THE TEXAS WILDCATTER'S BABY
Page 11
* * *
GINGER WOKE HOURS later to the familiar sound of her mother’s voice. “My maternal instinct told me something was wrong!” Cordelia said. “And this mess just proves it!”
“Actually,” Rand returned mildly, “the only thing it shows is that neither Ginger nor I are all that great at being domestic.”
“Well, someone needs to be, and in most cases, it’s the wife!” Cordelia returned.
With a muffled oath, Ginger lifted her head. Unfortunately for her, the door separating the bedroom from the living area was wide open. Catching sight of her, Cordelia swept toward her.
“It’s nine o’clock. What are you still doing in bed? Are you feeling all right?”
Ginger sat up in a panic. “I’m supposed to be at the Boernes’ attorney’s office at eleven!”
“I was just coming in to wake you,” Rand said.
“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late.” Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. The jeans hanging on the rod were still pretty wet.
Her mom was right behind her. “What happened here? Were half the dryers all broken? It looks like a laundry room exploded. Not to mention the piles of wrinkled clothing out in the living room.”
Ginger followed her mother’s glance. It was an apt description.
“I didn’t get as far as I might have with the folding,” Rand said lamely.
Apparently not. Which would not have mattered had her mother not been here, looking on disapprovingly, her gaze intimating that Ginger was well on the way to botching yet another marriage, due to her lack of domestic instincts.
Trying not to think about how much more the demise of this relationship was going to hurt than her first one had, Ginger tested the jeans on the back porch. They were nearly as damp as the ones in the bathroom.
The denims she’d had on the day before had a big coffee stain across one thigh. That would have been okay, if she hadn’t had an important business meeting to attend.
As intuitive as ever, Rand guessed the direction of her thoughts.
“Want me to toss a pair in the dryer?” he asked.
Ginger hated to accept yet another favor, but had no choice. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Since when do you line-dry all your jeans?” Cordelia interjected.
“Since I—” found myself pregnant and unable to fit in practically everything I own “—married an environmentalist,” Ginger said as she searched through the piles of clean wrinkled clothes for two towels.
“Well, I guess that’s good for the harmony of the marriage,” Cordelia allowed, sniffing as she held up a horribly wrinkled shirt.
Normally, Ginger wouldn’t ask, but she was desperate. She turned to her mom. “Do you want to iron something for me?”
Cordelia smiled, happy to be needed. “Absolutely. Afterward, I’ll put away the food I brought you.”
Ginger rummaged through the piles and plucked out a white knit shirt, and an embroidered cotton vest. “Everything you need, including the spray starch, is in the coat closet. I’ve got to hit the shower or I’ll be late.”
Both women sprang to action.
Unfortunately, Ginger’s problems didn’t end there.
Rand returned with a pair of jeans that was warm and soft—and way too tight. Ginger had to lie on the bed and even then she could hardly shimmy them on. She was still struggling to pull up the zipper when he eased open the door ever so slightly and let himself into the bedroom, ironed clothing in one hand, an oversize stainless-steel travel mug hiding her prenatal vitamins in the other.
“Oh, my heavens,” Ginger said, looking at the mug. “Tell me she didn’t see.”
He whispered in her ear, “Only because I happened to think of it and got there first.”
Ginger breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”
Smiling at her tenderly, Rand kept a firm grip on the mug and handed over the ironed garments. “Your mother asked me to bring these to you.”
Ginger looked at the clock. It was now ten minutes after ten. She had to leave in seven minutes if she wanted to make it to her appointment on time. Worse, she was beginning to feel vaguely nauseous.
“You look a little green,” Rand observed.
Ginger lifted a hand. “Don’t say that.” To the baby inside her, she whispered, struggling to her feet, “And don’t you do this to me!” Not now. Not today...
Rand assisted her the rest of the way to her feet. He looked down at the booty-tight denim. “Are you going to be able to get those snapped?”
Obviously not. She gave him a lethal glare, then took the knit shirt and slipped it over her head. It was as bad as the jeans, showing her burgeoning waistline, and illustrating her inability to snap or fully zip her jeans.
Five minutes left.
Nausea rising.
Ginger took a deep breath, closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down. This shirt wasn’t going to work. She went to the closet and selected a tan-colored twill shirt. “Mind if I borrow this?”
“Help yourself.”
She slipped it on and put the unbuttoned vest over that. Luckily, the last hole on her belt worked, and it was enough to hold her unzipped pants up on her hips. The oversize man’s shirt looked kind of cute, in a tunic-length-shirt sort of way. And it matched nicely with her tapestry-print brown, tan and indigo cotton vest.
She ran a comb quickly through her still-damp copper hair, twisted it into a businesslike knot low on the nape of her neck and slapped her suede cowgirl hat on her head. Grabbing her briefcase, she headed for the door.
“Where are you meeting Maria?” Rand asked.
“In town, outside the lawyer’s office.”
