Читать книгу Georgia Meets Her Groom - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 8

Prologue

He knew her only by sight, knew that her name was Georgia Lavender and that her daddy practically owned the whole damned town. Carlisle, Virginia, even if it was a thriving beach resort in the summer, was barely a smudge on the map the rest of the year. And just as everybody knew that Georgia was rich, everybody knew she was smart—the kid who’d been skipped a couple of grades back in elementary school, and who, just shy of fourteen, was the youngest member of the sophomore class.

Just as everybody knew he was the oldest at almost seventeen, having been held back twice—once in sixth grade and once in seventh. They also knew it hadn’t been because he was stupid so much as it had been because he was such a troublemaker.

And hell, he wasn’t even from Carlisle. This just happened to be the most recent place the state had dumped him, after he’d been exiled from yet another group home because of what the social workers had politely called “antisocial behavior.” In spite of being the new kid in town, though, it had taken him no time at all to acquire a reputation.

Jack McCormick strode across the school parking lot and watched with veiled interest as Georgia Lavender made her way reluctantly toward her father, who was leaning against an expensive, late-model car. Her clothes suggested she had a modest disposition—a tan skirt and white blouse, white knee socks and plain brown shoes. Jack had heard Susie Morris and some of the other girls laughing about Georgia’s clothes pretty often, but he’d never really paid much attention until now.

She wore glasses, too, their huge frames and thick lenses giving her the appearance of some kind of small, timid animal whose eyes had outgrown the rest of its body. Her hair was sort of a medium everything—medium red, medium long, medium curly—but he noted it was touched with splashes of gold when she was out in the sunlight this way.

She wasn’t much of a looker, Jack reflected. But then, at the moment, neither was he. Gingerly he brushed a knuckle over his left cheekbone, where he knew the purple discoloration was still present. His foster father had backhanded him but good yesterday as soon as he’d gotten a load of Jack’s report card. Nothing much new in that, but Jack wished just once he could escape the house without having to dodge the old man’s fist.

Brushing back an errant length of black hair that had fallen over one eye, he glanced over at Georgia and her father again. She had slowed down and was warily studying the man by the car. Inexplicably, Jack slowed his own pace, taking his time as he unlocked the door of his old, battered Nova and tossed his books into the back seat. He squared his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling tense and edgy for no reason he could name.

“Georgia,” the man said in a voice that chilled Jack’s blood. With that one word he had managed a greeting, an insult and a threat. It made no sense, but Jack became immediately defensive, his fingers curling reflexively into fists.

“Georgia,” the man repeated in much the same voice. “Why didn’t you show me your report card last night?”

She came to a halt precisely one foot in front of her father. Jack would never have done that. He always made it a point to keep out of swinging distance.

When she didn’t reply, her father pushed himself away from the car to tower over her. “Why, Georgia?”

Without looking up, she replied so quietly that Jack had to strain to hear her. “You weren’t home.”

“You knew I was working late. Why didn’t you leave it on the table the way I instructed?”

She glanced up once very quickly, then dropped her head in submission again. “I—I’m sorry, Daddy. I—I forgot.”

“You forgot.”

She nodded silently.

“Well, I didn’t forget. And just for your information, between the mattress and box springs is a terrible hiding place. It was the first place I looked.”

His voice oozed disdain, and Georgia flinched as if he had slapped her.

“You got a B, Georgia. A B!” His voice surged from condemnation to contempt in one syllable. “In chemistry, for God’s sake! How the hell are you going to get into a university like MIT with grades like that?”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Her old man was upset because she’d received a better grade than he could ever have hoped for, in a class he wasn’t even allowed to take because of his lousy academic record. What was the guy—nuts?

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I—”

“You’re sorry,” her father jeered. “I’ll say you’re sorry. A sorry excuse for a human being. If you ever get another grade like this one on your report card, I swear I’ll...”

To Jack, the unuttered threat sounded a lot scarier than the graphic warnings he received from his foster father on a regular basis. He shook his head silently. Grown-ups were such jerks. He started to get into his car, but when he heard Georgia’s father start up again, he turned around, wondering why the old guy couldn’t drop the subject.

“I’ve had it with you, Georgia. You’d better straighten up and fly right, because what do you think will happen to you if you don’t get into college? Certainly you won’t get married. Look at you—what man would want you? And I won’t have you being a burden on me for the rest of my life.”

As her father berated her, Georgia simply stood still with her head bowed and listened. Jack, on the other hand, grew angrier and angrier with every word the man spoke. Before he realized his intention, he was marching over to stand behind her. Then, without a word, he cupped his hands over her shoulders and gently pushed her aside, stepping in front of her to shield her.

Where Georgia’s father had been looking down to shout at her, he was forced to tilt his head back to look at Jack. For one tense moment, no one said a word. Finally, the older man broke the silence.

“Who the hell are you?”

Jack twisted his mouth into a sneer, an expression that always preceded the first punch he threw in a fight. “Name’s Jack McCormick. Who the hell are you?”

Georgia’s father was clearly taken aback. “I’m Gregory Lavender, Georgia’s father. Now step aside.”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Georgia and I have plans.”

Gregory Lavender narrowed his eyes in outrage. “Now, you listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me.” Jack cut him off, tilting his head down toward Gregory Lavender’s with the express purpose of getting in the guy’s face. “You wanna whale into somebody, you try whaling into me and see what it gets you. But leave Georgia alone. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The old man poked a finger against Jack’s breastbone—hard. “This is none your business, boy.”

Jack effortlessly shoved the finger away. And although his gaze remained fixed on Gregory Lavender’s, he directed his next words to the man’s daughter, dismissing the man himself. “Come on, Georgia, let’s go.”

He took her hand and tugged gently, urging her toward his car. But she didn’t follow him. When he turned around to look at her, she was staring at him with huge, disbelieving eyes, her lower lip trembling with utter terror.

“Georgia?” he said softly. “You coming?”

She clasped her books tightly to her chest, her knuckles almost white where they gripped her binder. With one quick glance at her father, she took a slow step toward Jack. Then another. Then another.

“Georgia...” her father warned her.

“I won’t be late, Daddy,” she said in a quivering voice. “I’ll be home in plenty of time for supper, I promise.”

“Georgia, we are not fin—”

“Hey, old man, she told you she’d be home in time for supper,” Jack interrupted as he led Georgia away, his steps, unlike hers, never faltering. “What’s the problem?”

He was amazed that Georgia’s father didn’t respond to his taunt, didn’t suppress the small act of rebellion on the spot. He hoped she wouldn’t be in for a rough time when she got home. But for now, he’d helped her win this one battle, and in doing so had given himself a little boost, too.

From now on, he thought, Gregory Lavender would know that his daughter had a champion to rally whenever she felt threatened by dragons. And maybe, just maybe, that would make a difference in her life. And hell, who knew? he thought further. Maybe it would make a difference in Jack’s life, too.

He opened the passenger door of his car and helped her in, then went around to seat himself behind the wheel. Gunning the engine in the way teenage boys do, he turned to her and smiled.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” she rejoined.

His smile broadened. “I’m Jack McCormick.”

“I know,” she replied with a shaky smile. “I’ve always...”

Her voice trailed off and she shrugged anxiously, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose with her index finger. Innocently, and not a little awkwardly, she lifted her hand to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb gently across his cheekbone where his skin was still tender beneath the bruise.

“I know,” she repeated quietly. “I’m pleased to meet you.”