Читать книгу To Keep Her Baby - Melissa Senate - Страница 11
ОглавлениеYou’ve got to be kidding me, Ginger thought, eyeing the packet of homework that Madame Davenport had assigned the three new students as they were dismissed from the group class the next afternoon. Ginger had barely managed to graduate from high school—though she did always get As in history—because she hated homework. Homework had reminded her of school, which had reminded her of how she was treated there. Let’s just say her name and nasty sayings were always written on the bathroom walls, even when half of it wasn’t true. Boys had claimed she’d done all kinds of sex acts, and girls had scrawled that she had every disease there was. For the record, the only disease Ginger had ever had was the mumps in third grade.
The morning class at Madame Davenport’s School of Etiquette had been on “comportment,” which Ginger had learned was a big word for behavior. How to act. How to be. The three new students had to stand up and share why they were taking the course, and Ginger had been honest again. Her fellow students had immediately warmed to her, which was rare in her world. One, a petite redhead named Karly, told her she should have thrown the scone at her baby daddy’s nose and broken it. The other, Sandrine, a dental hygienist with great teeth, was madly in love with her boss, who had a specific type—Ginger had learned what a debutante was—and Sandrine wanted to become it.
“Comportment means that one doesn’t throw baked goods at others,” Ginger had said with her nose in the air.
They’d all burst out laughing, except Madame Davenport, who’d said, “One most certainly does not.” But Madame had a twinkle in her eye, as always.
Crazy. Sometimes women took to Ginger and sometimes they didn’t. She was glad her teacher and classmates seemed to like her because she liked them. Being liked was nice.
For homework, she had to write a one-page essay on the five no-no’s of first meetings and why “one did not discuss these five topics”: money, sex, politics, religion and appearance. Per Madame, one could pay a compliment but not be critical of how someone was dressed or their shape.
Madame Davenport wanted the students to look the part of the people they wanted to become, so a shopping trip was on the schedule. Madame had already taken Karly, whose goal for the course was to get promoted to assistant editor of the Wedlock Creek Gazette, where she was the assistant to two editors. You have to dress for the job you want, not the job you have, Karly had said she’d read in Glamour magazine, and Madame Davenport agreed. Karly had returned from their trip to a boutique wearing a pantsuit that managed to be professional looking but not stuffy.
Now it was Ginger’s turn. She wanted to look like a mother, but did she even know what mothers looked like? None of her friends back in Jackson had kids. And her hours had always meant she slept during the day and worked till the wee hours, so she wasn’t exactly running into the stroller set. Madame Davenport had told her not to worry; they would look at magazines and the clothes in the boutique and try on different looks until Ginger liked what she saw.
Madame Davenport made it all sound so easy, which was why Ginger already adored her.
She made sure she was three minutes early for the 1:00 p.m. shopping trip, but when she came downstairs from her room—which was awesome, by the way—Madame was nowhere to be seen. One o’clock came and went. No Madame Davenport. And according to their private lesson this morning, being on time was paramount—a new word for Ginger.
Then suddenly the front door opened and there he was.
Serious hawtness in the flesh. James Gallagher. Whoo, someone bring me a fan. He wasn’t in a suit today, probably because it was Sunday. He wore a long-sleeved button-down shirt and dark jeans, and she could barely drag her gaze off his biceps. My oh my, was he built. Look up, Ging, she told herself, treated to those blue eyes and sooty dark lashes, strong brows to match his straight nose. And those lips. Ooh, those lips.
One doesn’t comment on appearance except to pay a compliment... “Looking fine, Gallagher,” she said, practically licking her lips.
He chuckled, surprise in his expression. Come on, the man was super hot. Surely he knew. Hot men always did. Then again, he was sort of “buttoned-up,” and those types tended not to know they were total Hemsworths.
“Did Larilla get in touch with you?” he asked. “She texted me that she wasn’t feeling well and asked if I’d accompany you on the shopping trip. Normally one of my sisters would, but they’re out of town until tonight visiting my brother at the ranch he works on.”
“You’re up on the ‘mom’ look?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I used to help out Larilla a lot,” he said. “I know all the ‘looks’—the mom, VP, meeting the wealthy parents, be taken more seriously and every other look the students are trying to achieve.”
