The Night She Got Lucky

  It would be her pleasure, she said.

  The boys retreated to the family room to watch the 49ers exhibition game while Ginger cooked. Their game-watching included bouts of arguing, but at least it was at the usual decibel level and there were no sounds of fists striking flesh. Ginger had to admit it had been nice to see Jason treat his brother with deference these past ten days. She didn’t delude herself, however. The kindness wouldn’t last, especially since Joshua had been determined to suck every drop of benefit from his brother’s guilty conscience. For a week now, Jason had not only been whipping up his brother’s made-to-order smoothies, he’d also been doing Josh’s laundry and making his bed. But now that Josh had gotten the word that his teeth were fine and he could go back to real food, Ginger knew things would return to normal.

  She opened the pantry and cursed under her breath. She usually kept a couple cans of organic refried beans on hand, but she couldn’t seem to find them. Josh strolled into the kitchen as Ginger began to pull out cans of soup and tuna and jars of peanut butter.

  “What you looking for, Mumu? Need help reaching something?”

  Ginger smiled at her son, the future president of the United States, whose speech was markedly less slurred. “Refried beans. I thought for sure I bought some.”

  “Oh,” Jason said, entering the kitchen behind his brother. “I think I ate ’em last night.”

  Ginger frowned, not recalling that she’d seen him make a snack. “Both cans? When was that?”

  Jason shrugged. “I don’t know—one or two in the morning, I guess, whenever it was I woke up starving. I heated them in the microwave and scooped them up with Cheetos and saltines.”

  Ginger shuddered at the thought. At least he’d cleaned up after himself.

  “I’ll go get some,” Joshua said. “Be right back.”

  He was back in about ten minutes, two cans of refried beans in his hands. “Here you go, Mumu. How long till we eat?”

  “Thanks, honey,” she said, immediately rinsing off the lids and sticking them under the magnet of the electric can opener. “By the time you guys set the table and get your drinks, it’ll be time to eat.”

  The doorbell rang. Both her sons looked out to the foyer quizzically. HeatherLynn let loose with a series of high-pitched yaps usually reserved for the most special occasions, such as the arrival of the FedEx man.

  “See who that is, please, Jason.”

  Ginger dumped the beans into a pot and set them on low. With a wooden spoon she stirred in some shredded cheese, diced jalapeños, and salsa to add a little zing.

  “Hey, Mom?” Jason called from the foyer.

  “Who in the world is that?” Josh mumbled from behind Ginger’s shoulder.

  “Who is it, honey?” she called to Jason.

  “Buenos tardes, Señora Garrison,” said the sultry voice.

  She dropped the wooden spoon to the floor. Refried beans splattered everywhere.

  Unexpected. Fun. Entertaining. Charming. Ginger leaned back in her dining room chair and tried to think of how she’d describe this impromptu dinner with Lucio Montevez as the guest of honor. She’d need to come up with something, because, without a doubt, she’d be telling Josie, Roxie, and Bea about it on Monday morning’s walk.

  She hadn’t seen her boys this animated in years. Joshua had been pumping Lucio for details about his travels and the heads of state and foreign officials he’d met over the years. Jason grilled Lucio for information on lenses, filters, and tripods—things Ginger didn’t even know he had an interest in.

  HeatherLynn had curled up in Lucio’s lap soon after they’d sat down at the table and she hadn’t budged since. Lucio occasionally stroked her ears, her head, her back. The little dog looked like she’d died and gone to heaven.

  Every once in a while, Lucio would pull away from conversation with the boys and give Ginger a smile or nod. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure, but he seemed to be conveying to her that he liked her kids and was enjoying himself.

  One thing Lucio didn’t leave open to interpretation was his opinion of her cooking. “This is exquisite,” he said, helping himself to a third chicken enchilada. “Do you cook this extravagantly every night?”

  Ginger chuckled. She’d never seen canned beans and enchiladas made with grocery-store rotisserie chicken as extravagant. “What do you usually eat, Lucio?” she asked.

