On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel) (25 page)

“What’s he doing here?” Ginger asked.

A zing of jealousy racked Carter. She hadn’t been hanging around the guys at his house as much lately, but he’d still seen her talking with them occasionally. And he’d continued to hear them talk
about
her. “Work is wrapping at my house today,” he explained. “He’ll be over here until yours is done.”

Which irritated the piss out of him, but he’d had no valid excuse for suggesting otherwise. He looked at her, trying to decipher what she was thinking.

“Hey, Miss Ginger,” Gregg called out as he hit the porch steps. “Looking good this morning.”

Three other men followed him, all smiling at Ginger. It was as if Carter wasn’t there.

Ginger grinned back. Carter gritted his teeth.

“You really have to stop calling me that,” she told Gregg. “You make me feel old.”

“Oh, you’re not old.” Gregg checked her out in obvious fashion. “You’re just right.”

Carter’s jealousy reached new heights. The kind of heights where he wanted to grip the other man by the throat and toss him from the porch. So he asked himself a question. Was he jealous purely because another guy was flirting with Ginger, or was it because a guy who was
wrong
for her was the one doing the flirting? Maybe his jealousy was simply his way of looking out for her.

She giggled at Gregg, and Carter’s balls clenched tight. It was jealousy, pure and simple.

He decided to ignore the entire group of them, who now all stood on the porch, each man vying for his turn at having her attention. No one seemed to be in any hurry to get to work, and Carter couldn’t blame them. She was in another pair of her too-short shorts, a T-shirt that did nothing to hide her sweet curves, and she was glowing like a beacon.

From the lovemaking that
he
had provided.

He growled under his breath and stomped to his car. Good thing he’d be leaving soon. He didn’t think he could take watching that every day. And he knew that’s what would happen. She was ready to move on from him. She’d said as much.

He settled into the car. They’d arrived separately, and he’d intended to leave when she did. But he wouldn’t sit there watching her fawn over a bunch of guys who weren’t good enough for her.

Giving her a couple of minutes, he pulled out his phone. He’d check his e-mail and the news while he waited. But after loading his e-mail, he paused. There was one from his ex.

What the hell?

He hadn’t personally heard from her since
that
day. Everything had been handled through their attorneys. And he didn’t want to hear from her now.

He slid his thumb over the message, hovered for a second, then tapped. His heart raced.

Carter. I’d like to make you an offer on the house. Please give me a call.

She wanted to buy the house?
His
house?

Oh, hell no. She’d never even stepped foot in the place!

Fury filled him. How fucking dare she send this e-mail. Or even think he’d entertain an offer on his house. From
her
. No way.

Sonofabitch.
Why had he thought for a single minute that life could be good again? There was always someone around the corner waiting to bring him down.

He floored the gas, revving the motor until Ginger looked up. Concern flashed across her face, but he didn’t stick around long enough to see if she’d bother coming to his car to ask what the problem was. She had men to entertain.

Without another look in her direction, he put the car into gear and pulled away from the house. She had her car there. She could get herself home.

Or maybe Gregg would take her.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

N
erves pulled at Ginger that evening as she sat by herself at the end of the pier. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was well on its way. And she hadn’t heard from or seen Carter once since he’d wheeled out of her driveway that morning.

Additionally, the blinds at his house had been closed all day.

She had no real idea what the problem was. Or where he might be. His car had been gone when she’d come out to head over to the house, so she’d hoped to find him here. No such luck. She’d even checked at the rock where they used to meet up in the mornings.

But no. No Carter. No explanation.

No nothing.

Was he mad because the guys had been flirting with her that morning?

That’s all she’d been able to guess. She and he had been fine as they’d come out of the house. Yet it didn’t make sense that he’d get so jealous. He was leaving. Soon. He didn’t want anything more than what they had. And it wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong in the first place. Just harmless flirting. The attention was fun.

But the way he’d revved the motor of his car replayed in her mind. As well as the murderous look on his face. There had to be more to it, but she couldn’t begin to guess what it might be.

