The Sergeant and the Senator

by Shanae Johnson

  "She can't be seen eating," Carla said to Chase. "She can't risk being photographed. There are press and smartphones everywhere."

  Chase turned to Ginger, corndog still in hand. “So?”

  It took Ginger a second to take her eyes off the heaven on a stick and look at the man. “I risk looking very suggestive eating, well, that."

  Chase looked at the meat on a stick. He wrapped his hand around the breaded hotdog and pulled it from the stick. "I can break it into pieces for you."

  Though tempting as the idea was to have him handle her food and feed her, Ginger still had to decline. "I risk looking like a cavewoman taking a bite."

  Chase held the two halves of the corndog in each hand. Now that the seal of the bread was broken, the buttery scent went straight to Ginger’s head.

  “So you starve?" he asked.

  Ginger swallowed down her hunger. For the corn dog, as well as for the man trying to provide her with the sustenance she so desperately needed. Looking like she was in command was all part of the plan.

  "I want to win,” she said. More to herself than to him. And the corndog.

  "Can you drink?" Chase asked.

  "Alcohol? No, it would look like I'm a lush."

  "I meant a milkshake. Fruit, milk, sugar. Unless sipping from a straw is uncomely."

  Chase took the plastic container he’d placed between his arm and presented it to her. Ginger eyed the beverage. Again her stomach grumbled. She was about to give in. But it was showtime.

  "Councilwoman Dumasse?"

  She gave one last look at the shake and, by sheer force of will, turned to face the onslaught of curious voters. “Please, call me Ginger."

  “Ginger, what's your position on upgrading farms to meet with today’s demands?”

  Ginger nodded sympathetically as she listened. She had a plan for that. "The world is changing. The way we receive food is different with delivery services. The way we grow food is changing, as well. Farms are becoming more and more technology-based. But that shouldn't scare those of us that work in fields."

  She caught Carla’s eye. Carla didn’t look happy. The campaign manager didn't need to tell her. Ginger was stating too many facts and statistics. People wanted a story. Votes were emotional.

  "I should know, I grew up on a farm. Sure, it was sprawling acres with a mansion. But I paid attention to what was going on in the fields. I understand what a hard day’s work looks like. I also know that, increasingly, young people aren't going into farming. Machines can take some of the stress off the farming operations. But we’ll need to invest in agricultural technology so that farms can thrive. I have a plan for that."

  The man nodded, seeming impressed.

  "What about healthcare?” said a woman off to the right. "My premiums are going up."

  "I understand that, too. As many of you know, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. But that didn't last my whole life. My mother became sick, and we didn't always have the money to put food on the table and pay for her medicines. The state came to our aide, allowing us to keep our doctor and not pay exorbitant fees. I watched how they did that. I have a plan on how we can expand that program for all."

  "That sounds all well and good," said another voter in the front of the crowd. "But taxes are rising, and jobs are few. What jobs there are available are computer-based. I don't have the skills to compete."

  "That's where my education plan comes into play. I know many of our youth are leaving for the bigger cities. That's why we need to invest in job training for the young and old. These problems aren't insurmountable. Not when we focus on our commonalities and build from there. We are a community. We have lived together and thrived for hundreds of years because we hold true to the first tenet of American democracy, and that is an opportunity for all. That is the core of my being. That is who I am. That is what I have to offer you."

  Heads nodded. There were murmurs of assent. Ginger was most gratified to see Chase watching her thoughtfully with a small smile on his face.

  "That works well for civilians,” called out someone from the back. “But what about veterans?”

  Ginger turned to the newcomer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her mind reeled.

  Veterans? She didn't have any notes or plans for veterans.

  "There are problems with vet unemployment, housing, and mental healthcare,” the man continued. “Do you have a plan for that, councilwoman?”

  “I … um …” She didn't.

  "I assume since you're now involved with a veteran,” the man said, “you've at least thought about these issues."

  Ginger looked to Chase and gulped. His features were impassive. He wasn’t going to come to her rescue. This wasn’t part of their deal.

  But Chase stepped up, putting his hand at the small of her back. He gave her an encouraging smile as he did so. It bordered on affection.

  For a moment, she forgot that they were in a crowd. She simply gazed into the eyes of a strong man, one who had never once cowed when she stepped up to take the lead or state her plan. Every time she pushed or prodded Sergeant Colin Chase, he held firm, or he pushed back. Now, he turned to the newcomer and spoke for her.

  "As a veteran, I know that the problems we face are similar to those of everyday civilians. Many of Councilwoman Dumasse's plans will work for those in my situation. She has spent time at the Purple Heart Ranch listening to the issues today’s soldiers face. But as you know, she is a thoughtful woman who likes to see the problem from all sides. She'll be presenting a full plan soon."

  Chase gazed down at her. This time, affection was clear in his brown eyes. The silence lingered. Ginger knew she should say something, but her tongue was tied. Her stomach grumbled again, but not from physical hunger this time.

  "Now, if you'll excuse us. The councilwoman and I have a lunch date."

