Page 6 of The Trouble With Tomboys (Tommy Creek 1)

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 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?

“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.

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.

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