by Mitzi Kelly
The sun’s mood mirrored her own as it fought to rise and shine through the dreary, low-hanging clouds. A deep sadness filled her. She knew what Greg had been thinking yesterday. He assumed she was playing a game with someone from back home.
That he could think so little of her hurt after the way their friendship had developed, but maybe it was better this way. If Greg thought the worst of her, then he would not be coming around anymore, and that would effectively solve the problem of her attraction to him.
She was disgusted at herself for allowing another man, once again, to ruin her day. If she truly felt Greg was just a friend, then his opinion of her would not affect her quite as much. Sure, she might have felt some hurt and disillusionment at a friend turning his back on her, but not this sudden loneliness and deep sorrow.
She took a deep breath to calm her emotions. Disgust and anger worked wonders in elevating energy levels. When she finished walking with Jack, she would start work in her living room again and push all thoughts of ex-friends from her mind. Quickening her pace, she looked down at Jack who was happily trotting along beside her. “This was a good idea, after all. I take back all the nasty things I was thinking about you this morning.”
So focused on what she wanted to accomplish today, she hadn’t noticed Jack slowing down. Even when he suddenly froze, she just assumed he had seen a bush he’d not yet claimed as his own. But when she pulled herself from her reverie, she noticed they were in front of Rick Thornton’s house.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered under her breath. She had studiously avoided her neighbor’s house when walking Jack the last several days because the big Lab acted strange every single time they drew near. And, of course, today was no exception. Rick was nice enough and called out a greeting whenever he happened to be outside during their walks, but Jack inevitably would freeze and begin a deep, threatening growl. It had to be some kind of chemistry thing.
Speaking to Jack in a low, calm voice, she surreptitiously glanced around. She didn’t see Rick, but that really didn’t mean anything. With quite a bit of mature shrubbery around the front of the house, there had been many times Rick had seemed to appear out of nowhere, either from behind a grouping of bushes at the edge of the porch or behind one of several decorative wooden posts. He would call out to her, sending the fur on Jack’s neck standing straight up. She had to admit it was rather strange, but the man had never done anything that could even remotely be construed as aggressive or threatening. In fact, he’d never even come too close, probably out of respect for Jack and his massive teeth.
Ginger bent down until she was on eye level with her dog. “You are going to have to stop this, Jack,” she whispered. “I’m beginning to think you need a doggy psychiatrist or something, and just imagine what that will do for your macho image. The little girl poodles around here will start laughing at you, and you will never be able to carry your head high again. So man up, stick your chest out, and lift up that tail!” Her motivational speech earned her a quizzical look and a big, slobbery kiss across her cheek, but at least it seemed to have diverted Jack’s attention from her neighbor’s house.
She stood, pulled lightly on the leash, and continued walking. She was pleased that Jack behaved perfectly, but a sudden feeling she was being watched marred her relief. She knew—was certain, in fact—that it was just her imagination, that some of Jack’s paranoia had rubbed off on her.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from taking a quick look over her shoulder—and that’s when something odd caught her attention. Just a few feet away, a pink ticket peeked out from underneath one of the boxwood bushes that served as a border to Rick’s front yard. Not normally one to go around picking up trash from her neighbor’s yards, she nevertheless took a couple of steps and bent down.
What had appeared to be a full ticket turned out to be a torn section of thick card stock. Not that unusual by itself, but she was familiar enough with florist delivery tickets to know when she was looking at one.
No identifying marks were on the scrap of paper. However, when she turned it over, a handwritten word was visible: yellow.
She stared at it for a moment. The implication was clear. Had Rick been the one to send her the yellow roses? But she’d been so sure they were from Todd. It was too much of a coincidence to think Todd would suddenly call out of the blue just hours after she received them. Then again, she didn’t really know when the flowers had been delivered. She’d been at the picnic. They could’ve arrived hours before she got home.
She looked back toward her house. Maybe the delivery service had dropped the ticket, and the wind picked it up and carried it this far. She tried to remember if there had even been wind yesterday. But the part of the ticket she was holding had been torn. It was otherwise in fairly good shape. It didn’t look like something that had been tossed wildly in the wind.
Her mind jumped from thought to thought as she tried to make sense out of what she was holding. The flowers would be most unwelcome coming from either Todd or Rick, and it was unlikely she would ever know for sure which one had sent them. Whoever it was didn’t want their identity known, and the more she thought about it, the more she appreciated that fact. Having to acknowledge the gift from either of them would be awkward at best.
After a moment, she crumbled the piece of ticket in her hand and shoved it in her pocket. Jack waited patiently, his eyes following the circular motion of a bright orange butterfly flittering between the boxwoods and his nose. He had the right attitude. Regardless of what the paper might or might not mean, there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
However, that didn’t keep her from skimming the area with her eyes for more pieces of pink paper as she led Jack across the street to continue their walk.
Chapter Ten
Greg poured coffee into his mug and looked at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. Ginger should have made it into the office by now. She was always a few minutes early. She could be caught up in heavy traffic, though, due to the rain that had started up again overnight.
