“What makes you think I want to kiss you? You’ve got a smudge on your cheek. Your knees are all red. Your hair is as wild as a rusty Brillo pad.”
“You came for another kiss,” she informed him. “Beats me why. I’m a wreck. It’s obvious. You can’t possibly believe this could go anywhere.”
He didn’t. At least not exactly. The problem was more confounding than that. He’d been content with his laid-back lifestyle in Sweet Valley for all this time—or so he’d believed until he ran into her. Crazy or not, he felt more invigorated after tussling with her for two minutes than in the whole four years before her. “I’m not admitting anything—except that I might have come back for another kiss. But I also came to find out how much trouble I was in for sending over Jed and Sarah.”
“Well, that’s a different subject. I’m not sure Jed took to me, but I sure took to him. He knows the front from the back end of a tractor. I sure don’t.” She crouched down, but instead of jumping to the floor, she just sat on the sink counter. She reached for the last two tequila bottles, opened both and then turned them upside down to pour in the sink. “Now Sarah—I’m not so sure. She sure has an ornery side.”
“Well, yeah. But that’s why I thought you two might get along. You’re two peas in a pod and all that.”
She squinted at him. “Are you suggesting that I’m ornery?”
“I would never do that,” he assured her. “Stubborn, yes. Temper prone, yes. A spark plug ready to fire, yes. A volcano always ready to erupt at the slightest provoca—”
There. A smile. So reluctant. But the darned woman couldn’t just throw out a good sense of humor, even when she was trying her best to stay crabby.
“Only because I’m a Southern girl raised with manners, I’ll offer you something to drink. Something short and quick.”
“What have you got? Besides all that tequila.”
“Was that a real question?” She rolled her eyes. “This was a tea plantation. Tea’s the only drink we serve morning, noon and night.”
“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind a cup of...hmm...tea.”
She finally hopped down from the counter, gave him a single poke in the stomach. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“You’re still smiling.”
“That may be because I’m a lunatic.” Some habits were clearly ingrained in her, without her having to think twice. Making tea was a ritual in her grandparents’ house. The right pot. The right temperature water. The decision about which tea. The smelling of the leaves, the measuring. And finally the wait, while the tea steeped.
Ike had watched her grandfather do it a dozen times. Even where Cashner’s other memories were fading fast, he knew how to make good tea like he knew how to wake up in the morning.
So did she.
“Don’t ask for cream or sugar. They’re both sins in this house. For the right tea, you shouldn’t need any extras.”
“I figured that out the first time your grandfather served me tea. He almost took my head off when I asked for some sweetener. Got a three-hour lecture on tea. I never made that mistake again.”
“I’ll be darned. A man who learns. Who knew there was such a thing?”
He winced, watching her pull out cups that matched the teapot. “Speaking of men in your life,” he said casually, “Does he know? About the pregnancy?”
“And here I thought we were going to have a nice conversation.” She handed him his cup.
“So. You haven’t told him. But you must have an idea how he’s likely to respond when he finds out you’re pregnant.”
She poured a cup for herself, but now she immediately set it down. “That’s it. Out. Out, out, out. I wouldn’t have minded talking to you a little more about my gramps. But not now. Another time. When I’m not so likely to brain you with the nearest hard, sharp object.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “We don’t need any more conversation.”
As quickly as he put down his tea, he reached for her. She wasn’t expecting it. Being pulled into his arms. Having a kiss laid on her mouth the way a bee zoned on pollen.
He hadn’t expected to kiss her, either. It hadn’t even been on his mind—until she brought it up—and then he couldn’t think about anything but getting his hands on her. Talk about lunacy. She’d been nothing but testy and difficult. She was pregnant by someone else. She had a heap of trouble, and who knew if she’d even stay in this little Southern burg for any longer than she had to. But that was his practical side talking.
Right now the only communication going on was between his mouth and hers. Especially hers. The taste of her, the smell of her skin, the sweetness of her lips put a buzz in his blood that refused to shut off. He was a laid-back guy, by choice. He wanted a small life, not a big one. He wanted time to care, to play, to share, and if that meant a sacrifice in money and possessions, so be it.
But this kiss—her sweet, sweet taste—was stressful on a par with a tsunami. It was all her doing...because she tasted like no other woman tasted. Because she gripped his shoulders and hung on. Because she acted volatile, dizzy, weak, as if he was the sexiest connection she’d ever made, even if it was only for a kiss....
Even if that only a kiss barely, sparely involved the tease of her soft, warm breasts, the look of her eyelashes sweeping her cheeks, the way her slim hands clenched on his shoulders, the way she made a groan. Or a moan. A sound as if she didn’t mind this insane rocket ride.
Damn it. It was just a kiss.
Except that he didn’t end it. Couldn’t end it.
Until she suddenly bolted back, her eyes snapping open, looking dazed and confused. “Ike. I keep hearing drums.”
“Me, too.”
“I mean...I think I’m really hearing drums.”
“Oh. Afraid that’s my cell phone.”
“Your cell phone. Plays a drumroll.” That dazed look was disappearing awfully fast. She’d liked those kisses. As much as he had. But now she seemed to be recalling that he wasn’t her favorite person on the planet.
