee the country and go live on a beach in Cancun. Yeah, she and her baby could be surfer bums. They could open a bar in the sand—like in the movie Cocktail—and drink margaritas every night of the week. Right. Except the whole baby and bar mix was taboo. Shit.
Or. . .or. . .hey, she could convince Grady it wasn’t his. Now, there was an idea. Since Ralphie had been spouting off about skinny dipping, Grady probably already thought she had a pretty active sex life. She could say she’d been seeing some other guy in the next county over.
She’d have to lie about the date of conception as well and claim it was undercooked when it came out early. Or maybe she could make up an affair before their time together, which would make the kid overcooked. Either way, it didn’t matter. The lie would be totally worth it to keep him from this kind of trauma. He’d buy her story because he’d want to. He wouldn’t want to worry about raising a child who wasn’t Amy’s.
On the other hand, she’d be keeping him from his baby if she did that. And Grady Rawlings was one responsible fellow. He’d want the truth, and he’d insist on doing something about it. If he made a mistake, he lived up to it. He’d have to be a part of the baby’s life and would want at least partial custody.
God, but wouldn’t that be fun working through a custody battle with a high and mighty Rawlings? Not only was Grady going to hate her, but every member of the community would too for messing with the sacred Rawlings family. With his surname being hallowed in these parts, it was even more of a horror he’d been chosen as the next leader of the Rawlings Dynasty. Who wouldn’t think she’d trapped him into parenthood for a shot at his money?
B.J. groaned and rubbed at the aching spot in the center of her forehead. She had to tell him, no matter how awful it was going to be. There was no other logical, moral-minded choice. The big question was, how was she going to do it?
Hey, Slim, I’m pregnant. So. . .have a nice day.
Or, maybe. . .
Remember that one night in Houston when I attacked you and we did it without a condom? Twice. Yeah, well. . .oops.
Shit.
There was no easy way to break the news.
****
Grady knew B.J. was trying to reach him. He’d seen her name flash across his caller
ID twice now. And he’d been home both times. On her first call, he’d been too stunned to answer.
Well, maybe stunned wasn’t quite the right word. Yeah, at first there was shock. Why in the hell would she call him? By rights she should think he was a bastard because he hadn’t contacted her. But then the tingling apprehension set in. She was on the phone, and if he picked up, he’d hear her voice. If he heard her voice, he had a feeling he’d probably wind up in bed with her before the night was over.
Knowing that was exactly what his body craved, he wondered if that was really what he wanted. It still felt too soon. He didn’t like rushing his decisions, and this especially was something he needed to think through. . .completely. Starting an affair with B.J. Gilmore would be complicated on all sorts of levels. But from the way his blood hummed through his body at the mere knowledge she was seeking him out, patience and deliberation suddenly didn’t seem like such a great virtue.
Before he could make the decision to talk to her or not, his answering machine picked up. Amy’s voice clicked on, telling the caller to leave a message, and B.J. disconnected, which was probably for the best because hearing Amy when he’d been all gung ho for a taste of B.J.’s voice had filled him with a guilty bee, buzzing through his system with stinging awareness.
He wasn’t sure why he’d never bothered to change the old message. It was macabre to keep a dead woman’s voice like that. But deep inside, he just couldn’t relinquish what little he had left of his wife. He’d never hear her again if he destroyed the recording.
Grady hadn’t given a damn what anyone else had thought about it until B.J. tried to call. Wondering if she considered him pathetic, he brushed his fingers over the phone where a recording of Amy’s words lay trapped for all eternity. The quandary of whether to delete her greeting washed over him briefly before he finally decided against it and turned away.
The next night, however, when the phone rang again, Grady’s muscles tightened with tension, and he hurried to the caller ID to see if it was B.J. It wasn’t like he never got phone calls. His family was constantly ringing him for all types of reasons. But instinctively, he knew it was her.
