“So, what’re you saying?” B.J. asked, her voice gone hoarse.
“I’m saying he wants to marry you, so that’s what you’re going to do. And you’ll stay with him for 141
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as long as he needs you around. Then, when he grows tired of you,
that’s
when I expect you to take your plane and get out of Tommy Creek.”
B.J. cocked an eyebrow. “What if he never grows tired of me?”
“Well, now, that’s where you can lay money on your bet. You keep him happy until the baby’s born, and I get some proof it’s his child, then you can have the deed to your plane, free and clear. Call it a wedding present. If not…” He shrugged. “Take your plane and leave town, shipping the baby back when it’s born.”
B.J. froze. “Excuse me? Did you just say, ‘ship the baby back’?”
Tucker Rawlings nailed her with an inflexible look. “It’s the baby he really wants.”
Feeling sick to her stomach, B.J. resisted the urge to cover her belly, instinctively wanting to protect the child inside.
Okay, yeah, she’d been avoiding the whole I’m-going-to-be-a-mommy issue. Just thinking about having a kid, utterly dependent on her, made her feel queasy and panicked. But to actually give the baby up? That thought had never even crossed her mind.
“What if I can’t prove the kid’s Grady’s?” she asked, suddenly so desperate she needed Tucker Rawlings to feel a bit of uncertainty as well.
He sent her a hard smile. “Oh, Grady’s not going to learn about the paternity test. That’s for my own peace of mind. He’s not ever going to learn about this little conversation we’re having either…” He paused, sending her a meaningful look. “Is he?”
Her insides flameed with anger because Tucker Rawlings had her right where he wanted her; she stared at him with a stubbornly stiff jaw. “Do I look like a tattletale to you?”
He nodded, reassured. “So...if you marry him, 142
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sign a prenuptial agreement of course, and keep him happy until the baby’s born, I’ll give you the plane, free and clear. You marry him, sign the same prenup, and he realizes what a mistake he’s made, you hand over the baby and take out for parts unknown...with your plane. Either way, the Cessna’s yours, B.J. I gotta say, that doesn’t sound like such a bad deal on your end.”
She gave a short nod. No, it didn’t sound like a bad deal. Except for that part about abandoning her own child...oh, and the being-held-under-Tucker-Rawlings-control thing. That sucked eggs.
The whole agreement made her want to throw
something—preferably something sharp and
deadly—right at Tucker Rawlings’ head.
Remaining as cool and collected as she could, she asked, “And if I say no deal? To hell with you and to hell with my plane; you can keep it. What’re you going to do then, Mr. Almighty?”
His eyes sparked with challenge, and B.J. had a very bad feeling she’d just asked the exact wrong question.
“Oh, I still have an ace up my sleeve.”
Though she kept her body still and didn’t shrink from the victorious gleam in his eyes, she wanted to cringe so bad, already dreading something more awful than she could comprehend. “An ace in what form?”
“From what I hear, you run a good bluff. You can act like you don’t care what happens to your plane all you like, B.J. And, hell.” He gave a shrug.
“As old and worn out as it is, maybe you don’t care.
But can you act so blasé about your family?”
An uneasy chill raced up the back of her spine.
“What about my family?”
“Seems my family might owe your family’s plane service a lawsuit for nearly killing my boy on that trip home from Houston.”
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All the air vacated B.J.’s lungs. “Just what the hell are you going to sue us for? Grady wasn’t hurt.
None of his possessions were damaged or lost. And he was given a full refund for the scare.”
“Ah, but he
was
spooked, wasn’t he. You made him fear for his life...probably caused lasting emotional damage.”
“Oh, Jesus. Gimme a break.” B.J. rolled her
eyes, even as her stomach rolled with unease. But dear God. If the Gilmore Plane Service got a bad rep from the Rawlings family, no one in Tommy Creek would ever do business with them again...hint of a lawsuit or not. No one displeased the Rawlings.
“So, what do you say, B.J.? Do we have a deal?”
She shook her head. “I gotta think about this.”
He gave a short nod. “You do that. And
remember...breathe a word of any of this
conversation to Grady, and all deals are off.”
