by Calista Fox
“Yeah, I know the feeling. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to climb out of Jack’s bed.” She winked, then added, “Nothing wrong with spending a Saturday morning under the covers.”
“I’m certainly looking forward to it.” She flipped the envelope over and was about to open it when the grandfather clock chimed. Ginger’s gaze snapped to its elegant, gilt face and she groaned. “Oh good grief. I have a hair appointment with Lydia. I’ve thought all day about cancelling it, but, of course, she frowns upon that.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Liza deadpanned. “Everyone in town knows I’ve resorted to doing my own hair since moving here. And not always successfully.”
“You look fine. You’ve gotten the hang of those highlights. If word gets out about these flowers,” Ginger said, “I might be headed for a bottle job myself.”
Liza gave her a sympathetic look. “I did have to push that cart past her window.”
Ginger cringed. “Cross your fingers she wasn’t up front where she’d see them.”
“Just keep an eye on what styling tool she reaches for. Don’t let her pull a Britney Spears on you by using a razor instead of shears.”
“Oh my God, why did you have to say that?” Dread ribboned through her. She dropped the unopened envelope on the dresser and rushed over to her desk to retrieve her purse and the keys to the boutique. “To top it off, I’m late.”
Liza preceded her to the door. “I don’t envy you the afternoon you’re going to have. But keep your chin up and don’t let her pull a fast one on you.”
Shaking her head, Ginger mumbled, “I just had to go and fall for her nephew, didn’t I?”
She locked the door and walked with Liza to the salon.
“Hang in there,” her friend said with a supportive hug before she returned to the flower shop.
Sucking in a deep breath and shoring up her defenses, a very hesitant Ginger Monroe stepped into the lion’s den.
“Well, there you are,” Lydia said as she stowed a broom behind the tall shelving unit that displayed hair products on sale. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to leave my chair empty this afternoon.”
“Of course not,” Ginger said. “Sorry I’m late. I had some…business to take care of.”
“Mm-hmm. I saw the flowers.”
Lydia turned away and Ginger followed her over to the shampoo station.
Handing over a button-up smock in daisy yellow, Lydia continued. “I suspected that arrangement was for you. You don’t see such an ostentatious presentation on our streets every day. My nephew has clearly developed extravagant taste.”
Ginger had a feeling Lydia wasn’t only referring to the bouquet. She said, “I don’t believe he has extravagant taste. In fact, he’s very down to earth. I just think he likes to make a statement.”
She had to fight back the smile that tickled her lips over the beautiful flowers and the mere thought of Ryan. Settling into an ultra-cushy chair in front of one of the sinks, she let Lydia gather up her hair so Ginger could rest her bare neck in the dip in the porcelain. Lydia dropped the mass of curls in the sink and began to rinse and wash. Neither spoke as Lydia finished with the conditioner and rinsed again. She wrapped a towel around Ginger’s head and they moved to Lydia’s chair in front of a large mirror, framed with mahogany.
Ginger noted there were no other customers in the salon, which was odd. Lydia had part-time stylists who worked the two additional stations, but the woman could also juggle three or four customers at a time all by herself, she was so handy with her combs, scissors and hair color. And she knew how to schedule her clients so she could attend to them in various stages of cutting, highlighting and drying.
So Ginger found it curious they were alone in the shop. And it unnerved her—for good reason.
Lydia jumped right in with a chastising, “I find it difficult to believe the two of you could be so serious about each other so quickly. What on earth could you possibly have in common with Ryan?”
Ginger considered this a moment as Lydia towel-dried her hair and then gently combed the long tresses. Finally, she said, “We have history and shared memories, for one thing. We did grow up together and were very good friends in high school.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but you don’t forget those times and they create a bond. Plus,” Ginger added—not that it was any of Lydia’s business, but she wanted to set the record straight where she and Ryan were concerned, “we both lost our parents at a young age. We can empathize with each other. Ryan even knows how difficult it is for me to be around guns because of my mother’s death and—”
Her gaze met Lydia’s in the mirror as a peculiar—and highly distressing—thought occurred to her.
The dread she’d felt earlier returned. “Aren’t I just the biggest hypocrite in Wilder?” she muttered to herself.
Lydia’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” she asked as she began to snip with the scissors.
Ginger’s heart sank right along with her spirits. Being completely honest with Lydia, she said, “I’m doing to Ryan what you do to me.”
With a frown, Lydia said, “I’m sure I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, I’m pushing my own convictions onto someone when they’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t want Ryan’s gun in my house. I don’t want him carrying it, either. Even though it’s part of his job and could save his life. I don’t like it and I’m forcing him to follow my personal opinion and belief, despite the fact he could end up in a dangerous situation without the proper weapon because I don’t like it.”
Lydia’s frown disappeared and a more thoughtful, quizzical look crossed her face as she continued to trim Ginger’s hair. “Explain that a little further, will you?”
“It’s really quite simple. You don’t like my lingerie because it doesn’t suit your taste and because you have a preconceived notion about it. So you harass me on a regular basis about putting my nightgowns on the street, when I’m just trying to entice customers so I stay in business. Regardless of your personal preference, Lydia, there are plenty of women in Wilder who like satin nighties and lacy panties and bras.”
