The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(21)

somewhere.

Though he’d already been pale enough, Grady’s face drained of the rest of its grayish tinge. “That’s possible?”

“Hell, yeah.”

He glanced toward her, his blue eyes full of hope. “And you’ve done it before?”

She swallowed. “Uh...no. Sorry.” Wincing, she knew she should’ve joined in when Buck and Leroy had that dead stick landing competition a few years back.

Grady’s head bobbed again. He was taking this awfully well. For all the trouble she’d caused him in the last twenty-four hours, the man should be cussing her up one side and down the other.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling the apology from the bottom of her heart. “About everything.”

Sorry she’d pushed him into cheating on his

dead wife and then for maybe killing him today in her plane.

Grady didn’t answer. He just looked out the

window at the earth he no doubt didn’t want to crash into. “I shouldn’t have left,” he said and swung his head around slowly to pin her with an intense look.

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“I shouldn’t have left your room without…”

Good Lord, he was going to apologize to her?

After all the things she’d put him through—was still putting him through—he actually thought he’d done something wrong.

Though it did B.J.’s heart good to hear him say such, it only caused her own guilt to multiply.

She shook her head and lifted her hand to shut him up. “Don’t worry about it.” She definitely didn’t want to talk about this right now. If she was going to die in a few minutes, she’d rather just take it all to the grave with her.

But Grady was obviously more into the

deathbed confession thing than she. “I was wrong,”

he insisted. “I was raised better than to—”

“Look,” she cut in. “We can talk about it on the ground.”

“But—”

“I’ll land us safe and sound, Slim. Don’t go thinking this is it. All right? Neither of us is going to die today.”

He didn’t answer, and she glanced over at him.

“We’re not going to crash.” When she noticed he wasn’t strapped in, she scowled. “Put your damn seatbelt on.”

He blinked. “I thought you said it wouldn’t make any difference.”

B.J. sighed. “It was a joke, Rawlings. Can’t you take a joke?”

Grabbing the protective strap, he muttered

under his breath, “Next time you want to tell a joke, try knock, knock or why did the chicken cross the road.”

She heard him, but decided to act like she

hadn’t. “If we have to make a hard landing, that harness just might save your life and keep you from being jostled around and getting the shit beat out of you.”

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The Trouble with Tomboys



Grady clicked the belt into place and then

tightened the straps for good measure.

“If you’d feel safer, you can get into a seat in the back,” she offered.

“What about you?”

She was about to come back with a sarcastic

crack about who’d fly the plane if she cowered in the back with him, but then the engine cut out

momentarily, and she clenched her teeth as the stick became harder to control.

“I’ll be fine.” She held on tight as the engine stopped, sputtered, and then roared to life again.

Grady didn’t move away from her side, and she didn’t want to think about how much that reassured her. “How are we on gas?” he asked.

“Lower,” was her vague answer.

He looked too pale. She didn’t like scaring him, so, having pity, she reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and wasn’t going to let go.

B.J. would’ve thought his fingers would be freezing, but they were warm and comforting, and she wanted to hang on forever.

But...“Okay, I need my hand back now,” she

finally admitted.

He immediately let go, and she wrapped her

fingers around the throttle.

The next half hour held some of the most nerve-wracking minutes of her life. The engine kept coughing and wheezing, not getting the gas it needed, and the gauge level kept sinking closer and closer to empty. Her father got back on the radio and started asking for updates more frequently. As B.J.

calmly relayed how the steering was getting

choppier, she wished Pop would shut up so she didn’t have to say aloud what was going on, letting Grady know how bad things were getting.

When their hangar finally came into view and 65



Linda Kage



she could read the large black letters spelling “T.

Creek” painted on the silver tin roof, she’d never been so relieved.

“We’re going to make it,” she said and grinned at Grady...just as the engine died.

The only sound that followed was the free wind, whistling through the cracks of the aircraft.

His eyes went wide. “Oh, my God.”

“No, it’s okay,” she assured, her voice calm as she held the throttle, nice and steady. “It’s okay. I’ve got it. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.