DevilinTexas

by Calista Fox

  Liza took that to mean their discussion on Ginger’s failing shop—and Lydia’s responsibility for it—was closed.

  Well, one thing was for certain. When the good citizens of Wilder didn’t want to talk about something, they let you know about it.

  Liza focused all of her attention on the floral arrangement she was miraculously creating and then tidied up the shop while Jess came and went. She found it odd that the phone only rang twice. Once when Jess was in the shop, so she’d taken the order. The second call had come while she was on a delivery. It’d been a wrong number.

  As the clock inched toward noon and Liza anticipated her lunch with Ginger, the little chime at the front door told her someone had come in. Thinking it was Jess returning, she came from the back work area, saying, “It’s been quiet, so I—”

  Liza drew up short in the middle of the store. Lydia Bain looked as shocked to see her as Liza was. Composing herself quickly, Liza said, “Hello, Lydia. I thought you were Jess.”

  “Obviously.” She moved further into the shop, heading toward one of the refrigerators with the pre-made arrangements.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Liza asked. She recalled what Jack had told her last night and she tried to muster that empathy again, despite the fact that her earlier tangent had her all worked up over Wilder politics and the Bains’ effect on people’s livelihoods.

  “I take it Jess isn’t in.”

  “Making a delivery.”

  “Well,” Lydia said as her gaze slid over Liza, taking in her fitted, red cami top with the thin straps and her black dress pants and matching strappy sandals. Liza had yet to break out the pearls and conservative clothes she’d worn for her mother and Peter. She was, in fact, considering donating them to the local Goodwill. Lydia would probably snatch them right up. As long as she didn’t know who’d worn them previously.

  Not that she’d believe they’d belonged to Liza.

  “I’m interested in an arrangement for the salon,” Lydia said. “But I’ll wait for Jess to return. I want her opinion.”

  Not grinding her teeth together in frustration was difficult for Liza. “I have a pretty decent eye,” she said. “I’d be happy to help.” It was her job, after all.

  Lydia was certainly reluctant. But eventually she conceded, likely because she knew how rude she was being. Not exactly appropriate behavior for the reverend’s wife. “Fine. I’m looking for something to fill the space in the corner of the shop by the hairdryers.”

  Liza conjured a mental image of the beauty salon. Jess had been in that far corner. Next to her had been a white end table with lavender scroll-accents painted along the edges. The walls of the salon were a faint, buttery color. Very dainty and prim. Liza stepped up to the wall of coolers that sectioned off the display area of the store from the work area. She surveyed the arrangements.

  “You’ll want something tall and full so it doesn’t get swallowed up in that big, empty corner.”

  “Yes,” Lydia agreed, albeit reluctantly. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  The easy choice was the bouquet of yellow and lavender flowers in the clear vase. But, although the arrangement would be color-coordinated with the shop, it’d hardly make a statement. Liza opened one of the doors and pulled out the summer bouquet with a variety of vibrant colors, the predominate ones being pale green and bright magenta. The flowers were held in a large ceramic pitcher, with colorful horizontal stripes painted on it.

  She turned to Lydia and said, “This would definitely stand out. It’d brighten that entire corner and I think the vase would make an excellent conversation piece.”

  At first, Lydia’s eyes lit up, as though she completely agreed and could easily envision the arrangement in her salon. But then the corners of her mouth dipped and she seemed to debate her course of action. Finally, she said, “While that is very stunning, it might be too much in my little shop. A bit too overwhelming and out of place.”

  Her gaze lifted from the arrangement to meet Liza’s, who bit back the retort lingering on her tongue. Taking the high road, she returned the vase to its shelf and reached for the tried and true.

  Turning back to Lydia, she said, “This is probably better suited for you.” Though the yellows and lavenders—and certainly the clear vase—would look boring as hell in non-Techincolor Kansas.

  “Yes,” Lydia said with a tight smile. “This is the one. Much more appropriate.”

  “Of course.” Liza took the flowers to the cashier’s desk. Jess had given her a crash course on the register and she rang Lydia up. “That’ll be twenty-one even.”

  She handed over twenty-five dollars and said, “The rest is for Jess. I always tip her when she delivers. Stopping in feels like I’m cheating her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your generosity.” It was a bitch being civil, but Liza was trying to fit in here. Not cause too much of a scene, though she had half a mind to. How insulting to be the one providing service to Lydia and Lydia pointing out the tip was for Jess.

  The money had nothing to do it. Liza didn’t give a rip about the four-dollar gratuity. What rubbed her raw was Lydia’s blatant snub.

  “Well, then,” Lydia said as she gathered up her purse and floral arrangement. “Thank you for your time.”

  Not her help. Her time.

  Lydia turned on her sensible flats and walked off.

  Liza watched her go. She couldn’t help but wonder if Jess always delivered the flowers to Lydia’s shop, what had possessed Lydia to stop in today? She knew Liza worked here now. Lydia had made the announcement yesterday.

  Had her Royal Witchiness come in just to size Liza up?

  * * * * *

  After Jess returned, Liza walked down the sidewalk, rounded the corner and headed toward Pietro’s for her lunch with Ginger.

  She truly hoped she could help her new friend. Even in some small way. Ginger didn’t deserve the moral persecution she was receiving. And good grief. This was the twenty-first century! Hardly the Victorian age when, sure, sexy lingerie had been frowned upon. But today? Sheesh. The reverend’s wife needed to update her views as much as she needed to update her wardrobe.

