THE TEXAS WILDCATTER'S BABY (8 page)

* * *

“I
T
’
S
GOING
TO
rain tonight.”

Ginger looked up from the geological maps she had spread out over the dining table to see her husband framed in the doorway. Looking relaxed and still full of energy, he had one broad shoulder braced against the frame.

She’d spent so much time weighing the data and trying to pull together a coherent package that would not only address all potential problems, but recommend the best way to get the recovery factor above forty percent, that she was feeling a little woozy. And worn out.

“Why are you telling me?” Ginger asked, confused.

It wasn’t as if she was outside or had been for days. Rand was the only one who had been going out to meet with clients. Her work was right here.

He inclined his head toward the screened-in back porch. The sun had set hours ago. Through the open slider between bedroom and porch she could hear the soothing sounds of cicadas and nightingales. The faint scent of wildflowers and the barbecue someone had cooked for dinner lingered in the cool mountain air. “I thought you might want to do something about the rest of the boxes your mother brought us.”

She blinked. Sometimes he had the strangest timing. “You’re asking me to unpack the rest of our wedding gifts? Now?” When she was just two and a half more days away from having to turn in the biggest proposal of her life?

He shook his head, but gallant as ever, stayed far enough away not to be able to get even a glimpse of the confidential data she was working on. “I’m
asking
if I can move your belongings.”

Hadn’t they already gone over this at the time they were delivered?
“You can’t bring them into the living area. Or I won’t have room to work. And if we put them in the bedroom—”

He guessed where she was going with this. “We won’t have anywhere to sleep.”

“Right.”

“But if we leave them on the back porch and the storms are even half as fierce as what the weather bureau is predicting, they will get soaked through. That is why I talked to Claire. She said there’s room in one of the storage areas behind the party barn, and offered to let us temporarily stash the stuff there for a nominal fee.”

Ginger couldn’t say she would mind. She had missed being able to sit on the swing on their back porch. Plus, it would be good to take a little break from her work.

She set down her pen and rose. “I’ll help you carry them over there.”

He put out an arm to block her way. “No. You won’t.”

Now he was telling her what to do? Trying not to think how long it had been since they had made love, or even really kissed, she propped her hands on her hips. “They’re
our
boxes.”

“And you’re—” At her raised brow, he stopped to censure himself appropriately. “In no condition to be lugging heavy stuff around.”

Ginger scoffed. Telling herself that she was glad Rand accepted her continued work and fatigue-related rebuffs, and had not gone all-out to put the moves on her, she joined him on the back porch. Then ambled close enough to whisper, “I’m pregnant, not disabled.”

And he, she was pretty sure, was just biding his time. Waiting, the way he always did, until the tension built to the point she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say no.

Oblivious to the amorous nature of her thoughts, he narrowed his gaze. “You can hold the doors for me. That’s it.”

Their gazes clashed as strongly as their wills.

“I mean it, Ginger,” he persisted in a tone that brooked no dissent.

She thought about arguing. Then wearily gave it up. She could tell this was one battle she wouldn’t win.

Aware it felt oddly nice to be fussed over and protected this way—by him—she shrugged as if it did not matter to her either way. “Suit yourself.”

He grinned, victorious.

Which in turn made her regret giving in so easily.

But a concession was a concession, so the next fifteen minutes were spent with Rand lugging the collection of wedding gifts outside, while Ginger facilitated his efforts and held the doors open for him. When Rand had fit all the boxes into the bed of his truck, they both climbed into the cab. Rand stretched his arm along the top of her seat as he backed out of the space. “Michelle’s office telephoned me today.”

Ginger nodded, admitting, “I got a call, too.” She just hadn’t had the time or inclination to return it.

“They want us to schedule the next appointment so they can get working on the postnup and marriage contract for us.” He drove slowly past the Red Sage party barn where a fiftieth wedding anniversary gala was under way.

Trying not to think how happy the partying group looked, or to wonder if and when she would ever have something that incredible to celebrate, Ginger turned her attention forward once again. She did not need to feel wistful.

“When do you want to go?”

Pushing aside her sudden wave of matrimonial loneliness, Ginger looked through the windshield. “When I have time.” Why hadn’t Rand made more of an effort to get her into his arms again? Usually he was tireless in his pursuit of her. At least when she let him anywhere near her...

He shot her a sidelong glance, seeming to be thinking about a lot more than their current conversation. “Which will be?” With an aggravated frown, he attempted to pin her down.

