The Last Bachelor (6 page)

Then she realized the door to his private bath was closed and she could hear the shower running. She almost stopped breathing as she pictured him with water sluicing down his broad chest.

Unlike most of the men at the club, he didn't play golf. His favorite exercise, she recalled, was racquetball. Once she had brought a pot of coffee to some men waiting for a court. Joe had been playing and she'd paused to watch him. He was fast and strong.

She shook her head as if to dispel the memory, then remembered why she was in here. Purposefully she opened the walk-in closet, found some space on several shelves and put her personal items there.
Then she headed for the kitchen, thinking it best to give Joe some privacy.

But when she went into the kitchen, she discovered Maria had already washed the dishes. “Oh!”

“What is the matter, señora?”

“I—I was going to have a little more coffee, but—”

“Of course, señora,” Maria said, reaching for a clean cup. “I will pour it for you.”

“No. I don't want to make more work for you.”

Maria gave her a curious look. “It is my job.” Then she poured the coffee. “Do you want to drink it while you watch the news?”

“The news?” Ginger asked. She didn't own a television and had never made a habit of watching it. But she didn't want to disagree with Maria. She was already causing her extra work. “Yes, please, that will be fine.”

“Does señor want more coffee?”

“No, he's in the shower.”

Maria walked past her, carrying her cup of coffee, and Ginger followed her. Maria clicked on the television, then set the coffee on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen.

Ginger stood there, uncertain what to do. She couldn't go back into the kitchen and bother Maria. She couldn't go into Joe's bedroom and disturb him. And she no longer had her own bedroom.

Would she sleep on the sofa tonight? Or perhaps she could slip into the bedroom she'd been using after Maria left. If not, what was she going to do?

Her knees felt weak at that thought. She sank down to the sofa and picked up the coffee cup. That was what she would do. She could get her clothing for the next day each evening and sleep in the same bed she'd been using. But before Maria came, she would strip the bed and put everything in Joe's room.

Surely Joe would want that. It would take time, but she wasn't going to work as much. She could handle a little extra effort. Was it possible, as Joe had said, that she would be able to stay here for a year? Maybe stay in Mission Creek for years without having to worry about being returned to Estonia? Or to her mother?

Should she call her mother and let her know that her daughter was now married and beyond that evil man's reach? Would it help her mother?

It was the first time contacting her mother had occurred to Ginger. She knew the number by memory. After a quick look at Joe's closed door, she picked up the phone from the lamp table. Dialing the number, she tensely waited for someone to answer, hopefully her mother.

“Hello?”

“Mama, it is Virvela,” she said softly.

“Where are you?”

“I can't tell you, but I want you to know I am married. I'm not coming back.”

“You must! They will beat me again.”

“I'm married, Mama. He can't marry me.”

“He didn't want to marry you. I am the one who insisted on marriage. I did that for you!”

“Well, I'm not coming back. Goodbye, Mama.”

Her mother was scolding her in her native tongue as Ginger hung up. She didn't even realize she was crying until Joe came out of his room and approached her.

“Ginger? What's wrong? Why are you crying? Did Maria say something mean?”

“No. Maria was wonderful. I—I'm sorry. I know I should've asked but I called Mama. I told her I was married and would not be coming back.”

“She was unhappy?”

“She said they would beat her again. She said the man did not want to marry me, that she insisted he do so.”

Joe reached over and wiped her cheeks. “It doesn't matter what he wanted, sweetheart. He can't mess with you now. You belong to me.”

“I don't want to cause you trouble.” She wiped the new tears away. “What if—”

“No. You're safe. They don't know where you are. But don't call her again, okay? At least not before we talk about it.”

“Yes, I'm sorry.”

“Come on. We're going to talk to Harvey now. We'll fight one battle at a time, okay?”

She nodded but couldn't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

He pulled her against him. “If you keep crying, everyone will think I'm being mean to my wife.” She looked up to protest and Joe kissed her. “You know, you have the softest lips, Mrs. Turner. And
your husband sure does enjoy kissing you. Good thing it's part of the job.”

