In His Good Hands

by Shanae Johnson

  Chase bit his lip. He looked from the man in front of him to the phone receiver. He knew where both of these conversations were going. But just like with the issues with Ginger, just like with his friends back on the ranch, he might disagree with the tactics, but he didn’t disagree with the end result. Perhaps he could walk this path on his terms.

  "Well, do I have the right man or not?” said the man in the receiver. “Is this the sergeant dating the senatorial candidate?”

  Chapter Eight

  "Have you seen these polls?” Carla waved a stack of papers in front of her as she came into Ginger’s office. “You're up amongst middle-aged women. And you're dominating college-educated women and career women. Not to mention, you’ve ticked up ten points with those in the military and military families."

  "Hmmm." Nodded Ginger. She wasn't listening. She was too busy looking at the photograph on the society blog site.

  It wasn’t the image of her and Chase locked in an embrace in the barn back on the Purple Heart Ranch. No, that one was emblazoned in her mind. It was often the last thing she saw before she went to sleep each night … and then dreamed of what would've happened if the cameras hadn't caught them at that moment.

  Nope. That image wasn’t in her mind now. A different series lit up her cerebral cortex. There was a series of pictures of Chase in the spread of the gossip rag.

  Chase as a young man. Chase in a suit. Oh, she couldn't take her eyes off Chase in a suit; dark blue that perfectly complimented his dark hair. Not that Chase in his uniform wasn't everything. But the sergeant in that suit was more. So much more.

  "I'm so glad you took my advice on this." Carla plopped down in the seat opposite Ginger’s desk and kicked off her expensive heels.

  "Hmmm," said Ginger. Chase's middle name was Jefferson. Colin Jefferson Chase. How presidential.

  "Just a few more snapshots of you two together, and we'll overtake Dean in many of the key categories where you’re trailing.”

  “What?" Ginger lifted her gaze from Chase's profile. She had to blink a couple of times to bring her best friend into focus. All she saw was the calculating gaze of her campaign manager.

  "Chase. Bring him to the county fair. Let people see you on his arm. I’ll need to get you a softer outfit, maybe pastels. And we’ll leave your hair down for that fresh, girl-in-love look."

  “In love?”

  “You can pretend,” said Carla. “Though I doubt you’ll need to.”

  “What? Wait, no. This story is completely fake news. We're not dating."

  "You're faking it.” Carla flitted her fingers, waving the notion away. “I get it. Just fake your way into a few more photos and appearances."

  “I’m not not faking it with Chase.”

  "So, it's the real deal. Fan-freaking-tastic. It’s about time you got you some."

  “I’m not getting anything.” Ginger’s cheeks heated. The blush spread across her shoulders. Luckily, she was wearing a blazer today. “You know what I’m trying to say. Chase and I aren't real dating. We aren't fake dating. We aren't anything."

  Carla lifted a single eyebrow. Ginger growled. Maybe if she got Botox, she’d be able to pull off that singular feat.

  "We just got stuck in the elevator,” said Ginger. “It was a disaster. We couldn't even work together to get out. We are two of the most incompatible people on this planet. The man is insufferable."

  "Insufferable? Okay, Lizzie Bennet."

  "Don't start with me.” Ginger pointed a finger at her friend. “I told you I wouldn't play the fake game with my social life or my political career. I have principles."

  So, why had she tried to get that reporter’s attention last night? Why had she felt a sense of accomplishment when she’d finally succeeded? Why had a rush of adrenaline gone through her when she saw the flash of his camera? Why hadn’t she slept last night as she waited for the first mention of the news of herself and Chase?

  Because she was attracted to Chase. Because she wanted to date a guy like that; strong and principled—even if he was wrong—with a chiseled jaw that she wanted to see crack into a smile.

  "I know that look,” said Carla, leaning across the desk. “You like him."

  "I do not.” Ginger crossed her arms over her chest. Was the AC on in her office? It was suddenly hot on this fall day. “We have nothing in common."