“Yes. And unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s Tildey.”
“And Tildey is...?”
“Tildey’s twenty-nine. Two weeks overdue with her third baby. This time, she got a midwife. Didn’t want to pay for a doc and a hospital.”
“There has to be a ‘but’ in there,” Ginger said. They’d both moved back. There were inches between them...except where his arms were still wrapped around her. She divested them, one at a time. His right arm dropped heavily at his side. Ditto for his left arm. Both arms seemed to have lost all muscle strength.
“But Tildey never really trusted the midwife from the get-go. She’s been calling three times a week for some backup information. And she called this morning, to let me know she was in labor. And that the midwife was already there.”
“I’ll bet this conversation makes sense to one of us,” Ginger said dryly.
“I’m guessing she’s around five centimeters by now. And in a fair panic.”
“Then you’d better go.”
“I need to,” he agreed, but truthfully, he still felt shell-shocked. Or Ginger-shocked. How the woman could pack so much zesty, earthy, compelling sexiness into a few kisses...well. She was downright dangerous.
But of course, he had to pull himself back together. And he would. He always did. “Whether you believe it or not, I came by because I thought you might need to talk more about your grandfather.”
She hesitated. “I do.”
“All right. Next time. We’ll do a serious talk. Honest.” When his cell did a second, fresh drumroll, he said swiftly, “Would you mind if Pansy stayed here? Just for a little while. Normally I either leave her home or bring her with me. But I don’t want to take the time to drive home, and this isn’t a household where I can take her—”
�
��Ike. I don’t know dogs. And I definitely don’t know bloodhounds. I have no idea what—”
“Thanks. Really. And I promise I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
That was the plan. To check on Tildey, make sure the delivery was going okay with the midwife and then leave.
Unfortunately, the midwife turned out to have the brain of a flea, Tildey was in trouble and so was the baby. Her two other kids were wandering around, crying and scared, and definitely too young to be left alone. Tildey’s husband had apparently left for the bar when she first went into labor and no one had seen him since.
By the time Ike could finally drive back to the Gautiers’, the hour was well past midnight. The bright day had turned upside down; the sky was belching clouds and hurtling lightning and having a noisy, stormy tantrum. Rain attacked him the instant he climbed out of his truck. He raced to the front door—not expecting anyone to be awake, or intending to awaken anyone this late. He just had to pick up Pansy, who he’d assumed would be waiting for him on the porch.
She wasn’t. She was nowhere to be seen.
Ike stepped back, looked up and around. As far as he could tell, there was only one light on in the entire house. On the second story, in the far east window, he caught sight of the soft yellow glow of lamplight.
Chapter Five
Dinner was a feast. Ginger never saw or heard Sarah in the house; she just found the lavish feast when she popped in the kitchen after five. The casserole dish had instructions taped to the tinfoil. Chicken in some kind of fabulous cheese sauce filled a big pan, with broiled baby potatoes in another. A loaf of French bread—fresh-baked, still warm—sat on the counter, along with instructions not to overcook the butter beans.
Gramps ate as if it was his last meal.
Cornelius, who rarely stayed for dinner, kept heaping on more helpings.
There were only a couple of problems. One was that Gramps kept calling her Rachel. And the other was the dog.
“Sweetheart, I can’t believe you let the dog inside. You’ve never liked dogs inside,” Gramps said.
“I didn’t let her inside. She howled at the top of her lungs when Ike left. There was nothing else I could do.” That wasn’t the only problem with the dog, of course. Ginger wasn’t certain how much the bloodhound weighed, but at the moment a hundred pounds—at least—of dead weight stuck closer to her leg than glue.
Apparently the hound felt insecure when Ike wasn’t there.
Cornelius kept feeding the dog tidbits of chicken. Gramps had been steadily feeding her butter beans. The hound would eat any and everything, but immediately came back to lean against Ginger.
She also drooled.
Ginger had filled a bowl of water—which the dog had gulped down and she’d had to refill three times now. They’d fed her from dinner because they didn’t have regular dog food and didn’t know when Ike would be back. It had to be soon, though, Ginger thought. Obviously babies arrived in their own chosen time—but there was a midwife there, he’d said. So he had to be back soon.
She told herself that every time she glanced at a clock. It only took a few minutes to pile dishes in the dishwasher, even with Pansy glued to her side. Cornelius finally took off for his quarters—the small house on the other side of the garage. Gramps lingered a little longer.
“We could sit on the porch for a spell, Rachel.”
She started to correct him, then stopped. It didn’t seem to help, and when push came down to shove, she didn’t really care if he called her Rachel or Loretta or any other darned name he wanted to. “It’s turned too cold, Gramps. Temperature’s been dropping like a stone, and it smells like the wind’s bringing on a storm.”
“Will you come in and watch TV with me, then? Our favorite show is on at nine.”
“I will, Gramps. Give me a hug.”
He stretched out his arms, and snuggled against her for a big, warm hug.
“I love you,” she said.
“And I love you right back, sweetheart. What do you say we call Ginger tonight? I really miss her.”
