The Trouble With Tomboys

by Linda Kage

  B.J. frowned. Who was this? “Yep. Sure is.”

  “Oh. Well, good. This is Jo Ellen. Jo Ellen Gerhardt.”

  Pausing in her perusal of the mail, B.J. lifted her face. Oh, dear God. Here we go again. If it wasn’t the father, it was the daughter. But, Jesus, if Jo Ellen planned to give B.J. a piece of her mind for getting herself knocked up by Grady, then she was going about it in way too polite a voice.

  “Okay,” B.J. said. And?

  She could imagine what kind of threats and name-calling Grady’s sister was going to start tossing around.

  “Mama called last night and told us the happy news. . .about the baby.”

  “Yeah?”

  Dropping the cable bill in her hand, B.J. squinted blankly across the room and wondered what her caller’s main objection was. She seriously doubted the woman wanted to congratulate her. Thinking Grady’s sister could only have nefarious plans just like her dad, B.J. braced for the outpouring.

  “Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to come over for a little while,” Jo Ellen said. “To, you know, girl chat.”

  Girl chat? B.J. winced at the word before the main subject of the question struck her. Jo Ellen was inviting her over?

  Okay, so maybe she wanted to cuss her out in person.

  “Are you busy for the next hour or two?” Jo Ellen sounded almost hesitant.

  Well, hell. A whole hour’s worth of name-calling? Grady’s sister must have some doozies. She could already imagine the typical insults. Gold digger, hoochie mama, bitch, slut, whore. But damn, a whole hour’s worth?

  “I guess I’ve got some time,” she muttered on a sigh. Might as well get this over with now.

  “Great,” Jo Ellen gave the perky reply. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  As she hung up, B.J. glanced down at her clothing. She’d been outside in the heat all day under a grimy plane engine. She should probably take a shower and change first. But, hell. Who honestly dressed up for a dressing down? Shrugging, she wiped her palms on her pants and headed back out the door.

  ****

  Five minutes later, she stood at the Gerhardt’s, ringing the bell. In these parts, everyone knew where everyone else lived. In fact, B.J. could remember who’d lived in this particular house before Jo Ellen and her husband had bought it two years ago when they’d married. It was a modest-sized place, but clean and well taken care of. Jo Ellen was a Rawlings who’d actually married down on the social chain.

  Come to think of it, Grady had done the same thing when he’d hooked up with Amy. In fact, Amy’s father still worked for Rawlings Oil in the office as a peon paper-pusher. Then again, the Rawlings family were the top dogs in this area. They couldn’t help but marry down. Emma Leigh, Jo Ellen’s twin sister, had to move all the way to Reno to find someone as rich as her to marry.

  While B.J. was still wondering if Grady’s sister was going to accuse her of being an opportunistic social climber, the front door opened before she could knock.

  “B.J.!” Jo Ellen said with a pleasant greeting smile, managing to sound surprised as if she hadn’t been expecting company. “That was quick.”

  As Grady’s sister held open her front door and stepped aside, B.J. entered a pristine living room that belonged on the cover of one of those home decorating magazines. Glancing down at her boots, she hoped to high heaven she hadn’t stepped in anything gooey lately.

  “I made some pastries,” Jo Ellen said as she pushed the door shut, imprisoning B.J. in the house with her. “The kitchen’s this way.”

  She started off, and B.J. was helpless but to follow.

  Jo Ellen Rawlings-Gerhardt was pageant-queen pretty. With her petite build and flawless complexion, she certainly didn’t look like a farmer’s wife. But B.J. couldn’t fault the woman her choice in men. Cooper Gerhardt was as masculine as Jo Ellen was feminine. He had one of those body-builder physiques with a golden Adonis’s head pasted on his hunky, muscular shoulders.

  Though Jo Ellen had short hair, it was styled to perfection. It was dark brown just like every other member of her family’s, but she had hers frosted with thick blonde highlights and sprayed into a neat, fashionable pose. B.J. had to keep herself from reaching up to make sure her ponytail wasn’t hanging limp. She hadn’t touched her mane since that morning after taking a shower.

  The kitchen was as immaculate as the front room. With sparkling white cabinets and counters, it looked brand new and extra clean.