She reeled the fishing line out of the water, and set the pole to the side. She wasn’t in a fishing frame of mind tonight, and had caught nothing in the last hour since she’d been out there. Too much—even more than wondering what was going on with Carter—was on her mind.

For starters, there was their lovemaking from that morning.

It had been intense. And there had been a lot of feelings mixed in with it. At times, both Carter’s and her touch had seemed like more than simple sex. Yet . . . he hadn’t given the slightest protest when she’d said that his coming back in November to pick up where they’d leave off wouldn’t work. She’d told the truth. She wanted a husband, and she intended to resume her search.

But she’d also hoped that Carter might suggest he could be in the running.

She cared about him. How could she not? They’d known each other a long time, and he was . . . her Carter. He was her friend. And he sometimes touched her as if she were more to him. Only, she wasn’t.

He was hurt. Possibly still in love with his ex—or at least not over everything that had happened in their marriage—and he didn’t see Ginger as anything but fun. She was his sex friend. And that was hard to accept. But she’d known what they were going into this, so she ignored the pain. And she ignored how much she’d miss him once he was gone.

The remainder of the light disappeared from the sky, and she let out a weary sigh. She’d try calling Carter once more, but maybe this was his way of letting her know that this morning had been it. It had sort of felt like the end.

She rose, gathered her fishing supplies, and headed up the pier. And noticed a man walking toward her from the opposite end. He was all shadows, but there was no doubt who it was. Carter had come to her.

She continued moving in his direction, and as she got closer, she saw the anger. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a beer and a cigarette hanging from his hands; he was that different. This was not the man who’d kissed her shoulder that morning and told her he wanted to kiss all the freckles on her body.

This was the man who’d shown up here three weeks ago.

Reaching her, he stopped. His eyes were hollow, and his features hard. It scared her. There was nothing comforting about him at all anymore, and that was a real shame.

He’d already left her.

“She wants the only thing I have left,” he announced. His voice was as cold as he.

“She?” Ginger squinted in question. “Who?”

“Lisa.”

Oh. Something had happened today. Ginger set her rod and tackle box on the ground while letting thoughts race through her head. She couldn’t figure out it. “What does she want?”

“My house. She wants to buy it.”

“The house that she
didn’t
want?” she asked. Damn that woman for hurting Carter. Again.

“Exactly.”

“Why?”

“Beats the hell out of me, but I won’t sell it to her. She took everything else.” He shook his head, his arms so tight at his sides that they vibrated. “There’s no way I’ll let her take this, too. It’s
my
house. It’s all I have left,” he gritted out.

Ginger wished he could see that he could have so much more if he wanted it. He could have her.

The thought hit her so clearly, and so honestly, that she knew it was true. He could have her. She could love him forever.

And his complete lack of seeing that broke her heart in two.

She considered for half a second telling him how she felt. Asking him to stay. To see where they could go. She’d tried to suggest it that morning. He didn’t have to give up everything they could be because of something another woman had once done.

But Ginger said nothing. She couldn’t. He had to decide to move beyond the past himself. And the sad fact was, he wasn’t ready to move anywhere but back into his shell of a life.

“I’m going home.” His eyes flicked over her. Briefly. But as if he actually saw
her
instead of simply his anger. The lines at the sides of his mouth softened. “I’m taking the ferry tonight.”

“You’re more than what she’s done to you, Carter,” she said softly. “You’re more than the anger.”

“You’re wrong.” He leaned in then, and kissed her. A light brush of his mouth.

She felt his breath against her lips, and she wished she could fix things for him. She wished she could make him happy.

“Thank you for these last few weeks. For being there for me.” He took her hand and pressed another kiss to the back of it. “For this last week. I almost went home a better person than when I arrived, and that was totally you. At least I had a momentary break.” He gave a tight smile, but it was void of humor. “For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

She didn’t say anything. He was writing off the rest of his life. For no good reason.

“We’re still good, right?” he asked. “I mean . . . we knew what this was going in?”

Her eyes widened slightly. He was giving her “the speech”? Did she look like
she
was the one who didn’t have her crap together?

