17. Sawyer
17
SAWYER
I find myself parking at the ranch. I’ve been restless without work. The week off for Christmas leaves me with too much time to be still. Maybe Bennett will have something I can help him with.
Maybe Ginger will be nearby, and I can catch a glimpse of her. See one of her smiles.
The air’s getting colder, but we still have minimal snow. A light dusting in the morning made the world twinkle with magic. But now, I’m missing the brilliance that a feisty woman brings into my life five days a week.
The wrap-around porch is decorated with iridescent white garlands and twinkling white lights. I knock on the brick-red door, and it swings open to Genevieve’s face, a furrow of worry on her brow. Reaching out, I brace her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, salt and pepper hair left down for her to run her hand through. “Come in, come in.”
I do, and she closes the door behind me. “We’ve had an accident on the grounds. One of the volunteers drove the bulldozer through the side of the barn. Lever gets stuck sometimes, you know? I always tell him to grease the machines. The levers and bits. Winter breeds rust. Gunks things up. But does he listen to his wife? No. He thinks I’m only beautiful, but I have a brain, too.”
It’s hard to suppress my smile. I know where Ginger gets so much of her personality from.
“Bennett is in the kitchen, breaking his granddaughter's heart.” She leads me through the open-concept living room. Windows, tall but narrow, allow a healthy amount of light in. Bright pine warms the space, even though the room is huge. The log cabin aesthetic provides a rustic homey feeling.
When we reach the kitchen, I spot Ginger. Her hands are fists on the counter, jaw set, eyes narrowed on Bennett as he smiles at Gracie despite her tears.
Tightness twists in my chest at the sight. I don’t like seeing children cry. I never know how to make them stop.
“Bennett.” Genevieve swats at him. “Let the poor girl feel her feelings. You can make her promises later. Let Mom talk to her. We will eat something sweet and wallow in our woes.”
When Ginger turns, everything else falls away. Our eyes lock, and I force myself to stay where I am because my first instinct is to pull her into my arms. Her features soften, and she smiles a muted version of her usual grin.
I step closer, little by little. “Why is Gracie heartbroken?”
“An emergency on the ranch. It means we’ve had to cancel our annual end-of-year camping trip to the falls with Dad.” Her mouth twists with disappointment, and she glances at Gracie between her parents.
I don’t give myself time to convince myself it’s a bad idea before I blurt out, “I can take you.”
Ginger’s teal eyes blink at me for a moment, stunned. “We leave first thing in the morning.”
“Okay.” My blood is thrumming as she steps closer, her hand finding my forearm.
“Are you sure?”
Gracie’s tears have stopped. “You’ll take Momma and me?”
Those bright eyes are the mirrors of her mother's. I swallow hard and nod.
“We’re going to the falls.” Her voice picks up in a singsong cadence, and Genevieve pats her cheek.
“Now, Grandpa can stay here and be warm, and you can go nearly freeze to death in the wilderness. Grand .”
Ginger finally smiles wide with a little chuckle, her hand still squeezing my arm.
I smile back, and she pokes the corner of my lip. I love it when she touches me. My hand turns, cupping her elbow, rubbing the fabric there between my fingers.
“Want to come check out the gear? Stay for dinner? I’m going to owe you big for this.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Stay for dinner anyway,” Ginger says, glowing and pink-cheeked.
“Only if I can help.”
“Like I’m going to turn down that offer.” She turns toward her parents and plants her fists on her hips. “Are you staying here with Grandma for dinner, or are you coming with me?”
Gracie contemplates her mother very seriously. “How long until dinner?”
“You know how long it usually takes me to make dinner, young lady.”
She lets out a puff of air through loose lips, making a funny noise. “An hour and a half. Can we watch one episode of our show?”
“As long as Grandma packs you more snacks than she lets you eat. No spoiling dinner.”
“I can do that,” Genevieve says. “Go make your culinary masterpiece.”
Ginger nods toward the door. “Give me a ride.”
It’s a good excuse to keep touching her, nodding to Bennett, and guiding her to the door. He meets us there, clapping me on the back.
“Thanks for taking care of my girls. I really appreciate this.”
I nod. “Of course.”
What else can I say? I can’t tell him that I’m enchanted by his daughter. That I’d do anything to keep her smiling, to keep her near me.
She tugs me out the door and easily slides into my truck for the short drive to her house—the guest house I helped her dad build fifteen years ago before Hayes Homes took off.
Ginger slides over to me and pulls one of my hands in her lap once we get going. I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been with a woman. But when she opens my hand and runs her fingertips over the lines and calluses, I relax. Her touch travels to my wrist, measuring it in her hand, which can’t close all the way around it. Ginger traces the veins in my forearm until they disappear under my sleeve.
We’re only a minute from her house, but she links our fingers together and leans her head against my shoulder. I don’t want this drive to end.
I want to soak in the feeling of her because I hate the missing pieces of myself when she’s not near me.
She lets me pull her out my side when we get there, my hands lingering around her waist and her hands on my chest. I drop a kiss to the top of her head and take in her sweet, citrusy scent.
Her arms wrap around my middle as she steps closer—into a full hug—and I lose another bit of my heart to her. “Thank you.”
Her words are soft and muted against my chest, but they set me on fire. My reply is stuck in my throat. Ginger never needs to thank me. It makes me happy to do things for her.
When she pulls away, I miss her already, even as she leads me into her house and her kitchen. I remember the shape and how perfectly set up it is for two people to cook together.
“I have sausage thawed in the fridge, but I don’t have a plan for it.” Ginger grabs an apron from a hook and wraps the string around herself to tie in the front. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s washing her hands.
