Chapter Eleven
“Now, why are you driving my truck again?”
Grady held in a deep sigh. But then he glanced at B.J. in the passenger seat, and the frustrated weariness dissolved instantly. She still looked pale. Too pale.
“How’s the head?” he asked, reaching out to once again feel the bump she’d accrued from landing noggin-first on his mother’s hardwood floor.
She quickly lifted her hand to the spot before he could touch it, sinking her finger into the thick mass and wincing.
“It’s fine.”
Dropping his fingers, Grady’s eyes drifted over her hair before once again returning his gaze to the road. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her hair down before. It was surprising how long and...pretty it was. The brown hue was a rich chocolate with golden hints of natural highlights. The locks were more straight than curly, providing a healthy bounce to them that tumbled over her shoulder and made him want to bury his nose in her neck and have all that long, silky hair coat his face.
“Still have a headache?” he asked, forcing his attention back to the road as he realized he hadn’t even seen her hair down the night they’d slept together. But he’d certainly been quick about pulling the ponytail holder from her skull so he could feel for a bump when she’d passed out nearly twenty minutes ago.
B.J. muttered, “It’s not so bad I can’t drive my own freaking truck.”
Grady ignored the comment, all the while trying to forget the fear that had pounded through him when he’d seen her wilt to the floor like a stage actress in some dramatic Shakespearean performance. Only this had been real...way too real. Still upset he hadn’t been able to make it to her in time to catch her, Grady winced as the thump her skull had made when she hit the floor continued to echo through his ear canal.
“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.
“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.
“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.
She frowned. “Why? I don’t need to see him for a bump on the head.”
Ignoring her, Grady grasped her elbow, “Up,” he said.
“Ugg...here we go again,” she groaned as she started to rise. B.J. spread her arms out as if to steady herself, already bracing for the dizziness. When she didn’t sway once, she straightened with a relieved smile.
“Well,” she said, turning toward Grady. “That wasn’t so bad. See, I’m better already.”
But he wasn’t convinced. Glancing toward his mother, he said, “You’ll let Dad know?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. And everyone else in the family as well.”
“Thanks.” He took both of B.J.’s shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“But…” She resisted his hold and turned back to his mother. “I just made a mess all over—”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Tara Rose assured her, using her foot to push the trashcan way from B.J.’s grasp. “Just go with Grady so he can make sure you’re okay.”
She gave B.J. a speaking look, and something passed between them, some kind of telepathic woman talk he’d never been able to understand. Then B.J. glanced at him. When she nodded and stopped resisting, he gritted his teeth.
He didn’t want her to agree only to appease his fears, but at this point he didn’t even care... He had to know if she was going to be okay. There was no way he could live through killing another woman by making her pregnant, no way he could stand there and watch the life drain out of her after giving birth to his dead baby. He would never do that again.
As he glanced across the cab of her truck at her now, the anxiety was still causing his blood to course though his body in almost dizzying waves.
She groaned and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I yakked all over your mother’s floor.”
“You yakked in a wastebasket,” he corrected.
“She must hate me right now.” As she spoke, she scooped her hair up with both hands and refastened the locks with her holder.
“The trashcan was lined with a plastic bag,” he argued logically. “It won’t take anything at all to clean.”
She glanced over and sent him a dry look. “I wasn’t talking about the trashcan.”
He snapped his mouth shut. After a moment, he answered, “You know, I think she’d be a lot more forgiving if you married me and made an honest man out of me.”
B.J. rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to answer. As he pulled into the drive of a ranch-style brown house, she sat up and blinked.
“Where are we? I thought you were taking me to the hospital?”
Before Grady could answer, she caught sight of the man in the yard, pushing himself to his feet where he’d been kneeling in a flowerbed.
She gasped. “Oh, my God. Grady, you took me to Dr. Carl’s house? We can’t just barge in on him when he’s home, relax—”
“He won’t mind.”
At the confident note of assurance in his voice, B.J. arched her brows, impressed. “Well,” she said. “I always knew the Rawlings name held a lot of sway in these parts, but—”
“He better see me whenever I want,” Grady growled from between gritted teeth. “The man was holding a bloody knife in his hand and standing over my wife when she died.”
As B.J.’s mouth dropped open, he glanced away. He didn’t blame Dr. Carl for Amy’s death. He knew the doctor had done everything in his power to save her. But neither would he ever forget the stunned look on the man’s face as he gaped at the heart monitor blaring out one long, continuous beep.