“I’m not sure. A few weeks maybe.” Honestly, she continued, “I really want to get through the Q and A part of the bidding process first.” Assuming she made it to the semifinal stage, as she hoped she would.

Rand nodded briefly in understanding. “I’ll be too busy to meet with her again until after that’s done, too.”

Wondering if she should be in more of a hurry to get the postnup done, Ginger fell silent.

Rand parked the truck in front of the door of the storage facility and cut the engine. “Your mother called me.”

Uh-oh. Ginger slid out of her seat, circled around to the back and opened the tailgate. “What about?”

Rand loaded boxes onto the dolly he had borrowed from Claire. “Well, first of all, she asked if you were cooking for me.”

Ginger stifled a groan. “And what did you tell her?” Nothing, she hoped, that would prompt Cordelia to run right down there and help out again.

Dramatically, Rand parsed his words. “That it was more of a mutual effort, with me grilling...”

“And me pouring prepared salads and cut up fruit into bowls?”

He squinted, thinking. “I
may
have made it sound a lot more labor-intensive than that.”

Ginger let loose another mental oath. “She probably didn’t believe you.”

“She does seem to know you pretty well,” he said. Ginger rolled her eyes. So she hadn’t exactly been pulling her fair share of the domestic duties. She planned to make it up when he was the one working all the extra hours, vetting the proposals.

They put the first load into the corner of the storage room, then returned for a second.

“What else did my mother say?” Ginger asked curiously.

Strong muscles bunching beneath the smooth cotton fabric of his shirt, Rand lifted several heavy boxes onto the dolly. “She wanted to know why you weren’t returning any of her calls.”

Ginger tensed, indignant. She defended herself hotly. “I did talk to her, once. And I texted her several times.”

“Apparently, that’s not good enough to set her mind at ease.” Rand angled a thumb at his chest and ventured lightly, “So unless you want
me
playing Twenty Questions with your mom...”

Ginger most certainly did not. She laid a staying hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

His muscle warmed beneath her palm, but he made no effort to disengage. Kindly he said, “She sounded worried.”

Ginger knew that was true, but that wasn’t her fault, either. She turned away from Rand’s gentle regard and marched on down the path. “There’s no reason to be. My mom knows I’m so swamped with work right now I barely have time to eat and sleep. I also told her I’d call her when I got my bid in.”

“Okay, okay.” Rand rolled the second load to the storage area. “No need to shoot the messenger.”

Ginger winced, aware she had sounded more than a little irritated, and in fact, was moody nearly all the time now. She wanted to say it was all pregnancy hormones, but deep inside, she knew it was more than that. It was loneliness and frustration, yearning and indecisiveness. The need to be with him; the even more fierce need to keep him away. Most of all she worried about falling in love with him, only to have her heart broken—irreparably—later on.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t asked for any of this. She was the one who had proposed. She was the one who had needed to be married for business and professional reasons. He was only here because of the baby. Their baby. And as much as the reckless side of her wanted to see where all this could possibly lead, the honorable side of her refused to trap him into anything other than what they had agreed upon.

“Sorry,” she huffed reluctantly.

“Yeah? Well...” He paused next to her, took her chin in hand, and lowered his face to hers, seeming at that moment to have none of her inner ambivalence. “You should be,” he teased.

Their eyes met again.

She wanted to tell him to go away even as she ached for him to come even closer. He chuckled wickedly in return. Then his lips pressed against hers in a kiss that was as shockingly intimate as it was unexpected. Sweet, fierce need spiraled through her, arrowing straight from her brain to her heart, to the part of her housing the baby she carried deep inside her.

Ginger moaned, glad he had finally taken the incentive she’d been wishing he would. Yet scared, too. “Damn you,” she whispered. “Damn this.”
Damn my too vulnerable heart.

He cupped her face in both hands and brushed his lips over hers. “Damn everything but this,” he countered with a smile.

To her regret, another, even steamier clinch followed.

Unable to fight the yearning any more than she was able to resist him, Ginger went up on tiptoe, wound her arms around his shoulders, and brought his lips ever closer. She kissed him again, deeper, slower, more persistently.

He groaned, every inch of him going all hot and hard and male, while she turned soft and feminine and surrendering. His hands slid down to cup the small of her back and fold her tightly against him.

She reveled in his tenderness and the need pouring out of him.

And still he kissed her, again and again and again. Until both of them were panting, trembling for more. And it was only then that Rand pulled back, suddenly in control once again. “As much as I’d like to finish this here and now...” he said roughly.

Ginger knew. They couldn’t. Nipples aching, she pulled away from him once again. “Saved by propriety,” she quipped with an ease she couldn’t begin to feel.