“Wait—what happened to the shirt I ironed for you?” her mother asked in confusion.
“Wardrobe crisis. Changed my mind!” she replied, and kept right on walking.
“It’s some sort of wildcatter superstition.” Behind her, Rand explained in his casual, charming tone, “Ginger thinks wearing a piece of my clothing gives her good luck. Who’s to say it doesn’t?”
Who indeed? Ginger thought.
“I hope it goes well!” her mother rushed to call after her.
“Thanks,” Ginger said over her shoulder to both Rand and her mom. The way her day was going thus far, she would need every ounce of luck she could get.
* * *
DOT AND CLANCY Boerne were at their attorney’s office as the bidders dropped off their proposals. The gregarious couple not only thanked everyone for participating, they took the time to chat a little, as well. With Maria, the focus was on her family and three teenage sons, and what it was like for a woman to manage a mostly male drilling crew.
With Ginger, the focus was the change in her marital status. “So how are things on the home front?” Dot asked.
“Good,” she said automatically, a little surprised to realize it was true. Despite the stress of trying to make everything work, she was happier and more content than she had been in a long time. Of course a lot of that could be due to the baby she and Rand were secretly expecting, too.
“Glad to hear that,” Clancy said cheerfully.
Dot added, “The first few weeks or months can be harder than anyone expects, due to the adjustments required.”
Sensing some reassurance was needed to keep her fledgling company firmly in the running, Ginger said, “Rand and I know that. It’s why we’ve taken a very practical approach to everything on the domestic front.”
“Dividing chores evenly, I guess?” Clancy mused.
“Actually, we’re trying to keep our lives as close to what they were as possible. Rand and I are very independent at heart. We respect and appreciate that about each other.”
&n
bsp; Catching Dot and Clancy’s look of surprise, Maria grinned and, playfully elbowing Ginger, threw in her two cents. “I’ve seen the two lovebirds together enough to vouch for that. They’re crazy about each other.”
Dot smiled approvingly and turned her attention back to Ginger. “The important thing is that you and Rand have realized you belong together and have taken steps to make a lasting commitment to one another, the same way Maria has with her family. That shows a laudable maturity and the kind of personal stability Clancy and I look for in all our business partners.”
Meaning what? Ginger wondered, upset. That she wouldn’t be in the running if she hadn’t married Rand?
Chapter Nine
Ginger was still thinking about the conversation she’d had with the Boernes as she drove back to the Red Sage.
Rand’s pickup was gone. So was her mother’s sedan. Glad to have a moment alone, she parked and went inside.
The living area of the cottage was pretty much as she’d left it, with unfinished laundry everywhere. The refrigerator, freezer and cupboards were different, however. They were packed with homemade varieties of all her favorite foods. And some of what she now knew were Rand’s, as well.
Tears of gratitude blurring her eyes, Ginger reached for her phone. She called her mom to thank her, and this time it was she who got no answer.
She grabbed a couple granola bars and drank a glass of milk. She knew she should start folding and putting away her portion of the laundry, but instead headed right back to bed, shucking her too tight blue jeans as she went.
She climbed beneath the covers, telling herself she’d just rest for a few minutes. The next thing she knew she was waking from one of the soundest, most gratifying slumbers of her life. It was dark outside. Rand was in the living room, sitting on the love seat. But that wasn’t the only thing that was different, she noticed as she struggled to sit up. Not by a long shot.
Still yawning and rubbing her eyes, she walked out to join him. Shirttail out, boots off, he looked relaxed and casual.
Noting how the soft blue of his shirt brought out the darker blue of his eyes, she asked, “What time is it?”
He looked at his watch. “Nine o’clock.”
That meant she’d been asleep nine hours.
Seeming to realize where her thoughts were going, he patted the seat beside him and said gently, “You were tired.”
She certainly must have been. Realizing she was clad in nothing but his shirt—which came to mid-thigh—the unbuttoned vest, and a pair of boot socks, she sat beside him on the small two-cushion sofa and continued to look around at the unusually neat and orderly space. They’d been married for weeks now, and being here with him like this was still a pleasurable assault to her system. “Did you do all this?”
His mouth quirked. “Your mother folded, ironed and organized all our laundry. I assembled the shelving system she insisted we needed. And then we both put everything away.”
Ginger blinked in amazement. How was it that he worked so well with her mother while she and Cordelia could barely have a civil conversation these days? “While I was sleeping.”
Rand shrugged, as if it was no big deal. His glance fell to her bare thigh, then returned to her eyes. “Your mom knows how to be quiet, as do I.”
Her skin tingling where his glance had been, she rose gracefully and walked back into the bedroom. She switched on a light and studied the contents of the closet. It looked the way Ginger’s closet had when she was growing up, and her mom had still been in charge of Ginger’s life, a fact that was simultaneously comforting and disturbing. Ginger sighed. “She also unpacked my suitcases.”