She was one of the best assistants Tucker Construction had ever had, and he was not going to do anything that would make her feel insecure about her job. He wasn’t going to let her know he was bitterly disappointed to find out she carried the same female gene of game playing and cunning pretext that nestled deep in every other woman he’d known. Instead of giving in to this feeling of betrayal, he should be thanking his lucky stars her true character was revealed before he deluded himself any further that she was different.
So he would squash the growing attraction for her down under the heel of his boot. She would never know he’d hoped their friendship would grow stronger. Then neither of them would feel uncomfortable working together. His life could get back to normal. The way it was before Ginger Carmichael had tiptoed into his yard asking for a contractor.
The front door opened. He stalled for a few minutes, sipping his coffee and counting to a hundred. He then squared his shoulders, picked up his notebook from the table, and exited the break room. When he neared the front area, he called out a greeting.
She was standing beside her desk with her hands behind her back. She looked so cute—and sexy—that for a split moment he had second thoughts about his decision to cut off all relations with her. She wore a red short-sleeved blouse and black Capri pants, revealing muscular calves and dainty ankles. Her small feet were encased in black high-heeled sandals, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a red ribbon. How was she able to pull off such a contrasting look of sweet innocence and patent sexuality?
“Good morning.” Her smile was respectful, her eyes were clear and bright, and her expression was attentive. It was clear she’d reached the same conclusion he had regarding their relationship.
Good. They would start out fresh, employer to employee. That was just fine by him. He assumed it was very easy for her, though. She was biding her time, making the boyfriend back home pay for some misdeed. She wasn’t interested in pursuing a relat
ionship with anybody else because this guy would show up one day soon, begging for forgiveness, and she would welcome him back with open arms.
Greg knew why she was working so hard to fix up her home. When the boyfriend came chasing after her with his tail between his legs, she would be able to graciously offer him a place to stay.
“Is something wrong?”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he realized he was staring. “No, I’m fine.” His voice was cool and level as he tossed the notebook he was holding toward her desk. “There are a couple of proposals in there that need to be completed and then printed out so I can deliver them.”
The notebook hit the edge of her desk and started to slide off. She reached out to grab it. He lunged forward, but she’d already caught the notebook.
“Sorry, I—what happened to your hand?” A bandage was wrapped securely around her swollen wrist and the thumb of her right hand.
She opened the notebook and glanced over the figures for the proposals. “Oh, nothing. What time did you want to take these proposals to McDaniel Industries?”
He crossed his arms. The silence stretched endlessly until finally she dropped the notebook on her desk and faced him, crossing her own arms.
“If you must know, I slipped and fell off the ladder,” she said with that familiar raising of her chin.
His jaw dropped. “You fell?” he exclaimed. “Did you have it X-rayed?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine, and no, I didn’t go to the doctor. I know the difference between a sprain and a break. Now did you want to deliver the proposals this morning or later this afternoon?”
He looked at her for a moment, and then a slow grin crossed his face. “I’m not making light of your injury, but didn’t you recently say you have never fallen off a ladder in your life?”
“So there’s a first time for everything. Can we stop talking about it, please?”
He reached around her and picked up the notebook. “Don’t worry about the proposals. I’ll type them up myself.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” he said firmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ve had my share of sprained wrists, ankles—you name it—and I know how painful it can be and how important it is not to stress the pulled ligament until it heals. You take care of the phones, and we’ll be fine today. Justin and Steve are in Dallas, and with the rain, there isn’t much going on, anyway.”
“But—”
“No buts. And not only did I make coffee, I will bring you some, too.”
****
An hour later Greg hung up the phone and rose from his chair. While he had been talking to a client, someone had come into the office. He heard voices and Ginger’s light, tinkling laughter. He waited a few seconds, and then he frowned. Gerald.
It was not unusual for Gerald to stop by the office. It wasn’t even unusual for him to stay and talk for a while. Hell, everyone knew Gerald was a friendly man. It didn’t mean anything.
Greg sat down and stared at his computer screen. If it didn’t mean anything, then why was he so irritated?
Ten minutes passed. Ten long minutes resulting in a headache from straining to hear the conversation in the front office. What are they talking about? Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, hit the print button on his computer, and rose from his chair.
Gerald was standing beside Ginger’s desk. Whatever he was discussing with her must have required he bend down with his face close to hers.
“Hello, Gerald,” Greg said more loudly than he had intended.
Gerald straightened and slapped Greg on the shoulder. “Hey, old man. How’s it going?”
“Good. What are you up to?”
“Oh, not much. Finished the plumbing work at the new auto shop.” He crossed his arms. “Can’t start the new residential job until this rain lets up.”
“Yeah, it’s a mess. Tomorrow should be better, though. So,” Greg said, tapping the papers he carried against his leg, “you’re just passing time?”
Gerald grinned. “Pretty much.”
