The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(27)

So, I guess I wouldn’t much mind hooking up with him again.”

“In your dreams, Gilmore.”

“If you keep telling him it’s over between the two of you, it might just be in my reality.” Her 81



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stomach gave a lurch of pure revulsion, and she swallowed back rising bile.

“It’s…it’s not over between Ralphie and me.”

Nan sounded desperate. Worried. “What’re you talking about? What did he tell you?”

B.J. grinned, but managed to sound spiteful

when she answered, “He said you wouldn’t talk to him. Said you think he’s cheating on you, and you have no faith in him.”

“I never said—”

“So, the way I see it, he’s fair game.”

“He is not!” Nan fairly screamed. “You stay away from him. He’s mine.”

“Then claim him as yours and quit giving him the silent treatment, or I will steal him, Lundy. You just watch me.”

When Nan slammed the phone in her ear, B.J.

smiled.

“Score!” she called and fisted a hand to pump the air with it. “That ought to do the trick.” Satisfied with the way she’d handled the call, she brushed her palms against her thighs.

Not that she understood what Nan wanted with a big lug like Smardo anyway. Nor did she see how Nan was in any way worried B.J. would want to steal him. Bluck. The whole idea of ever kissing Ralphie again put a nasty taste in her mouth. In fact, it made her feel sick to her stomach all over again.

Realizing she wasn’t going to hold the puke at bay any longer, she lunged toward the bathroom, pushed up the seat of the toilet and bent over it, losing everything she’d eaten since yesterday. Her roiling gut hurt so bad, she fell to her knees and clutched the sides of the porcelain god, not even worried about how nasty the floor was or how many times her brothers and Pop had no doubt missed their aim.

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Sweat beaded her brow and upper lip by the

time her stomach had wrung itself empty. Groaning, she closed her eyes and flushed, spitting out the sulfuric taste of rotten egg in her mouth. She staggered to her feet, reaching for the wall when dizziness assailed her.

Lord have mercy, she felt gross. She wanted to go home and take a nice long shower, then change into her jammies and sleep for the next week.

But as she stepped from the bathroom, wiping dust and grit from the back of her clammy neck, she spotted her father seated at the office desk with his feet propped up, resting on a pile of papers. She paused and warily eyed the way he ran his finger over his bushy mustache.

“Pop,” she greeted.

“You just ill in there?” he asked, nodding his head toward the bathroom.

“Yep,” she answered. She didn’t want him to

know the thought of sleeping with Ralphie Smardo made her literally sick to her stomach, so she added,

“Heat’s really getting to me today.”

She moved to the water cooler and poured

herself another drink. As she downed a third cupful, she glanced at him, apprehensive about the fact he was studying her with the strangest expression.

“What?” she asked, though she was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking.

B.J. was a healthy girl. She was never under the weather. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten puny enough to yak. This was a strange occurrence, sure, but it really was a sweltering day.

Heat did strange things to people when it was as hot and dry as today and they’d skipped breakfast. She’d just pushed herself a little too hard. That was all.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to fly a freight load to Fort Worth, but—”

“I can do it,” she broke in. “Where’re the goods?”

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Pop eyed her untrustingly for a moment. “You sure?”

“I’m good to go, Pop. You want me to get a doctor’s slip saying I’m healthy or what? I told you I was fine.”

“Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a bunch. I’m still your pappy, and that gives me the right to worry about you iffin’ I want to.”

B.J. would’ve rolled her eyes, but the look in her father’s gaze made her refrain. A bitter taste of regret filled her mouth. She wondered—not for the first time—if Jeb Gilmore had wanted a more girly girl for a daughter. From the rumors she’d heard, her mother had been one of those frilly types who liked lots of lace and ruffles. She wondered if Pop would be happier if he could see more of Dellie Gilmore in her.

Clearing her throat and straightening her

shoulders, she held back from being too much like herself and politely said, “I’m feeling better than I did a few minutes ago. Whatever was in my system is out now. I’m sure I’m back to one hundred percent.”

Still studying her with those watery brown eyes of his, Pop picked up a Dixie cup and spit some of his tobacco into it. “The freight’s sitting in the southwest corner on two pallets. Make sure Buck helps you load it. They want it delivered by noon tomorrow.”

B.J. nodded solemnly. “I’ll have it there this evening,” she answered and started from the office to get back to work.