At the time, Lucio felt as if he’d dodged a bullet. The life he planned would not have been possible with a wife and child.
But lately, Lucio would find himself stopping in the middle of a shoot or waking in the deep of night, overcome with the truth: If the child had lived, his son would be a man now. Lucio would be father to a tall, handsome, and ambitious young man, who might even have an eye for the light like his renowned father. But he would never know.
“Lucio?”
He turned, surprised to see Ginger Garrison approaching him in the twilight. She’d changed out of her satin and chiffon and into a pretty knee-length skirt and simple top. Her hair was down. She wore no jewelry, and she didn’t need it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pretty little toes peeped out of a pair of delicate sandals.
He stared at her. The strange energy he’d felt when he kissed her had returned, making his skin tingle. Lucio watched as the beautiful woman moved closer, her shoulder brushing against a stand of tall gardenias, releasing their perfume. Ginger smiled at him. It was a shy smile from a mature woman, and the beguiling power of that combination pierced his heart.
Nothing good would come of this. He was certain. The timing was all wrong. Holy Host! He was all wrong! Ginger Garrison deserved a stable man, a man with his own home and money in the bank, a man who wouldn’t be on a plane to Galápagos the instant it became feasible.
But he returned her smile, because those details had never stopped him in the past, and they wouldn’t now. As always, Lucio’s only obligation was to issue his standard word of caution, leaving the woman responsible for her own fate.
“Unfortunately, I am no good for you, guapa.”
Lucio’s words stopped Ginger cold. She choked on her surprise. Did this man think she’d come down to the garden to hit on him? While his presumptuousness offended her, he probably had his reasons for saying it.
Lucio Montevez was an intoxicating man, a deadly combination of brawn and beauty. He had an edge Ginger imagined a bullfighter would possess—an intense gaze, perfect posture, muscles coiled and ready to spring to life—all while oozing the velvety charm of a gigolo. She could see this dichotomy repeated everywhere in him, each smooth and elegant thing about Lucio balanced out by something over-the-top macho. His big brown eyes were liquid and sultry, but they were capped by a thick, dramatic brow. His mouth was full and sexy, but framed by rough-looking stubble on his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. His wavy dark hair was long and thick, but combed back, close to his perfectly shaped head. He walked with grace, but was tall and muscular. Ginger figured all this would be too much for the average female to resist, and women probably lined up around the block to get a peek at him wherever he went.
Ginger took a moment to remind herself that she’d always been above average.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand me,” she said, her voice as friendly as she could make it. “I just came to thank you for your help today and discuss with you when we might schedule the photo sitting.”
“The what?” Lucio cocked his head quizzically.
“Before the wedding ceremony you told me you took nature photographs. I asked if you’d take a portrait of me and my bichon and you said you’d be happy to.”
“I did?”
Was this some kind of joke? Ginger put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Yes, you did. You told me you were interested in expanding your business into weddings and pet portraits.”
“Ahh.” Lucio had up until that point kept his body turned to the vineyards while looking over his shoulder to address Ginger. He decided to face her square on, and a smile escaped his lips as he turned. “Of course I did. It’s all coming back to me now.”
Ginger rolled her eyes. “So that was just a crock of shit, some kind of pickup line you use?”
Lucio laughed. His laugh was hearty and loose, and it traveled up into the breeze. He was obviously a man who liked to laugh, and his enjoyment was contagious. Ginger would have laughed along with him if she weren’t so angry.
“It is not a crock, precisely, but I must admit I stretched the truth in order to have a conversation with you.”
Ginger sighed. She was getting a bad feeling about this guy. It was never a good sign when a man stretched the truth at the first meeting, since, in her experience, truth-stretching was only one tiny step away from outright lying. “So you’re not really a professional photographer?”
He flashed a big, white smile. “I am, bonita, but my subject has been the larger scope of nature along with an occasional yak or Komodo dragon. The small domesticated lapdogs—not so much.”
Ginger felt her blood rising. Not only was he messing with her, he was enjoying it. “Then why did you offer to take a picture of me and HeatherLynn?” She took a step closer, feeling the garden shadows envelop them. “And, better yet, why were you taking pictures of Josie and Rick’s ceremony today? Sonoma Valley isn’t exactly the yak capital of the world.”