“But no one can see us now. There's no need—”

Maria appeared at the door as if on cue. She smiled when she saw Joe's arms around Ginger.

“Oh, hi, Maria,” Joe said with a grin. “We're just leaving.”

“Sí, señor.”

He turned Ginger around and led her to the door, her hand snug in his. Ginger didn't protest. For once she felt safe and secure.

H
arvey greeted Ginger with a smile, but his smile didn't extend to Joe. “What are you doing here, Joe? Are you finally going to discuss the opening with me?”

“No, Harvey, I'm here to discuss my wife's schedule with you.”

Harvey immediately looked at Ginger. “You told me you wanted to continue working. Tell him.”

Joe sat back and looked at Ginger. He could tell she was sympathetic to Harvey. He hoped she kept her word to him.

“Mr. Small, I didn't realize how much time it would take to…to be Joe's wife. I can't work as many hours. I'm very sorry.”

“So you want Sundays off?”

Ginger sank her teeth into her bottom lip and looked at Joe. He knew what she wanted. “No, Harvey,” he said calmly. “She's cutting back to about twenty hours a week.”

“What? You can't do that! I'll be shorthanded. That's impossible.” Harvey straightened his shoulders and stared at Joe, as if daring him to do such a thing.

“My wife has no need to work at all, Harvey. You know that. So it's your choice. Some or none.”

“Ginger,” Harvey began, pleading in his tone, “if you cut back so many hours, I won't have anyone to fill in. It will be difficult—”

Joe leaned over and kissed Ginger's lips as she started to speak. “Honey, you'd best go get started or you'll be late. I'll finish the conversation with Harvey.”

Ginger looked at her watch. “Oh! I didn't realize it was so late. Sorry, Mr. Small.” She hurried from the office.

“You did that on purpose!” Harvey accused, staring at Joe.

“Yes, I did. You've been letting her work too much ever since she started here. If I were you, I'd accept the decision. Otherwise, I'll convince Ginger to quit altogether and your management practices will receive much closer scrutiny from the club president.”

With a deep frown, Harvey nodded, which made Joe wonder what else he was doing that was against the rules. Standing to leave, Joe remembered something else. “I'm going to look at the employee parking lot. I've heard the lighting isn't good.”

“It wasn't part of the redo. There's as much lighting as there ever was.”

“Yeah. I'll let you know what I find.”

Then he walked out.

 

While they prepared the Yellow Rose Café for lunch, Ginger told Daisy about her change of schedule.

“I'm so glad, Ginger. You were working too much.”

“But I—I didn't tell you about the INS because I didn't want you to get in trouble. I'm not a citizen. I was saving money for when I was sent back to Estonia.”

“But now that you've married Joe, you won't be sent back. That's terrific!”

Ginger wasn't ready to celebrate. “We have to pass a test.”

“What kind of test?” Daisy asked. “Like the one in that movie about getting a green card? I rented the video a couple of months ago. It wasn't hard. They asked personal questions, that's all. If your marriage is real, it won't be hard.”

Ginger smiled, as if she hadn't a care in the world, while she frantically thought of all she didn't know about her husband. She would never pass such a test. In spite of Joe's promise, she realized again that she could be sent back in three months.

When two o'clock rolled around, it seemed very strange to walk out of the club. Joe was there waiting for her in the parking lot.

“Ready to do some shopping?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Yes, of course.” That was why he had told her she needed to get off early. And she could study for her test after the grocery shopping.

They started down the long drive to the main high
way. “By the way,” Joe said, “we're going to install more lights in that back parking lot.”

“That's good,” she agreed. She tried to avoid thinking about the attack on her, when she thought she was going to die. The realization that she wouldn't be working nights, which meant she wouldn't have to get home in the dark, felt good.

In the grocery store, Joe pushed the cart and told her to put in whatever she wanted to cook.

“For tonight?”

“For three or four days, at least.”

She bought a lot of pasta, some peanut butter and crackers, two cans of tuna fish and one box of microwave popcorn after some hesitation. “Is this all right? I always wanted to try this.”

“Of course it's all right. What else?”

