by Megan Kelly
Ginger waited until he’d turned, waited to speak, waited for an explanation.
“Girls,” he said, “I don’t ever want to hear you argue like that in public again. Do you understand me?”
Nods.
Ginger waited for him to meet her eye.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s get our shopping done and get back to poor Horace. I’m sure he needs to go outside by now.”
He wheeled the cart down the aisle, the girls trailing after him. Ginger stood rigid with disbelief. She’d walk home before she got in a car with him. As frozen as she felt at the moment, the thirty-degree temperatures outside wouldn’t even register.
How much of his attraction to her was because she looked like Sam?
Scott turned the cart around the corner of the aisle and realized he’d left Ginger behind. Or, more correctly, she hadn’t followed. He stopped and ran a hand over his face. Dammit. Why had that woman had to say anything? He’d seen it, of course, the resemblance. Who could miss another redhead coming into his life? The girls and Ginger and Sam all possessed creamy skin and heart-shaped faces. So what?
“Stay here.” He waited until the girls nodded then walked the five steps back to Ginger. Her eyes looked glazed. Could a woman go into shock like this, just from words? A glance over his shoulder ensured the girls stayed close but they probably couldn’t hear if he and Ginger kept their voices lowered.
Would she? Or was she a screamer when angered? Did that red hair translate into fiery outrage, like Sam’s had? Lord knew Ginger had reason enough to be angry. But how and when was he supposed to have mentioned the resemblance? At their first meeting? You look like my wife, and by the way, I want to take you to bed. The longer he’d known her, the less he’d even thought of the similarity. Within moments, actually, all he’d seen was Ginger.
“Ginger.” He fiddled with a button on his peacoat. This wasn’t the place for this conversation. “I’m sorry you found out this way. Let me… I don’t know. What can I do? What can I say? Except that whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
That was stupid. “Let me pay and get the girls in the car where they’ll be safe. And if you can’t wait for an explanation until we get back to my place—”
Her spine stiffened and he had that answer.
“Then we can talk here. Outside or just inside the door. It won’t take long, but I can’t explain, I can’t talk about their mother or my feelings about you, with the girls right here.”
Her gaze ran over his face, traveled to the girls half an aisle away and back. Her slight nod enabled him to breathe again.
She stayed behind while he paid, loaded the girls and the dog food and toys in the car, and turned on the heater. That probably wasn’t safe, but he wasn’t going anywhere the car would be unsupervised. As he closed the car door, Ginger stepped out of the store and stood in front of his vehicle. If he played his cards right, she wouldn’t bash in the hood.
He walked around to her, praying for the most acceptable phrasing. She’d tucked her hands in her coat pockets, and he desperately wanted to hold her hands, to make contact with some part of her.
“You do, a bit,” he admitted, stopping in front of Ginger, his back to the girls in the car. “Resemble each other.”
Her jaw clenched.
What did that mean? Why didn’t she just say something?
“At the party,” he continued, “your hair caught my eye. It caught the eye of every man there. But yeah, especially me. Sam’s wasn’t the same. It was a deeper red, more like rusted metal than apricots. Yours is like sunshine to her shadow.”
God, was this the right thing to say? Since she hadn’t turned away, or slapped him, he continued talking. “You and she have the same shape of face. So do the girls. But long before we finished the first dance, I didn’t picture Sam anymore. I saw your smile, your amazing green eyes, your warmth.”
Her jaw loosened. He counted that in his favor.
“I went to the hotel room with you. Not with a ghost of her. Not wishing it was her. With you and only you.”
He watched her face, her body, for some softening, some sign of forgiveness. For what he wasn’t sure. He had a type, obviously. He hadn’t consciously picked her out because she looked like Sam. If anything, that would have been reason not to approach her, if he’d made any conscious decision at all.
Frustrated, he exhaled, watching his breath turn the air white. “You could be bald for all I care.”
The wind bit his skin, but it was no colder than the fear wrapping around his heart. Why in the hell had he said something that stupid?
Then she smiled.
His panic melted like an icicle in the sun. “I’m sorry I never mentioned it. I didn’t think of the resemblance past the first time I saw you. The first couple minutes, and that’s all. Then you became you.”
“You don’t have pictures of her sitting out.”
“The girls each have one in their bedrooms. There’s a portrait of the four of us in the upstairs hall.”
“I didn’t see it the other night.” Her cheeks might have colored, but as the cold had stained them ruby already, he couldn’t tell.
“A right turn at the top of the stairs leads to the girls’ rooms. We turned left.” He waited. The polar breeze ate away at his marrow, but he wouldn’t move until she gave some sign she understood. That she forgave.
“Serena’s hair has red highlights,” she said. “I assumed she got them from you. Shelby has no red, but her hair’s so dark, I didn’t expect it.”
His gut tightened. Now was not the time for this conversation. Three words would straighten out the mystery, but would also introduce the need for another long explanation, which was totally beside the point. And he’d be frigging damned if he’d give another lengthy account out in the Arctic.
“Okay.” Ginger met his eyes.
His heart stuttered. “Okay?”
“Okay, we’ll talk about this later,” she amended. “But it’s enough for the moment, with the girls waiting in the car.”