****
her back door. She groaned. If it was Tucker Rawlings, she was going to hang up on him. She’d had enough of Grady’s father for one day. He’d ruined her entire afternoon as it was.
Expecting to hear his voice and dreading it, she dropped the mail and lunchbox she’d carried in with her onto the kitchen table and scurried to the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hello. B.J.?” a hesitant female voice asked.
B.J. frowned. Who was this? “Yep. Sure is.”
“Oh. Well, good. This is Jo Ellen. Jo Ellen
Gerhardt.”
Pausing in her perusal of the mail, B.J. lifted her face. Oh, dear God. Here we go again. If it wasn’t the father, it was the daughter. But, Jesus, if Jo Ellen planned to give B.J. a piece of her mind for getting herself knocked up by Grady, then she was going about it in way too polite a voice.
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“Okay,” B.J. said. And?
She could imagine what kind of threats and
name-calling Grady’s sister was going to start tossing around.
“Mama called last night and told us the happy news...about the baby.”
“Yeah?”
Dropping the cable bill in her hand, B.J.
squinted blankly across the room and wondered what her caller’s main objection was. She seriously doubted the woman wanted to congratulate her.
Thinking Grady’s sister could only have nefarious plans just like her dad, B.J. braced for the outpouring.
“Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to come over for a little while,” Jo Ellen said. “To, you know, girl chat.”
Girl chat? B.J. winced at the word before the main subject of the question struck her. Jo Ellen was inviting her over?
Okay, so maybe she wanted to cuss her out in person.
“Are you busy for the next hour or two?” Jo
Ellen sounded almost hesitant.
Well, hell. A whole hour’s worth of name-
calling? Grady’s sister must have some doozies. She could already imagine the typical insults. Gold digger, hoochie mama, bitch, slut, whore. But damn, a whole hour’s worth?
“I guess I’ve got some time,” she muttered on a sigh. Might as well get this over with now.
“Great,” Jo Ellen gave the perky reply. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
As she hung up, B.J. glanced down at her
clothing. She’d been outside in the heat all day under a grimy plane engine. She should probably take a shower and change first. But, hell. Who honestly dressed up for a dressing down? Shrugging, 145
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she wiped her palms on her pants and headed back out the door.
****
Come to think of it, Grady had done the same thing when he’d hooked up with Amy. In fact, Amy’s father still worked for Rawlings Oil in the office as a peon paper-pusher. Then again, the Rawlings family were the top dogs in this area. They couldn’t help but marry down. Emma Leigh, Jo Ellen’s twin sister, had to move all the way to Reno to find someone as rich as her to marry.
While B.J. was still wondering if Grady’s sister was going to accuse her of being an opportunistic social climber, the front door opened before she could knock.
“B.J.!” Jo Ellen said with a pleasant greeting smile, managing to sound surprised as if she hadn’t been expecting company. “That was quick.”
As Grady’s sister held open her front door and stepped aside, B.J. entered a pristine living room that belonged on the cover of one of those home decorating magazines. Glancing down at her boots, she hoped to high heaven she hadn’t stepped in anything gooey lately.
“I made some pastries,” Jo Ellen said as she pushed the door shut, imprisoning B.J. in the house with her. “The kitchen’s this way.”
She started off, and B.J. was helpless but to follow.
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Jo Ellen Rawlings-Gerhardt was pageant-queen pretty. With her petite build and flawless
complexion, she certainly didn’t look like a farmer’s wife. But B.J. couldn’t fault the woman her choice in men. Cooper Gerhardt was as masculine as Jo Ellen was feminine. He had one of those body-builder physiques with a golden Adonis’s head pasted on his hunky, muscular shoulders.
Though Jo Ellen had short hair, it was styled to perfection. It was dark brown just like every other member of her family’s, but she had hers frosted with thick blonde highlights and sprayed into a neat, fashionable pose. B.J. had to keep herself from reaching up to make sure her ponytail wasn’t hanging limp. She hadn’t touched her mane since that morning after taking a shower.
The kitchen was as immaculate as the front
room. With sparkling white cabinets and counters, it looked brand new and extra clean.
