spotlighting the old ranch homestead.
“About another thirty meters.” Tom took her hand and the flashlight, not caring if she protested, and led the way, holding her steady, instructing her around the ruts and puddles.
The yellow dot fifteen minutes ago was now a full-blown porch light. Tom jumped the veranda steps, the cold starting to sink in, bringing Ginger along with him.
She tried the door handle. “Locked,” she said, shaking. “She sent me to a locked house? What happened to ‘Daddy never locks the house’?”
“Hold on.” Tom tried the windows by the door. Also locked.
“So, when were you a Marine?” Ginger said, following him.
“Between semesters.” All of the front windows were bolted. “Stay here, let me scout out the place.”
“Between semesters? Like on your school breaks? You ran down to Paris Island and said, ‘Hey, I’m here.’ ”
He smiled back at her. “Something like that.” Tom hurdled the veranda rail and jogged to the back of the house. He didn’t care about Ginger’s wagging finger; Bridgett was going to hear about this. It was one thing to be the caught-up bride but another to be so self-focused she disregarded her guest’s well-being.
On the back deck, Tom tried the knob on the French doors, grateful when they gave way to his gentle push.
Stepping inside, he found a switch and with one click, a set of recessed lights over the fireplace beamed on. Excellent. The power was on. He started to step forward but the slosh of his shoes drew him back. With a sweeping glance Tom checked out the place. The work of Mr. Maynard was evident. He kicked off his shoes. Can’t track mud across the hardwood.
Crossing the spacious room with its vaulted ceilings and crown molding, he flicked on the end-table lamps.
At the front door, he opened up and stood aside forGinger to enter, dropping her bags from his shoulder to the floor. “Please, enter your humble abode.”
“So, like, the power was on?” She huddled by the door, a muddy mess as she glanced around. “Wow. This is the old homestead?”
“Well, consider the source. Bridgett Maynard.”
“It’s beautiful.” Ginger slipped from her shoes and wandered toward the kitchen, then back to the great room. “I think I got the better deal coming out here.”
“But everyone else is at the house with food and maids. Does this place have anything to eat? Is the water on?” Tom stepped around to the kitchen, trying the faucet. Water flowed freely. “Looks like you’re set then.” Tom locked the French doors and picked up his shoes. “Keep the doors locked. There’s homeless camps in those woods. Even in this cold.”
“Thank you. For everything.” She motioned to the doors unaware that the dark scarf she wore swung loose, exposing the neck she worked hard to hide.
He fought the urge to touch her, to tell her the wounds would be all right. She didn’t have to hide. But that would definitely cross all of her boundaries. Real or imagined.
“Well, then, I guess I should get back.” He made a face as he set down his shoes and slipped in his feet.
“Oh, Tom.” She whirled toward him. “See, I knew you shouldn’t have come. Now you have to go back in the rain. By yourself.”
“Like I said, I’ve been in worse.”
“It’s freezing out there. You’ll catch a cold or something. I don’t think Bridgett and Eric will like you hacking and sneezing through their big society wedding tomorrow.”
“Can’t stay here, though, can I?” His gaze met hers and for a moment, he was back in high school, watching her in math class, wondering how he could work up the nerve to ask her out. She was so walled and guarded. Then and now.
“I guess not.” She stepped toward him. “See you tomorrow then.”
“See you tomorrow.” In that moment, it felt like something passed between them. But he couldn’t quite grab onto it.
“Hey, why don’t you try Eric again? He did say he needed his best man tonight. He could
“About another thirty meters.” Tom took her hand and the flashlight, not caring if she protested, and led the way, holding her steady, instructing her around the ruts and puddles.
The yellow dot fifteen minutes ago was now a full-blown porch light. Tom jumped the veranda steps, the cold starting to sink in, bringing Ginger along with him.
She tried the door handle. “Locked,” she said, shaking. “She sent me to a locked house? What happened to ‘Daddy never locks the house’?”
“Hold on.” Tom tried the windows by the door. Also locked.
“So, when were you a Marine?” Ginger said, following him.
“Between semesters.” All of the front windows were bolted. “Stay here, let me scout out the place.”
“Between semesters? Like on your school breaks? You ran down to Paris Island and said, ‘Hey, I’m here.’ ”
He smiled back at her. “Something like that.” Tom hurdled the veranda rail and jogged to the back of the house. He didn’t care about Ginger’s wagging finger; Bridgett was going to hear about this. It was one thing to be the caught-up bride but another to be so self-focused she disregarded her guest’s well-being.
On the back deck, Tom tried the knob on the French doors, grateful when they gave way to his gentle push.
Stepping inside, he found a switch and with one click, a set of recessed lights over the fireplace beamed on. Excellent. The power was on. He started to step forward but the slosh of his shoes drew him back. With a sweeping glance Tom checked out the place. The work of Mr. Maynard was evident. He kicked off his shoes. Can’t track mud across the hardwood.
Crossing the spacious room with its vaulted ceilings and crown molding, he flicked on the end-table lamps.
At the front door, he opened up and stood aside forGinger to enter, dropping her bags from his shoulder to the floor. “Please, enter your humble abode.”
“So, like, the power was on?” She huddled by the door, a muddy mess as she glanced around. “Wow. This is the old homestead?”
“Well, consider the source. Bridgett Maynard.”
“It’s beautiful.” Ginger slipped from her shoes and wandered toward the kitchen, then back to the great room. “I think I got the better deal coming out here.”
“But everyone else is at the house with food and maids. Does this place have anything to eat? Is the water on?” Tom stepped around to the kitchen, trying the faucet. Water flowed freely. “Looks like you’re set then.” Tom locked the French doors and picked up his shoes. “Keep the doors locked. There’s homeless camps in those woods. Even in this cold.”
“Thank you. For everything.” She motioned to the doors unaware that the dark scarf she wore swung loose, exposing the neck she worked hard to hide.
He fought the urge to touch her, to tell her the wounds would be all right. She didn’t have to hide. But that would definitely cross all of her boundaries. Real or imagined.
“Well, then, I guess I should get back.” He made a face as he set down his shoes and slipped in his feet.
“Oh, Tom.” She whirled toward him. “See, I knew you shouldn’t have come. Now you have to go back in the rain. By yourself.”
“Like I said, I’ve been in worse.”
“It’s freezing out there. You’ll catch a cold or something. I don’t think Bridgett and Eric will like you hacking and sneezing through their big society wedding tomorrow.”
“Can’t stay here, though, can I?” His gaze met hers and for a moment, he was back in high school, watching her in math class, wondering how he could work up the nerve to ask her out. She was so walled and guarded. Then and now.
“I guess not.” She stepped toward him. “See you tomorrow then.”
“See you tomorrow.” In that moment, it felt like something passed between them. But he couldn’t quite grab onto it.
“Hey, why don’t you try Eric again? He did say he needed his best man tonight. He could
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