The Baby Bump Page 10

  “Of course. You have to go,” she said. And meant it. But not really. She’d never wanted to be the kind of woman who needed a man in that capital-N way. But right then...well, she did. She wanted to lean on him. On Ike. Not any man. Just on him.

  If a woman’s world was falling apart, well, then, it was. But she just wanted a little company.

  She felt him squeeze the back of her neck, a tender gesture, almost a whisper of a gesture—but then he turned away and hiked toward his car. And she was left to turn around and face Amos alone.

  “I want you to thank your wife for the pie, Amos,” she said sincerely. “I’ll write her a note myself, but please let her know how much I appreciate it.”

  “I will,” Amos agreed, and propped on his straw hat again. Apparently he thought their meeting was over.

  So did she. But somehow, words came out of her mouth that she’d never planned on. “Amos, if I could get that money...and add to the salary you once had. Would you be able to bring the farm back?”

  “Someone could. If they stepped up now, and no later.”

  “But you could do it. If we had the money...you could do it.”

  Amos narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you go talking to my wife again, missy. You went behind my back once. I won’t forgive it a second time. You can bat those pretty eyes at the doctor, but not at me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The answer is no. And I won’t say it again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  By the time Amos left, Ginger wandered back home in a funk...and the rest of the day deteriorated from there. Sarah-Just-Sarah had left chicken and dumplings, homemade, absolutely delicious—but somehow her stomach couldn’t tolerate it. She lost that, snacked on soda crackers, which stayed down but were hardly comparable to a great cook’s recipe for anything.

  And then there was Gramps. He’d had a good morning, she knew he had. But when she sat down with him at dinner, tried to talk to him about the land, the tea, what Cashner believed was happening with the property...her gramps just kept smiling at her, saying that she looked prettier every day, that she shouldn’t be worrying about things like the farm, she should be thinking about going out dancing with some nice young man...although he’d beat her at gin rummy if she had nothing better to do.

  By eight-thirty, Gramps had retired to his room. Ginger prowled through the empty house for a while, eventually poured herself a Darjeeling, and headed outside to the porch swing.

  The drizzling rain had long stopped, but the dark clouds refused to move along. The evening was unrelentingly dreary—a perfect atmosphere, Ginger figured—to indulge in a good long wallow in self-pity.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to feel sorry for herself about. She considered crying—nothing she normally indulged in—but hey, when a girl was miserable, she might as well go for it whole-hog. As she explored how awful things were—how awful her life was, how impossible her entire future was, how she was failing right and left to achieve any of the dreams she’d had as a young girl—she almost worked up to some serious crying.

  But then she heard the sound of an engine coming in the drive. She didn’t look up. It couldn’t be Ike driving in, because fate couldn’t be that unkind. Practically every single time he’d seen her, she’d been at her physical, mental and emotional worst. And part of the reason she was considering a long, noisy, blubbering crying jag was specifically him.

  She’d wanted him to stay during the confrontation thing with Amos. She’d wanted him to save her. She was sick of being a mature, capable woman. She wanted the prince to charge up on his white horse and make all the awful stuff go away. She didn’t care if there was a happily ever after.

  She was pretty sure there were no happily ever afters. But she still wanted the stupid prince and the white horse.

  While her eyes were still closed, she was forced to realize that an animal had shown up on the porch. Not a white horse. But the bloodhound, who leaped toward her and immediately tried to clean her face with her long, fat tongue.

  She reared up, and instead of yelling at the dog, she put her arms around the damned hound and hugged her. Pansy sat down and accepted the affection as her due.

  Eventually she had to look up. Or look at. Ike hadn’t sat down, more hunkered down to be on eye level with her. Behind the clouds, the sun was dropping, adding more gloom and gray to a night that was already fuzzy and dim. He looked at her as if she was under bright lights, though. As if the only thing in his universe was her.

  Because she was a damn fool—hopefully not forever, but for now—all she wanted in that single zinging moment was to make love with him. As if that would solve anything. As if that could mean anything.

  “How was your patient?” she asked.

  “The kid—Jacob—was fine. The dad almost required a tranquilizer. The mom was visiting family out east. She’s pregnant again, and he thought she needed a break, so he offered to take care of Jacob. He’s a good dad. He just keels over at the sight of blood.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “After Jacob, I had a snakebite to treat. An old granny who should have known better. Found a copperhead on her front porch and decided she’d just get a rake and move him off.”

  “Not?”

  “Not. Copperheads aren’t the most poisonous of the snakes around here, but they’re not a dip of ice cream, either. Her blood pressure shot to the moon.”

  “She’s okay now?”

  “Yeah. It just took some time. How’d the rest of the meeting with Amos go?”

  “Oh, it was even more fun after you left. Amos said it’d take somewhere between one and two hundred grand to put the place in shape. But he wouldn’t do it. And no one else probably on this continent really knows much about tea. And he was still mad at me for talking to his wife.”

  “Wow. I missed all that?”

  “What can I tell you? You missed all the best parts.”

  “Two hundred thousand, huh?”

  “Yup. I was thinking of driving into town, picking up a lottery ticket.”