  “Ah, well, that is not a simple answer.” He thought about it as he served the boys an extra enchilada each. “I eat what is on the menu wherever I am. When I’m in San Francisco, that means anything and everything I want—Chinese, Greek, Spanish even.”

  “What about when you’re on assignment?” Jason asked.

  “Yes, well, then it can be a handful of nuts and a drink from my canteen if that’s all that’s available. Depending on my location, eating can be the biggest adventure of all.”

  “You mean you’ve eaten some weird shii—” Jason’s eyes flashed toward Ginger as he stopped himself in mid-profanity. “You’ve eaten some weird stuff, right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Jason propped his elbows on the table and leaned in, fascinated. “Like what? What was the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten? Pig brains? Goat feet?”

  “How about refried beans and saltines?” Josh asked, laughing.

  “I ate that last night,” Jason explained to Lucio, looking embarrassed.

  “Hmm.” Lucio smiled at Ginger again and stroked HeatherLynn’s fur. The bichon looked perfectly content. “Well, I remember that once on the island of Okinawa I ate a live octopus.”

  “Live?” Josh’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  “As I recall, it was more of a wrestling match than a dinner.” Lucio laughed at the boys’ horrified looks. “The creature bit my tongue on the way down. I’d probably do the same if someone tried to eat me alive.”

  “Whoa,” Jason said, gulping.

  Joshua’s face lit up. “What else?”

  “There were those bamboo worms in Laos,” Lucio said, as if he were going down a checklist in his mind. “Quite crunchy, I recall. A hog-ear salad in Vietnam. Moose-bone soup in the Alaskan interior. Oh, and the reindeer herders of northwestern Russia make a mean ptarmigan stew.”

  Jason looked slightly green. “I don’t even know what a ptarmigan is, and I’m afraid to ask.”

  “It’s in the grouse family,” Joshua told him impatiently. “Anything else?” he asked Lucio.

  “Well, let me see…” He silently checked in with Ginger to see if it was all right to continue. She smiled at him, though she felt slightly green around the gills. Lucio seemed reenergized with the go-ahead. “Boiled fish eyeballs off the coast of Mexico. Ants in Zimbabwe. Fried sheep testicles in Iowa.”

  “Whoa,” Joshua said.

  “Okay, I think we get the picture,” Jason said, swallowing hard.

  Ginger sighed. “That certainly explains why you thought my enchiladas were extravagant,” she said.

  Everyone laughed.

  The boys wanted to know more about Lucio’s work at Geographica magazine—where he’d studied photography, how he’d been hired, the kinds of stories he photographed, and his favorite adventures.

  Lucio talked a long while before he told the boys he had a thousand stories, and that he’d share more later. But he said there was one thing he wanted them to understand. “The job of a nature photographer used to be to capture the wonder and beauty our world has to offer, but lately the job is to capture it one last time before it is gone forever. It is the only story worth telling these days, but still, few people want to listen.”

  “I do,” Joshua said, his face solemn.

  “Then we will have much to talk about,” Lucio said, smiling at him.

  “So why is it you came back to the States?” Jason asked.

  With that last question, Ginger noticed Lucio’s demeanor grow even more serious. His shoulders, usually level and held high, dipped under the weight of the topic.

  “I
ran into some legal and political problems in China, and had to come back to the States to try to sort it all out.”

  “What happened?” Ginger asked. Lucio shut his eyes, which made her momentarily regret her inquiry. “I’m sorry for asking that—it isn’t any of our business. You don’t have to answer.”

  Lucio’s eyes opened and he locked his gaze on hers. His dark irises swirled with emotion. “Oh, but I have nothing to hide. I have done nothing wrong.” He turned to the boys. “Someone took my raw video footage and delivered it to the Chinese government, then managed to submit several false expense claims on my magazine account. They even forged my signature.” Lucio shrugged and looked at Ginger again. “I was accused of spying and stealing. I got kicked out of the country and lost my Geographica contract.”

  Ginger’s spine straightened. The boys looked excited.

  “So you’re a spy?” Joshua asked, practically drooling at the prospect of having a secret agent at their dining room table.