Rand nodded, appearing as relieved about that as her mother probably had been. “Yeah, although given that your toiletries were all in our bathroom and you’d gone through most of the clothing that was in there already, there wasn’t a heck of a lot to do there.”
Ginger reached for a pair of once loose-fitting but now snug jersey pajama pants and tugged them on over her bare legs. She swung around, feeling trapped and restless once again. “Where are my suitcases?”
Rand draped his arm along the back of the love seat. “With mine, in the storage area, next to the boxes.”
“And where’s my mom?”
“She was able to get a room at the Summit Inn in town this time. Said she was staying for at least a couple of days.”
Days in which, Ginger suspected, the advice on how to live happily married ever after would be free flowing.
Perceptive as ever, Rand leaned forward, hands clasped between his spread knees. “Look, I get that she’s a little over-involved, but your mom means well.”
Ginger sniffed. “That doesn’t make her interference in our home life any easier to take.”
Rand moved lithely to his feet and walked toward her. “She said that she wants us to have the best possible start to our marriage. Her way of facilitating that is to create some sort of utopian honeymoon segue into married life. My mom’s way is to give us space, and believe me, that’s not easy for her.”
Ginger walked to the kitchen. Aware she was hungry but didn’t yet know what she wanted, she poured herself a glass of milk. “What do you mean?”
Rand slouched against the counter, arms folded in front of him. “In the past, her instinct has always been to rush in and offer her advice whenever she thinks me or my four brothers are making a big mistake. It’s caused problems with all of us, in the past. The fact she’s not doing it now, coupled with how much your mom is doing, just shows me how much both our families really want our marriage to work.”
And that was a problem, too. “I guess I didn’t consider the devastation second divorces for each of us would have on our parents.”
Abruptly, Rand looked disturbed about that, too.
Sipping her milk, Ginger forced herself to take comfort where she could. “But our families will be happy about the baby, even if they’re not happy about our eventual split. And over time, anyway, they’re bound to appreciate our commitment to bringing up our baby together, as friends.”
* * *
FOR RAND, THAT was no longer enough, although it had sounded good at the outset. There was something about living together as a married couple that made them feel like husband and wife, as well. And made him want more from the arrangement than he was currently getting. More sex, more intimacy, more closeness of every kind.
Silence fell between them as Ginger drained her glass and set it aside. Her hair was loose and wild tonight, the rest of her sleep-rumpled and vulnerable. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful to him, and sometimes just looking at her made his chest ache.
Misreading his pensiveness, she went still. “I know you’re tempted to shout the news. Sometimes I am, too, but we’re not telling anyone yet.”
He ran his finger down the curve of her shoulder, and was rewarded with a whole body shudder. “Because of the bid.”
Ginger lifted her chin. “I don’t want to lose out on this opportunity because anyone thinks I won’t be able to do the work while pregnant.”
“They wouldn’t necessarily think that.” Rand looked at her for a satisfyingly long moment. “My mom worked during all five of her pregnancies right up until the due dates. Any leave she took was after she gave birth.”
She inhaled deeply. “She’s definitely a role model, and one I intend to emulate. But given what Dot said to me today when I turned in the bid with Maria... I’m not taking any chances.”
Ginger filled him in on what had transpired.
Color blooming in her cheeks, she ambled back to the love seat and sank onto it once again. The mountain air streaming in through the open windows was a little chilly, evidenced by the delicious imprint of her nipples against her shirt. She shivered as she glanced over at the stack of papers. “What are you looking at?”
“That would be the way to go if we planned on being together indefinitely. Since we don’t...” Ginger met his eyes and shook her head. “Fiscally, it doesn’t make sense. You know that as well as I do.”
Rand narrowed his gaze. “Living with a baby in a weekly rental doesn’t make sense, either.”
Ginger seemed to know they couldn’t continue like this. However, to his frustration, that didn’t mean she was in any particular rush to figure everything out right this minute, either.
“Can we talk about this later?” Her stomach rumbling, she jumped to her feet and went to the kitchen. “Because I’m starving.”
Enjoying the view, he stayed where he was. “At last, something we can agree upon.”
She made a soft sound of exasperation, opened the freezer and quickly located one of her mother’s homemade meals. “Have you had dinner?” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
“I was waiting for you to wake up.”
His shirt rode up slightly in the back, the rumpled hem clinging seductively to the soft jersey covering her buttocks, as she studied the contents of the fridge. “Do you like beef chili?”
I’d rather have you. He let his gaze drift over the delectable, feminine slope of her backside. “So much I can eat it cold out of a can.”
Ginger whirled toward him, the curves of her breasts pressing against the cotton fabric of his shirt. “Well, hopefully, we can do better than that.”
Hopefully, once dinner was over, they could do a lot better than that...
He propped both legs on the coffee table and stretched his arms out along the back of the love seat, content to watch her putter around the small kitchen. Looking pretty and sexy in her usual, determined way, Ginger opened up the fridge once again. She pulled out grated cheddar, sour cream and pickled jalapeños. “What about Frito pie?”