The Trouble With Tomboys (2 page)

refused to ride with her because, well, she figured it was because she was a woman. It could be because she wasn’t very polite and had somewhat of a sour disposition, but she reasoned it probably had more to do with her lady plumbing. Some people just couldn’t trust such a little woman—though B.J. was five ten—to fly such a big, masculine plane.

Grady sent her a level look, and his blue eyes penetrated another feminine part she hadn’t even known existed, making her hormones shudder.

“No problem,” he said quietly. “I just wasn’t aware of who the pilot was going to be this trip.”

The last time he’d hired their family’s service, he’d had the misfortune of getting Leroy as his pilot.

She guessed he was merely relieved he didn’t have to ride with that maniac again.

B.J. nodded, hoping she understood the

situation, and said, “Why don’t you take a seat. I’m almost ready, but...who knows when Junkyard

here’s going to make his damn bid.”

“I’m thinking,” Ralphie snapped.

Grady remained standing apart from the group.

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The Trouble with Tomboys

B.J. took another drag from her cigar and eyed Ralphie until he squirmed.

Buck finally found the courage to say, “H-hey, Grady,” which sounded totally lame, coming this late. The others, all except B.J., chipped in next, mumbling stuttered, uncomfortable greetings.

Grady gave a brief nod. “Fellas.”

No one asked how he was or how his oil business was doing, and he certainly didn’t start any small talk with them. B.J. was about to say something just to fill the silence when Ralphie finally spit on the floor, sent a skittish look Grady’s way, and muttered, “Okay.”

She rolled her eyes. “Good Lord in heaven, he’s going to make his move.”

A couple of the guys chuckled.

Ralphie said, “I want five hundred,” and the laughter at the table intensified.

B.J. sniffed. “Damn, Ralphie, I could buy a

brand new set of tires for that.”

“Well, then, why don’t you?” he retorted.

Still frowning, she relented. “All right, fine. But I want you to put ’em on my truck for free if I win.”

“And I want you to take one of them aerial

pictures of my mama’s place so’s I can give it to her for Christmas if
I
win.”

“Deal,” B.J. said, studying her cards. “Add

another hundred to my bid.”

At her immediate compliance and raised wager, Ralphie shifted and cringed down at his hand. He scratched his ear and glanced with one eye squinted at his father.

“Damn,” Pete said, puffing on his cigar. “If she’s offering free service, she must have a good hand.”

B.J. chewed on her own cigar and grinned at the old man, sending him a conspiring wink.

“Well, hell,” Ralphie muttered. With another 7

Linda Kage

curse, he threw down his cards and forfeited his hand.

Letting out a deep whoop, B.J. triumphantly

tossed her fist in the air. “Yes!” she hollered, then stood and stubbed out her cigar. “Boys,” she told the table of men as she leaned over to rake in her booty.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“Well, what’d you have?” Ralphie demanded.

When she ignored him, he surged to his feet and reached across the table to snag her cards. B.J. let him have at them.

He stared at them with a saggy jaw a good five seconds before he yelped, “A pair of twos? A pair of

twos
!”

B.J. beamed and sent him a two-fingered salute.

“What can I say? My lucky number’s two. And when I get two twos, I figure, hell... Might as well bluff, huh?”

Ralphie’s face turned flamingo bright. He threw his hat off, exposing a head three-quarters gone bald. “I had three jacks!”

B.J. whistled, impressed. “Gee, then maybe you shouldn’t have forfeited,” she told him. “Oh, and by the way, I’m free tomorrow afternoon. Will that be a good time for me to swing my truck by for the new tires?”

Ralphie was so flustered he couldn’t even talk.

Finally, he turned to his father. “What the hell’s the matter with you? ‘B.J.’s betting free service. She must have a good hand,’” he mimicked. “Good hand my ass.”

“Oh, cry me a river, Ralphie,” B.J. butted in, stuffing her new wad of money into her back pocket.

“You threw in your hand.”

“I’m never playing poker with you again.” He sounded like a scorned child who’d just had his ice cream cone taken away.

“I won fair and square.” She glanced toward his 8

The Trouble with Tomboys

dad. “You see me cheat?”

Pete shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

B.J. snorted. “Ma’am? Who the hell are you

calling ma’am? Your old lady just walk in?”

