The Last Bachelor (13 page)

“Of course she did. All her worries are over!” Vivian said, beaming at them.

“Well, maybe not all her troubles, Mom. We still have the test for the INS,” Joe reminded her.

“That can't be a problem,” Vivian protested.

“Now, honey,” Ed cautioned gently.

“Well, it can't, Ed. It's obvious to all of us that they love each other. When will they interview you?”

“I don't know,” Joe replied. “They said they'd call, but I haven't heard from them.”

“I hope it's soon,” Vivian said.

“It really doesn't matter,” Joe said, as if he really meant it.

Ginger jumped up from the table. “I'll go start to pack,” she said, and slipped from the kitchen.

“Mom, we'd better not discuss everything so openly in front of Ginger. I don't think she's used to that.”

“Probably not, but don't you think she should get used to it?”

“She will. She's very bright. I'll go help Ginger pack.”

He stood to join Ginger.

“Honey, do you think she'll want to take these leftover buns with her?” Vivian asked as Ed moved a step closer to the table, an eager look in his eyes.

“I guess we can split them, Mom. I don't suppose they'll be as good after this morning.”

“But Ginger said they don't waste anything in her neighborhood because everyone is so poor. The second day, they would take the leftovers and fry them in butter. She said they were even better that way.”

“Yeah, let's split them!” Ed agreed.

Joe tried to hold back his smile. He could even admit to wanting to taste day-old cinnamon rolls. For research, of course. But first he and Ginger had to get back to their condo and put their life in order.

They said their goodbyes, with a few tears from the ladies. Then five minutes later, they were back
in their condo, each having carried in a load of their belongings.

Ginger took two bags to their bedroom, while he took a sack of groceries to the kitchen. Vivian had been afraid they would starve before they had time to do any shopping.

“Joe, you have messages,” he heard Ginger call from the bedroom.

“Play them,” he replied as he placed the perishables in the refrigerator.

She backed away. “No. They won't be for me.”

He laughed as he made his way to the room. Pencil and paper in hand, he played the messages. “Joe, it's Mr. Cooper. Give me a call. I want to build a house for my son and his new wife. Your dad said you'd consider doing a house.”

Joe looked pleased, Ginger noted. Perhaps he had his first new client.

There were several other calls from people she didn't know. Then came a voice she recognized. “Mr. Turner, this is Mr. Fisher of the INS. We've scheduled your interview for Tuesday, April 9, at 11:00 a.m. If I don't hear from you, we'll assume that date is satisfactory.”

“Today?” Ginger screamed. “They're coming today? B-but we're not ready!”

Joe stared at his watch. “I'm afraid it's a little late to protest. They'll be here in fifteen minutes.”

G
inger turned shocked eyes to Joe. “Now? They're coming now?”

“It's okay, Ginger,” Joe reassured her. “We'll explain what happened.” Though they were running rampant, he was trying to collect his thoughts. Everything would turn out okay, he told himself. He simply would accept nothing less. “Just stay calm.”

“Yes, but we haven't—I mean, isn't it necessary to—”

“Make love? I don't think so. We've slept with each other, you know. Just because we haven't been intimate right away doesn't mean we aren't going to stay together unless—That is what you still want, isn't it?”

He knew he was asking for a commitment from her, but after all, he had committed himself to this so-called marriage.

Ginger stared at him as if struggling to make a decision. Her gaze circled the room. Then she gave him a brief nod, as if her decision had been made, and she hurried to the door.

“It will be all right, Ginger,” Joe said once more, as if saying so would make it true.

 

Ginger had made her decision. There was no point in doing anything halfway. An old friend had told her that. So, until the INS men left Mission Creek, she was truly married to Joe Turner—exactly as she dreamed each night.

There wasn't much time but there was no hesitation. She was dressed in a casual dress that flattered her. All she added was an apron taken from her kitchen drawer. She tied it around her trim waist and began taking down a big mixing bowl and the ingredients for her cinnamon rolls.

She quickly prepared the coffeepot and plugged it in, then began making the dough for the rolls. Gretta, an old woman from her village, had told her the scent drew men like bears to honey. Gretta was a sturdy woman, gentle and kind, but not particularly beautiful. Yet she'd buried four husbands.

For years Ginger had worked in Gretta's market and bakery. When Ginger's mother had found it inconvenient to have her come home late at night, she'd slept in Gretta's storeroom until 4:00 a.m., when Gretta woke her to start the morning baking. The old woman taught her about life as well as baking.

In that moment in Joe's bedroom, Ginger had determined to commit herself to this marriage, however long it lasted. She would fight for her marriage…with cinnamon buns.

 

Joe watched Ginger leave him. What had that look meant? She'd suddenly seemed calm. That was good.
He thought it was good. Unless she'd decided to confess all to the INS men.