She shrugged. “Huh. Well, in that case, hot stuff, let’s go.” He turned to open the door, letting her walk through first, naturally. “Am I supposed to take your arm? They do that in movies.”
“Moms don’t have to take arms. They have their hands full, literally and figuratively.”
She tilted her head. “Say what?”
“No need to take my arm. We’re not headed into the opera or a ball.”
“Oh.” But what if I want to? she almost said.
They headed down the sidewalk, passing big, beautiful houses like the etiquette school. Ginger could see Main Street up ahead. The Wedlock Creek Library was visible from where they were, and she could smell yummy bakery scents coming from the café she’d stopped in yesterday. She’d walked around for about an hour after being accepted into the school. She’d have explored more, but she got quickly tired of the gapes from strangers. They’re boobs, people! she wanted to shout. Big whoop! She could blend in more easily in Jackson. Here in this small town, she stood out big-time.
James walked beside her, and Ginger could also smell his yummy scent, something spicy and soapy and masculine. “So Larilla says the objective is for you to look like you could go from playground to PTA meeting. Quite a difference from this look.”
“Right?” she said, glancing down at her metallic silver leggings, belted tunic that didn’t quite cover her tush and showed off her cleavage, and strappy sandals that wrapped around her ankles. Her toenails were each painted a different color. “Although yesterday, when I was walking around town, a little girl told me she liked my toes. So maybe I get to keep my fun toenails.” She lifted her foot and gave it a wiggle. “You got kids?”
“Me?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’d say anything to do with marriage and children is about ten years off in the distance when I’ve finally done everything I’ve wanted to do the past seven years.”
“What have you been doing instead?”
“Raising my orphaned quintuplet half siblings,” he said. “I took them in when they were thirteen and I was twenty-one, fresh out of college.”
She hadn’t been expecting that. Sowing the ole wild oats was what she’d thought would come tumbling out of his mouth. Not that she thought all men were hound dogs. She just personally hadn’t met one who wasn’t. Then again, her circle didn’t exactly include quality men. “Wait a minute. Did you say quintuplets? Huh. That couldn’t have been easy. They must have been walking, talking hormones.”
He laughed. “They were. I almost went bankrupt keeping them on Clearasil.”
She liked the sound of his laughter. “I guess I got lucky there. I’ve never had a zit in my life.”
“Not one?”
“Nope. I take after my mother and grandmother. Amazing skin genes. They’re both gone now. Crazy that my mom will never meet my baby. Or vice versa, you know?”
He glanced at her and nodded. “Ten years from now or so, when I finally have a child, I’ll feel that same way, I’m sure.”
“You’re really stuck on the ten years thing, aren’t you? Ever heard of an oops?”
“I’ve heard of oops,” he said. “I’ll just make sure it doesn’t happen to me.”
“Condoms break, you know,” she said, looking down.
He eyed her and nodded. “Stuff happens. It’s the one thing I know for sure.”
She lifted her chin, shaking off thoughts of Alden and condoms. “It’s weird knowing my mom isn’t on the earth anymore. I’d say the same for my dad, but I never knew him. What’s also weird? Picking out a dad for my baby without knowing what a good dad would be like. I mean, I only know from TV shows.”
“Picking out a dad?” he repeated.
“That’s part of why I’m taking your godmother’s etiquette course. To look the part so I can attract a good man to be a dad to my kid.”
He stared at her hard for a moment.
“Why are you looking at me like I grew another boob?” she asked. “I’ll be looking for a guy like you. You know—quality.”
“I could be a real jerk for all you know,” he said. “Step one to finding a good man? Fixing your good-guy radar. Trust no one on first glance. Make no assumptions.”
“That’s silly. People make assumptions about me based on how I look.”
“Touché,” he said. “But I’ll bet a lot of those assumptions are wrong.”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “They are. Like being hot and having big hair means I’m not going to be a great mom. Because I will be.”
He glanced at her again, and she wondered what was going through his mind.
“Hot mama!” a man’s voice called out as they turned onto Main Street.
Ginger glanced around for who catcalled her. Main Street was bustling with people, but there—she saw him, some jerk in a cowboy hat staring at her chest and wriggling his eyebrows at her. “Up yours!” she shouted back and flipped the guy the bird as she and James kept walking.
James shook his head. “Neanderthal. Who catcalls a woman—and when she’s with a man? I could be your husband for all he knows. So rude.”