“Well, they’re just so inappropriate.”
“How would you know?” Ginger suddenly challenged. “You never even look at them. You just assume everything’s indecent and sinful, and I assure you, that is not the case.”
The other woman was tight-lipped as she worked on Ginger’s hair. When she was done, she pulled out the blow dryer, keeping the conversation from resuming. She turned Ginger’s chair away from the mirror to dry the front and then she flipped the switch on the device and the room was suddenly cast into an uncomfortable silence again.
Lydia lifted her chin, then swiveled the chair around for Ginger to get a good look at her new ’do.
She gasped. “We didn’t talk about this,” she said as she stared at her reflection, shock on her face. “You always give me the same trim.”
“Yes, well, you had some split ends I needed to take care of.”
Ginger stared at her shorter locks, which sat on her shoulders. The strands were fluffy and healthy looking and the overall effect was actually quite stunning.
“Well?” Lydia demanded. “What do you think?”
Ginger was speechless for a few seconds. She’d never considered asking Lydia to take five or six inches off her hair—and instantly regretted not having her do it sooner. All that hair had been weighty, and though she’d always had bouncy curls, the thick mass had felt heavy and sometimes oppressive, particularly during the summer months with all the heat and humidity in the air.
Surprised she had to admit it, she told Lydia, “I love it.”
“Are you sure? Because if not, there’s no charge.”
Emotion swelled in Ginger’s throat. She thought of what Ryan had said about Lydia wanting children, and that softened Ginger’s heart. She also thought of her own shortcomings, one of which she’d shared with Lydia thi
s afternoon. There had to be some sort of common ground for them, if for no other reason than for Ryan’s sake.
Tears prickled the backs of her eyes as she said, “Of course I’ll pay you. And I really do love the cut. It’s perfect. I never realized I should have shorter hair. It looks fantastic, Lydia.”
“I’m glad you like it. I think it brightens your face, not that you’ve needed much help with that since my nephew returned.”
Ginger stood and slipped off the smock. Handing it over, she said, “I know you don’t approve of us. But, Lydia, do you really doubt Ryan’s judgment? And for that matter, how can you dislike someone simply because they sell lingerie? I’m actually a very nice person—ask anyone. I volunteer at the animal shelter, I attend church every Sunday before I open the boutique and I’m always willing to lend a helping hand to someone in need.”
With a sigh, Lydia said, “I don’t dislike you, Ginger. I dislike what you display on the sidewalks and in your store.”
“You’ve never even been in my store, Lydia,” she said in a more forceful tone. “Other than when you burned down the first one.”
“That was an accident,” Lydia told her in a remorseful tone. “And I am so sorry, Ginger. But as the reverend’s wife, I honestly cannot condone your wares.”
“There’s just no way you’re going to see reason in this situation, is there?” She pulled out cash from her wallet and set it on the countertop at Lydia’s station. “Well, I won’t be as stubborn as you, Lydia. Because it’s just not worth it.”
She turned sharply and marched out of the salon. As she stalked down the sidewalk to her store, she caught a glimpse of Ryan, Jack and George in front of the diner. Here was her chance to tell him she’d changed her stance on him carrying a gun.
How foolish she’d been to hinder him. And how sweet he’d been to try to set her mind at ease by not toting a gun in her presence. She owed him big time.
Ginger rushed over and threw her arms around him. “Those flowers are insane!” she gushed.
He lifted her off the ground and gave her a rigid squeeze that lasted a bit longer than she’d anticipated, which brought on an instant bought of panic.
When he released her, she demanded, “What’s wrong?”
Ryan wore a grave expression. He said, “I was just telling Jack and George that Walton Moore’s pawn shop was robbed while he was out to lunch. The surveillance cameras were on, thankfully, and we ID’d our two thieves.”
Ginger’s stomach plummeted. “No,” she said on a sharp breath. “That means they’re still here, terrorizing the town.”
“Means more than that,” George chimed in. “Ryan told us they stole cash, some jewelry and a .357 magnum.”
“Now they’re armed,” Jack stated the obvious.
She staggered backward and wrapped her arms around her waist, because now her stomach coiled so tight, it hurt.
Ryan studied her closely, gauging her reaction to the news. He used a calm tone on her as he said, “Don’t get all worked up, sweetheart. The sheriff and Dan Baker are sweeping the area, and Miller and I are going to join them as they broaden the search. We’ll find these guys.”
“That’s what worries me,” she mumbled, her voice cracking.
“Why don’t we step into your shop?” Ryan suggested. He took her by the elbow and guided her across the street.
She unlocked the door and they moved inside, Ryan setting the deadbolt behind them.
He told her, “You should sit. Your face has turned ghostly white.”
“Of course it has. These guys are now armed, Ryan. And you’re going after them.”
“I’ve got my gun.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“I know that disturbs you, and I’m sorry. But the sheriff and I have already discussed this and he wants me carrying my 9mm. I want to as well, truth be told. Especially when dealing with these particular criminals.”