  Chapter Eleven

  Chase broke the corn dog into four, even bites. Then, using a fork, he dunked the fried morsel into ketchup. He glanced up at Ginger before dunking it into the mustard as well. When she didn’t object to the pairing, his own mouth watered. He was hungry, but not for the breaded hot dog.

  Ginger eyed each of his movements greedily. He caught a flash of white teeth as she bit at her bottom lip. Then a sliver of pink tongue as she wet her upper lip.

  "Open wide," he said.

  Chase lifted the fork. In went the food. Her lips encircled the tines of the fork, lingering. Chase wished he'd used his fingers.

  "Mmmm," she mumbled around a mouthful. "That is heaven right there."

  He watched her chew, unable to take his eyes off her. They were in his car, having ditched her detail and the crowd of voters eager to pester her with more questions. Chase had her all to himself.

  They weren’t secluded in a barn this time. They didn’t have the privacy of a stuck elevator. Still, he shielded her body from prying eyes as he fed her another bite of food. It wasn’t that he cared about any prying eyes. He was simply enjoying having her all to himself.

  Beyond that, Chase was thrilled that Ginger wasn't on a diet. Her figure was perfect. Too perfect if you asked him. If Ginger Dumasse had a flaw, it might help him to stop sneaking glances at her.

  She slipped her shoes off with the third bite and turned her body fully to him. Her lips opened before he commanded, anticipating the last bite.

  "Is that all?" she asked after swallowing the fourth piece down.

  Her lips pressed together in a pout. Her perfectly arched brows slumped. Her fingers clenched into tiny fists.

  Now, Chase was the one biting his tongue. She was adorable, like a disgruntled kitten. Man, if he didn’t want to pet her and make her mewl.

  Instead, he said, “I can get you another one."

  Ginger twisted her lips in thought. She eyed the dollop of ketchup still on the fork tine. Chase put the utensil down. Neither of them needed to have that happen.

  "No,” she said finally. “That was enough."

  "Are you ready to go i
n?" he asked.

  "I am if you are."

  Chase looked across the parking lot toward the private school. Charbury Private Academy, the pristine sign read. It could have been a replica of the private school he’d gone to as a kid.

  No students lingered outside the front door before the bell. There were no school buses lined up as all of the kids had their own cars or drivers. Nor were there any flyers announcing bake sales or school fundraisers. There was no need. Tuition, endowments, and donations likely more than covered everything.

  "It's been years since I've been in there," said Ginger. "I was glad to leave it."

  "You went to public school?"

  She nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  Chase’s spidey senses tingled. It was the feeling he got in the desert when all was too quiet. He’d learned to listen to that sense. It was a harbinger that there was something else out there. The tingling sensation went to his belly when he realized what had to lay behind her silence.

  "Your father wouldn't keep paying for you to go here after your parents’ divorce?”

  Ginger shrugged, but her gaze wasn’t on him. It was out the window at the school. “I didn't want to go here. I never felt like I fit in with these kids. They didn't have any ambitions other than climbing the social ladder."

  Chase understood that. It was the exact make up of his private school and his parents’ social club. But he hadn't had a choice in changing schools. He would’ve made that choice if he could. By the way her nose turned up as she looked at the school, Chase got the sense that Ginger didn’t regret having the choice thrust upon her.

  Once again, he was stunned by how much they had in common. Maybe they could be friends after this?

  “Community activist, councilwoman, and now state senatorial candidate.” Chase ticked Ginger’s accomplishments off on his fingers. “Seems like you’ve climbed pretty high up the social ladder.”

  She snorted. It was completely unladylike and entirely adorable. “Not if you ask my father. He couldn’t be more disappointed in me.”

  That was a surprise to Chase. From what he knew of Henry Dumasse, the man coveted every advantage he could get. He’d even tried to marry off his youngest daughter for a profit.

  “I take it, you two are on different sides of the issues?” asked Chase.

  “Hardly. The side my father is on is the one that’s the greenest.” Ginger rubbed her index and thumb together in the universal sign for money. “He realized a long time ago that he couldn’t buy me, and he’s never forgiven me for it.”

  There went yet another tick in their similarity column.

  “My father shares the same disappointment in me,” said Chase. “He wanted me to join the family business. Instead, I joined the Army.”

  “Two community servants. What awful children we are.”

  Chase chuckled.

  “I only accept small donations in my campaign. Absolutely no corporate sponsors. I pay my staff from my trust fund. I figure with all the wheeling and dealing my father’s done that have hurt people in this community, it’s the least I can do. I’ve barely put a dent in the monies, though.”

  “I used the inheritance my grandfather left me to secure the lease on the recruitment center.”

  Ginger took in a dramatic gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. “Why, Sergeant Chase, you naughty soldier. You used private funds to pay for a government enterprise?”

  “They’re still digging through the red tape. Meanwhile, I’ve helped a dozen men and women find a viable future for themselves and their families.”

  She gazed at him in silence for a long moment.

  Chase held her gaze until his curiosity got the better of him. “What?”

  Ginger shrugged one shoulder. “You’re a better man than I imagined you to be.”

  Chase mimicked her movement, shrugging one of his shoulders. “You’re okay, yourself.”