She added some fresh vegetables so she could make sauce for the pasta. Then she stopped. “That's all.”

Joe grinned at her. “Sweetheart, I don't mean to complain, but I like steak. And we'll need eggs and bacon for breakfast, bread and ham for sandwiches. For dessert, maybe a cake, more ice cream. Can you make peach cobbler?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said hesitantly. “But that will all be expensive.”

“I know, but I need a lot of food to keep me going. I'm not little like you.”

They made another tour of the store and filled the cart. While Ginger delighted in such freedom to buy so much, she began to worry about eating it all.

Together they unpacked the groceries when they got home. Ginger discovered doing chores together was a lot of fun, though a little slower than doing it alone. But she enjoyed herself. She immediately opened the cake mix to make dessert. Then she planned dinner itself.

Joe had some things to do and left her to her planning. He began pulling out some papers from his briefcase. After weeks of not knowing what he wanted to do—return to Chicago or stay in Mission Creek—he'd made up his mind. He was staying there as long as Ginger needed him. He'd promised.

Which meant he needed to open his own office. While he'd thought about his future, he'd surveyed the business spaces available in Mission Creek.

He was studying the brochure for the site he'd chosen when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver and said, “Joe Turner.”

Silence.

He hung up the phone after trying to find out if anyone was there.

The phone rang again.

“Joe Turner.”

“Is this…Joe Turner from Dallas, Texas?” a female voice asked.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. “No, I'm sorry. This is Mission Creek, Texas. Are you trying to reach Dallas?”

Before he finished his question, the phone went dead. He stared at it, telling himself it was probably a stranger, though trying to place the voice.

“Joe?” Ginger asked from the kitchen door. “Do you like baked potatoes or mashed?”

“I—Ginger, does your mother's voice sound like yours?”

“Yes, I suppose, except she still has more of an accent.”

“Damn!” Joe rubbed his forehead.

“What's the matter?”

“I think that was your mother on the phone. She must have a call display that gave her our number. And now, thanks to me, she knows your husband's name and hometown.”

“My mother called? Did she want to talk to me?”

Joe felt even worse than before. He saw the hope in Ginger's eyes. “No, sweetheart. She wanted to know your location. She didn't ask to talk to you.”

Ginger stiffened. “No, of course not. How did you say you liked your potatoes?”

“Ginger, will she tell her husband? Will they come here?”

“No, of course not. They don't care about me. And I'm sure his boss wants nothing to do with me since I turned him down. He has a lot of pride.” She turned back for the kitchen. “I'll go mash the potatoes.”

Joe didn't care about the potatoes, but he did care about Ginger's safety. Later tonight, he'd call his godfather. Perhaps Archy could give Joe some advice.

 

Ginger served dinner at six. She'd enjoyed her afternoon so much. Meals had always been a necessity
to nourish her body, grabbed in a hurry so she could keep going. This evening she'd planned the meal and served it on beautiful china on a lovely table covered by a linen tablecloth. She proudly called Joe to dinner.

“Mmm, something smells good, Ginger. You must be an excellent cook,” he said.

Ginger thanked him but denied being a great chef. “It's not difficult to make a good meal when there's money to buy the best food.”

“That looks like homemade bread. Did you make it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I am a lucky man.”

They began their meal.

“What have you been working on this afternoon?” she asked.

“My new office. If I'm going to stay here, I need an office so I can properly work and attract customers.”

“Will you build houses for people?”

“Maybe, but most of my experience is with business facilities. I've heard of several projects they're going to take bids on soon. I'm going to call Archy later on tonight and see what he knows.”

“Archy?”

“Archy Wainwright, my godfather. Remember?”

“Yes, but I didn't expect you to call him by his first name. Are people not formal here? At the club, we always call the guests by their surname.”

“Yeah, but that's Harvey's doing. By the way, did you study this afternoon?”

“A little, while dinner was cooking.”

“I'll clean up so you can do a quick review before class.”

She stared at him. “No. That's my job.”

“Nowadays, honey, if the husband eats, he should help with either the cooking or the cleaning. I worked while you cooked. Now you'll work while I clean.” He grinned as she considered his words, clearly not sure he was telling the truth.