Lucio laughed again, holding out his hand to her. “Would you care to take a walk with me?”
Ginger stepped back instinctively. “I’m going to dinner with my friends soon.”
“Ah, then we will make it a short walk.”
“It’s getting dark.” She swallowed hard, feeling that strange pull of energy between them once more. It was almost as if she feared touching him again—because the spark would be impossible to resist.
Lucio smiled gently. “Please understand that when I said I am no good for you just now, I meant that I cannot recommend myself as a boyfriend.”
Ginger’s eyes went wide.
“However, I would never hurt you. You will be safe on a friendly walk with me.” The warmth of Lucio’s smile intensified as he continued to hold his hand out to her.
Ginger crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I’m not in the market for a boyfriend, Mr. Montevez, and if I were, you would not be my choice. I try to avoid men who stretch the truth.”
Lucio nodded silently. His hand fell to his side.
“Besides, I’m simply interested in having a professional portrait taken of me and my dog. I’ll find someone in the Yellow Pages to do it.”
Ginger was about to turn and go when Lucio stepped in close, his dark eyes shimmering with what little light remained. “I stand corrected then, Señora Garrison. Please forgive my insolence.”
Ginger pursed her lips and tried to evade the pull of his dramatic eyes. “All right,” she said.
“So, you will come with me now, yes?” Lucio’s hand rose from his side once more, palm up, as if to show the harmless nature of his offer. “We will walk and I will tell you how I came to be taking pictures at my friend Rick’s wedding, and you can tell me more about the charming and pretty Josie, his bride. And then we will say good-bye.”
It was one of those moments that seemed disconnected from clock time. Ginger had no idea how long she stood there, her gaze alternating between Lucio’s warm eyes and his outstretched hand, weighing the pros and cons of his offer. Who was she fooling? She already knew in her heart that this wasn’t about a portrait sitting—this was about him.
She’d been fascinated by the man the second she’d spotted him milling about the lawn, taking candid photos of the wedding guests prior to the ceremony, pounds of heavy-looking camera gear slung around his neck and shoulders. He seemed dark and mysterious. Exotic. Languid and sexy, despite all the equipment. He had reminded her of a panther, sleek and dark, as he moved across the grass.
Dr. Larry Garrison he was not.
Ginger did not reach for his hand. She knew that if she did, there would be no turning back, that despite her above-average qualities, she would get sucked into the languid and sexy orbit of this dark-eyed panther man. And she couldn’t possibly do that, because she was done being a fool. She was sick of being hurt. Besides, she had boys to raise, an ex-husband to rehabilitate, and a career to rescue.
Now was not a good time.
Lucio let his hand drop again. “I cannot blame you, bonit
a. When it comes to men it is always smart to err on the side of caution, and I see you are a very smart woman.”
Ha! Now that was a word Ginger had not applied to her personal life in a long while. In recent years she’d come to doubt not only her intelligence but also her basic good judgment. In college, her mantra had been “Follow your bliss.” These days it was “What the hell were you thinking?”
Ginger knew that if she were truly smart, she wouldn’t have come out here to talk to Lucio. She wouldn’t be standing here next to him in the low light of evening, aware of the closeness of his body, the scent of his skin, the weird energy bouncing around between them. If she were smart, she would have stayed away from him entirely. If she were smart, she would have ordered a size six bridesmaid’s dress and avoided this entire dilemma.
And if she were really, really smart, she wouldn’t do what she was about to do.
Ginger took a breath. She reached out a trembling hand. “Here is my card. My numbers are on the back.”
Lucio took it, intentionally letting his fingers brush across the top of her hand. Ginger nearly jumped off the ground.
He raised a single dark eyebrow and gave her a tentative smile. “I am not sure what this means, señora.”
“It means if you suddenly feel the need to photograph lapdogs, give me a shout. Good night, Lucio.”
Ginger turned and walked away, leaving Lucio in the garden. She knew he was checking her out. She could feel the heat of his stare all over her legs and backside. But he said nothing. He let her go without a fight.