  She balled her fist and punched him in the still raised shoulder. Chase pretended to fall into the door from the impact of her assault. She had moved him, but more on the inside than the outside.

  "Well, let's get this over with," she said, slipping her shoes back on. "I'm sure you want to finish up your obligation to me so you can get back to your real life."

  "Yeah.” Chase watched as her pink toes slipped into the high heels, disappearing from his sight. “Yes, you're right. No, wait. I’ll get the door."

  “Chase, I can open my own door."

  “Ginger, it’s my car door. I always open it for ladies."

  Her hand rested on the handle. “You have a lot of ladies in this car?”

  "No."

  He held her gaze. The vein at her neck jump. Her throat worked as she swallowed. He had to stop wondering how the skin at the column of her throat tasted. He had to stop wanting to kiss her. They might have things in common, but they were still all wrong for each other.

  Ginger released the door handle. She sat back in her seat with her hands folded primly on her lap. It took Chase a moment before his legs decided to work, and he could get out of the car.

  She waited in her seat until he came around and handed her out. She hesitated before putting her hand in his offered one. But in the end, she relented and took his hand.

  Big mistake.

  A spark zinged up his arm. By the small gasp, he knew she'd felt it too. Chase rubbed her knuckles before releasing her hand. He wasn’t sure if the move had been to comfort her or himself?

  Assistant Principal Jacobs came out to the front office to greet them. "Sergeant Chase and Councilwoman Dumasse. Such a pleasure. Come in, the kids are waiting."

  They started forward, but Jacobs wrapped a hand around Ginger’s other arm and tugged.

  “Councilwoman, while the Sergeant is talking with the students, I was hoping to tug your ear on a pressing matter.”

  Ginger’s features shifted from relaxed to tense. The light that had been in her eye when she’d eaten the corndog dimmed. The smile she plastered on was fake and weary.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobs,” said Chase, wrapping an arm around Ginger, which broke Jacob’s hold on her. “But Ms. Dumasse is here at my pleasure, not in any official capacity other than my girlfriend.”

  Chase felt the intake of breath as Ginger’s shoulders straightened. He also felt a little kick to his gut once that single word left his lips. Girlfriend.

  Not that it was true. But only they needed to know that. In any case, the ploy worked. Jacobs reluctantly let go of Ginger’s arm, and they all proceeded down the hall.

  Inside, Chase was confronted with a couple dozen kids in starched blue and white uniforms. The smell of trust funds mingled with a strong hint of entitlement. At least none held protest signs against the military. It was a good start.

  “First, I want to thank you all for coming out to listen to me today. My name is Sergeant Chase. I served with the United States Army for six years. They were the best years of my life. I learned leadership, made lifelong friends, and was able to serve my country. I believe that the military is a viable career path, especially for bright minds like yours.”

  A hand went up. Chase pointed to a young man with gelled hair pushed back with Aviator sunglasses.

  “I wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid, but I got into Harvard. No way are my parents going to let me give that up.”

  And here is where the problems started.

  “You could think of it as a gap year.”

  That idea hadn’t come from Chase. Ginger stepped up beside him. All heads swiveled to her.

  “The minimum commitment to the military is two years.” She turned to Chase for confirmation. After he nodded, she continued. “And I think you can serve on the weekends, once a month?”

  “That’s right,” said Chase. “In the Reserves.”

  “I was thinking of joining the Peace Corps,” said another student, a young woman this time.

  “The Peace Corps is a great option,” said Ginger. “But in the military, you would se
rve your flag, your home country.”

  “My parents want me to take a gap year,” said a kid in a wrinkled shirt that was one size too small and a few scuffs at the knees of his pants.

  “Do it while serving your country,” said Chase. “You get to travel in the service. You’ll be in the best shape of your life, too. There’s adventure and public service. What more could you ask for?”

  It looked as though a handful of the kids were actually considering it. Chase looked over to the woman standing beside him. She didn’t know it, but this was a win. And he wouldn’t have thought of any of those spins without her.

  “I have a question, Sergeant,” said the wrinkled shirt kid. “How’s the food?”

  And now he was back to square one. But at least he still had their attention.

  Chapter Twelve

  "You guys make such a cute couple."

  Ginger didn't respond to Eva Lopez’s query. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t know the woman well enough to answer such a personal question. The two women had gone to high school together, but they hadn’t run in the same circles.

  Ginger had been active in clubs, but Eva never stayed after school. She'd had too many responsibilities. First, her sick parents, and then her two younger siblings to take care of. Now, Eva was nearing the completion of a college degree.

  She still had her two siblings to care for, but she also had a husband. Eva—well, she supposed she was Eva DeMonti now—had married one of the soldiers who came to convalesce on the Purple Heart Ranch. Fran DeMonti had come to Montana with shrapnel in his heart. But when he met Eva, a miracle happened. The shards that could’ve pierced his heart moved aside to allow love in his life.

  It was an amazing love story. One for the books, for sure. But Ginger didn’t have time to read romance novels. She was too busy solving the world’s real problems.

  So, she pretended not to hear Eva’s statement about her and Chase because Ginger knew there was a hidden question mark in there. A question mark that Ginger wasn’t sure of the answer to.