Solemnly, then, he raised his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise, Ginger.”

Slowly she said, “That would be nice.”

“Good, that's settled.”

 

Once he got Ginger to school, he handed her his cell phone. “I'm going to Archy's for a quick visit. When you finish your test and are ready to go home, press speed dial and then the number seven. Ask for me. Until you see me, don't come out of the building.”

“Why?”

“I just want to keep you safe, sweetheart, that's all. We don't want anyone using a knife on you again.”

She shuddered before she promised to do as he asked. He felt bad that he had reminded her of the earlier attack, but he thought he had to get her agreement. She was way too independent.

He'd called Archy after he'd finished cleaning the
kitchen, and his godfather had invited Joe over for a drink. Not having talked to him in several weeks, Joe had a few surprises for Archy.

It only took a few minutes to reach the Wainwright ranch, a big, sprawling estate. Archy warmly greeted Joe and invited him into their living room. Justin, his son, was lounging on the sofa, a beer in his hand.

“Justin! I didn't know you'd be here. Good to see you,” Joe said with a grin. He and Justin had gone through high school together but had lost touch when Joe went away to school then moved to Chicago. He'd heard about Justin's failed marriage, and he noticed the easy laughter he remembered wasn't there anymore.

“Hi, Joe. Good to see you.”

The men shook hands and sat down.

“So, Grandpa,” Joe said to Archy with a smile, “how's the newest Wainwright—er, Carson?” Archy had just recently been made a grandfather by the birth of his daughter Rose's son, Wayne Matthew. As much as Archy was delighted to be a grandpa, Joe knew it still galled him that the boy bore the name Carson, which he took from his father, Matt.

Archy's eyes lit up at the mention of the infant. “He's doin' great. A beautiful boy. And I must admit I've never seen Rose look happier, even if the kid's a Carson.”

Justin scoffed at the comment, but it was what Joe had expected. Taking it in stride, he went on to say, “Well, I've got some good news myself. I got married last Saturday.”

“To whom, boy? And why weren't we invited?” Archy demanded.

Justin quietly said, “Congratulations.”

Joe nodded to his old friend, then answered the other two questions. “You weren't invited because we ran away to Vegas, Archy. None of my family was there. And I married Ginger Walton.”

Archy frowned, puzzling over the name.

Justin leaned forward. “The pretty redhead at the club, Dad. Your favorite.”

“How come you knew who she was?” Archy growled.

“All the men notice her, Dad,” Justin said, humor in his voice. Then he turned to Joe. “Now I really mean congratulations, Joe. She's a looker.”

“She's more than that,” Joe said, struggling to keep his pride in check. “She's a hard worker and a sweet person. She's from Estonia, you know.”

Archy shook his head. “Didn't know that.” He stared at Joe. “What was wrong with Jenny?”

Joe looked at Archy in surprise. “Is something wrong with Jenny? I thought she was on to another project at the club.”

“Of course she is. But I recommended her for the job so you'd get a chance to know her. She's fine-looking and well educated. Might be a better wife than a waitress.”

“Dad!” Justin protested. “Don't insult Joe's wife.”

“I'm just stating a fact,” Archy growled.

Joe had been prepared for Archy's reaction. That
was why he wanted to inform Archy without Ginger present. His godfather had always been blunt. “I can assure you, Archy, Ginger is perfect for me. And while she was working seventy-hour workweeks, she's also been carrying nine hours at the community college.”

Justin whistled. “A busy lady.”

“Yeah. I feel like I'm taking advantage of her, since I'm so much older than her, but I'm going to take care of her.”

Archy started to argue with him, but Joe held up his hand. “I need to talk to you about something before I have to go pick up Ginger from school. Do you still see Johnny Mercado often?”

Archy flashed a look at his son before he turned back to Joe. Johnny was an old friend of his, but he was reputed to be a member of the local mob. Since Justin was the local sheriff, Archy probably didn't want his son to know that he still talked to Johnny. “We have a drink together occasionally. Since his daughter died, Johnny doesn't get out much. Why?”