Ginger appreciated that he’d respected her wishes—for the most part, anyway.
It was hours later when the four women raised a glass to Josie and Rick and enjoyed a leisurely dinner at Carneros Bistro in downtown Sonoma. While they ate, Ginger got the distinct impression that Mrs. Needleman was taking Bea under her wing—to what end, she wasn’t sure. Bea was an assistant sports editor at the Herald who spent most of her free time driving her Finnish spitz to West Coast dog agility contests. Bea was also a former Olympic swimmer—except that she had never gotten to compete in the 1980 games because of the boycott, a tragedy she’d just described to Mrs. Needleman in dramatic detail. Ginger couldn’t imagine what Mrs. Needleman and Bea had in common, but their camaraderie was obvious.
Roxie seemed antsy all through dinner, and Ginger couldn’t blame her. Her friend’s life was in transition and she knew she just wanted to get home. Roxie had been the criminal courts reporter for the Herald, but just weeks after an ugly breakup with her boyfriend, the paper had canned her. Roxie was trying to make a go of a Web site called i-vomit-on-all-men.com, an online community where women shared boyfriend horror stories from around the world. She’d recently expanded into retail sales of hats, shopping bags, shirts, bumper stickers, and coffee mugs, and she was struggling to keep up with demand.
But the most immediate source of Roxie’s anxiety was probably the phone calls she’d received from the kennel where her behaviorally challenged dog was being boarded. They’d informed her that Lilith was not socializing well with male dogs and male kennel workers. This was not a shocker.
Though Ginger had enjoyed the tasty seared tuna and the mixed green salad, she couldn’t relax during dinner, either. Her mind kept wandering back to Lucio—the expression on his face when she gave him her card, that sly grin that revealed his amusement at her lack of willpower. All she’d needed to do was say good-bye and walk away. But she’d left the door open for Lucio when she gave him her card.
Why? Why? Why had she done that? She didn’t need a man in her life. She wouldn’t have the time or energy to deal with a man even if she had one. Especially a man who stretched the truth!
Which reminded Ginger of the main reason for her unease. Her boys were staying with Larry for the weekend, which was nothing unusual. But her ex-husband’s attention span was growing increasingly short, and Ginger wasn’t sure she could trust him to keep an eye on the twins, or, more specifically, Jason. She knew Joshua could take care of himself and most of the West Coast. But Jason needed eagle-eyed adult supervision, something that had recently proven too much for Larry.
In the last few months, Jason had been picked up for curfew violation, destruction of public property, and underage drinking—all while in Larry’s care. In each instance, Larry admitted he’d been preoccupied with a girl, which wasn’t a sexist comment because he clearly preferred the company of females under twenty-one years of age. Maybe he always had.
Ginger dropped her head to her hand, her brain heavy with the truth—if Larry continued to devolve like this, she’d have to go back to court to demand full custody. And that would require money, grief, and time she couldn’t spare.
“Are you all right?” Bea tapped Ginger’s other hand where it gripped the stem of her wine glass. Ginger jolted to attention.
“Just tired, I guess.”
“It’s been a whirlwind weekend,” Roxanne said.
“So much happiness,” Mrs. Needleman said, a devilish smile on her lips. “Now, which of you ladies do you suppose will be the next to marry?”
Everyone’s jaw dropped. The silence fell on them with a thud. The busy restaurant buzzed around them, but no one moved.
Then Bea snorted with laughter.
Ginger and Roxie stole a quick glance at each other. Would this be the moment Bea chose to come out of the closet? Would she finally admit that the reason she never dated was that she didn’t find men attractive? Would everyone finally get the answer to the question no one had ever dared ask?
“I noticed that Josie didn’t throw her bouquet,” Mrs. Needleman added helpfully.
“She knew it would’ve hit the dirt,” Roxie said.
Bea smiled big. “Well, I think it’s obvious,” she said. “Ginger’s our next vision in white!”
