Ginger frowned. “I’m not sure. I think Soleil’s background as a social worker has something to do with it. I’m sure she sees the program as more than just learning farming skills.”
“You mean she counsels the kids, too?” Marcus asked, hoping Izzy didn’t think that was the main reason they’d come out here.
“Not formally, I don’t think. But I know she sees herself being a counselor above anything else.”
They rounded a bend in the road and came into a clearing. Up ahead was a white Victorian farmhouse with a red roof, and spread out on rolling hills behind it was the farm itself.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ginger said.
“Yeah.” Marcus took note of a group of kids playing a game of badminton off to one side of the garden. On the porch, a man stood overseeing a toddler unsteadily maneuvering her way down the front steps.
“That’s Soleil’s husband, West,” Ginger said as if she’d read his mind. “And their daughter, Julianna.”
“Are those goats?” Izzy asked, her tone vaguely horrified.
“Yep.”
“Do I have to go in? I want to sit in the car.”
Marcus turned around to look at her. “Don’t be rude, Izzy,” Marcus said.
Ginger peered at him, her expression inscrutable, then glanced back at Izzy herself. “You want to sit in the car? By yourself? For an hour?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t a lot of conviction in the girl’s voice.
“Sure, go right ahead,” Ginger said.
Marcus caught the doubt in Izzy’s eyes as he glanced in the rearview mirror. She wasn’t sure what kind of trap she was walking into.
“But I thought you wanted me to socialize or something?” she asked.
Ginger shrugged. “Not if you don’t want to. I thought this would be fun for you, but if you’re not interested, stay in the car.”
He marveled at how calm and unbothered by Izzy’s petulance she managed to be. He needed to figure out how to master that skill himself. It was part of the reason Izzy had seemed to respond so well to Ginger today as they toured the town, while she rebelled against Marcus’s habit of always wanting to control the situation. How had he turned into an overbearing father figure so quickly?
He balked at the change in himself. While his own dad hadn’t been a traditional father, with his radical politics and his laissez-faire approach to parenting, somehow Marcus had defaulted into the stereotype of a TV dad—his own Father Knows Best impersonation.
As they pulled to a stop in front of the house, the man on the porch swept the little girl into his arms and came toward the car to greet them. He was smiling tentatively, dodging the grabby hands of his daughter, who was trying to stick her fingers in his mouth.
Ginger and Marcus got out of the car, and she made introductions.
“How about the girl?” West asked, nodding toward Izzy, still sitting in the vehicle.
But before Marcus could explain his daughter’s rudeness, she opened the door and got out as if nothing was the matter.
“This is my daughter, Izzy,” he said, the words tripping awkwardly off his tongue.
It was his first time introducing her to anyone as his child.
“Hi,” she said to West. “How old is your little girl?”
“Julianna’s eight months old.”
“And already walking—that’s amazing,” Ginger said.
“I don’t think it counts as walking until she lets go of the death grip on my thumb, but yeah, she’s a precocious one.”
“Can I hold her?” Izzy asked. “I mean, do you think she’d mind?”
“She’ll probably love it. She lives for attention.” West handed the baby over to Izzy.
“She’s so cute,” Izzy cooed as she hefted the weight of the girl against her narrow hip.
“Don’t let the cuteness fool you. The little demon never sleeps for more than two hours straight, and thinks flinging baby food is an Olympic sport and she’s going for the gold.” But his voice was softened by affection as he gazed at his daughter.
“Is Soleil around?” Ginger asked.
“Sure. You should come in. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“I should have called first, but we were driving by and I couldn’t resist stopping in to show these guys the farm.”
“Anytime you’re always welcome,” West said as they followed him up the steps and across the porch.
Inside, the house smelled of fresh-baked bread. Marcus looked around, admiring the gleaming hardwood floors and simple, unpretentious beauty of the place. It was much as he imagined Ginger’s house would be once they got it fully renovated.
They?
Yeah, he was already imagining himself sticking around for the entire job…and beyond.
They followed West down a hallway to a large, eat-in kitchen, where a woman with a headful of springy black curls was explaining to a tall, gawky looking teenager how to properly slice bread.
“We’ve got some visitors,” West announced.
The woman looked up, and a broad smile crossed her pretty face. “Ginger!”
The two hugged and turned to the group.
“You probably remember Marcus from college and this is his daughter, Izzy,” Ginger said.
Soleil greeted them both, then gestured to the boy cutting the loaf of bread. “You guys are just in time to sample Omar’s first effort at rosemary bread.”
She introduced them to the youth, who looked to be maybe fifteen and was wearing a pink, flower-print apron over his baggy jeans and sports jersey. He grinned and said hello, and the smile transformed his dark brown face. Marcus watched as the boy’s gaze landed on Izzy and lingered there, sparking with interest. Izzy, for her part, assumed a posture Marcus had never seen her take before, hair flipped over her shoulder, hip cocked to the side.
Okay, she was holding a baby, but there was no mistaking the change in her. She looked flirtatious.
