Chapter Eight
Two days later, B.J. sat in the doctor’s office, numb and dazed. The twenty-seven-year-old tomboy of Tommy Creek, Texas was pregnant.
“I’m going to give you a list of over-the-counter prenatal vitamins,” Dr. Carl told her. He was the only gynecologist for a hundred miles, so B.J. had scheduled an appointment with him. Now she wished she’d just taken one of those home pregnancy things, because hearing a professional’s word on the subject made this feel way too real and unavoidable.
“What I want you to do is choose one brand and start taking it immediately. Your body needs all sorts of nutrients it didn’t before, and your remaining healthy is of the upmost importance. Now, don’t forget to schedule an appointment with Lara at the front desk for next month before you leave. And here’s a couple pamphlets you need to read through.”
Too stunned to argue with the man, B.J. nodded, slipped the pile of papers from his hand with limp fingers, and walked like a zombie toward the secretary’s desk.
Dr. Carl’s receptionist, Lara Alberts, was a middle-aged woman who liked to stick her long nose in other people’s business. When B.J. approached her, she stumbled a step, realizing Lara was going to discover her condition. Shit.
“Well, hey there, B.J.,” Lara greeted. “I didn’t realize it was time for your yearly already. I thought you visited more around the end of the…” Her words died off as she opened B.J.’s file and read the reason for her visit. “Oh my!” she gasped and raised wide, curious eyes. “You’re...you’re…” Her gaze fell to B.J.’s stomach.
“I’m ready to check out,” B.J. growled, glowering as she plopped her checkbook on the counter. “What’s the co-pay?”
Lara fumbled for a minute, glancing at her with wide, curious eyes every few seconds as she looked up the amount.
Yes, it’s a goddamned supernatural phenomenon. Someone knocked up B.J. Gilmore. What a freaking wonder. The world must be coming to an end.
But B.J. kept her trap shut and settled for a healthy glare. Lara, thank God, didn’t pry for more details, though she did try to talk about the weather as they hashed out a date for B.J.’s next appointment. Not in the mood for any kind of chitchat, B.J. merely booked it out of there as soon at Lara handed her a card bearing the date of her check up.
She walked to her truck in a trance.
Pregnant.
It didn’t seem real. What in the hell was she going to do with a baby? It was like Santa Claus moving to the Bahamas, Nashville turning rock and roll, the White House hosting the worldwide mud wrestling competition. It just didn’t happen.
B.J. didn’t know anything about kids. She’d been one a long time ago, but that had sucked, end of story. She saw her brother’s daughter every couple of weeks, but his girl was the spitting image of her mother, begging and whining all the time until her parents gave her what she wanted.
Shuddering in horror, B.J. hoped like hell she didn’t have a kid like Buck’s brat. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the steering wheel, trying to picture a little brown-eyed girl with her hair and Grady’s—
An image of Grady flashed through her mind.
Grady. Oh, God. Grady.
Remembering him, she sat up straight, her eyes flying wide open. “Holy shit.”
This was his kid too. Grady was going to be a daddy...again. Suddenly, she felt like curling into a ball and weeping—yet another sign of how pregnant she really was. Her hormones were already whacked out of control.
But, damn it, how was this going to affect Grady? He’d be devastated. He’d already lost two children before they’d ever been born. Amy had miscarried halfway through one pregnancy before she’d died in the delivery room with her second.
Amy had wanted a baby so bad. Even B.J.’d heard about all the trips to the fertility doctor she’d taken to get pregnant. And then she hadn’t been able to stay that way without having problems. Grady and Amy’s attempt to start a family had been a long, tortuous battle, ending in tragedy.
The fact that his one act of indiscretion with another woman had ended with a conception was going to be a bitter pill for him to swallow. He probably already felt like he’d committed adultery on Amy, and now the ultimate horror had happened. He was going to have a baby with another woman. God, why didn’t B.J. just go and spit on Amy’s grave while she was at it?
She didn’t want to be the one to tell him. She wasn’t a coward by any means. In fact, she never backed away from a good confrontation. But she did not want to see his face when he found out. It might send him over the edge. She feared he was already having a hard enough time dealing with the fact he’d had sex with someone who wasn’t his wife. She didn’t want to pile a kid on him as well.