“Temporarily.” He walked back to the truck and began unloading what was left. Swiftly. Decisively. One box after another and another...

Ginger used the time to pull herself together and admire the ruggedly beautiful landscape. The thick dark clouds overhead obscured the stars and the moon, and even the rugged mountaintops in the distance. The air seemed to get cooler and damper with every second that passed.

As Rand carried in the last box, big fat raindrops splattered their clothes and the tops of their heads. Hurriedly, they locked up and ran for the truck. They’d hoped to beat the storm, but by the time they got back to their cottage just a few minutes later, rain was falling in thick, heavy sheets.

“I don’t have an umbrella so we can either sit here or make a run for it,” Rand said from the cab of the truck.

Making a run for it meant getting drenched, head to toe. Waiting it out meant sitting in the truck with the windows steaming up and the rain pounding all around them. And that could only lead to one thing...

Aware she felt far too vulnerable and needy as it was, without bringing sex into the mix once again, Ginger reached for the door handle. In an effort to keep temptation at a minimum, she kept her glance averted. “I don’t know about you but I’m making a run for it.”

She leaped out into the pouring rain. He was right behind her.

They vaulted into the cottage, clothes plastered to their bodies. Passion pulsed between them, unmet. Ginger sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to change and then get back to work.”

He gave her a long assessing look, knowing what that meant as well as she did. A brief flash of disappointment flickered in his eyes. “Not even a small break?”

Ginger shook her head. As much as she wanted to while away the night in his arms, she couldn’t let either of them go down that path. “I still have a lot of proofreading and polishing to do. But I will call Michelle’s office tomorrow and get our next appointment set up for the postnup. Because our attorney is right, we do need to get that done.” Before their situation got any more complicated than it already was.

Chapter Eight

Eight hours later Rand lay in bed alone, watching the early morning light stream in through the edges of the window blinds. As usual, Ginger had slipped out of bed just before dawn, grabbed a robe and headed for the shower. He remained where he was, fighting the ever-present physical frustration that came with sleeping with but not making love to Ginger.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. His wife had said at the outset this was to be strictly for business, a marriage in name only. Like a fool, he hadn’t expected the hands-off-each-other dictate to last. But with the exception of their wedding night lovemaking and a few passionate kisses, it had.

The man in him wanted to seduce her right back into his arms. The husband in him knew that would be almost as big a mistake as marrying her on strictly her terms.

The question was, how did he get them out of this quandary without pushing her even further away? He was still searching for a solution when he heard the water shut off. Rustling sounds followed. Then Ginger stepped out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel, her body clad in a thick knee-length terry-cloth robe, the pajamas she’d been wearing in hand.

Rand watched her go to the suitcases she still refused to unpack, and rummage through them. Usually, she quickly found what she needed. This time, she didn’t, and a soft string of unpleasantries followed.

He smiled, watching her search for the second time. With another beleaguered oath, she stomped over to the bureau where his clothes were stored. Once there, she paused to look hesitantly over her shoulder. He closed his eyes in time to feign continued sleep. Relaxing, she turned her back to him once again, reached into the top drawer and pulled out a pair of his cotton briefs. She nestled them briefly in her hands, appearing to mull over her options, then tiptoed back toward the bathroom.

What was she up to now? Rand didn’t know, but he damn sure intended to find out. “Mind telling me where you’re going with those?”

A startled Ginger bumped into the wall, then swung back to face him. Rand sat up and switched on the bedside lamp.

They both squinted at the sudden infusion of light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the pink flooding her cheeks. “I need some clean underwear.”

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“It’s all dirty, and I haven’t had time to go to the laundry.”

“So you thought you’d wear mine?” he asked wryly.

“It’s preferable to going commando, but if you object...”

Imagining that, he grinned.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Please tell me you’ll let me borrow these just for today.”

The thought of her in his boxer briefs brought all sorts of erotic images to mind. “Depends. Can I see you in them?”

She gave him the kind of look a teacher gave a class clown who was acting up. “What do you think?” she retorted.

Best not to go there. “I think we probably should get some laundry done.”

Her lower lip shot out. “I’ll get around to it as soon as I get my proposal in.”

To prevent a stampede all bidders had been given a time slot to hand-deliver their proposals. “How close are you to finishing?”

“We’re going to give it one more read-through, and then take it the print shop this afternoon.”

“And once that’s done?”

She shrugged. “We turn it in and wait.”

On pins and needles, it seemed.