I shake myself out of my stupor and look through her fridge, pulling out red and yellow peppers and onions. Leftover potatoes and ham get added to the counter, and her cupboard provides a small can of crushed fire-roasted tomatoes. A few other flavor enhancers join the collection, and Ginger watches me with a naughty smile.
“And your plan with all of this is?”
“Perogies.” I point to the potatoes, ham, and cheese, then I point at the other ingredients. “Sauce.”
Her laughter echoes under the ceiling, tapping my skin like a livewire. “Show me.”
I make the simple dough—just flour, water, egg, and salt—and roll it out as she mixes the potatoes, ham, and cheese for the filling. We use a round cookie cutter to cut them out, then stuff them gently. The struggle to pinch them together has her laughing beside me.
Once they’re waiting to be boiled and sautéed, I start to cook the sausages. Ginger uses this as an opportunity to stand between me and the bowl on the counter. The way she looks up at me has my heart beating in a quick, unsteady rhythm.
Her clean hands spread up my front, over my shoulders, and into my hair. I’m growling because my hands are covered in raw meat, and I can’t touch her back.
She just stares up at me with those unbelievable eyes. Flecks of silver dot her irises, and her cupid’s bow mouth is quirked sinfully. Freckles scatter across her nose and cheeks.
“Do you have any idea how hot it is to watch a man being this competent in the kitchen? You made a dough. From scratch.”
Her grin pulls another small smile out of me. I never smile this much.
Ginger finds the curve at the edge of my lips with her fingers. If my hands were free, we’d be kissing right now. But she teases me by touching it. Tension makes my skin feel tight, hot, ready to take action.
She comes closer, sending citrusy sweet air into my lungs.
A car door slams outside, making her jump against me. Every muscle clenches as she slides out from between me and the counter in time for Gracie to spill inside, Genevieve close behind her with a paper sack in her arms.
“I brought the snacks I promised.” At the counter, she leans over to see our progress. Her brow raises. “I see you found yourself quite the helper, baby.”
The affectionate way Genevieve brushes a stray hair from Ginger’s cheek makes my desire to touch herrebound inside of me. Then, her eyes narrow in on me more seriously, like she’s dissecting my intentions.
“Bennett has a few odds and ends he didn’t pack this morning at the house. He wants to be sure you grab them before you go home tonight.” Her gaze slices into me, and I do my best not to shrink away from the scrutiny. Her message is clear—I’m not staying the night.
I nod, and the tension in her shoulders relaxes a fraction.
Ginger is hanging up Gracie’s coat as her daughter pulls off her boots. “All right. Off to shower. By the time you’re done, food will be ready, and we can get to bed early because we have to be up before the sun. Okay?”
“Okay.” Gracie races to the bathroom, and I’m surprised at how good she is. I really shouldn’t be, but I’ve seen how so many kids talk back to their mothers these days. It always grinds my gears. I’m so glad my child doesn’t do things like that.
Planting a kiss on either cheek, Ginger thanks her mom for the treats and walks her to the door before she returns to my side. I’m dropping the crumbled sausage into a hot skillet.
She doesn’t even have to ask what’s next as she slices through the peppers and onions.
It’s far too easy to cook with her, and I find myself mesmerized by the tactile experience of her beside me, of her hands brushing against my back or shoulder, of the smiles that bloom across her face just for me.
I try to think of something other than her mouth, but as she tastes and seasons, I’m more drawn to those pink lips than before.
“Momma?”
Ginger’s shoulders roll back. “Graciella?”
“Can I watch another episode during dinner?”
Those hands plant themselves on her hips as she faces off with her daughter. “Only if you brush your teeth and go straight to bed when it’s over. No milking it for another one after.”
Gracie nods, strong and decisive. “Deal.”
Once we have the food plated, Ginger sets Gracie up in front of the TV and sets us at the small kitchen table together. Most of dinner is quiet. Not that I mind. I enjoy how she looks at me as we eat. That she doesn’t mind how much I stare at her.
“Is five too early for you?” she asks quietly as she scrapes up the last of her sauce with the final half of her pierogi.
“No.”
“You sure? It’s going to be an early night no matter what, so if you need more beauty rest…”
“Five is fine.” Because, honestly, I don’t sleep much as it is. Anyway, I’d rather be with her than lie awake in my bed.
She searches my eyes, much like her mother did a short while ago, and when she finds whatever she’s looking for, she nods. “Okay.”
Then, she glances at her daughter. “What did I say?”
Gracie groans, but stands to rinse her dishes off in the sink, and Ginger is up, turning off the television as a new episode begins.
I bring our plates to the sink to wash as Gracie dries her hands and looks up at me.
“You’re tall.”
I nod to her.
“And you’ve got big muscles.”
I smirk at her.
“That’s good.”
“That’s enough, missy. Teeth. Brush them. Two full minutes this time.” Ginger approaches, looking stern but loving.
“Yes, Mom.” Gracie scampers off, and I dry my hands.
“I’m going to say goodnight.” Ginger slides closer, just like she always has in all of those moments lingering between us.
“I’ll go.”
Her mouth purses, but she sighs and walks me to the door. Fingers brush against my stomach as I pass over the threshold, pulling me back to her.
I want to steal a kiss. Just a small one to last me the night, and the longer she lets me hover close enough to take one, the more I feel my control slipping.
We’re less than an inch from what we both want. Then, her hand is pressed to my chest, and her face turns inside. Mouth quirked to the side, she blinks up at me, sultry and transparent.
“See you bright and early.”