“What?” Once Ginger’s eyeballs stopped throbbing, she gaped at her laughing friends. “That’s totally ridiculous and you know it.”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t going to be me,” Roxie said, taking a sip of her pinot noir. “I haven’t had anything close to a date in months, and, besides, a wedding wouldn’t exactly be good for business, now would it?”
Bea chuckled. “You’d have to change the name of your site to ‘i-vomit-on-almost-every-man.’”
Roxanne thought that was funny.
Mrs. Needleman shook her head. “Terrible. Just terrible,” she muttered. “Such a thing would have been unspeakable in my day.”
Roxanne took umbrage at that. “Really? Women didn’t have man problems when you were young, I take it?”
Mrs. Needleman’s shoulders moved up and down while she chuckled. “Of course we did!” The old woman’s chuckle faded into a sigh. “Modern-day woman didn’t discover the broken heart, my dears. As long as there have been men and women there’s been drama, betrayal, ecstasy, hope, despair, and even, on occasion, love. But it’s never been a cakewalk for any of us.”
“So what’s so terrible about my Web site, then?” Roxanne asked.
Mrs. Needleman didn’t bother to hide her sadness, and her old eyes grew watery. “The sheer amount of venom oozing out of everyone these days—it’s destructive to the spirit of the world.” She pointed an arthritic finger at Roxanne. “You may think your business is tongue-in-cheek and harmless, but it’s feeding the dragon, you see. If the world is to survive, we need women who are open to love, not hardened by bitter resentment.”
Roxie laughed uncomfortably. “Hey, well, bitter resentment happens to be a growth industry. My retail sales are up four hundred percent since June!”
Bea snorted again.
Mrs. Needleman pushed her chair away from the dining table, piqued. “Only love attracts love. Distrust only creates more distrust. It’s a universal truth.” She lowered her eyes and in a whisper added, “I fear I’m running out of time.”
Ginger was struck by the weight of Gloria’s softly spoken words. It was almost as if the old lady thought the fate of humanity reste
d on her frail shoulders. Ginger reached across the table and touched the sleeve of Gloria’s blouse.
“We’ll get you back to the ranch for the night. You must be very tired.”
“Oh, fiddle.” Gloria waved her away. “I’m just a lonely old bat who talks too much when she gets a captive audience.” She stood up from her chair and grabbed her handbag. “All right. It’s settled, then.”
“What is?” Bea asked.
“Ginger will be our next bride.” Mrs. Needleman announced this with a matter-of-fact nod of her tightly permed head. “Now get me back to my room before I say something foolish.”
* * *
The moon hung heavy and low in the sky. It peeked from behind the live oaks, spreading a pale blue glimmer over the gardens, the vineyards, and the bare skin of Ginger’s legs. She pulled her wrap closer, shut her eyes, and melted into the Adirondack chair.
Tomorrow, she’d return to her real life. She’d pick up HeatherLynn from the kennel. Stop by the cleaner’s. Get dinner ready for the boys. On Monday morning she’d go into a job that might not last the week, at a newspaper on its last legs. She’d call her lawyer about her custody concerns. She’d send out her résumé. She’d talk to the school counselor about Jason’s grades and arrange for Joshua’s learner’s permit test.
But until then—just for the precious few moments that were left of this night—Ginger would let herself enjoy the soft, perfumed air and the warmth of the zinfandel coursing through her veins. Yes, she’d made some really big mistakes in her life. But every step she’d ever taken, every decision she’d ever made, had led to her being here, at this moment, in this place. That meant everything was right with the world, just the way it was. Just for this moment.
She laughed quietly to herself. So this is the hard-won view from forty, she thought. This was the halfway mark of a woman’s life, a life half lived and half yet to come. Exactly who was she at that moment? Where was the girl she’d once been? How long would it be before she found the best version of herself?
Ginger raised her wine glass and toasted the moon. She believed there was still time to become a confident woman. She could call a truce with her changing beauty, her lost dreams, her rearranged possibilities. There was still time to be happy. She took a long, deep sip of wine and wrestled with the idea of calling for another Botox appointment. She’d have to keep it a secret if she did—Bea, Roxie, and Josie would only tease her again when she didn’t go through with it.
The Night She Got Lucky Page 3