  In the depth of her brain, she wondered if Amy had been such a good housekeeper too. B.J. guessed she had. She used to give off that aura of perfection just like Jo Ellen did.

  “I made cinnamon rolls.” Jo Ellen opened the oven and pulled out a pan where she’d been warming them. As she turned to find B.J. fallen to a stop, she grinned. “When I was pregnant, I was utterly ravenous for sweets. I couldn’t get enough of them.”

  She held out the tray of still-warm rolls. B.J. stared at them, heard her stomach growl for a taste and cautiously lifted her face to the woman offering them, expecting some kind of ulterior motive behind such a kind act, like maybe as soon as she reached for a roll, the floor would open under her and she’d fall into the dungeon below.

  Jo Ellen frowned, obviously curious as to why her guest wasn’t immediately snatching a roll. Not wanting to offend, B.J. shrugged and followed her stomach’s advice, scooping up one and bringing it to her mouth.

  Grady’s sister beamed in approval. “Mama told me how much coffee turned your stomach, so I bought some juice. That’ll be good for the baby.”

  When she poured a glass full of apple cider and nudged it encouragingly in front of B.J., B.J. paused and eyed it warily. Suddenly, the entire visit felt like one big trap.

  Lifting her gaze, she said, “If you’re oozing all this kindness in order to make me feel like slime for putting your brother through nine months of worry-ridden hell, then you’re doing a damn fine job.”

  Jo Ellen smiled as she picked up her own cinnamon roll and nibbled off an end. “Well, thank you,” she said, as if complimented. “But, no, that wasn’t my intent.”

  “Then. . .?” B.J. pressed, giving her an impatient look.

  Jo Ellen sighed, sat down her roll and picked up a napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth. “B.J.,” she said patiently. “This baby you’re having is going to be my son’s first cousin, my son’s only cousin within a hundred miles. So I think it’s pertinent we get to know each other. Besides, you’re going to need a lot of help in the next few months to come, and I don’t want you to be left out in the dark.”

  “Help?” B.J. asked blankly.

  Jo Ellen’s face softened. “Honey,” she said, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on top of B.J.’s. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into? You’re going to have a baby. A baby.”

  B.J. blanched. “Oh, God,” she said. Why did Jo Ellen have to go and remind her? She’d been doing so good at avoiding that little detail.

  “The way I see it, you’re probably clueless about how to deal with this.”

  “I am,” B.J. admitted, feeling suddenly sick. She sat down the cinnamon roll. “I really, really am.”

  “You have no mother or sisters or even a grandmother to give you any kind of tips or advice. I mean, sure, there’s your sister-in-law, Phyllis. . .”

  Thinking of going to Buck’s wife for any kind of assistance made B.J. wince. Hell no, she’d rather talk to Leroy about PMS cramps.

  Jo Ellen grinned. “That’s what I thought. Ergo, I’ve decided to take you under my wing, so to speak. So. . .if you have any questions, concerns, or—”

  “Am I going to have to pee this often the entire pregnancy?” B.J. asked immediately.

  Jo Ellen threw back her head and laughed. “You have no idea,” she affirmed. “And it only gets worse too. I swear, Tanner was tap-dancing on my bladder through my third trimester.”

  B.J. was wondering if she’d look like a moron if she asked what a third trimester was when a sharp infan
t cry came through the baby monitor sitting on the counter by the pan of cinnamon rolls. She gave a jerk of surprise.

  Grady’s sister, however, softened. “And speak of the little angel himself,” she said. Starting for the door, she motioned for B.J. to follow. “Come meet my son.”

  B.J. frowned, leery. If Jo Ellen ended up changing a diaper in front of her, she was probably going to hurl the few bites of cinnamon roll she’d managed to swallow.

  When they reached the nursery, B.J. stopped short. The dim room smelled like baby powder, and that was the only thing she recognized. She might as well have stepped onto Mars. Everything past the door’s threshold was completely foreign. Gaping at the pale blue walls lined with nursery rhyme borders, she didn’t pay much attention to Jo Ellen crooning at the wiggling bundle in the crib.