He shouldn’t have questioned okay, he thought as he closed her car door and rounded the rear of the Jeep. Still, he was deeply relieved. She’d forgiven him. At least she believed him, which translated to understanding there was nothing to forgive. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
Scott reassured himself of that during the entire silent ride home.
Chapter Ten
As it turned out, they didn’t talk when they got back to Scott’s house. Ginger just couldn’t face it.
She got out of the car but didn’t follow the girls up the driveway, although she did watch their small forms slip and slide across the packed snow turned icy. They giggled, the novelty of snow melting even Shelby’s resentment momentarily. Ginger wished she could recapture that innocence. Instead, she dug out her car keys and, with a deep breath for courage, rounded the trunk where Scott unloaded his purchases. “I’m going home.”
“No, Ginger, don’t. We need to talk this out.”
She had to withstand the pleading in his eyes. “I need some time to think. Time alone.”
“Let me explain things first. Let me fix it. Or at least try.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Was your wife a redhead?”
“Yes, but—”
“And she had the same shaped face. Did she, by chance, also have green eyes and pale skin?”
His mouth tightened, as irritation rushed across his features. “No, she had lovely brown eyes like the girls.”
She turned away. “I’ll talk to you later. Give me a couple of days.”
Footsteps crunched behind her on the packed snow. “Ginger.”
“Please.” She faced him. “Scott, please. I need time to process this.”
His jaw firmed. “I have a bad feeling about us being apart right now.”
“It’s better for me, and I’m going to be selfish on this one.” She took a few steps backward. “Give me those days
.”
He didn’t follow her. He stood in his driveway and watched as she drove out of sight.
She felt hollow inside. No one who crossed her path as she drove home actually died; however she wasn’t sure she hadn’t scared a few people. But she didn’t remember any of it.
One minute she was at Scott’s, driving away, watching him in her rearview mirror as he watched her; the next, she was in her own driveway.
Safe, thank God. Sound? That determination would have to wait.
Ginger didn’t cry. She cleaned. Within an hour, the toilets would have passed the most rigorous military inspection. The floors sparkled, the carpet fibers fluffed, the tile shined. In the second hour, even her cabinets and refrigerator received a thorough cleaning.
All day, all night, all weekend, she stewed. The sight of food nauseated her, even chocolate and ice cream, her old standbys. Forcing herself, she ate some cereal once or twice. She picked up the phone to call Lisa, but even her best friend wouldn’t have the answers for this one. It was better to work through it on her own.
Very rationally, as she cleaned, she thought through the facts, step by step, unemotionally, from first meeting through sex and dinner and more sex, all the way to the scene at the pet store.
Scott was like Charlie Brown, the cartoon character, who liked red-haired girls. Her attempt at humor fell flat. Charlie had the good sense to like only one red-haired girl. Would Scott be attracted to her if she didn’t share Sam’s coloring? Granted, that had gotten her the first dance, but he wasn’t slimy enough to sleep with her just to relive moments with his dead wife. Right?
She didn’t think he was. Her aching gut said no. But then her gut was depressed and hungry and would betray her for a kind word right now.
Logic twisted her heart round and round. Could she trust his feelings for her—that they were, in fact, for her? Or was she being a fool to hang on, wanting to believe so she could stay with him?
Aren’t we all fools for love at some point?
Love? She groaned. No way. Please, don’t let it be that eating her insides raw.
Love was patient and kind and all that crap. Love made bad men good and good men…hotter? The first smile in a long weekend cracked her lips. It almost hurt.
Ginger didn’t know what to do about seeing him again. He’d probably give her a couple of days as she requested. After that? No idea.
She picked up the cleanser and attacked the sinks.
SCOTT TAPPED HIS PEN against his desk, staring at the monitor in front of him absently. He couldn’t concentrate, so he dubbed the next ten minutes a mental holiday and went to the break room. Standing and walking did him good. Seeing his boss stretched out on the vinyl futon made him smile.
“Hey,” Dylan said. “Come on in. I’m not asleep. I’m working through the fine points of a program, and I could use a break from that.”
Scott opened the refrigerator and stared at the bottles and cans of refreshment. “Want anything?”
“Throw me a water.” Dylan sat up as Scott sailed a plastic bottle through the air. “Thanks.”
“You need some help brainstorming?” Anything would be better than thinking about Ginger. “Got a technical problem?”
“No, but thanks. This is part of the process for me. It’ll become clear in a bit if I just stop looking at it so hard.”
Scott popped a Coke and pulled over a hard plastic chair. Tipping his head back, he took a long swallow, the cold liquid bathing his dry throat. Maybe he had a virus coming on. “How do you people stand it being so bitter cold here?”
“We think about the coming summer and how we’re going to miss the frigid temps then.”
Scott didn’t think that possible. “How’s married life?”
Dylan grinned. “Awesome, as usual. The kids are getting along great and we’ve started talking about a baby.”
“Yours, mine and ours?”
His boss laughed. “I suppose so, although it’s hard to believe Lilly isn’t really Tara’s the way they take to each other. I couldn’t love Jimmy more if he were my biological son. We all won when we found each other.”
