But for now, she was tired, and mulling this over would only make her sad and she didn’t want to be sad. It took too much energy.
Ginger started the engine and shifted into first, willing her thumping heart to settle down. She’d promised Bridgett her A-game. And being tired and sad was not part of her strategy.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the rest of the guests had come out to the veranda. They huddled together, laughing, being the bold and beautiful.
Easing off the clutch, she cut the wheel to move around a giant truck with mud on the tires and undercarriage when the passenger door jerked open and a wet, shivering Tom Wells dropped in.
“Excuse me? What are you doing?”
“I’m going with you.” He reached for the center dash sliders. “Got any heat in this old thing?”
“Tom, no, you don’t have to come with me.” Ginger moved the silver slider to the right, powering up the heat. Hear that, heart? You don’t need him.
“It’s raining, freezing, dark, with an obscure path. Shoot, I’d want someone to go with me. Besides, I heard Eric ask if the power had been turned on and Bridgett didn’t know. There’s a power box on the side of the house.”
“Tom, you still don’t have to come with me. I’ll figure it out.” Wasn’t that the way she lived life? On her own, figuring it out?
He glared at her through the muted light of the dash and their visual exchange did something to her. Something scary and wild. Like making her want to touch him.
But she’d never touched a man other than to wash his hair.
“Really,” she said with a wide, forced smile. “I’m fine.” Ginger patted his knee, once, oh so lightly, but she felt a plump of muscle beneath her fingertips.
“Too bad.” He caught her hand, giving it a tender squeeze. “I’m riding along. Now, let’s get moving.”
The night rain poured from celestial buckets. Tom rode silently alongside Ginger, debating with himself why he’d forced her to accept his help.
So he could apologize for the past? So he could be near her? All of the above?
Watching the overgrown and rutted road through the VW’s bouncing headlights, it was hard to see exactly where they were going. Man, it was dark and wet out. For this alone, he was glad he nudged in.
“Careful, Ginger, there’s a big—” Tom braced as the nose of the VW Bug crashed into a rain-gutted rut. “Rut.” Did Bridgett sincerely mean to send Ginger out in this gully-washer alone?
“Sorry.” She jerked the wheel right, then left, down shifting, trying to maneuver through the pitted path.
“This is crazy. We’re a mile from a marble and crystal plantation with three stories. Couldn’t you have slept in one of the many parlors or living rooms?”
“Tom, don’t, please.”
Fine. He could tell his ranting only wounded her more. But it just burned him that Bridgett had so casually booted Ginger from the house.
“ ‘With slaughterous sons of thunder rolled the flood,’ ” he said.
She clutched, shifted, jerked the wheel, voice tense when she said, “So you read Tennyson?”
“Just that one line. He claimed to have written that line when he was eight.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I suppose I have to.” The VW slowed, wheels spinning in mud, then shot forward, and continued down the socalled road. “I can’t challenge him on it, can I?”
She laughed softly. “No, you can’t. Do you read a lot?”
“As I have time. Some poetry. Novels. Theology books. Memoirs.”
“I love books. Novels, poetry, memoirs, no theology though.”
“I remember you as the math whiz.” He liked the gentle turn of the conversation.
“I like math, but I read a lot when I was recovering from . . .” She hit another deep rut. Muddy water shot in front of the headlights. “Ah, this is no man’s land.”
“I’m sure Bridgett didn’t realize—”
“Don’t say a word to her.” Ginger released the wheel long enough to scold him with a wagging finger. “It’s bad enough she announced there was no room for me in front of everyone. It’s another thing if you go to her complaining on my behalf.”
“She should know,” Tom said, his voice metered with the bumping and swaying of the VW—which was rapidly losing the rutted field versus small car battle.
“Then speak for yourself. Leave my name out of it. I mean it. I’ll be gone soon enough.”
He cut a glance her way. The dash lights accented the smooth angles of her face and set off the highlights of her sable-colored eyes.
“Can I at least pay for you to drive this little beast through a car wash?”
Ginger laughed, the engine moaning as she gently eased the car through a hungry puddle and nearly stalled. “Where is this homestead she spoke of so highly?”
“Keep going.” Tom squinted through the rain. “It’s so dark out here.”
Another rut and the Beetle Bug’s engine whined, stuttered, knocked. Ginger patted the dash. “Almost there, Matilda. Come on, baby.”