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 97
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 98
The Trouble with Tomboys
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.
When he saw her name appear on the screen, he answered the phone without thinking, not wanting her to hear Amy’s message again. But as he pressed it to his ear, he realized, oh hell, now he had to talk to her.
The greeting he gave sounded brusque and rude, even to his own ears, and he winced, hoping he hadn’t scared her off. But when he heard the click on 99
the other end, his heart gave a violent shove against his ribcage. Shit. He had scared her off.
He closed his eyes and tried to decide if this was a good thing or not. As he ran his fingers through his hair with one hand, his thumb hovered over the call-back button. When he wondered what he’d say if she actually answered, he blew out a breath and set the receiver back in its cradle.
The next night, he found himself waiting by the phone. Yeah, he was stretched out in his La-Z-Boy, sipping iced tea and watching NASCAR, but he brought the dang receiver into the living room with him and sat it in his lap. So, when it actually rang, he fumbled for the talk button and answered before a name could even flash across the caller ID. When it turned out to be his sister from Reno, he nearly snapped her head off for checking in to see how he was. He was in an irritable mood by morning. He cut himself shaving, burnt his tongue on his morning coffee, and stubbed his toe on the side of his bed.
Since he had meetings that day with investors, he couldn’t go grunge and wear his comfortable field clothes. He’d just shrugged on a pinstriped shirt and was raiding his closet for a matching tie when he heard someone pull into his drive. Grabbing the first tie he saw, he moved toward the window to glance out the shades.