While Pete chuckled, B.J. finally returned her attention to Grady. He’d been passively watching the scene. She had no idea what was going on behind those cool blue eyes of his.

Ignoring the insistent tug in her loins, she arched him a look. “Let me grab my gear, Slim, and I’ll be ready to go. ’Kay?”

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.”

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Linda Kage

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

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

Linda Kage

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.

Striving to keep her dirty thoughts at bay, she attempted to start a conversation.

“How’s the twins?” she asked of his two younger sisters. Jo Ellen and Emma Leigh had been a couple of years older than her in school. She hadn’t been close to them, but, hey, what else was there to talk about...beside the fact she wanted to put the plane on auto pilot and jump his bones at thirty thousand feet?

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The Trouble with Tomboys

“They’re fine,” Grady answered.

B.J. nodded. “I haven’t gotten around to seeing Jo Ellen’s kid yet. It was a boy, wasn’t it?”

Grady nodded. “Tanner,” he said.

B.J. glanced at him. “Beg pardon?”

“His name’s Tanner,” he explained. “Jo Ellen’s son.” “Oh…” B.J. nodded. Then, “Right. Yeah, I think I knew that. Probably a good-looking tike.” Both his parents certainly were.

“He has a lot of hair.”

“Well, huh,” B.J. said, wondering what the hell else there was to say about a kid. She knew squat about ankle-biters. The only child she’d ever really been around was her niece. And Buck’s daughter was an honest-to-God brat. “That’s...that’s good. I guess.”

Grady didn’t bother to elaborate; she wondered if he was thinking about his own baby, the one who’d been born dead, the one who’d taken Amy’s life when it’d tried to make its entrance into the world.

Starting to feel ill at ease, she squirmed in her chair to get more comfortable. Grady kept his face turned away from her as he stared out his side window at the scenery below.

“Can you see your house from here?” she asked.

When he glanced at her, she winked. But he

merely turned away again and continued window gazing.

B.J. took a moment to study him, wondering if it was possible to describe someone as skinny and muscled at the same time. He looked like an

Ethiopian on steroids, minus the potbelly. Okay, it wasn’t quite to that extreme, but he was pretty thin.

He’d always been a slim man. Now he

looked...hollow. He was definitely leaner than when she’d last seen him, which had probably been about six months ago.

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Linda Kage

Before she realized what she was going to blurt out, she commented to herself, “Amy must’ve been a good cook.”

But no sooner did the words leave her tongue than she snapped her mouth shut, wishing them away.

Grady’s head whipped around so quickly B.J.

swallowed her gum.

“What?” he said in a strangled voice.

She froze for a good three seconds. Oh, damn, oh, damn. She’d forgotten Amy was a taboo topic.

Feeling like she should apologize or something, B.J. stalled a moment by checking all her gauges and making sure everything was still running smoothly. But just as suddenly, she felt like a big weenie. What the hell did she want to apologize for?

This was her plane, and B.J. never watched her words. She had a right to talk about her old babysitter if she wanted to.

Lifting her chin in stubborn rebellion, she

nodded her head in his direction and found a fresh piece of gum in her front shirt pocket to stuff inside her cheek. “You ain’t so meaty around the ribs anymore. I just figured you might be missing out on your three square meals.”

There. She’d shown him. She hadn’t backed

down from the formidable Grady Rawlings.
And
she’d dared to mention his wife.

He was quiet a moment before he answered with a quiet, “I get by.”

Thinking back on Amy, B.J. let out a quick

laugh. “I remember when she used to babysit Rudy and me. She never did cook much, but this one time it was Pop’s birthday. She wanted to bake him a cake and, man…”

She paused to shake her head at the fond

memory. “She didn’t check the oven before she turned it on. Preheated it to three hundred fifty 14

The Trouble with Tomboys

degrees. But not two minutes into whipping the batter, she stopped and sniffed the air. ‘You smell something burning, B.J.?’ she asked me. So, we ran to the oven and pulled it open, only to find a stack of magazines catching fire.

“I guess since no one ever used our oven, Leroy had been hiding his porn in there. I couldn’t tell who was more upset over the whole ordeal. Leroy because all his good smut was charred black, or Amy because she was afraid she’d ruined our stove.”