  Lucio laughed. “I just take pictures. And I’m not a thief, either, though no one seems to believe me. So now I must pay back the money and start again.”

  “Do you know who did it?” Joshua asked.

  “I have a few ideas, and someday soon my name will be cleared.”

  With that offhand comment, the events of the last few weeks began to make sense to Ginger. This was why Lucio had suddenly decided to switch to pet portraits—he needed the money. The concept may have originated as a pickup line at Rick and Josie’s wedding, but now Lucio was desperate. That’s why he had showed up at her house a couple weeks ago. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him making a few bucks.

  Uggghhh. Ginger’s tasty enchiladas had suddenly turned to rock in her belly. Men! Who was she fooling? Lucio Montevez was not one of the point-one percent of decent men left in the world. He was just like all the others.

  Ginger began to stack plates and silverware to clear the table.

  “I will do this,” Lucio said. “Please, bonita. You have done too much already.” She watched as Lucio took HeatherLynn in his arms and rose from his chair. He walked through to the living room and headed right toward the dog’s bed by the fireplace. He placed her on her pillow, as if he’d done it a million times before.

  How did he know to do that?

  “We’ll help,” Jason said, and the boys jumped up and followed Lucio into the kitchen, stacks of dishes in their hands.

  Ginger sat alone at the table, trying to get her mind to sort out all the inconsistencies. Okay, she could believe Lucio wasn’t a spy or a thief. She’d give him that much. And she believed he was who he said he was, because Rick Rousseau was his friend, and Rick was the most stand-up guy she’d ever encountered.

  And the boys sure seemed to like him.

  And HeatherLynn obviously loved him.

  But what, exactly, was happening between the two of them—Lucio and Ginger? That was where it got muddled.

  She’d allowed herself to believe there really was something to the feelings she had for him. She’d let herself think his kiss and caress delivered such a thrill because he was special. She really thought all the heat and passion she felt were somehow linked to destiny. She’d considered the possibility that he’d been waiting for her, just as Mrs. Needleman had predicted.

  But what if all that sexy sweetness was an act, a sales pitch? A sales pitch from a desperate guy prone to stretching the truth?

  The sound of her boys’ laughter jarred her from her thoughts. Ginger rose from the table and peeked around the pocket doors that were open to the kitchen. Lucio was elbow-deep in a sink full of suds, scrubbing out the casserole pan. The boys were loading the dishwasher, continuing their barrage of questions, including one from Jason about whether he could work as Lucio’s assistant.

  “I would be honored, if it is all right with your parents,” he said.

  “So if you got framed for spying and stealing, why did you get the nickname ‘Lucky’?” Joshua asked.

  Lucio’s laughter rose up into the air along with the steam from the sink of hot water. He finished rinsing the pan and shook his head, still chuckling. “It is a very long story that will have to wait for another time, I’m afraid.” He dried his hands on a towel. “I wanted to talk with your mother. Can you finish up in here?”

  “Sure,” Jason said.

  “No problem,” Joshua said.

  Ginger rushed back to her chair and casually crossed her legs, trying to appear lost in thought. When Lucio entered the dining room, he was rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. She got a peek of the dark olive skin of his forearms, the sprinkling of dark hair, the thick twist of muscle and bone.

  The heat was back. In spite of everything—including the very real possibility that Lucio might have the personality of a used-car salesman—Ginger felt the heat flare inside her. The idea that she couldn’t control her reaction to him made her frown. She reached up and patted her fingertips on her brow.

  “Is something the matter, guapa?”

  “No. Why?” Ginger stiffened.

  “Because you are tapping your forehead. Is it a headache?”

  Ginger ripped her hand away from her head and she shoved it between her crossed thighs. “I’m fine.”

  “I could not help but notice you have a lovely garden. Can we walk for a moment, do you think?” He held out his hand to her.

  He must have seen her eyes dart to the kitchen because he said, “I will not keep you from your sons for very long, but there is something important I must discuss with you.”

