Deep Cover. Sandra Orchard
veered toward Ginny wearing a heart-stopping grin, and she scarcely restrained a sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“You can thank me by letting me stay on the project.” He gave her a sideways hug and heat rushed to her cheeks as she scrambled to recover her composure. He steered her toward the door. “Deal?”
“What?” She slipped from his grasp before the allure of his closeness brainwashed her into saying something stupid—like yes. He may have won this battle for them, but they’d survived fine without him up until now.
The instant Rick stepped through the council chambers’ main doors, Lori launched into his arms. “Rick,” she cried out, her voice echoing in the cavernous lobby.
Ginny glanced around the shadowy lobby, wondering why she cared if anyone overheard her sister’s declaration.
Maybe it was the way Rick hesitated and stiffened at her words, as if … nervous?
Ginny must’ve imagined Rick’s reaction to Lori’s greeting, because a second later he wrapped Lori in his arms. “Hey, kiddo.”
To think not so long ago his arms were the only place Ginny had wanted to be. Rick’s comfortable acceptance of her sister had been one of the qualities she had admired most about him. Unlike her other boyfriends, Rick had actually wanted to include Lori in some of their activities, or share a meal with her mom. But that had also made his leaving hurt all the more.
Mom eased Lori from his embrace. “Rick, dear. It’s wonderful to see you again. Looking so well. Why don’t you come back to the house with us so we can catch up?”
Rick shot Ginny a startled look. Fifteen months had ravaged Mom’s body. He probably scarcely recognized her.
His gaze softened and the ache in Ginny’s chest deepened. She’d been holding herself together since Mom’s diagnosis, but one glimpse at the compassion in Rick’s eyes and she could feel herself falling apart. She couldn’t let herself tumble back into the trap of letting him close enough to share her pain.
“Mom, I’m sure Duke has other things he needs to do.”
He grinned. “Not at all. I’m all yours.”
THREE
Caught between duty and fleeing as far from Rick as she could get, Ginny stayed in the car while Mom led the way to the front door of their bungalow under the protection of Rick’s umbrella. Mom had a way of being happily oblivious to the peeled paint on the windowsills, the split in the porch step and the grass long enough to feed a flock of sheep. But if Ginny followed them inside, she’d be all but laying out the welcome mat for Rick to retrample her heart.
“Coming?” Mom called.
Ginny hit the automatic switch for the window. The gears whirred to no effect. She toggled the switch and the window lurched, stopping three inches from the top.
Leaning over, Ginny pitched her voice through the opening. “I thought I’d pick up groceries. Maybe stop by Uncle Emile’s. There’s something important I need to discuss with him.”
“Nonsense, you can do that tomorrow.” Mom and Lori disappeared into the house.
No such luck with Rick. He hunched next to her window until their eyes were level. “I can fix that switch if you like.”
Rain dribbled off his umbrella and found its way through the gap in the window.
She rammed her thumb onto the button, but the window wouldn’t budge. Not up. Not down. Why couldn’t he just go away?
Rick opened the car door and offered her a hand. “You go in and dish up the pie Lori promised me, and I’ll take care of this window.” Humor lit his eyes, and was that a … a …?
“Are you laughing?” Laughing? “Oh, you have some nerve, pal. If you knew what kind of month I’ve had, you wouldn’t be laughing. I can’t afford any more car repairs.” Not when she needed every spare dime to pay for Mom’s medicine.
“Lucky for you I want to help then.”
“Hello? I—don’t—want—your—help! I want you gone.”
She reached for the handle, but Rick hunkered between the door and her seat, blocking her attempt to shut him out. He covered her hand with his, and for one second, maybe two, she lost herself in the warmth. Forgetting the rain. Forgetting her mom and sister waiting inside. Forgetting why she shouldn’t lean into his embrace.
Then she remembered who he was, or rather wasn’t, and snatched her hand away. Everything he did was an act to get what he wanted.
He stepped back and held the door open. “We need to talk before you have that conversation with your uncle, so how about some hot chocolate to go with that pie?”
“Oh sure, that’s exactly what I should give you—like a stray puppy, so you’ll stick around. Pul-lease.”
A full-blown grin dimpled his cheeks and Ginny bolted for the covered porch before he obliterated her resolve.
On the street, a boxy gray car—like the one she’d noticed trolling the neighborhood earlier tonight—slowed. Come to think of it, the car looked a lot like the one that had been idling outside the town hall. She leaned over the porch rail for a better look and the car raced off.
Suddenly grateful for Rick’s solid presence, Ginny glanced toward her car.
Inside, Rick had settled into the driver’s seat and his fingers grazed the dove ornament dangling from the rearview mirror, his touch almost reverent. Was he remembering the day he gave it to her?
A soaring dove to remind you God is watching over you when I can’t be, he’d said.
How she’d cherished his words. Maybe he did know how special he’d once made her feel. With him, her words sparkled, her dreams grew vivid, her hopes became tangible.
He made her believe she could be more than …
“Ginny?” Lori’s frantic call cut through the brick and glass.
Ginny trudged inside and hung her wet jacket on the coat tree.
The sweet smell of hot chocolate hung in the air, and Ginny didn’t know why she was surprised. Mom had always had a chameleonlike ability to transform from a wasted alcoholic to Suzie Homemaker in the time it took a social worker to get from the driveway to the door.
Ginny hurried to the kitchen, picking up scattered socks and shoes along the way.
Lori was digging through the freezer and Mom stood at the stove stirring a pot of hot chocolate. But neither had noticed the crumbs and ketchup smeared across the vinyl tablecloth.
Ginny grabbed a wet rag. Appliances and abandoned mail cluttered the countertops, and thanks to the ripped screen in the window above the sink, the fly strip hanging over the table had no vacancies.
“Where’s Rick?” Mom chirped.
“His name is Duke.” Ginny traded the dishrag for a knife and jabbed the center of the pie her friend Kim’s mom had given them. “How can you trust a guy who changes his name for no good reason?”
“I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation. Why don’t you ask him? He’ll tell you.”
“What makes you think I want an explanation?” Ginny snapped as her insides crumbled like the pastry under her knife. She’d waited for months, hoping he’d come back, but he hadn’t, which only proved she hadn’t meant as much to him as he had to her. Another reason she needed him off this project.
Rick stood on the Bryson porch waiting to be let in. His damp clothes clung to him like the doubts Ginny had dredged up. Perhaps he could finesse his way into Mrs. Bryson’s good graces. She might be just the ally he needed to convince Ginny to trust him.
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