19. Sawyer
19
SAWYER
G racie’s tears strike me right between the ribs, and I freeze as Ginger goes to her, wiping her tears away and tucking her daughter into her chest. The sight squeezes me even harder.
I want these two to be part of my life. I should have expected to enjoy Gracie’s company, given how much I enjoy her mother’s. She’s made it easy for me so far, given I don’t have much experience with kids.
But watching her cry makes me feel useless.
Redirecting myself, I start the clean-up, shoving the ruined and scattered food into a trash bag. I find the rope severed from the pulley system Bennett installed in the nearby tree. Something big got a hold of it, and we were lucky it didn’t come sniffing around our tent. I can only imagine the fear that would have caused for everyone.
Ginger is sitting with Gracie and rubbing her back so tenderly. I love seeing how close they are, despite the fact that Gracie is a tween.
I wish I could help. The strain and worry coiled within her is obvious, but she doesn’t even glance my way as she sits with her daughter, supporting her. They’re so beautiful together. It makes me wish I had children.
That thought surprises me, and I wipe a hand down my face. How on earth would I raise a child? I barely know how to be nice to my employees, let alone kids.
Wiping a hand down my face, I shake my head. I’ve hardly ever entertained the thought of having a wife—or, more, finding a woman who could put up with me long-term. With my silence. My need to be hands-on.
Not that I found a lot of women opposed to those traits, but usually, if they didn’t mind, they tried to take over and run my life. That didn’t do it for me either. Which meant that I was simply uninterested most of the time.
And then, there’s Ginger, who became an obsession the moment she stepped onto my job site.
She’s stood up again, and is walking around looking at the damage. I move closer, picking up a stray package of hotdogs.
“We’re going to put our brave faces on now, right? The animals left a mess, but they’re gone. We know we can catch some fish, so why don’t we do that, eat, and then go back to the car?” Ginger holds her daughter’s cheeks in her palms as Gracie plays with her red hair.
I’d done the same thing not long ago.
“Can we eat cake when we get home?” Her voice is small but calm. I’m glad her tears have stopped.
The two of them look so much alike, although Gracie’s hair is more blonde than red. Ginger’s is auburn, redder in the sun. Both of their cheeks are dotted with freckles, and they have the same small nose.
Ginger smiles at her, and Gracie’s smile grows slowly in reply. As if she can’t help it.
“Of course,” Ginger says, smoothing her daughter’s hair back.
I step closer again, bringing myself down to her level, too. “Want to teach me how to fish?”
A new smile sprouts across her face, and I watch her spirits lift. “Sure.”
Nodding, I smile at her and she returns the smile. It’s sweet, and different than the kind of affection I’m used to exchanging with others.
Ginger stands, arms folded in a contemplative way as we walk toward the edge of the trees. I catch sight of her own small smile before I refocus my attention on Gracie. She’s nimble and smart about where she steps as she leads me down to the river’s edge.
She walks confidently up to the edge of the water and sets up her hook with bait, then casts the line out into the water. I watch her technique as she reels in the line and explains again what she is doing. She’s very good at this, and I find myself drawn into the lessons that she’s teaching.
“Want to try?” she asks me, sounding like her usual self now that she’s been distracted from the chaos of our upsetting wake-up call.
“Sure,” I agree. I step up beside her and she shows me how to cast the line and explains where you should try to cast and why. I get involved in the lesson and have fun with her as she teaches me a new skill.
“Good,” she praises me once I’m able to actually complete a successful cast.
She beams at me, and I find myself enjoying the process of being taught how to catch our breakfast. When I finally catch a fish, we all cheer as I reel it in.
“Let’s see if we can get one more and then go back to eat,” Ginger says.
Once we have caught our second fish, we start walking back to the campsite.
Ginger grabs some chicory on the way, explaining that we can brew into a coffee substitute that will help warm us up.
While we clean the fish, Ginger cleans up every trace of the spoiled food. Her cheeks are pink, her hair a little wild, and she’s absolutely breathtaking.
It’s like stumbling upon an elf in her natural habitat.
“You’re good at this camping stuff,” Gracie tells me and then nudges my shoulder with hers. I crack a smile at this.
