A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(91)

Her tears came from the knowledge that they could move on now. They’d really dealt with the past and could forge a future cast in love, trust and hope.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Grace said, coming into the workroom. Troy stood behind her.

Ginger lifted her head. “How did you get in without ringing the bell?”

“I think it tinkled, Ginger,” Grace said. “You’re crying your little eyes out! What’s the matter?”

“Oh, dear. Listen, may I have a few minutes to collect myself? Then I can tell you all about it. It’s not bad, really. I just need...”

“Sure,” Grace said. “I’ll be right here.”

Ginger made an attempt at a smile and fled up the back stairs to that little loft she’d come to love. She washed her face, patted it dry and went back into the tiny living room.

Where she nearly ran into Grace.

“You should lock the door if you want to be alone,” Grace said.

“Oh, man, what are you doing?”

“Butting in,” Grace said. “Look, sometimes we need to cry alone, sometimes we need a good friend to bear witness. Can you talk about it?”

Ginger sank onto the sofa. “It’s really not as dramatic as it looks. I somehow convinced Matt he had to make peace with his ex-wife before we could move on together. It was a little more emotional for him than he expected but he told me he’s glad he did it. In fact, he thanked me for pushing him to do that.” She shook her head. “Grace, he was so angry and from what Peyton has told me, Matt’s not like that. And I know, having been divorced after a short and unhappy marriage, how feeling like a failure can just piss you off. I wanted Matt to be free of that before we try to make our way together. I just miss him. And God, how lovely for him to say he feels so much better and it was thanks to me. That’s all. I got a little sentimental and weepy.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I’ve never been with a man who said I made his life better.”

Grace smiled. “I’m with one. It’s very nice.”

“I know. Troy is perfect for you. He’s wonderful.”

“Why are you here?” Grace asked.

“Here?” Ginger repeated. “I just thought I’d wash my face and—”

“No, Ginger. Here in Thunder Point. Pack a bag. Drive north.” She looked at her watch. “You’ll get there before dinner. You can watch the sunset together tonight. You can hold on to each other and talk about the new life you’ll have together. Starting now.”

“Grace, I can’t leave you,” she said. “I promised! You’re pregnant and your mother is sick!”

Grace laughed. “Oh, I’m going to have to replace you so I hope it works out for you on Matt’s big old farm because if it doesn’t, I might not have a job for you!” She pulled Ginger’s hands into hers. “Listen, my friend, you stepped into my shop and made it possible for me to finish building a house, get my mother transplanted, get her fixed up with a nurse she adores, helped me get married and move! I even made a trip to San Francisco to do a little work on managing that cumbersome estate while you held down the fort for me and even though you were paid a little, you did it all out of the generosity of that great big heart of yours. Now, don’t waste any more time. Pack a bag. Quickly. You can come back next week to get the rest of your things.”

“How can I leave you that fast?” she whispered. “What if you need me?”

Grace laughed. “First of all, I have Iris and Troy for a while longer before school starts. I have a delivery boy and he’s great. I have Waylan, Al, even Seth sometimes helps me cart my stuff inside, though I don’t need them—I’m completely capable. Besides, from the second I first saw you with Matt I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep you. Now, are you going to argue with me or are you going to run to him? Run to him so you can wrap him in your arms and tell him how much you love him and how proud you are of him?”

Fresh tears wet her cheeks. “I’m so proud of him,” she whispered.

“It’s a brand-new life, Ginger. You’ve waited long enough. Don’t waste another minute.”

* * *

Matt turned on the faucet in the deep sink behind the house, the sink used to wash the mud off vegetables from his mother’s garden. He stuck his head under the cold water. He squeezed liquid detergent right onto his head, his curling black hair, and plunged his hands into the lather. He watched the brown dirt flow down the drain with the soap and water. It wasn’t a proper shampoo but it would be good enough for now. He lifted his head and shook off the water like a dog would, then he took the bar of soap and the brush and began scrubbing his filthy hands while water from his head dripped on his shirt, leaving his collar wet. He rinsed his hands, scrubbed, rinsed, scrubbed, rinsed and finally turned off the faucet and grabbed the towel. He wiped it down his face and left it streaked with dirt. Drying his hands, he turned. And he saw her again.

He’d been seeing her all day. In exactly those clothes, too—that long, lace skirt, denim jacket and brown boots. He’d finally decided he at least had superior hallucinations when the breeze caught her skirt and lifted it. Some of her soft honey-blond hair blew across her face and she raised a hand to push it back over her ear.

God! She was real!

He threw down the towel and ran to her. She opened her arms and for just a split second he thought, If I’m dying it’s all right because this is the way I choose to go. Before he could complete the thought, he filled his arms with her. His lips were buried in the soft fragrance of her neck.