He straightened his shoulders, like a soldier going into war. He hoped not. He wanted to remain married to Ginger. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe. More than that, he wanted her to have the right to make choices for her life. To have the opportunities most kids in Mission Creek took for granted.

The age business still bothered him, but when he'd mentioned it to Ginger, she didn't seem to make much of it. He'd decided not to make a big deal of it, either.

A knock at the door told him his time for contemplation had just run out. He drew a deep breath and marched across the living room, hearing Ginger in the kitchen, and opened the door.

Carl Fisher and Craig Caldwell stood outside the door, waiting. “Good morning, Mr. Turner. May we come in?”

“Of course,” he murmured. Before any of them could speak, Ginger called from the doorway.

“Come in, gentlemen. May we talk in the breakfast room while I work? I'm doing some baking.”

Joe figured the men would agree. When Ginger gave her best smile, few men would turn her down. Besides, something smelled good.

“Of course, Mrs. Turner,” Fisher agreed, as Joe had expected.

As Joe followed the other two men to the kitchen, he wondered why Ginger had suddenly decided to begin baking.

“I hope you don't mind if I continue to work. I promised Joe's mama I'd make some of my cinnamon buns for a bake sale.”

“Not at all,” Fisher said. “So, you're getting involved with the community?”

“Not exactly. We've had a little difficulty to start off our marriage, as my husband will tell you. Right, dear?” She turned to Joe and reached up to lightly brush his lips with hers.

Joe grabbed for his chair, hoping he could get seated before he fell forward on his face. He'd dreamed of Ginger like this, a real wife, accepting of his caresses. He hadn't gone so far as to dream of
her
offering caresses to
him.

Fisher's look toward him wasn't nearly as gentle as his looks to Ginger, but Joe understood. “There were several attempts to kidnap Ginger by a couple of local hoods.”

Ginger began pouring rich, fragrant coffee into cups she had apparently set out before their arrival. Fisher was distracted from Joe's words. “That's not necessary, Mrs. Turner.”

“Only if you do not care for coffee, Mr. Fisher,” Ginger said, giving him another beautiful smile. “But I promise you this is special coffee.”

Fisher's approval was obvious for anyone to see. In fact, Joe was a little irritated by the man's approval of Ginger. He cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you, Mrs. Turner, I'd be glad to share a cup.” Then he turned to Joe. “Kidnappers? Surely you exaggerate, Mr. Turner.”

That really irritated Joe. He drawled, “I thought so myself, Mr. Fisher. But I consulted my friend, Sheriff Wainwright. He advised me to be careful. Two days later, when I caught the same two men with a handkerchief soaked in ether dragging my wife to a car left running, I became a believer.”

Even thinking about their treatment of Ginger upset him and his voice rose. Soft, warm arms slid around his shoulders and Ginger kissed his cheek. “My husband was a true hero,” Ginger assured them. Her touch soothed Joe, too.

“You were pretty heroic yourself, Ginger,” he said more easily. “She bit the man with the ether before it could take its desired effect,” Joe told them proudly.

With admiration on his face, for Ginger, Joe knew, Fisher said, “That must have been difficult, Mrs. Turner.”

“To keep her safe, we moved to my parents' house. She gave up her classes and work, places they would expect her to be.”

“We're glad you took precautions,” Fisher said with a nod. “Now—”

“They found her, anyway,” Joe added, almost casually, setting them up for the finale. He didn't like their attitude.

“They? The two hooligans?” Caldwell asked in surprise.

“No. Her mother, her husband, and the old man they wanted her to marry. They kidnapped her, took her to the airport, planning on taking her back to
New York City. Her mother pulled a gun on my mother and threatened to kill her if Ginger didn't go with them.”

Ginger had gone back to the kitchen counter, rolling out some dough. She was making a quick version of the buns. It wasn't quite as good as the original, but she needed rolls ready soon. She looked up and nodded sadly when the men stared at her. “It's true. I was horrified, worried for my mother-in-law's safety.”

The two men looked back to Joe, now caught up in the story. “What happened?” Fisher asked.

“I called the sheriff and chased after them, but Ginger is the hero. She escaped from them. You explain, Ginger.”

“When I realized they could not take their guns through Security, I made a scene and walked away from them.” She slid smaller versions of the rolls into the oven, then she straightened. “Besides, the man wanted a virgin.” She shrugged and grinned. “Instead, I am a married woman now.”

She again slid her arms around Joe's shoulders and this time kissed the top of his head.

“You know, I think we may not have to wait the year to get you your green card. You've been working here for two years already and—”

The phone rang and Joe got up to answer it. Carl Fisher stopped talking.

“No, I can't,” Joe said to the caller.

After a pause and an obvious argument, Joe repeated, “I can't.”

Ginger went to his side and mouthed, “What is it, Joe?”