Ginger laughed. Like, really laughed. Stopped-and-doubled-over-for-a-second laughed.
“What is so funny?” he muttered.
“That anyone would think I’m your wife. That we’re together. Come on. I’d believe you’d date a woman who’d wear these sandals maybe, but that’s about it.”
He eyed the sparkly silver leggings and the practically see-through flowy tunic in black-and-white leopard print, but didn’t agree or disagree. She wondered what his type was.
“Oh, we’re here,” he said, pointing at Best Dressed Boutique between the town florist and a hair salon. At the door, he turned to her. “Just curious. Why do you dress so...flashy?”
Flashy. She supposed that was a nice way of putting it. “I just always have since middle school. The shorter and tighter, the sparklier and shinier, the better. Plus you have to admit I have a slammin’ bod. Why not show it off while I’m young?”
Was James Gallagher blushing? He was.
“Well then, why change your style?” he asked. “What are we doing here?”
“Because if I don’t change the way I look and my big mouth and flipping the bird even when it’s deserved, that jerk Alden might come take my baby. The baby he says can’t even be his, even though he’s the only man I’ve been with in six months. And if I don’t look right, like the kind of woman a guy like you would date, I’ll never find a good man for my baby. I’m done with jerks and three-night stands. D-O-N-E.”
She didn’t want to get all riled up before the big shopping trip, so to end the conversation she pulled open the door to the boutique and walked inside. And immediately got flashed a dirty look by a saleswoman. She also caught the brunette nudging the other saleswoman in the ribs. Beyotch!
“May I help you?” asked the brunette. Ginger studied her for a second. The saleswoman’s expression barely hid her judgy disdain. Her makeup was understated, hair pulled back in a model-like ponytail and she wore a black pantsuit with black patent heels. Ginger hated that she had to admit the beyotch looked good. Elegant. And elegant was always good.
James came in behind her and smiled at the woman. “Hi, Kristen. Nice to see you.”
The saleswoman looked from James to Ginger and understanding dawned. Ginger was clearly “one of those” from the etiquette school. No mistaking her for his woman in this boutique.
She wasn’t sure why, but her usual take-me-as-I-am-or-talk-to-the-hand went poof. She felt...exposed, maybe. And she didn’t like it.
It’s a process, she reminded herself, thinking of something Larilla Davenport had said this morning. And it’s not going to be easy.
Not much was.
James sat on the tufted velvet chaise in the changing area while Ginger was in one of the dressing rooms with two armloads of clothes the saleswomen had selected for her. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Ginger had said.
Because if I don’t change the way I look and my big mouth and flipping the bird even when it’s deserved, that jerk Alden might come take my baby. The baby he says can’t even be his, even though he’s the only man I’ve been with in six months.
She wanted to look more presentable for her baby’s sake. To keep her baby. Of all the students his godmother had had over the years, he didn’t ever remember meeting someone in Ginger’s shoes. He’d help her best he could.
The door to Ginger’s dressing room opened and she stepped out. Were it not for her big blond hair and makeup, he’d never have recognized her. She wore a tailored white button-down shirt and khaki pants, neither tight nor loose, and red leather flats.
“The shoes add a delightful pop of color,” the saleswoman said with a nod, looking at Ginger’s reflection in the full-length three-way mirror.
Ginger was canting her head to the left and right, biting her lip, frowning as she turned this way and that as she checked herself out.
“I’d say this look would go from PTA meeting to playground to coffee with a gal pal,” the other saleswoman said. “And the shoes are on sale this week only!”
Ginger stared at herself. “I don’t know...”
“Oh! I know what’s wrong!” the brunette said. “Come with me!”
“Uh, where?” Ginger asked, following the woman to a back corridor.
Five minutes later, the brunette returned with Ginger trailing behind her. At least, James thought it was Ginger. She had on the white shirt, khaki pants and red flats, but her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and her hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail, the long fluff of it cascading down the center of her back.
The gum was gone too.
“Who is this?” Ginger asked, eyeing her reflection.
“This is the new you!” the brunette said. “You look great. You look like every woman walking down Main Street.”
Ginger stared at herself, her expression no less than glum. “I guess.”
“Can’t be easy changing up your whole style in ten minutes,” James said.