  Except, despite the fact that they pointed toward different directions, they both wanted to ensure kids had options for their futures. He was a planner like her, which she had to admit was kinda hot. But …

  "We're on opposite ends of the political spectrum."

  That was true. But they had both had similar upbringings where they came from wealth and forged a path on their own in spite of their family's money. And Chase was all for women in leadership. But …

  "The Chase angle is a non-starter. We need to stick to the plan. This media hoopla,“ which she had been instrumental in starting, “will die down.” As long as she steered clear of being alone with him in barns and elevators. “I don't care if I see him again."

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Ginger, there's a Sergeant Chase here to see you."

  And now she’d need to steer clear of her campaign office too? No way. This was her turf.

  What was he doing here? He probably thought the headlines were her idea. He was likely about to storm in her office and accuse her of using him for her political gain.

  Great.

  Ginger tugged her lip into her mouth. And then stopped. She didn't want to ruin her lipstick. Maybe she should apply more? Had she applied mascara? She'd rushed out this morning and stuffed her makeup in her bag, intent on doing her face at the office. Well, she was at the office, and she didn't remember applying any foundation or mascara.

  Oh, for the love of all things!

  She caught sight of herself in the window’s reflection. Her blouse was a bit wrinkled. There was a scuff on her heel. And she'd missed her manicure appointment the other day. Maybe she could ask him to come back later when she was more put together?

  "Can I show him in?"

  "Yes," said her traitorous friend.

  Carla grinned at Ginger as she rose. Unlike Ginger, Carla was perfectly made up and manicured. Unfortunately, Ginger couldn’t murder her couture’d bestie. They had guests.

  Chase appeared in the doorway. Thankfully, he wasn’t in a suit or uniform. He was in jeans and a T-shirt, but he looked like a million bucks. His eyes landed not on her but on her campaign manager. Chase offered Carla a smile, and Ginger saw red.

  "Nice to meet you, Sergeant Chase. I'm Carla Holt, Councilwoman Dumasse’s campaign manager."

  "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holt.”

  “It’s Miss.” Carla was still holding onto Chase’s hand. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

  Ginger was too concerned with Carla’s claws still being wrapped around Chase’s hands. Finally, Carla released her prey. Chase shoved his hand in his pocket, and Ginger felt an acute sense of loss.

  “Ginger, you don't have any appointments all morning," Carla said with a wink. She walked toward the door with a little too much of a sway in her hips. The door closed behind her with a quiet snick.

  Ginger was left with Chase. The man’s presence took up the small space of her office. He didn't offer her a smile. Instead, his brown gaze scrutinized her.

  "Listen," she said, "before you say anything, I just want you to know I had nothing to do with it."

  "I know.”

  "The press can be salacious. They have to sell papers. So, they print ridiculous things."

  "I understand."

  Ginger stopped talking. She took a few tentative steps around her desk to come and face him. He didn’t look upset. His brows were down in one line as he gazed at her. His expression was thoughtful, calm.

  “You do?" she asked.

  "Yes.” He nodded. “It's ridiculous."

  “Ridiculous?” It was a feat, but Ginger held herse
lf perfectly still as the whiplash of his statement struck her across the face. “You mean you and me?"

  It was almost imperceptible. She only saw it because she watched him so closely. Chase’s gaze dipped to her lips, then back up to her eyes.

  "But everyone believes we're together,” he said. “No matter how ridiculous it is."

  His gaze dipped to the papers on her desk. The ones that showed them in an embrace. And the ones that showed her rise in the polls.

  "Looks like you're reaping the benefits of the ridiculousness,” he said.

  "Sergeant—"

  "Call me Chase."

  Those brown eyes slid back to hers. She felt like she was being bathed in warm chocolate. Sweet and velvet and warm.