In the depth of her brain, she wondered if Amy had been such a good housekeeper too. B.J. guessed she had. She used to give off that aura of perfection just like Jo Ellen did.
“I made cinnamon rolls.” Jo Ellen opened the oven and pulled out a pan where she’d been
warming them. As she turned to find B.J. fallen to a stop, she grinned. “When I was pregnant, I was utterly ravenous for sweets. I couldn’t get enough of them.”
She held out the tray of still-warm rolls. B.J.
stared at them, heard her stomach growl for a taste and cautiously lifted her face to the woman offering them, expecting some kind of ulterior motive behind such a kind act, like maybe as soon as she reached for a roll, the floor would open under her and she’d fall into the dungeon below.
Jo Ellen frowned, obviously curious as to why her guest wasn’t immediately snatching a roll. Not 147
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wanting to offend, B.J. shrugged and followed her stomach’s advice, scooping up one and bringing it to her mouth.
Grady’s sister beamed in approval. “Mama told me how much coffee turned your stomach, so I bought some juice. That’ll be good for the baby.”
When she poured a glass full of apple cider and nudged it encouragingly in front of B.J., B.J. paused and eyed it warily. Suddenly, the entire visit felt like one big trap.
Lifting her gaze, she said, “If you’re oozing all this kindness in order to make me feel like slime for putting your brother through nine months of worry-ridden hell, then you’re doing a damn fine job.”
Jo Ellen smiled as she picked up her own
cinnamon roll and nibbled off an end. “Well, thank you,” she said, as if complimented. “But, no, that wasn’t my intent.”
“Then…?” B.J. pressed, giving her an impatient look. Jo Ellen sighed, sat down her roll and picked up a napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth. “B.J.,”
she said patiently. “This baby you’re having is going to be my son’s first cousin, my son’s
only
cousin within a hundred miles. So I think it’s pertinent we get to know each other. Besides, you’re going to need a lot of help in the next few months to come, and I don’t want you to be left out in the dark.”
“Help?” B.J. asked blankly.
Jo Ellen’s face softened. “Honey,” she said, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on top of B.J.’s. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?
You’re going to have a baby.
A baby
.”
B.J. blanched. “Oh, God,” she said. Why did Jo Ellen have to go and remind her? She’d been doing so good at avoiding that little detail.
“The way I see it, you’re probably clueless about how to deal with this.”
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“I am,” B.J. admitted, feeling suddenly sick. She sat down the cinnamon roll. “I really, really am.”
“You have no mother or sisters or even a
grandmother to give you any kind of tips or advice. I mean, sure, there’s your sister-in-law, Phyllis…”
Thinking of going to Buck’s wife for any kind of assistance made B.J. wince. Hell no, she’d rather talk to Leroy about PMS cramps.
Jo Ellen grinned. “That’s what I thought. Ergo, I’ve decided to take you under my wing, so to speak.
So…if you have any questions, concerns, or—”
“Am I going to have to pee this often the entire pregnancy?” B.J. asked immediately.
Jo Ellen threw back her head and laughed. “You have no idea,” she affirmed. “And it only gets worse too. I swear, Tanner was tap-dancing on my bladder through my third trimester.”
B.J. was wondering if she’d look like a moron if she asked what a third trimester was when a sharp infant cry came through the baby monitor sitting on the counter by the pan of cinnamon rolls. She gave a jerk of surprise.
Grady’s sister, however, softened. “And speak of the little angel himself,” she said. Starting for the door, she motioned for B.J. to follow. “Come meet my son.” B.J. frowned, leery. If Jo Ellen ended up changing a diaper in front of her, she was probably going to hurl the few bites of cinnamon roll she’d managed to swallow.
When they reached the nursery, B.J. stopped
short. The dim room smelled like baby powder, and that was the only thing she recognized. She might as well have stepped onto Mars. Everything past the door’s threshold was completely foreign. Gaping at the pale blue walls lined with nursery rhyme borders, she didn’t pay much attention to Jo Ellen crooning at the wiggling bundle in the crib.
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