It wasn’t fair. Everything was wrong. Amy should still be alive. She should be the happy mother of a whole brood by now. And Grady should be with her, not shackled to B.J., of all people, because she’d pressured him into one hot, unforgettable encounter.
Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to think up a way to escape this. Maybe she could flee the country and go live on a beach in Cancun. Yeah, she and her baby could be surfer bums. They could open a bar in the sand—like in the movie Cocktail—and drink margaritas every night of the week. Right. Except the whole baby and bar mix was taboo. Shit.
Or...or…hey, she could convince Grady it wasn’t his. Now, there was an idea. Since Ralphie had been spouting off about skinny dipping, Grady probably already thought she had a pretty active sex life. She could say she’d been seeing some other guy in the next county over.
She’d have to lie about the date of conception as well and claim it was undercooked when it came out early. Or maybe she could make up an affair before their time together, which would make the kid overcooked. Either way, it didn’t matter. The lie would be totally worth it to keep him from this kind of trauma. He’d buy her story because he’d want to. He wouldn’t want to worry about raising a child who wasn’t Amy’s.
On the other hand, she’d be keeping him from his baby if she did that. And Grady Rawlings was one responsible fellow. He’d want the truth, and he’d insist on doing something about it. If he made a mistake, he lived up to it. He’d have to be a part of the baby’s life and would want at least partial custody.
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 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 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 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.
The sight of B.J.’s Dodge had him sucking in a breath. For a second, he could only stare. She was here. Good God, she was here. His skin prickled with a sudden anticipation. When he realized he’d turned as hard as a stone just knowing he was going to see her in less than thirty seconds, he yanked the tails of his shirt back out of his slacks to hide his response.
Then he checked the mirror, cursed, and pulled a toilet paper square off his chin. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to the first floor. But as soon as he approached the entrance, he heard her diesel engine rev. Frowning in confusion, he moved the screen door and stared out as she backed down the drive. Not sure what to think, he wiped his chin with his hand.
What puzzled him the most was why she kept making these attempts to get a hold of him, only to chicken out before making contact.
And then it struck him. She was as uneasy as he was. Though it was hard to picture the steely-nerved tomboy with any kind of weakness, he had to admit the idea calmed him considerably. If she possessed the same fears and doubts he did, then another dimension had just been stacked to their relationship. That like-mindedness gave them a connection Grady couldn’t ignore.
It also placed the ball in his court. She’d put in her three tries; now it was his turn to make an effort. But the idea of going to her filled him with indecision all over again. Pursuing her would make this all too real. Thinking about being serious with B.J. Gilmore had been nerve-wracking enough. But actually doing something was a whole other story.
He knew where to find her. Ten to one, she’d be at the hangar, working on that old plane of hers. But he didn’t move.
This was foreign territory. Months before he’d asked Amy out for the first time, he’d been prodded by family and friends galore. It’d been expected. And when he’d finally approached her, he’d already known she’d say yes.
With B.J., none of that applied. Nothing was certain, and the only guarantee he’d have was craziness, absolute chaos, which was totally not him. It’d probably be like that every time with her too. A relationship with B.J. wouldn’t be safe and comfortable and predictable. And he was everything that was safe and comfortable and predictable. Imagining himself otherwise just didn’t...fit.
But it felt strange sleeping with a woman and then not talking to her again. Sex had always been a special, bonding event for him. He hadn’t slept with Amy only because he’d wanted sex. He’d also wanted to show her how much he loved her. But again, that hadn’t been the case with B.J.
He wasn’t used to sex without emotions being involved. He’d liked the importance of coupling as a means of showing his affection. And no matter how mad he was at B.J. for practically pushing him into being with her, he couldn’t hate her or block the desire budding in him.
The link he felt wasn’t just going to go away. Didn’t mean he had to make his move today, though. B.J. had waited at least twenty-four hours between each of her attempts. So, Grady decided to let the matter sit until this evening, when he wouldn’t have a meeting to plan.
Eight hours later, everything changed.
He stopped by the gas station on the way home and, as he filled up at the pump, he heard two guys outside the front doors, gossiping. Grady wasn’t the type to listen in on rumors. But when he heard the name B.J. Gilmore mentioned, he lifted his head and glanced over.