  "Chase.” His name felt like a Hershey’s Kiss on her tongue. She had to swallow the richness of it down before she could continue. “I want you to know that that's not how I run my campaign. It's not how I live my life. I don't use people to get ahead. I shoot straight, and I play fair."

  He smiled at her. When he’d aimed that missive at Carla, Ginger had seen red. Now that the brown of his gaze was trained on her, she was ready to drop her principles.

  "Can I take you to lunch, Ginger?"

  "Lunch? Why?"

  "Because it’s not using if we both agree to it.”

  Chapter Nine

  "Order whatever you want. I'm buying."

  Chase expected an argument. Instead, Ginger opened up the laminated menu and began to peruse it. Her silent acquiesce unnerved Chase.

  "No argument over the bill?"

  She looked up over the menu. As they always did, her blue eyes struck him like a bolt of heat straight into the chest. But it was the smile that unmanned him. He’d seen her smile, just not at him.

  Blue was the hottest part of a fire. But the red of her lips, which should’ve been the cool part, rang a four-alarm fire in his mind. All of a sudden, Chase was unsure of the plan he’d come up with. It was very likely that he was about to get burned. Even more probable that he would like the singe.

  “No argument,” she said. “I believe a man should pay for a woman's meal."

  "I took you for a feminist."

  "I am.” She set the menu down, folding the two halves neatly in front of her. “I believe in equal rights and equal pay. Other than that, I'm pretty traditional. Men hunt. Women gather. God made it that way. So, I have no arguments there.”

  Chase knew there was a but coming. He leaned forward in anticipation. Not that he wanted to argue with this woman. Far from it. He simply liked engaging with her, and currently, arguing was the only means with which they did that.

  “But,” Ginger continued, “mankind made money, not the Lord. Since we created it, women should get their equal share. Regardless of whether they have to work inside or outside of the home."

  Interesting. But Chase didn't say so. The pile of things they were on the same side of was growing alarmingly tall. If they kept agreeing, what would they have to argue about? Then what reason would they have to be around each other? Their entire relationship was predicated on disagreeing with one another.

  “Do you disagree?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “A man should provide for a woman.”

  “Are you saying a woman can’t provide for a man?”

  “Not at all. But the partnership will be weaker if he doesn’t.”

  “What if she’s a better earner, and he decides to stay home with the kids?”

  “That’s admirable. Personally, I plan to provide for my family, come home in time enough to raise my children, and pamper my wife after she gets home from a long day of work.”

  “Lucky woman.”

  They stared at one another. Neither blinked. But this time, her gaze wasn’t a challenge.

  Did he note a hint of interest? Chase didn’t dare blink as he tried to discern what was flickering in that cool blue gaze. The waiter’s arrival broke the trance, and they both looked away at the same time.

  "I'll have the tuna salad sandwich, extra onions,” said Ginger as she handed over the menu. She turned back to Chase and added, “What? It's not like I'm going to kiss you."

  Chase bit his lip to keep from chuckling. "I'll take an Italian sub, extra garlic, please.”

  The waiter went to the back with their odorous orders. Chase lifted his gaze back to Ginger. That note of interest was still there. He decided not to wait and just go for it.

  "So, here's my proposal."

  Her brows lifted. He probably shouldn't have used the word proposal. This was a fake arrangement, a convenient arrangement. It wouldn't lead to anything permanent. Definitely not her coming home to him at night to be pampered after he put the kids to bed.

  “My suggestion,” he said, “is that we don't correct the papers or anyone when they say we're together."

  “But … we’re not together.” Her voice was hesitant. The interest in her gaze was replaced with that touch of vulnerability.

  “No,” he agreed. “But no one believes us when we tell the truth.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes and nodded her head. Clearly, she had a peanut gallery of her own that she was dealing with if her campaign manager’s behavior was any indication.

  Chase continued on with his plan of attack. He'd thought this through at every angle, just like he would a battle plan. “So, we use it to our advantage.”

  “Our advantage?”

  “You got a lift in the polls from being seen with a veteran.”

