by Calista Fox
“I suppose I’ve acted as though it does.” She selected more of the nightgowns she favored, one in every color. Carrying them over to the cashier’s desk, she laid them across the wide wooded top and said, “Why don’t you wrap these up for me? Save me a trip to Austin. And about eight dollars per nightgown.”
“I have less overhead than department stores,” she said before blowing her nose.
“I’m sure your customers appreciate the prices.”
Ginger let out a soft laugh, despite the tension she still felt over the situation with Ryan. “You’re about to become one of my customers. Are you sure you want that?”
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I have been ogre, I know. But, Ginger…” Her visage and her stance suddenly changed. She let out a long sigh and turned away as her arms fell to her sides. “I don’t want the young, single women in Wilder following in my shoes.”
Ginger’s brows knitted. That was the absolute last thing she’d expected the reverend’s wife to say. “Explain that further,” she requested, as Lydia had done earlier in her salon.
As the other woman’s fingers skimmed over a pair of satin panties, she said, “I used to enjoy wearing delicate, pretty things like this. Made me feel attractive. Alluring, even. Jonathan would say it softened me. Lord knew, I turned into a stiff, regimented reverend’s wife. Even Jack said so, that terrible day I knocked over the candles in your shop.” She turned back to Ginger and added, “He was the best friend I’d ever had and I alienated him. Almost put him out of business too, because I was the one to drive Jonathan to push for the ban on alcohol on Sundays.”
“Hard for a saloon to survive in that paradigm.”
“Yes, though I truly hadn’t put much thought into how it would impact Jack’s business. I thought I was doing the right thing, advocating for God, so to speak.”
“Not everyone has to believe in what you believe in, Lydia. Diversity and varying opinions are good things. A lot of success stories have happened in this town because of open-minded views, whereas a number of bad things have happened because of narrow-mindedness.”
Lydia gave this some thought, then squared her shoulders and said, “I know I’ve been self-righteous, but I don’t want other’s making my mistakes.”
“What mistakes are those?”
Swallowing hard, she confessed, “I had pre-marital sex when I was just eighteen years old. I fell for a boy who was in town for bible study. He didn’t talk me into anything—I knew what I was doing. I got pregnant. He didn’t feel about me the way I felt for him and he wanted nothing to do with the baby.”
Ginger sank into her chair, the wind knocked out of her. She merely stared at Lydia, not saying a word, letting the reverend’s wife continue with her admission.
“I was humiliated and scared, of course, but determined to have the baby. I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to give my child the sort of love and affection I’d never received from my own parents. I grew up in a very hostile environment,” she said with a shudder. “And I wanted to create a loving home for my own family.”
“I had no idea,” Ginger said. “I’m so sorry.”
With a wave of her hand, Lydia added, “That’s not something anyone in town talks about, because I pretty much kept it under wraps. Jack knew, however. And when he found out I was going to have a baby and there was no father to stand up and take responsibility, Jack converted the boathouse on his parents’ property into a cottage so I could live there and raise my child. He even offered to help me. Marry me.”
A tear pooled in Lydia’s eye and it tugged at Ginger’s heart. Her nemesis had a very disturbing past, and Ginger could see the shame, guilt and sadness she’d harbored all this time.
Standing, Ginger pulled a few tissues from the box and handed them to Lydia. “What happened after that?”
“I had a miscarriage.” This brought on more tears that Lydia wiped away. “I was devastated. I had so wanted that child. It didn’t matter if I had to raise it on my own. I was determined to do whatever necessary. I loved it from the moment I learned of its existence.”
Ginger placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry you lost your baby, Lydia.”
“Thank you.” She took a few moments to compose herself, then said, “I went to church and confessed my sins. I needed something to get me through the trying time and Jonathan offered guidance and introduced me to a faith I believed was unwavering.”
This caused Ginger to eye her skeptically. “Are you saying your faith isn’t unwavering?”