“You guys are good teachers.”
She points to the catch in my grip. “I don’t think that’s really enough to feed all of us, but we should be okay if we let him have a whole fish to himself.”
Ginger plants her hands on Gracie’s shoulders and leans down to plant a kiss on the side of her head. “You’re such a goose, but I think you might be right.”
They are one hundred percent right, but I’m not going to confirm that for them.
Ginger stands and meets my gaze. She sends all of her warmth my way. “I guess we’ll have to change that when we get home.”
Yes. Please. Because I’m hungry for a lot of things. Mostly, a lot more of her.
Waking up with her against me seems like days ago already.
I snap out of my reverie and look at Gracie, who is smiling up at me with the crooked version of her mother’s smile. “You know how to cook these?”
She nods, and I move away from the campsite.
“We don’t need much more firewood,” Ginger calls as I move into the tree line.
These two are so at home out here, and I’m a little surprised. Yet, not really. Given Bennett owns a ranch.
And she doesn’t shy away from the blood and guts involved in cooking freshly-caught food. I watch them covertly as I collect wood for the fire. They are seasoning the fish with some of the unmolested items from our food cache and setting up the kindling to get the fire going.
Gracie stands diligently over the smoking kindling, blowing on it as I bring back some wood to add to the fire. Her smile is fast becoming my favorite reward.
Ginger trails a hand down my arm affectionately. Everything she gives me feels like a reward.
“Come on. Let’s cook this and eat so we can head out.”
It doesn’t take much convincing. I’ll follow her wherever she wants, so long as I’m invited.
We coax the fire hotter, and Ginger roasts the fish. I heat up a smaller pan, and they show me how to cook the acorns in boiling water. We change the water out a few times, but by the time the fish is done, the acorns are, too.
Breakfast is lowkey. The girls are quiet as we eat, and the sounds of nature fills my heart with peace. I’ve been so restless lately. But this—this soothes me.
When we’re done, we pack up camp efficiently and drive back to the ranch. The moment Ginger lets us inside, Gracie runs to the fridge to pull out a domed container of cake.
I laugh quietly. It’s refreshing to be around a child with such a strong personality. Ginger smiles up at me and pokes the corner of my mouth.
“You’re making everyone a plate, right Miss Graciella?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Then we can unpack the truck and make some real food for lunch.” Her hand travels down my arm again, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I’m handed a piece of spiced cake with a buttery and sweet frosting that doesn’t overpower the other flavors. Closing my eyes at my first bite, I swallow back the moan it causes, but they both catch me.
“It’s good. Huh?” Gracie asks, taking a big forkful that oozes frosting out of the corners of her mouth.
The cake is gobbled up fast, and unloading my truck takes little time with Gracie carrying pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags.
Ginger makes us leftover ham and turkey sandwiches, twice baked sweet and russet potatoes, and warmed cinnamon honey rolls.
It doesn’t take long for Gracie to say she’s bored, and Ginger tells her to go to her room and do whatever makes her happy.
I linger with her in the kitchen. Everything’s already clean and put away, but she lets me hover in her space, breathing in her sweet flower and citrus scent. Her hands roam up my chest as she leans in to put her mouth by my ear.
“You were really good with her on this trip. Thank you.” Ginger’s voice is soft, like velvet.
I cup her waist in my hands and keep her close. “I like her.”
Her laughter vibrates against my chest and lights up her teal eyes. “I think she likes you, too.”
“She doesn’t shy away from dirty work.”
“Well, Shakespeare, she does, but not because it grosses her out.” Ginger draws small circles at the center of my chest, and my grip tightens around her, pressing her closer.
We stand in silence like this for a while, touching but remaining mellow until Ginger checks on Gracie, to find her passed out in her bed, her tablet playing YouTube videos beside her.
After she closes her daughter’s door, she pulls me toward her room. She’s kissing me before we make it inside. It feels like I’ve waited weeks for this, and I try not to respond like the starving man I am.
Her mouth falls from mine so that she can look up at me, and I’m dazzled.
“Think you can keep quiet?”
The question hangs for half a second before she giggles.
“Of course, I can.”