  She didn’t nod. She didn’t need to. They both knew how these things worked. He was gratified that she didn’t try and orchestrate it.

  “We’re seen together at a few choice events,” he continued. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and smile adoringly at you."

  Ginger’s soft gaze turned to flint. “That won't be too hard for you?"

  “What?” he grinned. “Smiling adoringly at you?"

  "No, keeping your mouth shut."

  He cracked a grin. Why had he thought this plan would be a hardship? Ginger Dumasse made every moment interesting.

  "Why are you doing this again?" she asked.

  "People are inviting me to speak at their events and organizations. That's all I want, a chance to make a case for joining the service. If I can just get people to hear me out, then maybe a few will actually listen, and I can change some young people’s futures by bringing them into an organization that I believe in.”

  "This is fascinating.” Ginger shook her head, her smile growing wider. But it wasn’t a smile of joy. It looked annoyed. “For most of my political career—heck, for most of my life—I've been told I need to be on a man's arm to be taken seriously. Now, a man wants to use my arm so that he can be heard."

  "So, you'll do it?" Chase asked.

  "I have to.” She shrugged. “Do you know how far ahead this will push the women's movement?"

  Chase couldn't keep it in any longer. He threw back his head and laughed. After a second, Ginger joined him. Yes, she certainly made every moment interesting. Especially when she turned traditional conventions on their nose.

  Soon, the laughter died down, and her shoulders drooped. "But there’s one problem. You don't agree with anything I stand for."

  "That's not true,” he said.

  “Oh, really? I believe education should be a kid's highest priority after graduation."

  "I agree. I just believe education can be had in college, in trade, and even in the military."

  She pursed her lips. Chase tried not to think about how they might taste. Where was that tuna sandwich?

  “There’s just one more issue we should discuss,” she said. Her features went grave. “I believe that soccer is a far superior sport than football.”

  Chase picked up his napkin and threw it down on the table. "This relationship is over."

  Ginger giggled. It was a delightful sound. A sound he could easily get used to.

  The waiter brought out their smelly food, and they dug in. Unfortunately, the smel
l of fish and onions and garlic did nothing to tamp down his desire. He wasn’t sure anything could stop his growing interest in this woman.

  "I was serious about soccer, you know."

  Chapter Ten

  The screams of children and crank of wheels filled Ginger's ears. She turned her nose away from the saccharine smell of the cotton candy and funnel cakes only to be confronted with the greasy smell of fried meat, fried desserts, and was that a fried beverage? It was the county fair, and it was part of her duty as a candidate to attend.

  She’d posed for pictures with her constituents. She'd shaken hands with the union leaders. She'd held screaming, smelly babies. It was all par for the course.

  "Smile," demanded Carla.

  "I am smiling,” Ginger insisted.

  "Smile for real. What's on your face looks tired and fake."

  Because she was tired and fake. Ginger wanted nothing more than to kick off her heels, toss off this skirt, and kick her feet up on her couch for the rest of the evening.

  And eat. Sheesh, did she want to eat.

  Her stomach growled. Loudly. Chase looked over at her with concern on his normally stern brow.

  He was keeping up his end of the bargain by being her escort today. He hadn't said much after joining them at her campaign headquarters and riding over. He'd been a silent observer as she’d done the rounds. All the while, she felt his judging eyes. Why had she thought it was a good idea to put on this fake dating farce?

  "Here," Chase said.

  He presented her with a corn dog on a stick. It was golden brown and perfect. The scent of buttery goodness nearly made Ginger faint. She turned away before she had a moment of weakness.

  "I can't eat that," she said.

  "Don't tell me you're on a diet,” he said. “I saw you put away a carb-loaded sandwich the other day."

  "You did what?" said Carla.

  Ginger shook her head like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “It was whole wheat bread and low-fat mayo.”

  That didn't stop Carla’s huffing. She insisted Ginger had to always look camera ready. Carbs put on pounds for the camera.