Ginger’s stomach twisted further, along with her heart. She said, “I was going to tell you I agree you should carry a gun. It occurred to me when I was speaking with Lydia. I want you to protect yourself. But, Ryan…” Her voice trailed off. She could barely breathe, her chest constricted so harshly. Yet she managed to add, “Now that this has become a reality—not just something we’ve debated in theory—I’m torn again about what you’re choosing to do for a living.”
He gripped her shoulders and stared down at her. “I’m going to be fine. I don’t want you worrying about me.”
“How can I not?” she insisted. “You might have training and tenacity on your side, but you’ve never dealt with dangerous criminals before, Ryan. This isn’t an exercise at a policy academy—this is real life!”
The hazardous situation sent a tremor of fear through her body.
“This is my job, Ginger.”
“I’m not saying I doubt your abilities, but there’s no telling what these guys are willing to do to get away with the robberies. They could kill someone with that .357 magnum. It could be you.”
The tremor turned into full-on quaking. Ryan pulled her to him and held her in a firm embrace.
“Ginger,” he whispered against her hair. “I don’t want you to be scared. I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful. You have to believe that.”
She shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I can’t do this. I can’t even begin to imagine how horrific it would be if anything happened to you. I just… I can’t do this, Ryan.”
Anxiety built so quickly, she started to hyperventilate.
Ryan released her and clasped her shoulders again. With a deadly serious look on his face, he said, “Take a few breaths.”
She did, and though it helped to get the oxygen flowing almost normally again, it did nothing to soothe her jangled nerves.
“Now,” he continued. “I need you to go across the street to the diner. Jack and George will be there, and Liza, Jess and Reese are joining them. I want you to stay there, with your friends, until I come back for you.”
She shook her head again and he let out a low growl.
“Damn it, Ginger, don’t make me worry about you while I’m trying to help the sheriff. And don’t make me agonize over whether you’re calling it off between us. Just do as I ask, please.”
His beautiful blue eyes bore into her, imploring her to trust him and to do as he requested.
Of course the last thing Ginger wanted was to be an obstacle. To present any sort of impediment in such a dire situation.
So she said, “I’ll go. But once this is over—”
“Let’s save that conversation for later. I’ve got to go.” He kissed her on the top of the head, then released her and turned toward the door. He stopped short of it, however, and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Get whatever you need from here and go to the diner,” he repeated. “Quickly.”
“I will,” she said as tears slid down her flushed cheeks. “I promise. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. And that you’ll come back.”
He grinned at her, though it was a tight one. “I do promise.”
She stared after him as the door closed behind him. Then she looked around her store, thinking it was once the only dream she’d ever had for herself. But her new dream had become a life with Ryan. And just like her store when Lydia had set it ablaze, her dream was once again in jeopardy.
As her gaze landed on the ridiculously huge ensemble of flowers Jess had created for her upon Ryan’s request, the bell over her door jingled. Ginger started and her head whipped in that direction.
She gasped, instantly taken aback as Lydia entered.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked the reverend’s wife.
Wearing a contrite expression, Lydia said, “Jonathan and I are joining the others across the street. I saw Ryan leave and you didn’t come out, so I just… Well, of course I know you must be distraught over the news and the manhunt. I came to get you.”
More tears streamed down Ging
er’s hot cheeks. She swiped at them with shaky fingers, but they continued to flow. “I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t abide or understand this, Lydia, but I love him. And I honestly couldn’t take it if anything happened to him.”
Surprisingly, the reverend’s wife wrapped her arms around Ginger and held her as she wept. Lydia smoothed a hand down her hair and then patted her back softly, maternally. She said, “This is difficult for all of us. But Jonathan was right when he said it was Ryan’s choice. We have to trust in the skills he’s learned and his natural instincts. And, Ginger, he won’t be alone.”
A new realization seemed to dawn on Ryan’s aunt, because Lydia pulled away, her hands clasping Ginger’s biceps. “Is he armed?”
With a nod, Ginger said, “I’m sure Sheriff Johnson insisted and Ryan agreed.”
Relief washed over Lydia’s face. “That’s a comfort. Now let me get you some tissues.”
She began to make her way to the cashier’s desk, but pulled up short and eyed a nightgown hanging on a rack. Lifting the hanger from the display, she turned back to Ginger, an incredulous look on her face. “This is the same nightgown I buy at a department store in Austin.”
It was a simple, full-length one made of seafoam-dyed cotton, with wide satin straps and matching trim around the modest neckline.
Ginger sniffled, then said, “I carry a variety of styles to appeal to a wide range of tastes. The mayor’s wife likes that one too.”
Perplexed, and obviously stunned, Lydia mumbled, “I didn’t realize. Nor did I know it came in colors. The store in Austin only carries white.”
Getting her own tissues, since Lydia had abandoned that mission, Ginger dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. “I also have it in baby blue, peach, mauve, lilac and daffodil.”
Lydia seemed to process this for a moment as she took in the entire boutique, quite possibly with a new perspective. Finally, her gaze landed on Ginger again and she said, “There are actually some very pretty items in here.”
With a proud smile, Ginger said, “Yes. And my customers like what I have to offer. Tasteful women like what I have to offer, Lydia. Wearing lingerie doesn’t make one a slut.”