Ginger’s eyes darted to his. “How do you think I look?”
“Like every woman walking down Main Street,” he said with a nod at the saleswoman. But that didn’t seem right in Ginger’s case. Not at all.
And weird as it was, he kind of missed her regular style. The glittery eyelids. The red lipstick. The flash and sparkle. This new Ginger was...not her. But then again, that was the point, right? She needed to look momish for a very good reason. This wasn’t a makeover. It was an intervention.
“I have an idea,” the saleswoman said. “This outfit is pretty standard. You can’t go wrong owning these pieces. But you’re not going to get used to looking completely different immediately. So why not buy it and walk around town and see for yourself how you’re regarded? And how it feels to have everyone’s unspoken approval. You’ll be back buying out the place.”
Ginger glanced at herself in the mirror again, then at the saleswoman. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can go out in public looking like this.”
James smiled. Score one for Ginger. She had moxie, that was for sure.
The saleswoman frowned. Hard. “Hello. You said you wanted to look like a mom. Now you do.”
“Can’t moms have a little pizzazz?” Ginger asked.
“Duh, the pop of red,” the other saleswoman added, pointing at Ginger’s feet.
“What do you think, James?” Ginger asked, turning to face him directly.
Three sets of eyes stared at him. “I think there’s probably a happy medium. That’s what I think.”
“What does that mean?” Ginger asked.
“It means this may not be the right clothing boutique for you,” James said. “Go change and we’ll check out the other shop in town.”
“Jazzy’s?” the brunette saleswoman said. “Hardly mom focused. I always see your sisters going into that shop and what are they, twenty-one?”
“Well, Ginger should explore all options before deciding on a look,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, she should,” Ginger added, seeming very relieved as she dashed back into the dressing room. She popped her head back out. “And I’m only twenty-four,” she said before darting back in.
Twenty-four. She was so young. With so much on her plate.
He thought back to when he was twenty-one and got the news that his father and stepmother had died in the car accident. Having to tell his siblings. Moving into the big house on Sycamore Street, his life’s plans changed in an instant from going for his MBA to being a father figure to five grieving thirteen-year-olds. He knew about having a lot on the plate. And his heart went out to her. James hadn’t been alone in the world like she was. He had Larilla and his siblings, even if most of the time the Gallagher Five had driven him batty.
He wouldn’t have survived any of it without Larilla’s guidance and babysitting help. She’d been his mother’s best friend and couldn’t stand his father, who’d been something of a playboy until he’d fallen hard for Kerry, and the quints had come along. But when his siblings had been orphaned, Larilla had always treated them with the utmost kindness and generosity.
At least Ginger had Larilla in her corner for the next three weeks. Everyone needs a Larilla.
Ginger came out of the dressing room in her regular clothes but she looked half-dressed, and it took him a moment to realize why. The lack of makeup. With her hair pulled back, it was very clear how naturally pretty she was.
“I feel so naked,” she said, popping a fresh stick of gum in her mouth.
“Don’t you always?” he asked, eyeing her skimpy outfit as he escorted her to the door.
She gave him a playful shove. “I meant because I’m not wearing any makeup. I love makeup. Have I ever left my house without my red lipstick on? I honestly don’t think so. Even to run out for an iced coffee.”
“A red lip for daytime is a bit much,” the brunette opined as James pulled open the door.
Ginger turned to her. “Honestly, miss, you’re a bit much.”
The saleswoman threw her a “how dare you” look and turned on her heel, and they left the store.
“Gonna rat me out to Madame Davenport for being rude?” Ginger asked as they headed back toward the school.
James smiled. “Is it rude to put a rude person in her place?”
“I knew I liked you,” she said, beaming at him. She linked her arm around his, and he stiffened.
She dropped her own arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get too friendly. Not proper,” she added in an upper-crust accent.
“You just startled me,” he explained. “Let’s just say a woman hasn’t taken my arm in over a year. I’m taking a much-needed break from relationships.”
“Got your heart busted?” she asked.
“Heart, pride, my trust—all of it. I’m sure you’ve been there.”
“Actually,” she said, “I’ve never been in love. I’ve liked, I’ve seriously lusted, but loved? To the point my heart broke? Nope.”
He stared at her. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky? I used to think something was wrong with me for not getting what all those sad songs on the radio were about. Then again, it’s not like I’d really meet the man of my dreams in Busty’s.”
