Out Of Bounds: Risky Game Part 29

"Yes, but the one a.s.signed to the show is having a problem with her pregnancy and just when I was about to hire another one," he pointed a fry at her, "you called and said you were down to your last five hundred bucks. Now, you have a job-with all your expenses paid for the next three months, I might add."

"But you said I was your a.s.sistant!"

"You are my a.s.sistant, Ginger. But you're also gonna have to be the makeup artist. I can't afford both. It'll look good to my dad if I come in under budget, so before you ask, I'm not paying you both salaries. I've already earmarked that money for a couple of other upgrades to the show."

"I don't want both salaries, Diesel. And I'm very grateful for the job, but what makes you think I'm qualified to be a makeup artist?"

Diesel swallowed another bite of his sandwich. "You took two years of stage production at Julliard. And, you did your own makeup all those years when you were in your mom's ballet company. I've seen your work. It's magical."

Magical, yeah, if they were filming Beauty and the Beast, she thought to herself. Somehow, Ginger didn't think that was what the network had in mind. She stared at Diesel. His enthusiasm-like his confidence-was so fragile right now. She didn't dare let him down. Not when she owed him so much. She forced a tight smile meant to rea.s.sure him. At the same time, her mind whirled with fear. And possibilities. Her dad often said she was like a cat, graceful and fluid and always landing on her feet. Which, in a way, was true, Ginger Walsh did always land on her feet. Of course, at the rate she was going, she'd blow through the nine lives before she hit thirty.

"Okay." She pushed her half eaten sandwich to the side. "The B&B has Internet access, right?"

"Sure." Diesel dragged a fry through some ketchup before putting it in his mouth.

"Great." She was still friends with several of the makeup artists from the soap. If she was lucky, she could Skype with one or two of them later that night to pick up some pointers. "I'm going to head back then." Ginger hoisted her messenger bag off the floor and stood up from the table.

"Give me a minute to finish my lunch and I'll drive you," Diesel said. "It's clear across town."

He was right, the inn was clear across town. But since Chance Inlet boasted only one stop light, clear across town barely equaled three New York City blocks. Obviously, Diesel had gone soft in the six weeks he'd been in North Carolina for the show's pre-production.

"I think I can manage. Besides, it's a beautiful day for a walk." It was mid-March and while slush still lingered on the ground in Manhattan, a warm breeze blew along the Carolina coast, with trees and flowers blooming in the bright spring sunshine. "I'll see you back there later." Ginger gave him a cheeky grin as she headed for the door.

"Don't forget we have a full production meeting at the B&B this afternoon during tea time. They serve these awesome cupcakes with their tea." Diesel's voice took on a reverential tone as he mentioned the cupcakes.

Great, now I have to battle cupcakes. The man hadn't even finished his 'heart attack on a plate' sandwich and he was thinking about dessert. Life was seriously unfair, she thought as she set a brisk pace toward the B&B.

"I don't think it's the plumbing. I think it's the dang dishwasher that's gone all catawampus on ya."

Gavin McAlister propped his hip against the large granite island anchoring the kitchen of the Tide Me Over Inn, staring at a pair of ancient work boots stretching out from under the sink.

"I told ya when we put the second dishwasher in, the lines were solid. It's not my plumbin'." The voice underneath the sink was a bit defensive, but Gavin was used to the old man's bl.u.s.tering. Morgan Balch had been working for McAlister construction since Gavin was in kindergarten and he was the same cantankerous character today he'd been 25 years ago. Gavin put up with the old coot because Morgan was the best plumber south of Wilmington and because he knew that behind all the complaining, the man was loyal and honest as the day was long.

"Are you saying I need a new dishwasher?" Patricia McAlister, Gavin's mother, pa.s.sed through the kitchen on her way to the inn's industrial laundry room, her arms filled with used towels. In her late fifties, his mom still looked ready to take on the world. Her shoulder-length red hair had faded to a champagne color years ago. Gavin was surprised it wasn't gray after raising five children, three of them boys born barely four years apart. Soft laugh lines fanned out beside her hazel eyes and a few more wrinkles showed up each pa.s.sing year, but she still turned heads wherever she went, even dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a gray cashmere cardigan.

"I'll call in the morning," Gavin said reaching down to help Morgan to his feet. "It's still under warranty."

"No, I'll call." Patricia dumped the towels in the laundry room and returned to the kitchen. "It's my inn. I've been running it alone for over two years. I certainly know how to call a repairman." She stopped in front of Gavin, waiting for him to disagree, but she was right. She had been running the B&B on her own since it opened, and quite successfully, too. In fact, the Tide Me Over Inn had received a four diamond rating each year it had been in operation.