Lydia’s lips quivered as she spoke. “When Jonathan and I fell in love, I thought of it as my second chance. Redemption and salvation and all that. He’s such a warm, kind man and I loved him dearly. I still do. But for three years we tried to get pregnant and…nothing happened. After all that time, making love felt tawdry. As though it was a sin, because we weren’t accomplishing anything. We were just…having sex.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I’ve spent twenty-five years being a virgin, and I don’t feel it was the least bit tawdry to—” She pressed two fingers to her lips as her eyes widened over her monumental slip. Lydia’s brow lifted, but it was too late for Ginger to cover her tracks. Her hand dropped from her mouth and she said, “When it’s with the right person, it’s not a sin, Lydia.”
The reverend’s wife turned away again, wandering aimlessly about the store. Eventually, she stopped her pacing and looked back at Ginger. “I enjoyed it,” she admitted. “I enjoyed making love with my husband. But I thought I was being punished for what I’d done when I was eighteen and I didn’t want him to be punished as well.”
“So you kicked him out of your bedroom? How is that not punishing him?”
Mortification crossed her plain features, but only for a second. She said, “Ryan told you we have separate bedrooms?”
“He mentioned it. Not in a gossipy way. There was context around it that pertained to me and him.”
“Well,” she said as she folded her arms over her chest again, this time in a defensive way. “The fact of the matter is, I didn’t ask Jonathan to sleep in a different room. He chose to do it all on his own.”
Ginger gasped. She couldn’t even imagine how deeply that would cut.
“I don’t blame him,” Lydia was quick to say. “Why not move out? All he received in my bedroom was the cold shoulder as I rolled over to my side of the bed every evening without so much as a goodnight kiss.”
“Lydia.” Ginger closed the gap between them and gripped the other woman’s upper arms. “Have you ever considered you’ve gone too far?”
More tears pooled in her eyes. “Of course. But when you’ve reached the end of the path, there’s no going back.”
“Yes, there is. You don’t have to keep up this pious behavior. Being a good Christian isn’t about shunning others for their choices, it’s about helping them and letting them find their way. It’s about accepting the differences people inherently have. You can’t force everyone to be just like you. Especially when you’re not the least bit happy with who you’ve become.”
It was an easy call to make, now that Ginger had seen the vulnerability Lydia had hidden behind her holier-than-thou attitude.
“You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Ginger.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t approve of promiscuity and pre-marital sex because I don’t want girls like you and Liza Brooks making the same mistake I did. All I can think is that the reason God won’t grace me with a child is because I got pregnant when I was eighteen and unwed.”
Releasing Lydia’s arms, Ginger raised hers in the air and proclaimed, “Lydia, that could happen to any eighteen-year-old, unwed woman! And whether she loses the baby or not could have absolutely nothing to do with divine intervention. Furthermore, your inability to have children could be physical or biological—not God’s punishment. I mean, have you and Jonathan even seen a specialist about this?�
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Her shoulders tensed. “No, we have not. I wouldn’t subject him to that after all we’ve been through.”
“So you latched onto the easiest explanation and then cast your condemnation of your own actions onto others in town.” Ginger shook her head. “Shame on you. And for the record, Liza and I are not girls. We’re sensible women in love, Lydia. For better or for worse.”
Lydia’s shocked expression over Ginger’s outburst turned challenging. “Really?” she demanded. “For better or for worse?”
Ginger’s own self-righteous bubble burst. Planting her hands on her hips, she engaged in the sort of standoff with Lydia that involved a whole lot of staring and a monumental amount of self-assessment.
Lydia did not back down.
Endless moments passed until Ginger took a stand. It was time. “Yes,” she said in a strong voice. “Ryan wants to chase after bad guys and make this town a safer place. And I have to support him, because I love him.”
“Indeed,” Lydia said with a nod. And a surprising hint of approval. She whisked away the rest of her tears and added, “Well, then. I suppose we ought to wait this ordeal out the way families should—together.”