“Busty’s?” he repeated.
“The exotic dance saloon I used to waitress in. That’s where I met Alden, my baby’s father. I liked him and was attracted to him, but I certainly wasn’t in love.”
“You clearly have a hell of a lot better radar for jerks than I do,” he said. “I walked right into a trap.” For a moment he wondered how they’d gotten on this subject, why in the world he was talking about his past with this woman. Ginger was practically a stranger. But for an almost stranger, she was so easy to talk to.
“Well, Alden wasn’t looking to trap me. Just get into my pants. I should have seen that coming a mile away. Big dope,” she added, conking herself on the forehead with her palm.
“I still call dibs on worse romantic past.”
She laughed, and then her smile faded. “Well, I’d still like to know what it’s like to feel so much for someone your heart could burst with it—in a good way or a bad way. You know?”
He glanced at her. “I guess. Once burned, twice shy is my new motto.”
“I don’t know, cowboy. You can’t resist the siren call of attraction.”
He pictured himself on a horse, wearing a Stetson. Riding off into the sunset alone. “Oh trust me, I most definitely will.”
He was about to change the subject to something a lot less personal when he noticed that the guy walking down the sidewalk toward them was about to smash into a fire hydrant because his eyes were on Ginger’s chest and not where he was going. “Hot, hot, hot,” the idiot said before he crashed. “Ow!” he yelped.
“I get that a lot,” she said. “Especially at the beach. Lots of guys trip on their leering faces.”
He could only imagine how itty-bitty Ginger’s bikini would be. And made out of string, most likely.
“There’s Jazzy’s,” he said, pointing across the street, grateful for the image change in his mind of Ginger in that string bikini. “I think this shop will be more your speed but still accomplish what you want.”
“Perf,” she said as they headed over.
This store had a completely different vibe. The clothes were less classic, more contemporary. And the employees were a lot friendlier. Fifteen minutes later, Ginger’s arms were loaded with items to try on. James waited on the love seat in the dressing area, flipping through a People magazine.
“Ooh, me likey!” he heard from the vicinity of her room.
He smiled. Had he ever met anyone who said me likey? He didn’t think so.
Ginger burst out of the room, all smiles, and he put the magazine back on the side table. “How much do I love this jacket? This much!” she said, spreading her arms wide.
He had to admit, she looked amazing. The blazer was a pale pink, and there was something slightly iridescent about it. It nipped in at her waist and fitted her perfectly. Under it she wore a white shirt with a band of silky ruffles down the V-neck, no cleavage in sight. A pair of skinny jeans that molded to her “slammin’ bod” but weren’t too tight, and flat silver sandals finished the outfit.
“You look great!” he said. “Wow.”
“Right?” she asked, beaming, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror in the dressing area. “But do I look like a mom? I kind of feel like I just look...nice.”
“Nice is good to shoot for,” he said. “Larilla would approve, for sure.”
“Yeah?” she asked, looking at her reflection. “I never want to take off this jacket. And it doesn’t even have rhinestones. I could stare at myself in this mirror all day.”
He had to admit, it was nice to see the sparkle back in her eyes. “You’ve got a bunch more to try on. And I’ll have to get to my office in about thirty minutes.”
“Back in a flash,” she said, zipping into the dressing room with a big smile.
Why did he have to like that smile so much?
Fifteen minutes later, she had three outfits, two dresses and three pairs of shoes. Larilla didn’t have an account here, so he would need to pay. His godmother would reimburse him—the wealthy businesswoman insisted on comping a week’s worth of new clothes for all of her students—but walking up to the checkout with his credit card sent a jolt of acid to his gut, reminding him of Ava and her betrayal.
Careful, he reminded himself. You don’t know Ginger O’Leary or what she’s capable of. You never know what someone is capable of.
“Mama got some pretty new clothes!” Ginger said, seemingly to her belly, one hand on her stomach.
He instantly relaxed. Ginger was pregnant. Pregnant. If there was anything that would keep him running for the hills, it was that. After seven years of “parenthood” times five, he was ready for croissants and good coffee in Paris, and the white sand and turquoise waters of Bali. Not a baby. So he really had nothing to worry about in terms of becoming attracted—or attached—to Ginger O’Leary.
Phew.
