Читать книгу Winning Ruby Heart - Jennifer Lohmann - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

MICAH WOKE UP the next morning still thinking about Ruby and their conversation. Not only thinking—which would be acceptable—but caring. Much to his surprise, he was beginning to believe her when she said she was doing this for herself and not for notoriety and fame. The lady may be protesting too much, but he now thought she might be doing it because she really didn’t want the spotlight on her.

A shame, because he was more convinced than ever that the series he imagined would boost his career, along with rehabilitating her image. And, if he was honest with himself, he liked spending time with her. Worse, he liked the tilt of her nose and the slight curves of her breasts as much as he liked her perseverance.

Well, she wasn’t the only one made more tenacious and stubborn by life’s experience. So long as Derek didn’t pull the plug on the whole enterprise, Micah would keep showing up at Ruby’s races with Amir to get footage. Eventually she would say yes. She would cave, if for no other reason than that she would gain enough confidence in her new self that the thought of letting other people tell her story would start to piss her off. Hell, by that point he might have so much footage on her that he wouldn’t need an interview.

He swung himself out of bed and into his chair, respect for her tugging at his conscious. She was trying to redefine herself and her life with notoriety hanging over her head. Whether or not she should have awakened to her new life five or four or three or two years ago was beside the point. Rebirth was a hard and painful process. It didn’t matter if the world was rooting for you or against you, just cracking that old skin and letting the sensitive new bits see the light of day was scary. Many people didn’t even try it until it was too late.

Micah dug a pair of jeans and a Texas A&M T-shirt out of his bag, still mulling over his plans for Ruby while getting dressed. Her worry that the world wouldn’t accept her redemption story was justified. He could cook the story however he wanted, but the viewing public had to be in a mood to swallow rather than spit it out.

He patted the bed for his belt and didn’t feel anything. When he looked up, the silver in his belt buckle glinted at him from the top of his bag, and he weighed vanity against going to get it. Vanity won.

The fact that he’d even forgotten his belt was a sign that Ruby gave him as much to worry about as he gave her. Conflict of interest was spelled out in the lines of her muscles as clearly as his promotion was. He tightened his belt, making sure to note the notch he was using and any pleats or excess in his clothing. The belt was vanity, but it also helped him monitor the condition of his stomach. He’d never have the muscle definition in his abs that he’d had in college, but it was good health practice to make sure he kept up what was physically possible.

If he was smart, he would leave Ruby alone until she came around to his point of view. And he’d keep all their interactions professional from now on. No more intimate dinners in dark hotel rooms with liquor to loosen inhibitions. Only the great outdoors and blinding studio lights.

None of which stopped Micah, before packing his bag, from writing a short note to Ruby to leave at the front desk.

* * *

RUBY HAD PASSED her signed receipt to the desk attendant and was easing her duffel bag onto her shoulder when the clerk said, “Oh, I almost forgot,” and slid an envelope across the desk.

The outside read, “Ruby Heart” in forthright printed letters. She flipped the envelope over and ran her finger under the barely sealed flap. There was a phone number followed by a short message. “Interview or otherwise. Micah.” The handwriting on the note was the same as the envelope. Honest. Blunt. They were qualities she’d never expected to appreciate in a man, but she’d also never expected to look back on a conversation with Micah Blackwell and hope to have another.

She slipped the note into an inside pocket of her purse before she could consider either the interview or the otherwise.

* * *

THREE DAYS LATER, Ruby stood outside the glass doors of the animal shelter and jogged in place to warm up her muscles. In deference to her race over the weekend, she’d made today a short volunteering day. A one-mile loop around a couple blocks times ten dogs would equal ten miles of running. She’d take it easy and slow, making sure her blood flowed through every cell in her body and rinsed out any lingering fatigue. And if a dog wanted to walk, she’d walk.

Three years ago, she’d sought volunteer opportunities because she needed to get out of the house, but every time she left to even take a walk or go to the grocery store, her mother fretted about photographers, running, rumors and scandal. As if they lived in a soap opera. Or like Ruby was Britney Spears.

Haley was the one who’d suggested the shelter. “They always need people to walk the dogs, and your parents aren’t heartless enough to complain that you’re volunteering at an animal shelter.” Her cousin had been right about the first and mostly right about the second. Ruby’s mother had obviously considered complaining and her father had made a snide comment about people who don’t take care of their responsibilities, but her brother, Josh, had countered by pointing out how good it would look if the press found out.

After about a month of walking dogs every day, Ruby had suggested that she take some of the more hyperactive dogs running. Ruby and the dogs had gone through an adjustment period where, with the help of one of the volunteer trainers, Ruby had learned how to be the alpha dog and the dogs had learned how to run with a partner. The idea had been a win for everyone involved. Ruby got out of the house and back into running on a regular basis. The shelter had upped their adoption rate of the bigger dogs, for whom better exercise meant they were less anxious around potential owners.

And Ruby had watched the shelter employees care for and be gentle with dogs too sick, too aggressive or too old to be easily adopted. The employees and volunteers might have become desensitized to the fate of many of the dogs and cats brought in, but their hearts hadn’t callused over. And so Ruby learned both what it meant for the careless to neglect their responsibilities and for the caring to do the hard thing because it was the right thing. More than Micah’s condemnation of her, the articles in the press and the lawsuits, volunteering at the shelter had taught her the cost of shortcuts in each and every frightened pair of eyes that peered through the cages at her as she walked past them.

Ruby reached down to touch her toes. A pair of boots and white dog feet appeared in her sight line. She looked up. Jodie, the volunteer coordinator, stood holding on to a leash attached to a Dalmatian. Even though the Dalmatian was sitting, the dog’s nervous energy was evident in the way it shook and how its eyes darted about. The dog looked young, scared and ready to bolt.

“This is Dotty,” Jodie said. “Dotty has just been surrendered to us. She’s a year old and needs to be worn-out. If you can stay an extra hour or so, we would appreciate it if you could run her five miles before the other dogs and five miles after.”