Ginger sucked in a breath. Every time she thought she’d accepted the changes in Gramps, something else happened. It hurt, that he could be talking right to her and still not know who she was.
The next couple hours were just as unsettling. She finished the kitchen chores, let Pansy out, let Pansy in, brewed a cup of oolong for Gramps and then asked if he wanted to play a game of backgammon.
“You’re ready to lose, are you, honey?”
He loved the game, she knew. When she was a girl, they’d played almost every night after dinner. And he perked up, starting chuckling and teasing, having a good time. It took her a few minutes to realize that he was moving pieces that made no sense. He thought he was playing the game, but he didn’t seem to have a clue what he was doing.
By the time he went to bed, Ginger felt shaken. Her grandfather seemed to lose more ground every day. Unsettled and uneasy, she ambled around the house. She found Ike’s cell phone in the kitchen—which provoked a sharp, strong memory of his kissing her just hours before. The point, though, was that he could likely have borrowed someone else’s phone to call if he thought he was going to be much longer.
She wandered to the front doors, peering out. The evening had turned pitch-black, devil black. Clouds tumbled over each other, racing in fast from the west. The rain had started, not a downpour yet, but it looked like the battalion of clouds beyond had the heaviest artillery.
Her sidekick nuzzled her leg. “Yeah, you want Ike back, too, don’t you?” She bent down to rub Pansy’s ears. “We need a plan here. You want to sleep on the porch? Or just inside? I promise. He’ll be here.” Ginger crossed her fingers. She was pretty sure Ike would never leave his dog. “You could lie in front of the door, like you did before. Then you’ll see him when he drives in. Doesn’t that sound like a good plan?”
Pansy seemed okay with the idea, was coaxed outside, ambled down the steps to pee and then heaved back up the steps and collapsed.
Ginger headed upstairs for the bathtub, and was just sinking into the warm soothing water when a low rumble of thunder boomed from the west. Instantly, Pansy let out a howl that could have wakened the dead. Ginger peeled out of the tub, grabbed a towel, ran downstairs and let the dog in.
“We are not going to do that again. I get it. You don’t like storms. No problem. You can sleep inside. But no more howling!”
Ginger closed the big doors but left them unlocked for Ike. Pansy seemed unimpressed with the scolding, and just flopped down in an immediate coma.
Relieved, Ginger headed back upstairs. She dried her hair, yanked on a silky green nightgown, dabbed on some moisturizer, brushed her teeth...and hit the sack.
She fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.
That restful sleep lasted maybe two minutes. The instant lightning streaked the sky and rain started seriously drumming on the windows, she felt something warm and wet and smelly touch her bare shoulder.
“No,” she said firmly.
But then the damned dog started howling.
* * *
Ike stood in the pouring rain, hands on hips, staring up at the light in the far bedroom on the second floor. He suspected he’d scare the wits out of her—and Cashner—if they found a soaking-wet man in their house in the middle of the night.
But the problem was his dog.
Pansy had chowed down heavily in the morning, so he wasn’t afraid she was hungry.
She also was happy anywhere, primarily because she spent so much time sleeping and she liked people in general. There were just a couple teensy problems with her temperament.
The main one, the worst one, was that she was terrified of storms. At the first shot of lightning, she’d been known to break through screen doors, let out immortal howls, try to fit herself
under a bed. And she shook. Nonstop.
Bottom line... Well, he didn’t know what the bottom line was, but he figured he’d start by seeing if the front door was locked. If the house was left open, it was a fair guess Ginger expected him to retrieve his dog.
He mounted the steps, taking off his wet windbreaker and hat on the porch...then did a rethink and took off his shoes, as well. No sense tracking in half a lake.
The door gave a slight creak when he turned the knob, but the sound didn’t seem to arouse anyone. The only sound he heard was the tick of a pendulum wall clock, somewhere in that formal parlor. Silver rain streamed down windows, not letting in much light, but once his eyes adjusted, he could make out the tinkle-light of the hall chandelier, and the glow of a night-light at the top of the stairs.
He whispered, “Pansy!” which accomplished nothing. The dog had a great nose, but lousy ears. Like Ginger’s grandfather, the dog could have benefited from a hearing aid.
He scratched his nape. Ike never liked making mistakes. He was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that going upstairs—even for the serious reason of reclaiming his dog—was a bad, bad, bad mistake. The only reason it crossed his mind was because the dog hadn’t shown up so far. Which meant she wasn’t downstairs. Which pretty much meant she was upstairs. Which for damn sure meant Ginger had been stuck with her since the start of the storm.
Amazing, how a man could justify making a mistake.
Still. There was a tiny chance he could retrieve the dog and hightail it out of there without waking her.
At the top of the stairs, he hesitated. Cashner had slept upstairs until a few months ago, when he and Cornelius had badgered him into making a move. The old house had plenty of spare space on the first floor. The room off the kitchen had once been a “sun room,” with no particular purpose that Ike could see. A twin bed fit in there fine. A full downstairs bathroom was next door, so the location was ideal for a man getting older and less steady.
The Baby Bump Page 6
