The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(65)

Once done, she started to tote them up to the second floor. Frowning down the hall at all the closed doors, she opened the first she came across, merely looking for a place to store her purchases.

She didn’t realize she was looking for a place to start a nursery until she opened the door and found herself in an empty room with walls painted a pastel yellow and boarded with pink and pale blue letter blocks.

“Oh,” she whispered in shock.

Stumbling in reverse to flee the room intended for Amy’s baby, she turned and jerked to a stop when she found Grady poised at the top of the stairs, watching her.

“I…” she said. Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her, she lowered her head and tried to pull in a breath of air. “I was just looking for someplace to put this stuff.”

****

It was on the tip of Grady’s tongue to apologize.

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B.J. looked like she’d just seen a ghost when she’d jerked herself out of Bennett’s nursery. He should’ve showed her the entire house yesterday...should’ve opened all the doors, should’ve painted over the damn walls.

“You…” He paused and licked his suddenly dry lips. “You can put them in there if you want.”

The violent way in which she shook her head

made him feel even worse. He was such an idiot. Of course, she didn’t want to put her baby’s things in another’s baby’s room, a baby who hadn’t even made it to a full day old. Bad karma.

Clearing his throat, he said, “The next door down is a guest room.” Had always been a guest room.

Still not meeting his eyes, she nodded and

started to turn away. But at the last second, she stopped and came back around, looking at him with an expression that nearly rent him in two. He’d never seen the tough tomboy B.J. Gilmore look so miserable before.

“Believe it or not, Slim”—her voice was shaky, a fact that bowled him over—“I still think this whole marriage thing was a stupid idea, but I don’t want it to be a disaster. I don’t want to fail as a wife. But you know what? I’m never going to be what your parents—what your dad—wants for you. I’m never going to wear a dress or paint my nails...or care what color the freaking curtains are. I’m never going to be Amy.”

That last comment caught him by surprise. He stared at her in shock, and she stared back as if surprised those words had come out of her as well.

She even opened her mouth like she was going to apologize.

Not wanting her to feel bad about saying what she’d needed to say, yet wondering where in the hell that little speech had come from, he said, “I never 199



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expected you to be.”

B.J. stared back, and he thought she was going to cry for a moment. So he cleared his throat and added, “My father doesn’t hate you either. He’s just worried about me right now. And I don’t...no one thinks you need to change just because you’re married. I actually…”

He cleared his throat again and glanced away.

He wanted to tell her more, like he appreciated who she was. He was glad he was with her and even excited about their baby. But it felt too soon to go that deep.

Before he could change his mind, he mumbled

out a brief, “You’re fine just the way you are,” and turned away, jogging back down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen, he paced from the refrigerator to the stove to the sink and then back to all three in restless anxiety.

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have made her feel like an outsider or left that stupid wedding album out. He’d messed up bad.

Of course this place was going to remind her of Amy every time she turned a corner. He should’ve gone to live with her at her house.

Running his hand through his already mussed

hair, he wondered if he should go ahead and offer.

He could live at her place if he had to. Or hell, maybe he should just build them a new house, free from any kind of past or troubling memory.

Growling out a sound of frustration, he turned again to march toward the refrigerator when he focused in on the telephone hanging on the wall.

Falling to a stop, he realized he’d never erased the message with Amy’s voice on it. Letting out a groan, he gritted back a shard of sharp pain in his gut.

Swallowing, he numbly moved to the phone,

slowing with each step until he was there. His fingers came up, and they hovered over the delete 200



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button, debating. If he pushed it, he’d never hear Amy again.

Above him, he heard a muffled thump—B.J.

flopping a bag of baby things on the guest room floor, no doubt. Grady stared up at the ceiling.

If he didn’t push the button, what would she think? Realizing he wouldn’t be able to move on and start his future until he let go of the past, he punched the button and gasped out a breath as he did so.

His heart pounded against his chest, and his finger stayed glued to the delete button for seconds after he knew the message was already gone.

Letting out a shaky laugh, he pulled away and stared at the phone as if he expected it to exact some kind of revenge for his actions.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispered, hoping somewhere up there, Amy heard him. “No matter what.”