“I didn’t even think,” B.J. said. “Of course, he would’ve been her doctor too, wouldn’t he?” Her face went pale as she glanced at him. “God. If you want me to find another OB/GYN—”
“There is no other baby doctor around here,” he muttered and pushed his way out of the truck. He nodded a greeting to Dr. Carl, who was already striding forward to meet him.
“Grady,” he said, stretching out his hand. “This is quite a surprise. What brings you by?”
After giving the older man a brief handshake, Grady reached into the cab of the truck and tugged B.J. out through the driver’s side. “She just passed out and hit her head. Hard.”
The doctor blinked at B.J. and then whirled back to Grady. He didn’t have a medical degree for nothing. From the utter shock in his expression, he caught on immediately. Grady had impregnated B.J. Gilmore.
“Oh,” he whooshed out the word and then seemed to return to reality. “Well then, B.J. Why don’t you step up onto the porch for minute?”
As he took her elbow and drew her forward, B.J. said, “I’m fine, Doc. Really. Noggin’s a little sore, but that’s to be expected.”
Grady trailed them with restless impatience. A little sore his ass. “Her skull hit a wood floor so hard I swear it bounced.”
Ignoring B.J.’s scowl at Grady, Dr. Carl said, “Why don’t we just have a seat up here.” He pulled a black steel swiveling stool out from the tall round table under his covered porch and patted the seat. “I’ll have a look for myself.”
“She threw up too,” Grady said. “Two times. I’ve never seen anyone vomit as much as she did.”
The doctor nodded and disappeared inside the house.
“Tattletale,” B.J. muttered.
Glancing up in time to catch her sticking out her tongue, then folding her arms over her chest and turning away from him, Grady should’ve been amused. Instead, a vision of Amy laid out in her casket—only an empty, lifeless shell—hit him hard and fast. He couldn’t picture B.J. dead. She was too lively, spirited, animated. Like Grandpa Granger, she was meant to grow old and sassy, zipping around in a wheelchair and flirting with the younger generation.
She could not die.
Grady was tempted to grab her and yank her to him, kissing her till she lost her irritation, kissing her while she was still so alive and healthy. But Dr. Carl saved him from making a fool of himself, returning with a stethoscope and a handful of other medical goodies.
The doctor studied B.J.’s pupils before he checked her blood pressure and took her temperature. “Nausea is perfectly common among pregnant woman.” He plucked the stethoscope plugs from his ears and turned toward Grady.
Grady merely shook his head. “Amy had a queasy stomach a few times when she was pregnant, but she never threw up,” he insisted, “in either pregnancy. And she certainly never passed out.”
When the doctor sent him a sad, sympathetic smile, he ground his teeth. God, he hated this. He hated the helpless fear, and he hated everyone feeling so damn sorry for him.
“Amy was a different case entirely. Each woman goes through her own unique symptoms. B.J. has none of the complications your wife did.”
Grady merely scowled. His eyes slid to the woman sitting on the stool. With her legs dangling over the side, she looked like a child, waiting for the pediatrician to plant a “Good Job” sticker on her shirt. It made his stomach knot with tension. The thought of losing her the way he’d lost Amy made him physically ill. And the fact he was just now realizing this caused his skin to tighten about two sizes too small for his body.
He didn’t want her to die. He didn’t want their child to die. He wanted them both to stay healthy. And that insight scared the living hell out of him.
“This gal here has about the most ideal equipment for a pregnant woman I’ve seen in a long time,” Dr. Carl praised, setting a hand on B.J.’s shoulder as he sent Grady an intense, reassuring smile. “Everything I’ve checked is normal and healthy, and I foresee no problems at all in the upcoming months. You have nothing to worry about, Grady.”
Realizing he’d gone off the deep end with panic, Grady nodded. But he couldn’t help but linger close to B.J. as she hopped off the stool just in case she hit another dizzy spell. Thanking the doctor, she shook the old man’s hand and immediately turned to him.
“Satisfied now?” she asked.
Though she managed to put a pinch of annoyance in her voice, like being forced through this ordeal aggravated her to no end, he still heard the softness in her tone. The irritating woman was more concerned about his mental wellbeing than her own physical health.
Lowering his gaze, he nodded and mumbled, “Let’s go.”