Ginger looked up. “Gerald dropped off the completed work orders.” She stood and leaned a hip against the desk. “I’ll be able to get the invoice out this afternoon.”
“Good,” Greg said with a nod. “But don’t worry about doing it today. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
She gave him a wry look. “I don’t think plugging numbers into a form will strain my wrist, but I appreciate your concern.”
Gerald looked at Greg and chuckled. “I don’t think she’s too worried about computer work when she’s contemplating doing some painting tonight.”
Greg’s head snapped up, and his eyebrows rose. Ginger gave Gerald a dark look before she replied. “Not real painting. The walls aren’t even ready yet. But I would like to put some color samples up so I can decide on what I want.”
“Hey, let’s get Greg’s opinion,” Gerald jumped in, reaching around Ginger to grab the paint color chart off her desk. He obviously hadn’t picked up on the tension swirling around the room. “Ginger and I sort of like this taupe color.” He pointed to one of the samples. “What do you think?”
Greg’s jaw tightened. “I think it would be wise to hold off doing anything until your wrist heals.”
“Hey, buddy, what kind of guy do you think I am?” Gerald asked, feigning an affront. “I told her to pick out several colors she likes, and I’ll go by the paint store and pick up a quart of each. I will be happy to put up some samples, and she can take a few days to make her choice. Besides,” he added, “I want to meet this great dog she’s been talking about. I’ll even pick up some food so she doesn’t have to cook.”
Ginger looked at Greg. “I told Gerald about my nightmare of a house.”
Greg was having trouble holding on to his temper. It seemed Gerald would be stepping in and taking over where he had left off—helping Ginger with her house, playing with Jack, bringing dinner. One way or the other, she was obviously determined to get her house completed before her boyfriend came chasing after her.
He should be relieved that now he need not feel guilty about the work remaining on her house, but all he felt was a slow-burning anger. Had she even thought how this was going to affect Jack? Nobody knew for sure how the big dog was going to behave with a stranger in the house. It wasn’t fair to suddenly introduce him to an unfamiliar man. What if he became aggressive? It would be impossible to control Jack with an injured hand.
It was a feeble excuse to rationalize his irritation, but Greg couldn’t come up with a better explanation for the tightening in his chest.
Well, if Ginger was comfortable with the arrangement, there was nothing he could do about it. “It seems like everything is taken care of, then.” He handed the papers he was holding to her. “When you get a chance, would you proofread these proposals?” Then, with a curt nod, he turned and headed back to his own office, but not before he heard Gerald say, louder than was necessary, that he would come by her house around six.
****
Ginger was just about to close up the office when Gerald unexpectedly stopped back by the office. “I’m sorry, Ginger,” he said with a grimace, carrying what looked like a large drink holder. “I’m afraid something has come up, and I’m not going to be able to put these paint samples up for you tonight, after all.”
She looked at the carrier, and a smile crossed her face. There were four quart-size cans of paint with a smear of each color spread across the lids. “Don’t worry about it, Gerald. It’s not that important. How much do I owe you for the samples?”
While she fished in her purse for the money to reimburse him, he peered down the hallway. “Where’s Greg?”
“He had a couple of proposals to deliver. He won’t be back today.” And she was glad he’d left. Greg had been in a surly mood all afternoon, and by the time he announced he was leaving, she’d been ready to kick him out the door. “Did you need me to leave him a message?”
“No, no, I was just wondering.” He
accepted the money and stuffed it in his pocket. “If you’ll unlock your trunk, I’ll put these samples in there.”
“Thanks. Give me a minute to lock up.” She checked the lights in all the offices, turned off the coffee pot and her computer, and then grabbed her purse. “I really appreciate you picking up the samples for me.” She locked the door, and they headed for her car.
“You just make sure you don’t try to put any of these colors on your walls tonight by yourself. Greg will kill me.”
“Greg’s an old worrywart.” She unlocked the trunk of her car.
“That may be true.” He secured the paint carrier between her spare tire and the side of the trunk. “But on this point he’s right. If you don’t get the samples up tonight, I’ll make sure to do it for you tomorrow.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Hmm…first, you tell me not to put the paint on the walls, and then you tell me if I don’t, you’ll do it for me tomorrow. Your mind is definitely not on what you’re saying. I can only assume you have a hot date tonight,” she teased.
A red stain crept up his neck.
“You do, don’t you?” she exclaimed. “I’m glad you finally found the nerve to ask—what did you tell me her name was? Julia? Well, I am happy for you, Gerald. Where are you taking her?”
“Uh…I haven’t decided where I’m going to take her.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, the gesture proving how shy he really was. “You just be real careful with that wrist, you hear me?”
She clicked her heels together and gave him a salute. “Yes, sir! Now you go make your plans for tonight and stop worrying about me. And thank you again for picking up the paint.”
She winced when she pulled her car door closed. Her wrist only hurt when she used it, and because of that, she had accidentally reached out several times during the day to pick something up or push something closed. It was impossible not to use it.