The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(49)

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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Holy hell, did she need to buy all this crap for one itty bitty little baby? This was going to cost her a fortune, not to mention the fact she had no idea what any of it was or what she was supposed to do with it. Maybe Tucker Rawlings had a point. She wasn’t cut out to be a mother. The kid would get along better if she just left it with Grady and took off. Her stomach burned at the thought, and she pressed her hand to it, to her baby.

“B.J.,” Jo Ellen murmured as she picked up the swaddled infant. “This is Tanner. Tanner, meet your new Aunt B.J.”

At being referred to as an aunt, B.J. swung

around and paused, coming face to face with a bright-eyed little boy who was staring up at her from his mother’s arms. He looked so calm and serious until she made eye contact. Then he broke into a smile and waved both arms in excited baby-greeting.

Charmed by the little critter, B.J. grinned back and took a step toward mother and son. Unable to help herself, she reached out, and the boy immediately did the same, latching his entire fist around her index finger.

Something hard and inherent moved inside her.

Good lord. She was supposed to raise one of these things? It was as exciting as it was scary.

“Grady said he had a lot of hair,” she murmured in awe. “But he didn’t mention the curls.”

Jo Ellen lifted her face, stunned. “Grady talked to you about Tanner?”

Shrugging briefly, B.J. glanced up. “He only mentioned the hair,” she said. When the other woman looked completely bowled over, she frowned, confused, and dropped the infant’s fingers. “Why?”

“I thought…” Jo Ellen shook her head and wiped a single tear from her eye. “I’m sorry. It’s...I’ve never seen him hold Tanner. He’ll barely even look at 150



The Trouble with Tomboys



him.”

Not sure what to say, B.J. fumbled for a moment before she offered, “Well, I’m sure it’s hard for him after...you know, after what happened.” Wondering if he’d be able to hold his own child once it was born, she sat her palm over her stomach and swallowed hard.

Jo Ellen must’ve sensed her worry. Forcing a smile, she thrust her son forward. “Do you want to hold him?”

B.J. immediately backed away. “What? Oh. No.

No, I don’t think... No thanks,” she said. “I don’t want to break him or anything.”

Jo Ellen’s smile faltered. “B.J.,” she said, her voice going stern with disapproval. “You need to get used to this before yours is born. You don’t want to be scared of holding your own child, do you?”

“Uh…” Was this a trick question? Of course she didn’t want to be scared of her own kid, but...damn, did she have to start practicing now? She had nine months to get it down.

“Here,” Jo Ellen said, taking matters into her own hands. “Sit in the rocker, and I’ll slip him into your arms.”

Wanting to refuse but not sure how, B.J. found herself shuffling reluctantly toward the rocking chair.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

Jo Ellen rolled her eyes. “Trust me. You’ll be fine. The main thing to worry about is supporting his head. Other than that, just don’t drop him, and you’re home free.

“Now,” she added once B.J. had eased into the chair, “cradle your arms like you’re holding an imaginary baby.”

B.J. did so, feeling like an absolute moron.

“Perfect,” Jo Ellen congratulated with a smile.

She leaned down to settle the child in B.J.’s arms 151



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and added, “Just make yourself comfortable, and he’ll be comfortable too.”

Yeah right, B.J. wanted to mutter. She felt real comfortable.

“You got his head supported?” she asked