  “I don’t know. Afraid then you’d need two hundred thousand and one.”

  “Plus gas.”

  “Yeah, forgot the cost of gas. So. That meeting with Amos make a few things easier for you?”

  “Easier?” She kept petting the dog, kept trying not to look at Ike. She’d afraid he’d see the yearning.

  “Yes. You never wanted part of the tea plantation yourself, right? So now you know. Selling it’s your best option. You don’t have to sweat feeling like you lost something that mattered to you. You never wanted to be in the tea business.”

  She sucked in a breath. Who knew that hearing the words in Ike’s gentle, easygoing voice would make her feel slapped? Which wasn’t Ike’s fault. It was true...she’d never wanted anything to do with the tea farm. Ever. Until Gramps had said someone was trying to take it from the family. And then she’d come here and realized that her whole family history was about to disappear, all the love and family lore and memories of the house and land and people...unless someone else could take it on.

  “I’d have to be downright stupid to try to keep it,” she said hollowly. “I have a degree in business. Not farming or agriculture. I started out wanting to be in medicine, veered off into business and hospital administration. Might be hard for you to see it, but I was darned good at my job. And loved it besides.”

  “Hey. I suspect you’d be darned good. You’re smart. And you’re more than fearless when you take something on.”

  “Some things, maybe. But not agriculture.”

  “That issue’s moot, isn’t it? Since you don’t want anything to do with the tea farm.”

  “I know it’s moot. I’m just saying...you probably don’t think I could handle something like the farm. Because I’m so unqualified and al
l that.”

  “Hey. That’s like worrying whether you can shoot an Uzi. It doesn’t matter since you’d never volunteer to try it.”

  She had no idea why she suddenly felt it rising. Temper. She’d been depressed and anxious and wallowing in self-pity—but not mad. Not remotely mad. Yet she knew all the symptoms. Bristling energy. Itchiness. Couldn’t sit still. And the smell...trouble always had a tantalizing smell.

  She pushed off the porch swing, lifted a hand to Ike as if she wanted to say something or make some gesture...and then just didn’t. Instead, she stalked off the porch. Pansy, with an extremely reluctant groan, forced herself to her feet and tore after her. For the hound, a walk was a walk. Even if it was an inexplicable hike around the house at seventy, seventy-five miles an hour.

  She didn’t see Ike get to his feet. Didn’t hear his footfalls in the grass. But suddenly she heard his voice just behind her, lazy as the night breeze.

  “Did I miss something in the conversation?”

  “No, of course you didn’t.”

  “You took off like a bat out of hell. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She stopped, swatted a bug nipping at her ankles. Took off again.

  The backyard glistened with rainy leaves and smelled like a rain forest and was just as dark as her fitful mood.

  “Okay. I must have said something to upset you.”

  “No. Of course you didn’t. What could you possibly have said to upset me?”

  “I have no idea. That’s why I asked.” He added kindly, “You seem to be letting out steam from both ears. I’m pretty sure you’re ticked about something.”

  “Well, I’m not. Pansy just needed a little walk.” But Pansy, the lazy turncoat, apparently decided that two times around the house was more than enough exercise. She heaved herself back on the front porch and threw herself on the welcome mat.

  “That’s okay,” Ike said in the same annoyingly kind tone. “You don’t need the Pansy excuse. I’m up for as many laps around the house as you need.”

  She stopped dead, parked her hands on her hips. “Would you stop being nice to me?”

  “Okay. Just say it, then. What the problem is.”

  “Which one? I seem to have about five million right now.”

  “The one about the land, Ginger.”

  She was tempted to sock him. Even though she’d never hit anybody and was a firm believer in taking out her temper only on inanimate objects. Still, she put some serious fury in her voice. “I can’t save the darn land. There’s no possibility. I’m too ignorant. The learning curve’s too steep. And the day I could convince a bank to loan me two hundred grand will be the same day pigs fly.”

  “But that’s not the point,” Ike persisted calmly. “That’ll be the point tomorrow. Tonight the only point is for you is to say out loud what you really want to do.”

  “Good grief, you’re exasperating. You want me to say it, I’ll say it. I hate to give up the land, the tea. It’s my whole heritage. I didn’t think it remotely mattered to me...but it does. My grandma loved it. My mom loved it. It’s part of who I am. The part I always knew I could come home to. It’s home, in a way no other place could be. Now. Are you happy?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “You did good.”

  And as if the man hadn’t behaved like a lunatic since he got there, he suddenly grabbed her. She was half in shadow, half in the porch light. She saw something in his eyes that made her suddenly want to shiver.

  And then of all the fool things to do, he kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  Ike almost hadn’t stopped by. He knew Ginger’d had a challenging day, and he’d been going nonstop since daybreak. But once he turned in the yard...well.

  Maybe he’d wanted to be sure she was okay. Maybe in some place in his heart he’d known this was going to happen. A kiss, just like this one.

  She fired up faster than a rocket. And he kept telling himself he felt resentful for the way she so easily rocked his world. Everything had been fine until he met her. Now nothing was.