  She looked up at him. His eyes were dark and his lids heavy. A gentle smile played on his lips. His cheekbones were bold and his beard stubble looked rough. Of course she felt heat in his presence. It was perfectly understandable. He was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on in her life, and she might be forty, but she hadn’t completely flatlined. Not yet, anyway.

  Ginger let out a helpless little moan. She didn’t intend to. When it came to Lucio Montevez, there were many things she didn’t intend that happened anyway.

  “Please. Come with me.” His hand reached for her.

  The offer was much like the one she received weeks ago in Sonoma Valley. She’d refused his hand that night. But tonight, in her home and with her boys in the next room, she knew she would accept. For reasons she could not even begin to fathom, the words of Mrs. Needleman began to waft through her mind. You must listen to your heart, Genevieve, not your fear.

  “Oh, sure. Why not?” Ginger said. She reached up and Lucio was there to catch her hand. His palm was still warm and damp. His grip was confident but gentle. He pulled her to a stand, and her knees were so weak she nearly fell into him.

  Swooning could do that to a girl.

  CHAPTER 7

  Lucio had not meant to take a meal with the Garrisons. He had not even known that Ginger’s sons would be at her house that evening. Stupid of him! He knew nothing of the woman and her life, so he’d walked right into the middle of a cozy family evening. It was the last thing he’d expected, and the last thing he’d wanted. But his intentions no longer mattered. He’d ended up sharing a feast with the family, and now everything was far more complicated.

  Lucio had long ago perfected the ability to manage garden-variety lust. It was simple, really. He just had to remain detached emotionally while hooking up physically. It required balance. Lucio would give the woman enough of himself that he wouldn’t seem distant, and accept a large enough portion of the woman’s affection so that she would feel needed. But no gifts. No promises for the future. No “I love yous.” Certainly no meals with the woman’s family.

  And up until that evening, that was all Lucio had had with Ginger Garrison—lust. Granted, it was an unusually strong kind of lust. It was a lust so forceful it made his thoughts fuzzy and his blood hot—but, at its core, it had been only lust.

  Until now.

  Lucio had enjoyed himself thoroughly. He liked the Garrison twins more than he
would have anticipated. They were spoiled American boys, yes, but they were smart and funny and interested in the bigger world. Lucio could work with that.

  The meal was delicious. The home was comfortable and gracious. He’d laughed more that night than he had in many months. He enjoyed the way the little spoiled dog felt curled up on his lap.

  And oh, how he liked sitting next to Ginger.

  So it pained him to know what she was thinking. At some point during the meal, Ginger had decided his interest in her was only financial. He’d seen the realization hit her, taking the light right out of her eyes. She believed he was after her money to help repay the stolen funds and that anything else they’d shared was a ruse.

  The thought was so wrong it was funny, but Lucio now had to decide if he wished to correct the misunderstanding. That was his problem, and it was a big one.

  Lucio glanced to his side, just to watch Ginger walk. She created a pretty profile—a straight, small nose, a delicate chin, and lovely full lips. Her skin was much paler than his own, but tinged with a warm undertone and a few scattered freckles, especially on her chest. Ginger was long and lean and curvy in precisely the right places. She was a graceful woman.

  He took a moment to really think this through: If Ginger thought he was only after her money, then she would hold him at arm’s length. She would pay him his fee and might give him the names of potential clients and then leave it at that. And that’s what he wanted, yes? He wanted to sort out his professional difficulties and resume his life. He was itching to get out of San Francisco and back on the road, yes?

  Lucio peeked down at where Ginger’s hand had slipped into his. Her fingers were long and elegant, like the rest of her. Like her arms. Her neck. Her’

  “What are you thinking about, Lucio?” Her question jarred him from his private inventory.

  “I am sorry, señora. You’ll have to forgive me, but I am not like many men.”

  She chuckled. “No kidding.”

  He squeezed her hand and smiled. “What I mean is that I experience everything through my eyes. I understand my world by the light, the line, the composition and form. I was admiring how all those elements come together in you. It is pure pleasure to look at you. That’s what I was thinking.”