The Trouble With Tomboys(28)

He kicked at the rock again. “I shoulda known better. And you were right. Nan’s already done heard about it and thinks I cheated on her.”

“Well,” B.J. answered. She didn’t want to be mean and say, that’s what you get for opening your pie hole, you big idiot, but she was tempted.

“Anyhow, I brought you them tires you won.” He motioned lamely toward them with limp fingers.

B.J. nodded and stared at the set for a second.

“Thanks,” she said. Then with a sigh, she hopped into the bed and started to roll them out.

Ralphie lurched into action to give her a hand. “I went ahead and kept the wheels on,” he explained.

“In case you want them too.”

“They didn’t get bent when Rick Hopper

wrecked?” she asked, surprised.

Ralphie scratched at his chin. “Don’t seem to be.” “Well, then...thanks.” He must be damn sorry if he was going to give her the wheels too. That, or his problems with Nan were dour.

Once the set was rolled out and piled on the ground, Ralphie wiped sweat out of his eyes and glanced around. “Where’s your truck? I’ll get started putting these on right now.”

B.J. felt herself soften, unable to make him suffer anymore. “I’ll see to that,” she said. “You didn’t even have to do this much, Ralphie. Thanks.”

He nodded morosely.

“And…” She stalled for a moment before offering the next suggestion, “if you want, I’ll call Nan and try to smooth things out with her. Let her know she has nothing to worry about from me.”

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Ralphie jerked his face up, his cow eyes hopeful.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Now get out of here before

someone spots your rig and reports back to her, saying we’re doing the dirty mambo in the back of my plane as we speak.”

Eyes flaring with panic, Ralphie jumped toward his truck. “Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.”

B.J. wasn’t surprised.

He shimmied himself behind the wheel and

slammed his door. After starting the engine, he glanced at her once with worry. “You swear you’re going to call her?”

She rolled her eyes. “Smardo, just get outta here already. I got it under control.”

“Thanks, B.J.” He lifted his hand in farewell even as he put the engine into gear. Starting to roll away, he called, “You’re a real pal.”

B.J. sighed as she watched him book it out of there. The poor man was pitiful, absolutely hopeless.

Setting her hands on her hips, she studied the pile of tires and couldn’t help but grin. At least she’d gotten something profitable out of the deal.

Wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, she got to work, first lugging each tire back to the hangar, then piling them in the corner.

She might be slender, but B.J. wasn’t a puny stick by any means. By the time she returned to her plane to retrieve the last tire, though, she’d run full out of steam. Sweat pouring, stomach rolling, she dropped the tire by her feet and held it still as it bounced and tried to roll away.

Bent over, she sucked air through her gritted teeth and willed the nausea to pass. It didn’t, only working steadily up her throat and making her think she was going to urp all over the tarmac. Heat reflected off the glossy black surface, and suddenly, she wondered if she was going to pass out instead.

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Closing her eyes, she counted to ten until both the dizziness and queasy stomach settled. Then she straightened and groaned as she lifted the tire again and hauled it in to rest with the others. She was so wiped out, she didn’t have the energy to return to her plane.

Slumping toward the corner office, she tried to remember what she’d eaten for breakfast. When she recalled the whole diner visit and how she’d completely deserted her bacon and eggs because of Grady and Ralphie, she sighed.

There was her problem right there. She was

starving. Hot and starving.

Once inside the stifling office, B.J. moved

immediately to the water cooler and poured herself a drink. She went and stood in front of the single oscillating fan as she guzzled. When only a swallow was left, she upended the rest of the cup over her head and delighted in the cool wetness trickling down her face and neck.

“Ahh.” She sighed, closing her eyes and

spreading her arms wide until the hot air from the fan lifted the back of her shirt and dried her sweaty skin. “Much better.”

Crumbling the paper cup, she tossed it in the trash and started for the phone. After looking up the number, she dialed Nan’s house.

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Chapter Seven


“You got a lot of nerve calling me,” Nan Lundy answered the phone three rings later.