by Jean Oram
“Give her my number,” the man said with a laugh.
Ginger held out her hand with a smile. “I will. My name’s Ginger. Hers is Zoe, and she has a particular thing for the cinnamon buns.”
The man blinked in surprise. Then, as if unable to think of a reason not to, wrote his number on a napkin and handed it to her. “Why not? I love the cinnamon buns, too. As well as Caroline’s award-winning pie. And her cobbler. I’m Ash—short for Ashton. I obviously work out a lot so I can eat here whenever I want.” He gave a warm smile, as rich as the coffee Ginger planned on ordering.
“Well, Ash, expect Zoe’s call,” Ginger said, waving the napkin and knowing the two would make an adorable couple.
And, hey, if you couldn’t find a match for yourself, why not meddle in the love lives of others?
She stepped toward the counter, where a woman in her fifties was talking to a customer a mile a minute about someone named Lucille being madder than a wet hen because the man she’d set her great-niece up with on a date was now supposedly engaged.
“Not that I blame him,” the woman behind the counter said. Her name tag read Caroline and her apparent knowledge of all gossip reminded Ginger of Mary Alice from back home. “Once Lucille gets an idea in her head…well, look out!”
“Tell me about it,” the customer grumbled. “Add her to the Stuck-up Club and ho boy.”
“Now, now,” said the woman behind the counter as she handed over her order. “The Ashland Belle Society isn’t all bad. They do a lot of good things for the town.”
“I know, I know. But they can be a bit high-and-mighty at times.”
“Can’t we all?”
The two smiled in agreement.
“Now dear,” Caroline said, looking to Ginger, “what can I get for you?”
“A mocha please. Double shot of chocolate if you can.”
“No, honey, you want my sweet tea on a day like today.” Caroline began pouring Ginger a clear plastic cup of cold tea.
Ginger looked at it doubtfully. “I like my tea hot.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“The north?”
“And west.”
“Well, down South we drink it cold.” She handed her the tea at no charge and called out as Ginger left, “Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”
Ginger nodded and waved, with another thanks.
Wow. She was definitely like Mary Alice.
But free sweet tea? She could handle that. She took a sip and stopped in surprise. She backtracked to the cafe and hollered inside, “It’s good!”
“Of course it’s good,” the woman huffed. “I made it myself!”
Ginger laughed and returned to the boardwalk, feeling as though her life was finally making a nice turn. One where she’d start getting what she’d set her sights on so long ago. One where luck was on her side. One with fun.
Lots more fun.
And speaking of fun, she saw a familiar, hunky man up ahead. Logan. Her heart lifted and her pace increased before she caught herself. Logan had a real life in Indigo Bay that didn’t include her and their temporary charade. And apparently his real life included a crying, flailing woman.
Uh-oh.
Ginger began slowly backing away, mesmerized with how lost Mr. Take Charge Logan appeared in the situation. He was standing there, body slack, hands loose at his sides.
He turned, thrusting his hands through the hair at his temples, looking around as though aware he was being watched. His dejected body language dropped as he spotted her down the boardwalk and he perked up before quickly catching himself and acting cavalier.
Ginger smiled, knowing that Logan liked her.
She wanted to say hi, but the woman he was with didn’t exactly need an audience.
Was Logan breaking up with whomever it was? That idea made Ginger feel sick to her stomach.
“Die!” the woman yelled.
Oh, wow. Okay. Very bad breakup. Ginger began backpedaling faster.
Was it because of her they were breaking up? That hardly seemed to fit the picture of last night and this morning. Then again, she’d proved to be a good target for liars.
The woman was still crying and shouting, her voice thick, her tears out of control. Ginger found herself moving closer, wishing to comfort her, explain that Logan was…the best kisser on planet earth and that they’d shared a honeymoon cottage last night and had kind of won an elopement wedding package?
Maybe not. But as she drew near she discovered the crying woman was actually a teenager who, judging from the set of her eyes, had Down syndrome.
“You guys okay?” Ginger asked gently, shifting herself onto the bench where the young woman was sitting.
“Nope. Not okay.” Logan’s lips twisted.
“Can I help?”
“He’s leaving me!” the girl cried, finger raised at Logan. “Dead!”
“She’s my…I’m her guardian,” Logan explained quietly.
Okay, Ginger hadn’t seen that one coming.
“She lives a few blocks from here and I’m walking her to work and we started talking and…well…”
“But you live in Australia,” Ginger said stupidly. How could he be a guardian of someone here?
“Yes.”
“And you’re leaving in two days.”
The girl wailed louder, causing more people to look their way. “Dead!”
Ginger put a hand gently on her shoulder, surprised when she turned toward her and fell into her arms, sobbing in anguish. Ginger held her close and patted her back comfortingly before glancing up at Logan. “Are you, um…?”
“Dying? No.” He rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and sighed. “Moving? Well, you know the story.”
The visa issue. She squeezed the girl tighter. Now the pieces were starting to fall into place.
“You have a ranch,” Ginger said. “You two could—”
“There’s nothing,” Logan said grimly.