Ginger brushed a few fresh drops from her own cheeks. “I suppose you’re right.” She returned to the cashier’s desk and wrapped up Lydia’s purchases. Then they locked the door behind them and crossed the street to the diner.
Jonathan stood as they joined everyone at a large table by the window. He said, “I was about to come get you two.” His gaze shifted from Ginger to Lydia. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” his wife assured him as she set her shopper’s bag on the floor and took the seat next to him.
Ginger sat across from the reverend and next to Jack. “Any word?” she asked.
The dismal look on Jack’s face alarmed her. He said, “Madeline has some news.”
Ginger’s gaze moved to the woman sitting beside Lydia. The police dispatcher said, “Connor Jenkins relieved me a little while ago, and when I was collecting my things and getting ready to head out, he got a call from Mark Davis who said he’d heard gunshots on his property.”
The air around Ginger seemed to compress. Her stomach twisted again.
Jack dropped a comforting arm around her shoulders and Jonathan placed his hand over hers as it rested on the table. Lydia covered Jonathan’s hand, which drew a few curious stares from the group—and great, albeit silent, interest from her husband.
Madeline continued. “There’s an abandoned hunter’s cabin on Mark’s property, which he’s never done a thing with, since he doesn’t hunt. It was built by the previous owner. The sheriff suspects that’s where the robbers are holed up. The posse’s heading that way now.”
“Reverend,” Liza said, “I never thought I’d say this to you, but perhaps a prayer is in order.”
Ginger’s heart nearly stopped.
Chapter Eight
Ryan met up with Sheriff Johnson, Dan and Miller on the outskirts of town. They’d all learned of the gunshots heard on Mark’s property and the sheriff said, “I’ll take Dan and Miller in the SUV. Ryan, I want you to head back into town and keep up your patrol, in case we discover it’s just a couple of kids causing trouble on Mark’s property, shootin’ up aluminum cans.”
Dan and Miller transferred their additional weaponry to the SUV. Ryan glanced back at his cruiser, then said to the sheriff, “I’d like to go with you.”
“Not this time. It could be dangerous.”
“That’s part of my job,” he argued. “I wasn’t expecting it to be smooth sailing.”
With a nod, Sheriff Johnson said, “I appreciate your dedication and you’re enthusiasm. But you don’t have any experience with this sort of thing yet.”
Ryan eyed the two deputies. Then he said, “With all due respect, sir, have Dan and Miller seen this kind of trouble before?”
The older man frowned. But he couldn’t dispute the obvious. “We’ve had some scuffles in town, but no. We don’t get armed robbers in Wilder as a rule. But, Ryan,” he was quick to add, “Dan and Miller have dealt with situations that had the potential to escalate into something dangerous for all parties involved.”
“I know I’m green, but I’m well trained and I won’t go off half-cocked. I’ll do exactly as you tell me to, sir. If you’ll give me a chance to prove myself.”
The sheriff hedged. Ryan’s anxiety mounted. He wasn’t looking to get himself shot, but this was his chosen profession. And, as he’d said, hunting down armed criminals was part of the job.
Finally, the sheriff said, “We’re wasting time. Leave the cruiser here and come with us.” The four men climbed into the SUV and the sheriff told them, “We’ll stakeout the ridge above Mark’s land. The whole area is wooded, so we’ll move in from above, on foot, and see what’s what in the cabin.”
“There are trails that lead down to the valley where the cabin sits,” Dan announced. “As long as we’re not spotted, we can get right up close and personal without a vehicle.”
Ryan certainly didn’t relish the idea of confronting the thieves, but he wanted them caught and was determined to do what he could to ensure it happened.
They parked a ways back from the ridge, where the forest turned dense and the SUV couldn’t navigate the foliage and fallen trees. Armed and wearing their Kevlar vests, they made their way to the bluff overlooking the hunter’s cabin, tucked into the woods.
The sheriff surveyed the area with his binoculars, then scowled. “Shot the hell out of the shed.” He took another look around and said, “Dan, run this plate.” He gave a number his deputy scribbled on a small pad of paper. While Dan returned to the SUV and the laptop inside it that would provide all the information they needed, the sheriff said, “Black sedan. Buick. Mid-nineties, I suspect. Parked right out in the open. These guys aren’t too bright.”