“I’m me,” he continued, “you’re you. You’re going to date. Find the right man.”

“I am going to date.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Then we’re good?”

She was angry for an entirely different reason now. “Yes. We’re great, Carter. Try not to drown in utter misery in that big house all by yourself.”

He shot her a strange look before tucking his hands into his jean pockets and looking around at the ocean. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs as if wanting one last whiff of salty air, then faced her house and blew it out. She’d left a single light on inside. Her bare kitchen walls could be seen from the pier. It looked as sad and lonely as she felt.

As Carter looked.

“Maybe I’ll see you in November.” He faced her again.

Her heart splintered. She would do her best
not
to see him in November. Because she didn’t think she’d be over him that soon.

“Take care of yourself, Carter.”

He gave a nod and turned to walk away.

She turned, as well. Putting her back to him. She refused to watch him go.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
WO

W
hite garden lights and soft music greeted Ginger, her mother, and Clint, as they crossed to the Ridley home Saturday night, and stepped onto the front porch. Her mother held an elegantly wrapped package in her hands, and Ginger fought the urge to turn around and leave. It had been only three days since Carter had left, and she wasn’t in the mood for this.

He wouldn’t be here. She knew that. He’d returned to Rhode Island. He hadn’t called.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to be in his childhood home. She remained a mixed bag of angry and sad, all rolled into one, and she’d prefer to suffer through that without any witnesses. To maintain some dignity. But it clearly wasn’t meant to be.

Her mother had sent Clint out to the house to retrieve her earlier in the day. She hadn’t been home since Carter had boarded the ferry. She’d either worked, taken her boat out until late in the evening, or she’d hidden by herself in her big empty house. All alone. Exactly as she imagined Carter doing hundreds of miles north.

Did that make her as pathetic as he? Probably. But she didn’t care. Not yet. She’d snap out of it, eventually, but it wouldn’t be tonight. And it wouldn’t be because of her mother’s sad-faced hugs.

The minute Clint had delivered her home, her mother had reached for her. She knew. Mothers had a way of knowing such things as daughters getting their hearts broken.

But Ginger didn’t want to talk about it. Carter wouldn’t ruin her. She wouldn’t let him.

Her mom lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, but the door swung open before she could push the button.

“Pamela Atkinson!” Mrs. Ridley wore a silk beige jumpsuit, matching heels, and gold accessories. The woman had style out the wazoo. She also towered above her neighbor’s shorter frame.

“Happy anniversary.” Ginger’s mother held out the gift. “And welcome home.”

Mrs. Ridley hugged all of them and brought them inside. They were the first to arrive.

“This is gorgeous,” her mother exclaimed the instant they walked into the house. She meant the remodel, of course. And yes, it was. Carter had impressed.

The wall between the living room and the kitchen had been removed, the old wallpaper was gone, and the entire space had been updated. Still a traditional style, but in a more contemporary way. The walls were painted a neutral straw color, with custom cream wainscoting running the length of the dining area and down the hall. The floors were a wide-planked, hand-scraped dark stain. And a small pot rack hung in the corner between the sink and stovetop. It showcased a collection of cast-iron skillets.

Ginger remembered as a kid hearing Mr. Ridley swear that those were the only pots worth cooking in. Carter must have remembered, too. It was a shame he wasn’t here to enjoy this with them.

“Can you believe Carter and Julie did this for us?” Mrs. Ridley sounded positively giddy as she led them through the space. Mr. Ridley nodded a hello. He held a snifter of scotch in one hand, and immediately headed to Clint’s side.

The kitchen cabinets were a rich honeyed wood, and the granite was a corrugated beige, complementing the walls, and at the sight of them, Ginger had a moment of panic. This was so beautiful. Had she chosen the wrong colors for her house?

But then she remembered Carter’s approval. Hers was a house
on
the beach. It fit to make it lighter. Breezier. And she loved all the choices they’d made.

She breathed easily again, and tuned back in to the moment.

