The Trouble With Tomboys(4)

He nodded, and she left Ralphie to complain to the others. She wouldn’t be surprised if he reneged on the tires. But if he managed to cough them up, then hey, that’d be okay too. She wasn’t too concerned about it. She’d won fair and square, that was all that mattered to her.

She was still glowing over her victory when she came strolling out of the back room with her cap on forward and her dark hair pulled through the hole in the back. Wearing reflecting aviator glasses and chewing on sour apple bubble gum, she slung a beat-up green duffle over her shoulder and led Grady toward her plane.

Since his meeting was supposed to last late into the evening, this was going to be an overnight run.

Ready for a long, boring stay in her hotel room, she climbed into the opened back doorway of her plane.

After tossing her gear inside toward a corner, she looked over her shoulder at Grady, still standing on the tarmac behind her.

“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.”

9







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?

10



The Trouble with Tomboys





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 11







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.