  Holy hell, did she need to buy all this crap for one itty bitty little baby? This was going to cost her a fortune, not to mention the fact she had no idea what any of it was or what she was supposed to do with it. Maybe Tucker Rawlings had a point. She wasn’t cut out to be a mother. The kid would get along better if she just left it with Grady and took off.

  Her stomach burned at the thought, and she pressed her hand to it, to her baby.

  “B.J.,” Jo Ellen murmured as she picked up the swaddled infant. “This is Tanner. Tanner, meet your new Aunt B.J.”

  At being referred to as an aunt, B.J. swung around and paused, coming face to face with a bright-eyed little boy who was staring up at her from his mother’s arms. He looked so calm and serious until she made eye contact. Then he broke into a smile and waved both arms in excited baby-greeting.

  Charmed by the little critter, B.J. grinned back and took a step toward mother and son. Unable to help herself, she reached out, and the boy immediately did the same, latching his entire fist around her index finger.

  Something hard and inherent moved inside her. Good lord. She was supposed to raise one of these things? It was as exciting as it was scary.

  “Grady said he had a lot of hair,” she murmured in awe. “But he didn’t mention the curls.”

  Jo Ellen lifted her face, stunned. “Grady talked to you about Tanner?”

  Shrugging briefly, B.J. glanced up. “He only mentioned the hair,” she said. When the other woman looked completely bowled over, she frowned, confused, and dropped the infant’s fingers. “Why?”

  “I thought. . .” Jo Ellen shook her head and wiped a single tear from her eye. “I’m sorry. It’s. . .I’ve never seen him hold Tanner. He’ll barely even look at him.”

  Not sure what to say, B.J. fumbled for a moment before she offered, “Well, I’m sure it’s hard for him after. . .you know, after what happened.” Wondering if he’d be able to hold his own child once it was born, she sat her palm over her stomach and swallowed hard.

  Jo Ellen must’ve sensed her worry. Forcing a smile, she thrust her son forward. “Do you want to hold him?”

  B.J. immediately backed away. “What? Oh. No. No, I don’t think. . . No thanks,” she said. “I don’t want to break him or anything.”

  Jo Ellen’s smile faltered. “B.J.,” she said, her voice going stern with disapproval. “You need to get used to this before yours is born. You don’t want to be scared of holding your own child, do you?”

  “Uh. . .” Was this a trick question? Of course she didn’t want to be scared of her own kid, but. . .damn, did she have to start practicing now? She had nine months to get it down.

  “Here,” Jo Ellen said, taking matters into her own hands. “Sit in the rocker, and I’ll slip him into your arms.”

  Wanting to refuse but not sure how, B.J. found herself shuffling reluctantly toward the rocking chair.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

  Jo Ellen rolled her eyes. “Trust me. You’ll be fine. The main thing to worry about is supporting his head. Other than that, just don’t drop him, and you’re home free.

  “Now,” she added once B.J. had eased into the chair, “cradle your arms like you’re holding an imaginary baby.”

  B.J. did so, feeling like an absolute moron.

  “Perfect,” Jo Ellen congratulated with a smile. She leaned down to settle the child in B.J.’s arms and added, “Just make yourself comfortable, and he’ll be comfortable too.”

  Yeah right, B.J. wanted to mutter. She felt real comfortable.

  “You got his head supported?” she asked anxiously as the sweet-smelling little body was laid in her grasp.

  “Yes, he’s fine,” Jo Ellen whispered, letting go and taking a step back.

  It took B.J. a good five seconds to look down. When she finally lowered her face, Tanner Gerhardt looked back up at her with a pair of wide, curious eyes. Their gazes met, and he once again broke into a grin.

  “Oh,” she whispered, falling completely in love. “Oh, wow.”

  Jo Ellen moved to stand beside them and lean over her shoulder to make eyes at her son as well. “I know,” she said. “It’s even more amazing when it’s your own.”

  B.J. unconsciously started to rock slowly back and forth.

  “I’m not sure why he woke up,” Jo Ellen murmured. “But he could probably nap for another half hour if you want to put him back to sleep.”

  “Okay. How do I do that?” B.J. asked, pumped and eager for her next baby lesson.

  “Well, I have some sedatives, or we could just bonk him over the head with a hammer. Take your pick.”

  B.J. whipped her head up in time to catch Jo Ellen rolling her eyes. “Just keep rocking him,” she said. “He’ll probably drop off in a few minutes.”

