The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(56)

“Whatever,” she answered. “This is your thing, Slim.

Doesn’t make no never mind to me. We’ll get hitched next weekend.”

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Chapter Fourteen


Grady woke at his usual time Friday morning.

He rose and took a shower, just as he always did.

Then he fixed breakfast and ate it alone. Nothing new there. An outside observer would assume it was a normal, average day for him. He didn’t appear to be nervous or excited or even regretful about the fact he was getting married in mere hours.

What he honestly felt was reflective. He’d

already visited Amy’s grave the day before and informed her about his upcoming nuptials. He’d left the cemetery with a feeling of peace, confident she would approve of her successor.

He hadn’t confessed how much he liked bedding B.J. though. Then again, there were a few things he’d never told Amy...or her gravestone...like the fact he’d blamed her death on her for an entire day.

Amy had wanted children right away. But

typical, reserved Grady, he had to wait a few years.

He wanted to build her a house first. Their dream home. And he wanted them to settle into their lives together before adding a new member. So Amy waited with him...impatiently.

The woman had loved children. She’d babysat

for not only the Gilmores, but many other families in her younger years, and after high school, she’d gone to college for a teaching certificate. Her life revolved around tending to the young. But Grady had resisted the idea of starting a family so soon in their marriage, and he was able to hold her off for three years.

Then, one evening, he asked her at supper when 170



The Trouble with Tomboys



she was carrying a hot pie to the table for dessert.

“Do you still want kids?”

Amy spilled her pumpkin special on the floor, she was so excited by his question. She jumped into his lap and started kissing him all over the face.

“Let’s start now,” she said, instantly ready to go forth and procreate.

But you know Grady. ‘Right now’ was not a

phrase in his vocabulary. Amy was still on birth control. They had to wait until that cleared through her system and her body took over its natural cycle.

Then Grady wanted to get them both tested for whatever was necessary, to make sure everything was okay.

Good wife that Amy was, she let him have his way. Grady’s tests came back fine. He was fertile and full of healthy sperm. Dr. Carl said he was capable of producing fit, normal children. But the shock of all shocks came with his next words as he glanced at Amy and winced.

“Now, you, on the other hand…”

And thus started years of baby-making hell.

Amy wasn’t barren, but she had internal physical problems. Grady couldn’t even remember all the technical terms the doctor used. It was inadvisable for her to attempt to bear children—that was all he understood.

So, Grady shrugged and suggested adoption.

Amy looked at him like he might’ve just proposed they turn into swingers.

“I want your babies,” she stated adamantly, letting him know good and well that no one else’s would do.

“But Dr. Carl said you can’t—”

“He didn’t say can’t,” she interrupted quickly.

“He said shouldn’t.”

“Then we shouldn’t,” Grady was quick to retort.

Amy merely held up a hand, refusing to listen to 171



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his concerns. “I’m fine. We will have a baby.”

Grady knew how desperately she wanted a

whole gaggle of children—hell, everyone knew—so he gave in, and they began to try. For over a year, they tried with no success. And every month when her period started, Amy fell into a fit of depression. Sex became a duty, and he almost reached the point he regretted having to perform on certain days.

After four months of fertility implants, Amy called him at work and was so hysterical, he thought she’d been in an accident.

But when she calmed down enough for him to

understand she’d only missed her period, he said, “Is that all?”

Upset by his lackluster answer, she hung up on him with a loud slam. He called her back and apologized profusely, saying he merely didn’t want to get his hopes up until he saw a positive test. Amy, excited enough for the both of them, demanded he come home immediately, so they could take the test together. He did, and the test was indeed positive.

She remained pregnant for five months. Dr. Carl put her on bed rest ten weeks into term, and Grady feared he might strangle himself by the time month nine came along. He hated worrying about her. He hated how she could do nothing but lie in bed all day. But Amy positively glowed.

“It’s only for a few weeks more,” she assured him. “Then the baby will be born, and everything will be fine again.”

Like a fool, he believed her.

During month five, Amy woke in the middle of the night with cramps and spotting, and Grady still believed her reassurances as he rushed her to the hospital. But she had a miscarriage as well as emergency surgery to remove one of her ovaries.

Amy was inconsolable afterward. When the