“Oh, my God,” his mother gasped as Grady fell to his knees in front of the collapsed B.J.
“B.J.?” he rasped, irrationally afraid she’d already passed on to the next world. He scooped her into his arms, gently cradling her head and feeling around for blood and brain-tissue.
“She okay?” his grandfather asked as he drove his motorized wheelchair up behind Grady and stopped next to Tara Rose, who was standing with both hands covering her chest.
The injured party herself answered. “What the hell am I doing on the floor?”
Grady thought he was going to take his own
turn on the floor and pass out from relief. B.J.
cursed as he found the tender spot on her scalp.
Instinctively, she swatted his hand away. But he’d already felt for himself the skin had not been split open. There was a decent-sized goose egg growing, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.
“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately reaching out to help her when she tried to sit up.
“Just dandy,” she muttered, wincing and then swaying as soon as she was upright.
Grady reached out to steady her, tightly
wrapping his hand around her shoulder. Even after she caught her bearings, he continued to hold onto her, grateful she was at least conscious. Worry pounded through him, he couldn’t seem to breathe right.
129
“What happened?” she asked, glancing past him at his mother and grandfather.
“You passed out cold, kiddo,” Granger said.
“Took the prettiest little nose dive to floor I’ve ever seen.”
B.J. snorted. “Really? I guess all that practice in front of the mirror paid off then?”
Tara Rose sputtered out a surprised laugh at her sarcastic comment, and Granger threw back his head and hooted, slapping gleefully at his good knee.
Grady couldn’t understand how they could make jokes. Just because she was up and talking didn’t mean she was okay. There could be a concussion, internal bleeding...Amy had been alert right up to the minute she’d died.
B.J. started to rise. Since he still had a hold on her shoulder, he tightened his grip, tempted to push her back down until he was convinced she was fine.
But from the determined look in her eye, he knew she’d struggle against him if he held her against her will. To avoid hurting her, he helped her up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tara Rose asked, hopping forward to take B.J.’s other arm. He was glad his mother had asked since he’d wanted to. But his vocal chords were still frozen with fear. If anything happened to her—
“I’m good,” B.J. said, giving both Grady and his mother a confused scowl as they each latched onto an arm and didn’t let go. The blasted, independent woman honestly didn’t think she needed help. But she soon learned otherwise when she set her feet under her.
“Ooooo…” she said, wincing and latching a hand around her stomach. “Coffee.”
She turned as if to head back toward the
bathroom but swayed dizzily in the process. Grady tightened his grip to steady her. But she didn’t seem to like his restraint.
130
The Trouble with Tomboys
“Gonna puke,” she said, her voice sounding
alarmingly frail.
Tara Rose bounded into action, grabbing a
nearby trashcan and handing it to him. B.J. caught sight of it, snatched it to her chest and buried her face in the opening. As her stomach revolted, she started to slide to her knees. Grady assisted the descent to keep her from falling face first. Then, since he’d been the one to rip the ponytail holder out, he gathered her brown locks into his hand and held her hair out of her face.
“Get that coffee out of here,” he snapped,
glancing at his mother with a scowl.
She leapt to comply. Snagging the cup from her father-in-law’s hand just as he was lifting it to his mouth for a sip, she tossed it onto the silver serving tray and lifted the entire thing in one swoop. Then she was gone, leaving only a trace of the rich decaffeinated brew behind.
“Bluck,” B.J. muttered when she came up for
air. “That was nasty.”
“Here’s some water,” a breathless Tara Rose
said as she reentered the parlor, baring a huge glass of ice water.
“God bless you,” B.J. gasped and reached for the cup. Grady stayed crouched next to her as she guzzled. He rested his forearms on his bent knees and looked up at his mother, concern flush on his face. She bit her bottom lip and winced, shaking her head as if to say such behavior from a pregnant woman didn’t seem normal.
And that was when he decided he wanted to talk to a professional, right then. “I’m taking her to the doctor.” He removed the empty glass from B.J.’s hand.