“My master closet got redone, as well,” Mrs. Ridley continued as
she circled the new dining set. She trailed her hand along the farm-style
table. “Did he tell you about that? We’ll check it out, too. It’s a dream, I tell you. Simply a dream. Jimmy can have his gourmet kitchen, but I get my closet. It’s so fabulous, I might start sleeping in there.”

She laughed, and she and Ginger’s mom were soon engaged in a discussion about closets, clothes, engagement rings, wedding plans, and the best places to honeymoon, while Clint and Mr. Ridley enjoyed scotch and talked cuts of meat and how best to reach the perfect temperatures on the grill.

Other people drifted in, filling the room and raising the volume level. Their presence made it easier for Ginger not to be missed as she edged to the side of the space. She wasn’t in a partying mood, and she regretted letting her mom talk her into showing up.

She made her way to the bookshelf and couldn’t stop herself from taking down one of Carter’s books. It was the first one he’d published. She’d started rereading it earlier today.

“He told you, right?” Julie appeared at her side. They stood slightly separated from everyone else, and when Ginger looked at her, Julie nodded toward the book in Ginger’s hand.

“That he wrote them?” Ginger nodded. “He told me. It answered my question as to how you had that early copy.”

Julie chuckled and Ginger put the book back on the shelf.

“How’s he doing?” She could kick herself. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

Julie rested her hands across the top of her belly. “I’m guessing he’s back to drinking and smoking, and generally scowling at anyone who dares speak to him.” Her answer put a smile on Ginger’s face. His sister described him to a tee.

Ginger’s smile was sad, though, as was Julie’s.

“I’m worried about him,” Julie admitted. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“He told you why he left?”

She nodded. “She wants to buy the house.”

“I wish he’d just sell it to her,” Ginger mumbled. She’d never seen the house, and she’d hate to consider giving up her own. Yet it felt like a huge stumbling block for Carter. As far as she was concerned, it was time to move past it.

But she supposed that was easier said than done.

“Do you think he’s writing?” she asked. She doubted it, but writing would be the best thing for him. She’d seen the joy it brought him.
That’s
what he had left. Not some stupid house.

“I have no idea,” his sister replied. One hand rubbed over her stomach, and as she looked at Ginger, a tiny pinch formed between her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you fall for him?”

Oh. Ginger hadn’t been expecting that. “I . . .”

“It’s just that I want him to be happy,” Julie explained. “He deserves it. He’s been good to me over the years, even when I didn’t see a lot of him. And now he’s hurting. So I was hoping . . .” Her hand trembled as she pushed hair back out of her face. “He changed while he was here. For the better. And I know it was because of you.”

Ginger’s heart skipped a beat. Hearing that from Julie was powerful, and also a little devastating.
She had to blink to keep the tears away. “The truth is, he changed me, too.”

For the better.

At that, Ginger decided she needed to go home. This was all too much. “I think I’m going to get going. Apologize to your mom and dad for me?”

“Of course.”

She left without saying another word to anyone, and entered her mom’s house through the mudroom. She took off her jeans, then did nothing more than stare down at them. She wanted Carter there with her. Teasing her about her preference to read with no pants on. Touching her. She just wanted Carter.

She left her jeans where they were and entered the kitchen, snagging the Jules Bradley book off the table where she’d left it upon her arrival, and slid to the floor. There were too many people next door to go out back and read, so she’d sit against the kitchen wall and huddle in the dark. There was enough ambient light shining in from next door to read by. That would have to do.

But she couldn’t bring herself to open the pages. Instead, she let herself cry.

Hot tears rolled over her cheeks, dripping off her chin as she hung her head and wept for the loss of love, and the loss of hope. Not her hope. She would find hers again. But for Carter’s. He deserved a life with the promise of expectations.

Soft pats on the floor brought Ginger’s head up, only to find Mz. Lizzie standing before her. The cat scrutinized her in the way that only cats can do, giving her a cold, bored stare.

But then she sidled in close.

It was as if Mz. Lizzie knew that Ginger needed to be loved tonight.

Ginger scratched the cat on the back of the neck and let more tears flow. If cat love was all she could get, she’d take it.