She regarded him warily. “When do you and the rest of the panel start the review process?”

“Monday, in the Boernes’ attorney’s office.” Where every drilling plan would be under lock and key, the panel’s work under the purview of the managing oil-and-gas attorney, until the semifinal winners were eventually declared.

Ginger groaned and sat on the foot of the bed, his briefs still clutched in her hand. “This whole process is going to take forever.”

Breaking down her resistance was what was taking forever.

He caught her by the waist and tugged her toward him. “And there’s only one way to make the time go by as quickly as possible.” He bussed her temple. “Stay busy together.”

* * *

“S
OMEHOW
,
THIS
WASN
’
T
what I thought you meant this morning,” Ginger drawled hours later as the two of them sorted through piles of dirty clothes in the guest ranch laundry. It was after 10:00 p.m., and they were the only two people in the large square room. Which was a good thing, given how many loads they had to do.

“You thought our clothes were going to wash themselves?”

She sent him a droll look.

“Wait.” He snapped his fingers as his next idea hit. “You mean you wanted to do this all by yourself? You, being the wife, after all.”

Ginger tried not to think how ruggedly handsome he was, with his mahogany hair all rumpled, the shadow of evening beard lining his face. She tossed one of his socks at his head. “You are so funny.”

He caught it with one hand. “You mean you want
me
to do it all?”

She dropped her silky delicates into a machine, out of view. “Tempting. But...no.”

His gaze roved over her. “Then what do you want?”

Besides the walls between us to stay firmly in place? Ginger wondered. “Us both to do our own laundry,” she said firmly.

He sauntered close enough she could smell his brisk, woodsy cologne. “No mingling of the underpants, hmm?”

Warmth climbed from her chest and neck into her face. “Or anything else.”

“Easier said than done, given that you’re still in my skivvies,” he teased.

Her chin lifted. “How do you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

His lucky guess was right. A palpable silence fell. She fit her denim jeans into three different machines, and his filled up four. Their shirts went into several more. Her delicates took up yet another machine. His cotton garments the last.

Ginger opened up several rolls of quarters, and together they went down the line, adding money, then detergent and softener. Once all the cycles were selected, they went back to idly roaming the long, brightly lit room. Ginger could tell from the way Rand was looking at her he was thinking about kissing her again. She was wanting, thinking the same. And yet she knew if they succumbed to passion yet again, their marriage would feel like more than a temporary arrangement. And that could be dangerous in so many ways....

Her phone vibrated. Ginger looked at the caller-ID screen, pushed Ignore and put it back in the holder at her waist. “Your mom again?” Rand asked.

“Ex-husband. He’s been calling and leaving messages nonstop since he stopped by the other day.”

Rand’s brow furrowed. “Have you spoken with him?”

“No. Because I know what Conrad wants, and he thinks if he keeps pestering me, he’ll get it.” She sighed.

“But he won’t?”

“Not a chance in this world, no matter what happens next. There’s no way I will ever work for him or his father again, and one day soon, he will realize that.”

“Good for you,” Rand said proudly. He squeezed her hand. “Because you’re worth more than the Profitts will ever know.”

When he looked at her that way, he certainly made her feel valuable. “Thanks,” Ginger whispered.

Rand squeezed her hand again, then let her go.

Regretting the sudden absence of physical contact, Ginger took a seat on one of the plastic chairs next to the windows. The fatigue of a few very long weeks overwhelming her, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Stifling a yawn, she felt rather than saw Rand drop down beside her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and leaned to murmur in her ear, “You know, you can go on back to the cottage and go to bed, if you like. I’ll stay and finish here.”

Ginger was tempted. Yet, because she knew how much of a slacker she had been on the domestic front since they had married, dutifully protested anyway. “Thanks, but I have to do my jeans my way.”

That meant eschewing the dryers and hanging them to dry, so the denim would expand with the weight of the water rather than shrink.

Luckily for them, the bathroom shower rod would support half a dozen of her blue jeans. The Adirondack-style furniture and the swing on the screened-in porch would handle another seven.

By the time they had everything laid out, the clothes in the electric dryers were finished. Ginger helped Rand stuff the clean, warm clothing into plastic baskets and mesh laundry bags. Together, they heaped them into her truck, drove back to their cottage and carried everything inside. Aware it was close to midnight, Ginger yawned again. Rand turned her in the direction of the bedroom. “You’re going to bed,” he said, the warmth of his hands on her shoulders.

Ginger hated being bossed around, even as she melted at his tender touch. She arched a brow. “Must I remind you that you are not the boss of me?”