As parenting challenges went, he wasn’t remotely prepared for boys. His first instinct was to grab Izzy by the hand and drag her from the house, shuffle her back into the car and maybe drive her to the nearest nunnery.
She smiled a coy smile and said hello to Omar.
No, Marcus definitely wasn’t prepared.
“Bread for everyone?” Soleil asked. “Omar, why don’t you help me serve?”
“Ma!” the baby cried, reaching for her mother and trying to squirm out of Izzy’s arms. “Mamamamama!”
“I could help with the bread,” Izzy offered. “I think she wants you.”
“Thank you, Izzy. She’s probably getting hungry.”
Marcus watched as his daughter went to the counter with Omar and began putting slices of bread on napkins.
“Why don’t you give Marcus a tour of the place, West?” Soleil suggested as she sat down at the large oak kitchen table with Julianna squirming in her arms. “He’s never been here before.”
She casually flipped up her shirt and began nursing the baby, causing Marcus a moment’s embarrassment. Not since his days on the commune had he been around the family scene, complete with breast-feeding moms and fussy toddlers. Suddenly, traipsing around a farm sounded like a marvelous idea.
“Izzy, why don’t you come, too?” he said as she brought him and West slices of warm bread.
“Oh, um, I guess.”
“Omar could show her around and introduce her to the other kids,” Soleil said. “Would you mind, Omar?”
As he passed slices to Soleil and Ginger, he nodded. “Sure, that’s cool.” His eyes lit up and he smiled. “Hey, you want to see the chickens? We’ve got some crazy-looking ones.”
Izzy, who’d taken a bite of her piece, shrugged. “Um, yeah,” she said once she’d finished chewing.
“This bread is great,” Ginger said.
“Delicious, Omar. I think you’ve found your calling,” West added.
The boy smiled and motioned for Izzy to follow him. Marcus couldn’t think of any good excuse to stop them.
Okay, he was being an overprotective father. Surely there wasn’t any harm in two kids taking a tour of the farm. Still, he made a mental note to keep an eye on them. After all, he was responsible for Izzy now.
“Come on out back,” West said, motioning to Marcus. “I’ll introduce you to the goats.”
Marcus followed him reluctantly, hoping they’d quickly find their way around to the chicken coop. Chickens he was familiar with, but goats?
“So you’re new to town, right?” West asked once they were crossing the yard behind the house.
A gorgeous Australian shepherd mix came running up to them and nudged Marcus’s leg for attention. “Hey, buddy,” Marcus said, bending to pet the dog.
“That’s Silas. He’ll make you stay there all day rubbing his head if you’re not careful. So, you’re here for the summer?”
Marcus straightened. “Yeah, I’m here for the summer. I’m, um, getting to know my daughter.”
“Oh, right, Soleil mentioned that. You must have had quite a shock finding out you were a father.”
Marcus smiled, surprised at himself. The topic didn’t feel as weighty as it had even yesterday. His growing feelings for Izzy and Ginger, he suspected, were making him feel more positive about the situation.
“It was a shock at first,” he said. “For Izzy, too, I’m sure. But we’re adjusting. I guess the scariest part is the lack of a crash course in how to be a father. Any tips for a complete novice?”
They headed toward the pasture Silas following along behind.
“You know, I didn’t find out about my daughter until Soleil was already five months pregnant. We had a rocky start, but things worked themselves out.”
“And you’re happy now?”
West smiled, and he didn’t need to say a word. “Yeah. Being a father is hard, don’t get me wrong, but it’s amazing, too. Every single day is amazing, even the rough ones.”
Marcus felt that now familiar stab of regret. “I wish I’d been around for Izzy’s baby years.”
“Is her mom still in the picture?”
“No, she died a few months ago.”
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“We hadn’t been a couple since college.” Marcus explained. “But it’s rough for Izzy.”
“It’s good you’ve got Ginger around. I can’t imagine a better role model for a teenage girl. You thinking of staying here in the area?”
Marcus hadn’t been before he arrived, but now… “Maybe,” he said. “I suspect we’re going to like it here.”
“I guess my only words of advice about the fatherhood thing is, you know, you’ve got to find it in yourself to be a better man than you ever thought you could be. Because your daughter doesn’t deserve anything less.”
Marcus chuckled. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You can do it, man, don’t worry. If I can, anyone can.”
But as Marcus surveyed this farm, the house, the barns, the animals, all the stability and responsibility it took to keep a place like this running, he wondered…. Was he way out of his element?
And even more important, was he cut out to be what Izzy needed?
Her happiness depended on the answer to that question.
He felt the euphoria of moments ago slipping away from him.
“I’m not sure I know what to do with a thirteen-year-old,” he admitted.
“You’ll figure it out. And she’s welcome to come hang out with the kids here anytime you need a break. We’ll teach her some useful skills—how to pluck a chicken and such.”
Marcus laughed. “She’s a vegetarian.”
West grinned. “Then we’ll teach her how to pick a cabbage. How’s that?”
“I appreciate it,” he said, not voicing his preference to keep her away from boys until the age of thirty.