“But…” He’d said there was a ranch. Was he a liar? Or had she misunderstood him? “You said you miss it.”
“I do. I sold it when my wife left—went to the city,” he quickly amended. He turned to the girl, crouching to make eye contact. “There are mountains in Australia, Annabelle.”
“No stripes!” she yelled back, throwing herself out of Ginger’s embrace.
“I can paint your room in stripes. Any color.”
The girl’s tears were still falling, but she was watching him from the corner of her eye now. Logan perched on the boardwalk in front of the bench. “I’m not leaving you. And if you want stripes everywhere, that’s what I’ll get you. You and I are sticking together.”
Ginger felt her heart melt. This was a man who was not leaving for anything, and that made her want to help him in any way she could.
Chapter 3
Logan awoke, immediately on high alert. He was on his feet, his back pressed against the wall before he’d even sorted out where he was.
Indigo Bay. Honeymoon cottage.
He’d broken Annabelle’s heart, then come back to crash, feeling like the world’s biggest jerk.
“Logan?”
It was Ginger.
His adrenaline started to wash away and he relaxed. He stepped around the corner to greet her at the cottage’s entry. “Hey.”
“Were you sleeping?” In the crook of her left arm was a bundle of brochures and notes from her day’s workshops.
He rubbed his eyes. “No.”
“Liar.” She planted her free hand in the middle of his chest, giving him a push. “What did I say about liars?”
“You hate them.” He caught her hand and took in her capris and T-shirt. “Funny you say that, since your pants are currently on fire there, my little fibber. You should take them off.”
“Ha.” She dropped her bundle onto the bed and frowned. “Goldilocks was sleeping on my bed.” She gave him a sly smile. “Told you you should have it. It’s comfy, isn’t it?”
“Logan.” She gently placed a hand on his arm. “Take the bed. It’s okay.” She was studying him in a way that told him she was thinking about Annabelle’s meltdown on the boardwalk.
In the end, Ginger had managed to calm her enough that she could be walked to work. Ginger had been awesome, chatting about this and that until the girl was her usual cheery self again. Meanwhile, Logan had trailed behind like a rejected dog so as not to upset her any further. Ginger was good with Annabelle and he’d found himself wondering if there was a way she could help out if he got himself deported. He didn’t think so, though, since she was from the other side of the country and couldn’t exactly pop in to put her back together again if she was having a tough day. Couldn’t drop by to celebrate the kid’s birthday or other holidays, either.
If he left, she’d be alone.
If he got deported on Wednesday, months of work on this case would go up in smoke.
Every way he moved on this case, with staying close to Annabelle, there was a roadblock. And even worse, he’d slept the entire afternoon away, meaning he hadn’t had a chance to take care of bugging Vito’s yacht or discovering who else would be at Thursday’s meeting so he’d know what he was walking into, stepping aboard.
“Annabelle is okay?” Ginger asked.
“Yeah. Can you swim?”
“Yes. Why? You want to go swimming?”
He shook his head. If things went south on the yacht he could swim ashore, even if they were miles out. But Ginger…he’d have to make sure he threw a floatation device in the water for her, or find a way to keep her on land.
What was he thinking?
Things wouldn’t go south. It would all be okay. He’d taken down men worse than Vito, and the yacht trip wouldn’t be the actual arrest, anyway. It would be the lynchpin in the case when it came to evidence, because it wasn’t like Vito was suddenly going to unearth his thirty-three-million-dollar stash of conflict diamonds there on the boat.
Logan needed at least another week. Maybe two.
But before any of that he had to convince Ginger to marry him.
“Logan?” She was looking at him like his mind had been elsewhere, which it had. “Annabelle seemed really upset.”
He nodded. “She has issues with people leaving.”
He wished Ginger hadn’t seen them, wished she didn’t know something real and vulnerable about him. Not because he didn’t trust her or want her to know—it actually felt nice having someone to talk to. But anything real could be used against him in his line of work. He’d been careful for an entire year, then in walks a gorgeous sheila and he was close to blowing it all. Now there was a link from him to Ginger. Ginger to Annabelle. From Annabelle to him. From her to her father, Rogue. From Rogue to Logan.
Not good. Trails were bad. Very bad. There had been one before, but it had been a vague trail, one he’d tracked over so badly that it was difficult for anyone to follow. And if they did manage to get a lead, he’d see it in enough time that he’d be able to hide Annabelle. The situation had been as close to safe as he could get without abandoning the kid. But now? It was like a spider web, with each trail leading into the middle, where he sat like a spider, hoping not to be seen by prey larger than himself.
“What about her family?”
“I’m it.”
The memory of Rogue’s last words, begging him to take care of Annabelle flitted, through his mind.
“Just you?”
“There’s nobody else,” he whispered.
“And there’s no way to get your visa extended or to keep you here somehow?”
“Not legally.”
Ginger didn’t press any further, simply wrapped her arms around him, her face creased with an uncharacteristic frown. She was so small, her hands barely reached past each other behind his back as she flattened them against his spine. And yet he felt engulfed. Engulfed by someone who cared, who wanted him to feel better. He hadn’t known someone like that in a long time, other than his AnnaBee.