Neither Ryan nor Miller dared mention they’d managed to rob three people and make off with hundreds of dollars in cash, food and supplies, countless other amounts in jewelry, a gun and a full tank of gas.
When Dan returned, he said of the car, “Reported stolen in Ft. Worth almost two weeks ago.”
“Bingo,” the sheriff said. He walked back to the SUV, stowed the binoculars and loaded his shotgun. “Let’s bring these guys in.”
Ryan’s adrenaline spiked. He wasn’t suicidal by any stretch of the imagination, especially when a pretty, petite blonde waited for him back in town. Regardless of Ginger’s reservations, he’d already convinced himself he could win her back. He just had to keep from getting his head blown off.
They made their way down to the valley, using the thick patches of forest and shrubbery to conceal themselves. A good hundred yards from the cabin, they stopped and listened for any sort of activity. All seemed quiet on the home front.
Sheriff Johnson said in a low voice, “Miller and I will take the entrance. Dan, you cover the back. Try to get beneath that window we were looking at without being noticed. Ryan, take cover behind that cord of wood by the shed. They might make a run for it out the backdoor.”
The deputies nodded and the group dispersed, moving as swiftly as possible. Ryan and Dan were the youngest and stealthiest. Sheriff Johnson wove his way easily through the overgrown bushes until Ryan lost sight of him. Miller was a bit hindered by his age and the fact he was no longer in prime physical condition. The two men storming the front would likely force the robbers out the back, or the window, as the sheriff banked on, and Ryan positioned himself behind the woodpile, carefully peeking around the stack to keep an eye on the cabin. His gun drawn, he was poised and ready for whatever came his way.
That did not, however, keep his pulse from raging so loudly in his ears it was a wonder he could hear the sheriff shout out his warning to the thieves before the splintering of wood echoed in the quiet valley. He’d likely busted down the door with his foot.
Ryan’s gaze never left the backdoor, but he was cognizant of his surroundings and so f
ocused, he could see even the slightest of movements out of his peripheral vision. While two shots rang out from inside the cabin, he saw the burly redhead, who’d been sprawled across Ginger several days ago, lumber toward the shed from the north side. Not an effective hideout, so perhaps the sheriff was right. These guys might not be too bright.
Dan popped his head up and assessed the situation in the cabin through the window, then signaled to Ryan all was well. In turn, Ryan gestured toward the shed, and they both made their move in that direction, his heart thundering in his chest.
There was a window along the south wall of the shed, the latter of which had holes blown into its sides, apparently from target practice—or sheer boredom. The glass pane had been shot up too, and was a mess of jagged angles. Ryan crept along one side of the cabin as Dan went in the opposite direction, toward the door.
When Dan yelled, “Sheriff’s office, hands up!” a large wooden box came flying through the window, above Ryan’s head.
Shards rained down on him and he used his arms to shield himself, though he felt a few slices from the glass along his forearms and biceps. Seconds later, the burly redhead dove out the window, landing right in front of Ryan.
The robber was on his feet a heartbeat later. Dan called out from the other side of the window, “He’s not armed!”
Ryan ignored the blood and the pain from his wounds and holstered his gun. He jumped to his feet and only needed four long strides to catch up to the redhead. He lunged forward and tackled the robber, using the precise move he’d employed with the redhead’s cohort on Friday night. He gripped the thief’s arm and pulled it behind his back, shoving it upward until the robber cried out in agony.
“That’s for Ginger,” Ryan ground out. “From now on, keep your hands to yourself.”
* * * * *
“Ginger, try to eat something,” Jess said.
“I’m really not hungry,” she countered as she picked at the slab of meatloaf and the mountain of mashed potatoes Melodie had set before her half an hour ago. Ginger pushed the food around her plate with a fork as she stole glances out the window.