“And don’t sweat it,” West continued, as if reading Marcus’s mind. “Soleil runs this place with an iron fist in a velvet glove. You don’t have to worry about the kids getting into any trouble.”
“Has having a daughter given you any gray hair yet?” he asked West with a wry grin.
“I’m finding new ones every day.”
CHAPTER NINE
GINGER WAS SOMEWHERE on the edge of a dream when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Before she could react, the door creaked open.
“Ginger?” Marcus whispered.
“What wrong?” she croaked. “Is Izzy okay?”
“She’s fine. Can I come in?”
“Um, yeah,” she said, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly midnight.
She sat up, leaned over and switched on a light, wondering for a brief moment of panic if her hair was a mess or if she had any dried-up drool on her chin.
Stop that. She wasn’t the same foolish girl who’d pined after Marcus. She was a grown woman who understood that they’d never be more than friends.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”
“Sort of.”
He entered, filling up the room with his oversize masculine form. It was the first time she’d had a man in this bedroom, she thought with a hint of regret.
“I just finished your book,” he said, smiling as he sat down on the end of her bed and faced her. “I couldn’t wait until morning to talk to you about it.”
“Oh,” she said, stunned. “You already finished it? I just gave it to you this morning.”
“I’ve been reading it all evening. It’s so damn good, Ginger. And I’m not just saying that. The way you wove the stories of the three girls together, and the spells. Brilliant. I really mean it.”
She glanced away, uncomfortable with the effusive praise, even if he was just saying it to be nice.
“Are you sure you didn’t crack your skull when you got shot? Suffer a brain injury, too?”
He shook his head, looking incredulous. “I’m serious, Ginger. I don’t understand how that book went unnoticed, but it’s one of the best things I’ve read in years. You should be very proud of yourself.”
It wasn’t like Marcus to gush. At least not the old Marcus. But this new guy who’d arrived on the plane from Amsterdam—she wasn’t sure she knew all the rules when it came to him. He didn’t behave in predictable ways. He didn’t act like the guy she used to know.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you think you could get together some short stories for a collection? Something we could send to my agent?”
“No way! That’s really nice of you, but—”
“Don’t tell me you’re not interested in publication anymore.”
She shrugged, the movement making her conscious of how thin her blue silk nightgown was. One strap slipped off her shoulder and she grabbed it and put it back in place.
“I mean, of course I could use the money.”
“Good. Then why don’t I help you decide which stories to send?”
“Marcus…”
The prospect of letting him peruse her unpublished works left her feeling far more naked than the nightgown did. He knew her better than most people. Or at least she used to think. He knew which parts of a story were from her own life and which were made up. He could see through her fiction to her truths, and maybe that’s why she was reluctant to have him read her work.
Or perhaps she was giving him too much credit.
“I can choose them myself,” she finally said. “And then you can read them and see what you think.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know when I’ll find time to look through everything. How many should I pick?”
He shrugged. “Just put together a few hundred pages worth. You don’t have an agent now, do you?”
“No, we parted ways a few years after my book was published. She wasn’t interested in representing short fiction.”
“And you weren’t interested in writing any more novels?”
“No.”
“You really should. I mean, someday. When yo
u’re ready. The world needs your voice.”
She sighed, trying not to laugh. “Don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick? You don’t have to say nice things to get me to let you stay here. I’ve already said yes, remember?”
He placed a hand on her leg, just below the knee, and the contact, even with a sheet between them, sent a shiver through her. “All kidding aside, okay?” He was gazing at her so earnestly she had no choice but to nod.
“Okay.”
“I’m totally in love with your book. I’m going to let Izzy read it next, if that’s fine with you.”
“Oh. Wow. Do you think she’s ready for it?”
Ginger had written the book as an adult novel, even though the three main characters were teenagers throughout much of the story.
“I think reading it will be good for her, yeah.”
“Okay, but just wait until I talk to her about it first.”
The protagonist lost her parents at the beginning of the story, and while Ginger was reluctant to introduce the subject to Izzy, she knew it was one that needed to be dealt with.
She was all too aware of Marcus’s proximity and an awkward silence fell between them. She caught his gaze straying to her chest, if she wasn’t mistaken, and her treacherous body tingled in all the wrong—right—places.
“In the novel, what did you intend for the reader to think when you had Greta and Jane disappear?” he asked, his eyes intent.
Ginger could hardly believe Marcus was sitting here acting as thought her unnoticed little book was the most important literary work to come along since the Bible.
“It was the spell. It worked.”
“That’s what I thought.” He smiled, apparently satisfied. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have woken you. I was just so excited to finish the story and…”
“And what?”
“I’m not kidding. It’s a beautiful book. Almost as beautiful as you.”
With that, he stood up and headed for the door, leaving Ginger to ponder his words.
Just before he walked out, he turned and said good-night, and she murmured a faint reply.
As she switched off the light and tried to go back to sleep, she wondered again if this seemingly new attraction he had for her was the real Marcus talking or the heady aftermath of his near-death experience.
The One That Got Away Page 8