He paused. “Must I remind you that you’re now sleeping for two? And you have a proposal to turn in tomorrow morning? I presume you want to be fresh and rested for that?”

Ginger wanted to stand her ground. However, her body, her business and the baby nestled deep inside her had other ideas. So, for once, she let her husband call the shots and headed for the bed. Too worn out to look for a clean pair of pajamas, she slipped off her jeans and crawled beneath the covers.

The moment her head hit the pillow, oblivion claimed her.

* * *

G
INGER
WOKE
HOURS
later to the familiar sound of her mother’s voice. “My maternal instinct told me something was wrong!” Cordelia said. “And this mess just proves it!”

“Actually,” Rand returned mildly, “the only thing it shows is that neither Ginger nor I are all that great at being domestic.”

“Well, someone needs to be, and in most cases, it’s the wife!” Cordelia returned.

With a muffled oath, Ginger lifted her head. Unfortunately for her, the door separating the bedroom from the living area was wide open. Catching sight of her, Cordelia swept toward her.

“It’s nine o’clock. What are you still doing in bed? Are you feeling all right?”

Ginger sat up in a panic. “I’m supposed to be at the Boernes’ attorney’s office at eleven!”

“I was just coming in to wake you,” Rand said.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late.” Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. The jeans hanging on the rod were still pretty wet.

Her mom was right behind her. “What happened here? Were half the dryers all broken? It looks like a laundry room exploded. Not to mention the piles of wrinkled clothing out in the living room.”

Ginger followed her mother’s glance. It was an apt description.

“I didn’t get as far as I might have with the folding,” Rand said lamely.

Apparently not. Which would not have mattered had her mother not been here, looking on disapprovingly, her gaze intimating that Ginger was well on the way to botching yet another marriage, due to her lack of domestic instincts.

Trying not to think about how much more the demise of this relationship was going to hurt than her first one had, Ginger tested the jeans on the back porch. They were nearly as damp as the ones in the bathroom.

The denims she’d had on the day before had a big coffee stain across one thigh. That would have been okay, if she hadn’t had an important business meeting to attend.

As intuitive as ever, Rand guessed the direction of her thoughts.

“Want me to toss a pair in the dryer?” he asked.

Ginger hated to accept yet another favor, but had no choice. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Since when do you line-dry all your jeans?” Cordelia interjected.

“Since I—”
found myself pregnant and unable to fit in practically everything I own
“—married an environmentalist,” Ginger said as she searched through the piles of clean wrinkled clothes for two towels.

“Well, I guess that’s good for the harmony of the marriage,” Cordelia allowed, sniffing as she held up a horribly wrinkled shirt.

Normally, Ginger wouldn’t ask, but she was desperate. She turned to her mom. “Do you want to iron something for me?”

Cordelia smiled, happy to be needed. “Absolutely. Afterward, I’ll put away the food I brought you.”

Ginger rummaged through the piles and plucked out a white knit shirt, and an embroidered cotton vest. “Everything you need, including the spray starch, is in the coat closet. I’ve got to hit the shower or I’ll be late.”

Both women sprang to action.

Unfortunately, Ginger’s problems didn’t end there.

Rand returned with a pair of jeans that was warm and soft—and way too tight. Ginger had to lie on the bed and even then she could hardly shimmy them on. She was still struggling to pull up the zipper when he eased open the door ever so slightly and let himself into the bedroom, ironed clothing in one hand, an oversize stainless-steel travel mug hiding her prenatal vitamins in the other.

“Oh, my heavens,” Ginger said, looking at the mug. “Tell me she didn’t see.”

He whispered in her ear, “Only because I happened to think of it and got there first.”

Ginger breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

Smiling at her tenderly, Rand kept a firm grip on the mug and handed over the ironed garments. “Your mother asked me to bring these to you.”

Ginger looked at the clock. It was now ten minutes after ten. She had to leave in seven minutes if she wanted to make it to her appointment on time. Worse, she was beginning to feel vaguely nauseous.

“You look a little green,” Rand observed.

Ginger lifted a hand. “Don’t say that.” To the baby inside her, she whispered, struggling to her feet, “And don’t you do this to me!” Not now. Not today...

Rand assisted her the rest of the way to her feet. He looked down at the booty-tight denim. “Are you going to be able to get those snapped?”

Obviously not
. She gave him a lethal glare, then took the knit shirt and slipped it over her head. It was as bad as the jeans, showing her burgeoning waistline, and illustrating her inability to snap or fully zip her jeans.

Five minutes left.