“Yeah, I heard,” one guy said to the other, shaking his head in dismay. “I still don’t know whether or not to believe it, though.”
His buddy chuckled. “Well, we’ll know soon enough when she starts growing a pooch or not.”
Grady frowned, not comprehending their lingo.
Then the first guy added, “I just want to know who supposedly knocked her up. I didn’t know she was seeing anyone? Hell, I didn’t even think Gilmore was interested in men.”
“What? You didn’t hear about what happened at the diner last week with Junkyard Smardo?” the second man responded.
As he proceeded to spill the gory details of Ralphie announcing how he’d gone skinny dipping with the biggest tomboy in the county, Grady stared sightlessly at the two men. His ears buzzed so he didn’t hear the gas pump click off, signaling his tank was full. His fingers merely gripped reflectively around the handle, and gas kept gushing until it spewed out the side of his truck and sprayed his pant leg.
Grady dropped the nozzle and leaped back a step, staring at the dripping mess.
“Shit.”
By the time he’d pulled himself back together enough to return the station’s gas hose to its resting place and head toward the station to pay, the two men had decided Ralphie was their top suspect as the baby’s daddy.
“Can you just imagine a little Junkyard Smardo running around? Big ears, buck teeth and double chin.”
“Hopefully, it turns out looking like B.J. I’m still convinced she’s got a body that just won’t stop under all those man clothes.”
Brushing past the men, Grady hurried inside to finish his business. He had to talk to B.J...now. Realizing that was probably the reason she’d been trying to get a hold of him, he couldn’t help but feel a little stung by the fact she hadn’t wanted to see him personally, she’d merely wanted to deliver an update.
She was pregnant.
God, he hadn’t even considered that possibility. It’d taken so much work for Amy to conceive, he’d been under the impression a lot more than one time was needed to get the job done. But one night with B.J. definitely wasn’t one night with Amy on any level.
Grady returned to his truck. He even started the engine and put the gearshift into drive, but he kept his foot on the brake, unable to move.
This wasn’t fair. Amy, who’d wanted children her entire life, had died trying to get the baby she desired. For years, he’d felt like a failure because he’d been unable to grant her deepest wish. Yet now, after one stupid try, he’d planted a child in B.J., and there was no way in hell she’d been desperate to become a little mama.
He felt like hell. How could he so easily impregnate one woman, a woman he hardly knew, but he couldn’t manage to come through for his wife who’d been the absolute love of his life?
Taking his foot off the brake, Grady pressed the gas. He had to talk to B.J. He had to know how she could do this to him. He didn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want to look down and see a bloody little corpse ever again.
Why couldn’t she have just left him alone in Houston, damn it?
Since B.J. lived in a small two-bedroom bungalow farmhouse hardly two miles from the filling station, Grady pulled into her drive only minutes later. Her truck was sitting out front, telling him she was home. As he parked behind it and slid out of his cab, he took a long, calming breath.
Realizing he was probably going to hate this encounter, he slowed his step but still reached her porch all too soon.
When he knocked on her door, he heard her call, “It’s open.”
Grady stepped inside. As soon as he’d gained entrance, he stopped and let the door quietly fall shut at his back. Her living room was small but tidy. It looked like a neat bachelor pad. The furniture was old, ugly and mismatched but appeared incredibly comfortable. The colors were neutral, nothing flashy or feminine. She had posters on the wall of four-wheelers and airplanes. And the television was on, turned to NASCAR.
B.J. entered from a doorway on the left. She was barefoot, dressed in an old pair of faded blue jeans with holes ripped in the knees. She had on an equally old T-shirt with a beer logo on the front, and her wet hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail. She carried a bag of microwave popcorn and tugged it open as she strolled in from the kitchen.
The voice of the gossipmonger from the filling station filled Grady’s head. I’m still convinced she’s got a body that just won’t stop under all those man clothes. He knew just how true those words were. Lithe form, long legs, tightly packed muscles, soft curves, breasts that more than filled his hands. His mouth watered.
When she saw him, she jerked to a stop. “What are you doing here?”
His first thought had nothing to do with children. The first—and pretty much the only—declaration to enter his head was, Mine.