  Yet he felt the energy of a superman when his lips touched hers, claimed hers. The kick was fast and potent. It didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of a rain-soaked yard. It didn’t matter that Pansy was up on the porch snoring. It wouldn’t matter if the sky cracked open and rained daisies.

  Nothing mattered when he kissed her. And that was the whole thing.

  He felt rich with her. Rich on her. Her lips were expensive, sheer-soft, yielding.

  She sank into him when he kissed her, at least when he kissed her until they were both breathless, and that’s the only way he seemed to know how. Her body bowed into his, obviously made for him, because all the right parts touched. Breast. Pelvis. Heart.

  She gave out a swish of a groan, a woman sound, angry—darn it, the woman was always angry—but it was still another yielding. She liked to be kissed. At least she liked to be kissed by him. That shot up his testosterone level another notch, and desire had already put his hormones in the stratosphere.

  “Hey,” he murmured, hoping she’d think he still had some sanity left and would listen if she objected.

  But she didn’t object. And she ignored his token hey. She suddenly lost all patience with his shirt, pulling and tugging and wrestling with it. Once her bare palms found the bare skin of his back, though, she slowed down. Just...stroked. Rubbed. Made catlike sounds of pleasure. She snuggled her lips against his neck, nestled in against his bared chest, rocked.

  “Ike,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

  His eyebrows arched. She had a habit of making comments that left him speechless. Maybe he’d initiated the kiss, but she’d responded whole hog, rocket speed, shooting past all the stop signs. He hadn’t made her do that. He hadn’t made her do anything.

  He eased up, not too far. Her hands were still on his back, his hands looped around her neck. Foreheads touched instead of lips. Both practiced breathing.

  “There’s this really nice lady,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Her name is Sandy Joe. She makes me cakes all the time. And cookies. And brownies. She’s two years younger than me. Divorced about four years. As comfortable to be with as an old pair of gloves.”

  “I’ll bet there’s a reason you’re telling me about this woman.”

  “There is, there is. I like her. She’s a good person. Kind. Sweet. She’s been waiting for me to ask her out for months now.”

  “Um, are you hoping I’ll give you advice about that? Like ‘Dear Abby’ or something?”

  “No. I’m just saying. I’ve wanted to ask her out. She couldn’t be nicer. And I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t just do it.”

  “I’ll bet you want me to ask why.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I want to tell you. It’s because of you. I didn’t realize there wasn’t a pinch of chemistry when she comes around. But any time I’m near you, I’m ready to go off like a firecracker. In principle, it doesn’t make sense. You’ve got a mean streak. You’re difficult. Contrary.”

  “Yeah, but you’re forgetting the obvious factor, Doc. You know I’m not on the market. It’s a whole lot easier to let the sparks bubble to the surface when you know there’s no...repercussions. No risk.”

  “You think there’s no risk? Of my falling for you?”

  For an instant, he saw the glow of something perilously vulnerable and soft in her eyes. “You didn’t say falling. You were talking about chemistry. Sex. Sparks.”

  “The hell I was,” he murmured. He almost turned to walk away. Almost. But it was that vulnerability in her eyes, the disbelief that he could actually care, that sent him in another direction entirely.

  He pulled her close, tilted hi
s head, kissed her hard this time. He wanted to give her sugar, not hot pepper. Care, not roughness. She had so much on her plate, so much she was trying to cope with. He wanted to give her tenderness, empathy. He felt those things.

  But somehow it all came out with heat and flame. He kissed her bruising hard—she moaned and twisted tighter in his arms, met fire with fire. Everything that was impossible between them came out in an explosion. Her fingers clutched his shirt, then yanked at it, a button popping, her meeting every wild kiss with another, until he couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t breathe and neither cared.

  Soft shadows danced into darker shadows. She pulled him off balance, not intentionally, but he had to twist swiftly in front of her so she wouldn’t fall under him. The crash was awkward...silly. But she wasn’t hurt. He was the one flattened onto the wet, cool grass, with Ginger scrabbling on top of him. He almost laughed, even regained a pinch of sense, said, “I’m pretty sure that was a sign we should both signal a no...”

  But she whispered right back, “I’ll let you know when I’m saying no, Doc, and it sure isn’t now.”

  This couldn’t happen. He knew it. There wasn’t a prayer of their making love, not here, not now, not on wet grass with the night whisking up a chill breeze. It was out of the question.

  But when she tumbled on top of him, he assumed she was scrambling to climb off. Instead, she turned the awkward position into temptation, straddling him—straddling him tight. For that first millisecond, her eyes were above his, a silky hint of moonlight illuminating soft, wet lips and the sharp flare of emotion in her gaze. He’d seen the vulnerability before...but not this kind. This was the naked kind. She was upset and mad—nothing new about that with Ginger—but she didn’t seem mad at him.

  She seemed to want to lose herself in him. Forget everything else. Ignore everything else. Make the whole darned impossible world disappear. She dipped her head, closed her eyes, took a kiss—and that was a capital-K, estrogen-fueled, woman-wicked of a kiss. Her tongue found his, and her body started rocking against him, inviting, coaxing. He was already steel-hard and hot, and her soft, warm flesh against his was not helping.