"Okay." Gavin leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "You win. But don't let them try to sell you a new one. This one's not even six months old."

His mother patted him on the chest; she hadn't been able to reach the top of his head since he was fourteen. "I may not have all the advanced degrees my children have, but give me a little credit for having street sense."

"Don't know why you need two dishwashers, anyhow," Morgan mumbled.

"Because," Patricia said patiently, as if it was the first time she and Morgan had had this discussion. "On days when the inn is full and we have a large crowd for tea, we need the extra machine. With two dishwashers, I don't have to stand at the sink all night hand washing. I have other things to do with my time."

Morgan let out an indignant snort. He'd been a close friend of Donald McAlister, Gavin's late father, and he wasn't afraid to voice his disapproval of Patricia's active social life, especially since it included dating. Gavin's older brother, Miles, was pretty vocal in that area as well. But his mother had been a widow for over two years. She was young, attractive, and vibrant and Gavin didn't begrudge her a little happiness.

"You've only got the couple of crew from the Historical Restorations show staying here tonight." Gavin cut off Morgan's mumblings before Patricia could take offense. "With the rest of them staying in the chain hotel in town where they can smoke, you shouldn't need both dishwashers."

Patricia eyed Morgan as he loaded up his toolbox before turning to her son. "Yes, but the whole crew usually comes for tea. And the little soap opera star they brought along apparently has food issues. She asked if she could prepare her own meals here while the show is in production."

"Soap opera star?" Gavin grabbed a bottle of water out of the two-door Subzero fridge.

Patricia began arranging cookies on platter. "Destiny Upchurch, from Saints and Sinners."

"You're lettin' that gal stay here?" Morgan asked.

"Why is there a soap opera actress here?" Gavin asked at the same time.

"She's just the actress who played Destiny, Morgan. I'm sure she's nothing like the little witch she played on the show. Except for being a bit of a diva about her food, of course."

Morgan s.n.a.t.c.hed a cookie from the plate. "I didn't like that girl when she was on the show."

"n.o.body did." Patricia covered the platter in plastic wrap so Morgan couldn't pilfer the rest of them. "She was a nasty teenager, always pretending to be sweet and innocent. Then, wham, she was causing trouble for Savannah Rich."

"Ahh," Morgan said wistfully. "Now, that Savannah is one sweet gal. Pretty, too."

"Hey!" Gavin raised his voice in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. "Enough about the soap opera, already." Morgan and his mother were talking about these people as if they really knew them. He turned to the plumber. "I can't believe you actually watch that c.r.a.p. And you, Mom . . ."

"What? I fold a lot of laundry each afternoon, not that I should have to explain myself to my son." Patricia snapped a dishtowel at her son. "I like something mindless on the TV while I work and, really, since Bob Barker left, The Price Is Right just isn't the same."

"Yeah, I don't care for that Drew Carey fella, either," Morgan added.

Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, trying in vain to rein in his annoyance. "Can we fast forward to the actress here at the inn?"

"She's a teenager," Morgan said. "Too young for the likes of you. Anyway, everyone in town knows you've got some little chippy up in Wilmington."

Gavin groaned. Nothing was sacred in a small town, his dating life in particular, which seemed to be the focus of everyone living in Chances Inlet.

Patricia laughed. "I'm pretty sure she's older than her character on TV." Still smiling at Gavin, she filled the two kettles. "She's probably mid-twenties. Kind of cute, if you like girls who are leggy, waif-like, and all angles around the face. She probably got that way by a.n.a.lyzing every morsel she's ever eaten."

"Mom . . ." Everyone in the family-and in town, for that matter-said Gavin was the McAlister with the most patience, but it began to fray as his mother continued to evade his question.

"She does have pretty eyes." Patricia turned from the sink. "They're very unique."

"But. What. Is. She. Doing. Here?" Gavin demanded.

His mother had a habit of taking in strays; mostly women who needed a safe place to land. Occasionally, these women came with a crazy husband/boyfriend/father in pursuit. He didn't want the soap opera diva to be another one of those women. Gavin wouldn't interfere in his mother's efforts to run the inn or her social life, but he'd d.a.m.n sure protect her from herself when necessary.

"Oh, well, her name is Ginger and she's working with Diesel."

As if that said it all.

It was Morgan's turn to groan at the mention of the heavily tattooed, managing producer of Historical Restorations. "That guy looks like a little punk."