  Glancing down at the baby, B.J. was surprised to see his lids flutter drowsily.

  “See, there he goes,” Jo Ellen added. She set a hand on B.J.’s shoulder. “I’m going to take those cinnamon rolls off the pan and put them on a plate. Call if you need anything.”

  B.J. nodded but didn’t bother to look up. She barely even heard the quiet pad of Jo Ellen’s feet as she exited the room; she was too busy studying the features of the baby’s perfect little face. Experimentally, she reached out and twined one of his blond curly locks around her finger. The fine hair had to be the softest she’d ever touched.

  Still in a state of petrified shock, she felt herself grin. She’d visited Buck’s house a few times after his daughter had been born. But on all those occasions, his baby had done nothing but wail. It was startling to see they were sometimes quiet too. Hell, she might be able to put up with the crying if she had some of these precious, cuddly moments.

  Suddenly it didn’t matter what the Rawlings took away from her and did to her family—no way on earth could she give up her baby. She wanted a child, her own child, to look up at her with big, curious eyes just like Tanner Gerhardt was.

  Sensing someone in the doorway, B.J. lifted her head. “I think he’s asleep,” she said. But it wasn’t Jo Ellen returning. Instead, it was Cooper, Jo Ellen’s husband. He leaned in the doorway, munching on a cinnamon roll, watching her coo at his son with a raised eyebrow.

  “Hey, Coop,” she whispered as she sent him a smile in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to practice on your kid until mine comes along.”

  Cooper slipped into the room and neared the rocking chair to look down at his sleeping son. “Just don’t break him,” he said quietly, obviously having already talked to Jo Ellen.

  B.J. flipped him off but quickly lowered her hand and glanced down to make sure the baby was still sleeping and hadn’t seen the gesture. Cooper chuckled softly and crouched to his haunches so he could lay a soft kiss on his son’s hair. B.J. watched Cooper lovingly nuzzle his nose against the infant’s cheek.

  “Remember when we fooled around once?” she said, suddenly recalling a long-ago event she hadn’t even thought of in years.

  Cooper choked on the cinnamon roll in his mouth and tripped in his haste to stand upright.

  “Jesus, B.J.!” he yelped, jerking a few steps away. “What the hell?”

  “Shh,”
she hissed. “Don’t wake the baby.”

  “Well, what in God’s name are you doing mentioning that?” he hissed back. “It happened a long time ago. And my wife is in the other room, for God’s sake.”

  She nodded. “I know. I just wanted to say I’m glad we didn’t do anything more. . .you know. That’s all.”

  Coop nodded as well and stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Okay,” he answered. “I’m glad too.”

  B.J. smiled. “I really like Jo Ellen. And I’d hate to feel awkward around her for some mistake we’d made twenty centuries ago.”

  Coop couldn’t respond this time. He just nodded, unable to make eye contact.

  “She’s the one, isn’t she?” she pressed.

  “What?” he asked, looking confused and then glancing anxiously toward the door.

  “The woman you were all depressed about that night. It was Jo Ellen, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh. Ah. . .yeah. It was her.”

  “Well, I’m glad everything worked out for you two,” B.J. said. “You got a sweet wife and a really good kid here.”

  “Thanks,” Coop replied, “. . .I think. Just don’t go mentioning that night again, okay?”

  B.J. winked, and Coop suddenly seemed like he was in a hurry to leave.

  But when he reached the doorway, he stopped and glanced back. Cocking his head to the side, he studied her thoughtfully.

  “What?” she demanded. “Am I doing something wrong?” She looked down at the baby in worry.

  Cooper smiled as he shook his head. “No. Tanner’s fine. I just realized. . . You’re actually a soft touch, aren’t you?”

  She frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “That night,” Cooper said. “You were only trying to cheer me up. You came over to me in the bar because you said I looked sad.”

  “So?” B.J. answered.

  “Well. . .that makes me think the same thing happened with Ralphie Smardo. I can see you saying yes to him just to boost his ego.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, closing her eyes. “Does everybody know about that?”

  He nodded solemnly. “About the skinny dipping? I’m afraid so. Your little diner scene is quickly becoming legendary.”