Logan allowed himself the moment, allowed himself to borrow strength from someone else for once.
He was so darn exhausted.
Ginger laid her head against his chest and he wondered if his heart, which had been broken by life so many times, sounded normal to her ear. He gently rested his cheek on top of her head, feeling his mind drifting without its usual turmoil of thoughts.
Home.
He felt peace, and caught himself falling, his body jerking upright again.
“Did you just fall asleep?” Ginger asked, her voice tinged with humor.
“I think I did,” he said in wonder. That was a first. At times during missions he’d felt like falling asleep on his feet, but had never been able to let his guard down enough to actually accomplish the feat.
Doing so now meant Ginger was bad news.
Or good news.
He still wasn’t sure which.
Ginger glanced up at Logan, who was walking alongside her, the waves lapping at their feet as they headed toward the evening’s event for engaged couples. Annabelle had been so overwrought, so full of heartbreak that afternoon. The poor gal had nobody but Logan, and he was leaving in less than forty-eight hours.
Just thinking about it made Ginger’s chest tighten with a sense of loss. She knew what it was like to have the father figure in your life suddenly leave. But she at least still had her mother, Wanda, and the store that fulfilled her fantasies of a happily ever after.
Annabelle had nobody.
Just a man who wanted to stay, but couldn’t. And the helpless look in his eyes while he’d stood there on the boardwalk had nearly done Ginger in. His willingness to help a friend’s daughter made him special, and gave him a certain permanence that the other foreign men she’d dated had lacked, something real that couldn’t be faked. Logan was doing everything in his power not to leave.
And to be torn like that. Having to go home because your visa was expiring, but having responsibility here…how could he have let it get this close to disaster? She knew he was smart and wouldn’t have left this to chance, but still. Everything had to be conspiring against him. She wished there was a way to help him stay in South Carolina.
“Do you want to go back to Australia?” she asked, hooking her hand in his.
“I have a lot keeping me here right now.”
“Annabelle.”
He nodded. “She’s adamant she doesn’t want to leave with me, and that was my backup plan if my visa didn’t come through—which it hasn’t.”
“And your job is keeping you here, too?”
He looked at her in surprise.
“Diamond wholesaler,” she reminded him. “Very sought after. Once you land that you don’t just give it up on a whim.”
He laughed. “True.”
She smiled as Kelso and Vicky came along the sand together, heading in the opposite direction. Ginger gave them a wink and they lifted their linked hands.
“Thanks, Ginger,” Kelso said as they passed.
“Anytime.”
“What was that about?” Logan asked.
She shrugged. “Just helping two people find the right person.”
He turned so he was walking backward, facing her. “You’re a matchmaker, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.” It was an easy problem to fix, unlike most of life.
“My sweet little matchmaker.” Logan gave her hand a gentle squeeze, infusing her with warmth. His grip, like him, was gentle, but also strong and sure. With Logan at her side their whole charade somehow felt as solid as the ring on her finger, like the man himself, and she found herself wishing for more time to explore the connection.
“You said Annabelle is your dependent? You’re legally responsible for her?”
“I am. She’s eighteen now, though.”
“What does that mean?”
“Basically, I either leave her behind or I take her with me, but she gets a say.”
“And she says no?”
He sighed and rubbed her brow. “Yeah. And I don’t blame her. It’s only been a year since I moved her here after her father died. It was a big adjustment, and now I’m asking her to make another one. She likes it here, loves her job. She’s starting to thrive and we’d be taking a huge step back, moving her across the world. But if I leave, she’s abandoned all over again and would become a part of the system without an outside advocate.”
“Is her mom gone, too?”
“She’s not interested.”
“So it’s you.”
He exhaled unsteadily, and she could tell just how much this was pulling on him even though he was trying to hide it.
“So why don’t you marry an American and stay?”
“And who would I marry?” They’d stopped walking and Logan stooped to pick up a seashell, rubbing his thumb along its smooth contours, avoiding her eyes.
“Me.”
There. She’d said it.
Logan didn’t reply, just tipped his head, peering at her through his lashes.
Oh, so serious.
“The resort will take care of everything with their nutso but well-timed elopement package, then you can stay.” She gave a light shrug. It wasn’t love, but it was a good reason to get married. Plus it would give her time to reevaluate her life, get involved in her new work projects, let her heart heal without thinking she should get back into the dating game. There were two good reasons right there: Annabelle and Ginger’s heart. Plus there was that whole forbidden whisper she kept shoving to the back of her mind. The one that kept suggesting maybe a marriage of convenience was just what she needed, and would turn out like her grandmother’s forty-seven wonderful years of happily ever after.
Logan remained silent and Ginger braced herself. “Did I put too much out there? Too desperate?” she joked. Inside, she was dying. He wasn’t saying a thing. Not even freaking out. Was it because he’d been married before and couldn’t stand the idea of jumping into matrimony again? Especially with a stranger?
Panic was setting in fast, sinking her hopes and pride like they were tied to a stone.
“I’m not in love, or some desperate crazy person, you know,” she said quickly. “I just see it as a good solution.”