"Don't judge, Morgan." Not surprising, Patricia stuck up for the producer. "I get the sense there's a lot more to Diesel than he wants us to see. Maybe even more than he knows. I don't think he had a very loving upbringing."

Which was his mom's way of saying Diesel was another one of her strays. Gavin's mother was all about the power of family. She bought into the whole story of the founding of Chances Inlet. As the lore had it, it was the town of second chances and Patricia McAlister believed everyone who wandered into town deserved a second chance.

Morgan let out another snort before waving his way out the back door.

"It's like I always say: G.o.d puts these people in front of us for a reason. We need to help them," Patricia said softly.

Gavin glanced out of the large box bay window above the sink. Out in the yard, Lori Hunt, the current maid/kitchen helper at the B&B, who was another of his mother's strays, played with a pair of dogs.

Patricia followed his gaze. "She may tell me her story one day. But for now, she needs a safe place to stay. And you have to admit, she makes a wonderful cupcake."

"I just don't want to see anyone get hurt. Especially you, Mom."

"She won't hurt me."

No, but what kind of trouble would she bring to his mother's doorstep, he wondered.

"Are you excited about the project?" his mother asked, deftly changing the subject. "You've been fascinated with Dresden house since you were a little boy. Daddy always said it was the reason you became an architect."

Gavin took a drink of water as his mother pulled out china tea cups, placing them on a silver serving dish. She was right; he'd loved that old house. But what once was a place to play pirates or, later, study cla.s.sic architecture, now held the key to his escape from this small town. But his mother didn't need to know that.

"It's a great opportunity, but it isn't going to be easy. I'm glad McAlister Construction is doing the renovation, but I'm not looking forward to being followed around by a television crew."

"Well, you couldn't afford to do the renovation without those TV cameras and Marvin Goldman footing the bill. And the women will be beating down your door after the first episode."

Gavin leaned against the island again and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "That's hardly the purpose of doing the show." He had enough notoriety in his home town. He still hadn't lived down his Bachelor of the Month in Cosmo and that was years ago. Then, there was the whole mess with Amanda. He didn't want any more attention from women trying to fix his love life. It was one of the reasons he couldn't wait to leave again.

But first, he had to get out from beneath the mountain of debt his father had left the firm buried under. Thankfully, his younger brother, Ryan, played for the major league baseball team owned by America Cable. A few select words by their star second baseman in the appropriate ears, and McAlister Construction had a reality TV show. It felt a little like Gavin had pimped himself out, but the ends justified the means.

Patricia nudged Gavin's hip so he'd slide away from the utensil drawer. Humming happily, she pulled out spoons and set them on the silver tray. His mother could easily relate to his obsession with restoring Dresden house. She'd been equally as obsessed about renovating and operating the inn. And his father had, against all odds, made it happen for his wife. Gavin just couldn't let his mother know what it had cost Donald McAlister.

He bent to kiss her on the head. "I'm out of here. Call me tomorrow and let me know what the repairman says."

"Don't you want to stay for tea? It's Sunday. Or, have you got something better planned? Maybe in Wilmington?" she teased.

"I stay out of your personal life, Mom. You stay out of mine."

"Words your brother Miles should live by," his mother called as he walked out the screen door onto the large veranda that wrapped around three sides of the inn.

Gavin put on his Ray-Bans and headed for his Jeep. "Midas!" He whistled for his dog as he punched the unlock b.u.t.ton on his key fob.

The big golden retriever bounded around the corner of the inn just as a woman entered the driveway. She was too far off for Gavin to make out her face, but she strode purposefully toward the B and B as if she belonged there. It had to be the soap star. Dressed in black yoga pants that accentuated a pair of long, shapely legs and a hot pink, zippered hoodie that hid everything else, she didn't exactly fit his mother's description of 'waiflike'. He couldn't make out her eyes-his mother said something about them being unique-because they were hidden behind a pair of aviator sungla.s.ses. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot that was probably meant to look artless, but it had likely taken her an hour to complete.

Midas skidded to a halt, eyeing both the open Jeep door and the woman obliviously walking up to the veranda. Gavin tensed as he realized the potential for disaster.

"Come!" he commanded. He was calculating the distance to the dog just as Midas bolted for the unsuspecting woman. "Ah, s.h.i.t!" He raced after his dog.

Berkley Sensation t.i.tles by Tracy Solheim.

GAME ON.

FOOLISH GAMES.

RISKY GAME.