“That’s great.” Scott made himself smile at the other man’s luck.
“So, what’s on your mind? Something must be going on to have you asking about my home life.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Dylan waved off his apology. “Not what I said, man. I’m more than happy to talk about my wife and kids. Heck, I’ve got pictures on my desk if you’re really interested. But I think you’re more likely just distracted.”
“My project is going great. The break is for eye strain.”
“Right.” Dylan downed some water, watching Scott. “I wasn’t asking as your boss, though. Your work is fine.”
Scott didn’t want to lie and screw up this tenuous new friendship, but he couldn’t articulate his thoughts if he tried.
“Is it Ginger Winchester?”
Scott choked, almost spurting Coke out his nose. “Wow, that was out of left field.”
“If I want to know something, I ask. Another thing the kids taught me.”
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about Ginger since you know her.”
“Fair enough.”
A full minute passed in silence as they enjoyed their drinks.
“I might want to marry her.” The words were out of Scott’s mouth before he thought them through. “Crap.”
Dylan’s hand stopped midway carrying the bottle to his mouth, but at the last remark, he lowered it, a huge grin on his face. “And how’s the lady feel about that? I hope she’s more receptive to the idea. Or does she think it’s crap, too?”
Scott shrugged, embarrassed. “I haven’t asked her yet. I’m not sure.”
“You haven’t been seeing each other that long. You only started here in January.”
“We met in December, when I came for the initial welcome.”
“I didn’t realize that. So? What’s the hurry?” His eyes widened.
“No—” Scott rushed in to stop Dylan’s train of thought “—she’s not pregnant.”
Dylan’s breath whooshed out.
“There isn’t any hurry. That’s why I haven’t done anything yet.” Well, he thought, not anything other than make love with her. Twice.
“But you’re thinking of asking her?” Dylan smiled. “Made an impression, did she?”
“You could say that.”
“How do your girls like her?”
Dylan had recently found out he’d fathered a daughter five years before. Shortly thereafter, he’d married a woman with a three-year-old son. He understood about children getting along with stepparents.
“She teaches Shelby, my second grader, which I think you know. Shelby definitely isn’t teacher’s pet. I think Ginger keeps her distance emotionally with me because of the classroom relationship. Shelby finds it weird to be around her teacher on a social basis.”
“Hmm. I can see where that would be hard for both of them. How about your little girl?”
“Serena has trouble with Ginger resembling their mother.” Scott shrugged. “Maybe Shelby does, too.”
Dylan gave a soundless whistle. “Man, the hits just keep coming. And does she? Look like your wife, I mean?”
Scott shrugged again. “I guess so.”
“Does Ginger know that?”
Scott nodded with a scowl. Ginger knew all right. She hadn’t answered his phone calls or responded to his voice-mail messages. He could only guess at her thoughts, and nothing he came up with encouraged him to think she’d accept a marriage proposal.
“I can’t imagine that her learning about that went over well.”
His grunt made Dylan laugh.
“There’s an understatement. She’s giving me the silent treatment.”
Dylan shook his head. “Women. Sorry, man. We should be nursing beers in a dark, seedy bar.”
“I appreciate that. You don’t have a reason to drink beer in a seedy bar,
though, do you? You said everything’s fine.”
“Solidarity, brother. We men need to stick together.” He held out his water bottle, which Scott tapped with his pop can.
“So how are you making this decision?” Dylan asked. “You going with your gut or do you have a pro/con list going?”
“Pretty much evaluating the reasons on both sides. I can’t trust my gut to this. There are too many people’s futures at stake.”
“I’m good at logic if you want some input. Shoot.”
Scott hesitated, but he missed having a friend. Dylan was solid and though it seemed early to be making this kind of connection, Scott knew he and Dylan would wind up close friends. Since he was making lasting relationships pretty darn fast these days, he decided to go with his instincts on this one. “Okay. On the con side, the girls haven’t accepted her yet.”
“That’s a tough one. How are you going to live together?”
Scott shot him a sour look before remembering the man signed his paycheck. Dylan grinned.
“Point number two, my wife’s only been dead a year.”
“Or already a year, considering you seem ready to move on. You’re thinking of bringing another woman into your life permanently. Does that mean you’ve put the other relationship to rest—” Dylan winced “—so to speak? Sorry. That was out of my mouth before I thought how it sounded.”
“It’s okay. Fair question. Yeah, I’m ready to move on.”
“That’s a good thing. A counterpoint to the con. Your wife’s been gone a year and you’re ready. It would be a check mark in the pro column if you tied ‘moving on’ to marrying Ginger.”
“Well, if I’m going to marry anyone, it would be Ginger. Is that the same as?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“So one con—the girls don’t like her, and one pro—I’m ready to get married and I’ve set my sights on Ginger.”
“And they work against one another.”
Scott nodded. “Very much against.”
“What else do you have to tip the scales? Hold on.” Dylan consulted the ceiling tiles, coming to a decision of some sort. He nodded and looked back at Scott. “I’m going to ask you the only question that matters, and I don’t need the answer. You need the answer. Do you love Ginger?”