He put a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “It's the mayor. He's called a sudden meeting about that government project I was telling you about.”

“Oh, Joe, you've got to go. It would mean so much to the start of your new business.” She turned to their guests. “Gentlemen, you do understand, don't you? You can talk to me and meet with Joe later, couldn't you?” she pleaded.

“Yes, of course,” Fisher agreed. Joe figured he would have agreed to anything if Ginger asked it.

“It won't affect the outcome?” he asked warily.

“Not at all.”

Joe hesitated, but then the mayor urged him once again to come immediately. He agreed reluctantly, then hung up the phone and swept Ginger into his embrace. “You're sure you don't mind?”

“Of course not.”

He kissed her goodbye, only in pretense for the INS men, he told himself, and hurried out the door.

 

Ginger turned to the two men. “Thank you for being so considerate. Joe is moving his work from Chicago to Mission Creek. We both prefer it here.”

“I'm happy to hear that. But as I was saying, I think the government might agree to consider you abused. A woman abused by her husband can leave him and still receive her green card. I think that your mother's abuse of you, as you're still technically a child would count the same. You could still get the
green card for your marriage, but you can get it more quickly this way. Not waiting for a year.”

“Truly?” Ginger asked, afraid to breathe. “And I can stay forever?”

“Forever,” Fisher agreed solemnly and then broke into a smile when she burst into tears. “Here, now. No need to cry.”

The oven buzzed, distracting Ginger. She pulled the rolls, now a tender brown and smelling heavenly, out of the oven and put them on top of the stove. “You must taste my rolls to celebrate!” she exclaimed. She dished one on each saucer and put them before the men. Then she refilled their coffee cups. Joining them at the table, she listened to every detail.

After the men left, Ginger cleaned the kitchen, her heart filled with joy. She would be an American for life. She could apply for her citizenship. Her dream had come true because of Joe. She owed it all to him. Left on her own, she would have run and been in hiding the rest of her life.

But would Joe see that? Would he send her back to her apartment if he thought living with him wasn't necessary? She froze at that thought. She didn't want to leave Joe. She could convince him. She could! Gretta had taught her how to please a man. Oh, not in bed. Gretta had said that was the easy way. The hard way was to go with your emotions. Show him he was the most important person in the world to you.

Joe
was
the most important man in the world. She would not care about staying in America without
him. So what should she do? If only she didn't need to tell him. She could—She gasped. Could she do such a devious thing?

To achieve happiness with Joe, she could.

She would stay in Joe's condo and try to convince him that she was important to him, too. She could contribute to their marriage in many ways. But she wouldn't use sex to tempt him. That wouldn't be fair. It was bad enough that she was keeping the truth from him. She would show him life together could be good. Yes, that was what she'd do.

 

Joe drove a little too fast on his return to the condo. He'd been gone a little more than an hour, but he had good news. He'd gotten the job, but what would that mean to him if he lost Ginger? He'd planned on throwing himself on the mercy of the law if they tried to send her away.

He checked the windows of his condo, afraid he'd see them dark and empty. But the lights were on and he held his breath. Surely that meant Ginger was still there. They wouldn't have taken her away until he got back, would they? He parked in a hurry and jumped out of the car. He rushed into the building to his apartment and pushed open the door, noting that it wasn't locked. “Ginger?”

“Here, Joe,” she said, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“Where are the government men? Are they still here?”

“No. They said this obviously was a bad time and
there was no rush. They would be in contact later.” She smiled at him. “How did the meeting go?”

“Great. But they didn't threaten you, or say you'd have to come back to their office?”

“No, not at all. They were very nice. They said we had at least a year. That's what you said earlier, isn't it? They said they'd call us. Now, pull out a chair and tell me all about your meeting.”

Joe felt a little dazed as he sat down. He'd been worrying the entire time he was gone. He'd been anxious for the government work, but he found it didn't mean nearly as much as Ginger's safety and whether or not Ginger got to stay. “Uh, they liked my plan. Good thing I'd prepared for it.”

Ginger threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. He squeezed her tight and thought yes, it was a good thing, now that he was home with Ginger.

 

Joe sat down to a terrific dinner. Not that Ginger did all the work. He helped out. They made it together. While they did, she chatted about how nice it was to be in their own home. But she quickly added how much she loved his mother and father.

During dinner they talked about his plans again for the development he was going to work on.

“Will you make enough to cover your expenses, or will you need to find more jobs, too?”

“I'll make enough for several years, honey. I told you they pay architects a lot here. Is there something you want?” She'd never asked for anything specifi
cally, but he didn't want his wife lacking for anything.

She stared at him, a startled expression on her face. “Me? Want something? No, I was trying to be subtle,” she said, a rueful expression on her face. “I want to—to use my savings, but if we need it to buy, I don't have to—to spend it. I can put it in the bank.”