  Stepping into Pietro’s helped to take the edge off, which always seemed to come with thoughts of Lydia. Today’s mouthwatering aroma hinted at a pesto basil sauce with pine nuts that Liza hoped was paired with angel hair pasta.

  “You’re becoming my new best customer,” Ruby said as Liza strolled over to her podium and admired her hunter-green apron. This one read, “Sausage Taster”. Liza snorted out a laugh at it and wondered if Lydia would get the double entendre. Likely not.

  “Something amuses you?” Ruby asked in her clipped tone, though her now-rosy cheeks declared she knew Liza got the joke. Must be most people didn’t.

  “Just enjoying the humor of your aprons.”

  “I make ‘em myself. Want one?”

  “I’d love one. You figure out the saying.”

  She eyed Liza from head to toe, then said, “I’m on it.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  “Need a menu?”

  “Special.”

  “Figures.”

  Liza’s eyes scanned the lunch crowd and she said, “Looks like my lunch date is here.”

  Ruby frowned. “You stepping out on a Jack, honey?”

  Liza could tell Ruby found that an offensive notion. She couldn’t help but laugh. Nice that Ruby was so protective of him, but…seriously? “Would you?”

  Ruby blushed deeper as she tried to shrug off the question nonchalantly.

  Liza grinned. “I’m having lunch with a new…friend.” The word was a bit foreign to her.

  Leaving Ruby at the podium, she wound her way around the tables until she reached the one Ginger occupied.

  “I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” Liza asked as she sank into the chair across from the petite blonde.

  Ginger glanced up from her menu, a big smile on her fa
ce. “Oh no! Not at all. In fact, I just got here. You know,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve never actually read the menu before. I always just order the special.”

  Liza had to laugh. Ruby was right. What a waste of money on printing costs. Except that last night’s sausage and peppers had rocked her world almost as much as Jack had with his tell-all.

  Ginger closed her menu and pushed it aside. Ruby took their orders—and Liza’s request for a glass of Pinot Grigio to go with the pesto basil pasta. She looked around the restaurant, hoping like hell the reverend or his wife—or both—were having lunch and saw her enjoying a glass of wine in the middle of the day.

  No such luck.

  “So,” Ginger said as she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded-in-half piece of white paper. Opening it, she flattened the sheet on the table and said, “Here’s what I was thinking for my very first window display.”

  Liza’s jaw nearly hit the table. “Wow,” she said. Aside from that, she was speechless.

  First of all, Ginger was a beautiful artist. The attention to detail in her drawing was astounding and the colorful picture she’d sketched with pastels was vivid and left nothing to the imagination.

  Which brought Liza around to her second point.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said of the display Ginger planned to emulate in her shop window. “Sexy, elegant, a wee bit risqué,” she said with a wink. “But really, Ginger. If I walked by your shop and saw that teddy paired with the panties, thigh-high stockings—love the velvet bow on the band, by the way—and slippers, all surrounded by lace and satin and all these gels and oils and candles… I’d buy the whole display, set it up in the bedroom and seduce the hell out of Jack Wade.”

  She laughed. “Something tells me you don’t need to go to all that trouble.”

  “Oh,” Liza said, her cheeks burning. “So you’ve heard about us.”

  “Everybody’s talking about it.” Her smile faltered a little. “I imagine the reverend’s not too happy about the two of you getting together.”

  “What business is it of his?”

  “In my opinion, none. But he has this thing against premarital sex.”

  “So I’ve heard. Who says we’re even having sex?”

  Ginger was the one to blush this time. “Well, no one, of course. But apparently, the way Jack looks at you and touches you in public has the grapevine abuzz with activity.”

  “People in this town have way too much time on their hands.”

  “You said it, sister,” Ruby suddenly chimed in as she set two hot plates, piled high with the delicious smelling and looking pesto-and-angel hair pasta creation, in front of them.

  Yes!

  Exactly what Liza had been hoping for.

  Reaching for her rolled-up flatware, she asked Ruby, “What’s tomorrow’s special?”

  “I have no idea. Mike doesn’t decide until the ‘muse’ kicks in after his second cup of coffee. Little friendly reminder, though,” she said as she eyed both girls. “You keep eating here and you’re gonna wind up looking like me.”

  “What’s wrong with the way you look?” Liza countered. “I bet Ginger could dress you up in something lacy and frilly and Mike’s muse would plan an entire month’s worth of specials in one wild night!”

  “Oh you!” Ruby said, letting out a hearty laugh. “Well, I just… Oh.” She turned and rushed off, but Liza heard her chuckling to herself.

  Ginger smiled. “You are so nice.”

  Liza’s throat closed up. She reached for the glass of wine Ruby had delivered with the meal and took a deep sip, needing a moment to compose herself. She felt the tears sting her eyes and had to blink them away. Why she got so emotional these days when someone said something nice to her—or about her—was beyond her.

  Except that maybe it’d been too long since she’d had such genuinely nice people in her life.

  When she’d composed herself, Liza said, “Thanks. I’m trying to be.”

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t feeling the least bit congenial toward Lydia. Despite the story Jack had told her. Today’s incident in Jess’ shop had left her as cold as every other encounter with Lydia.

  Prompting her to say, “You should set up that display this afternoon. I’m happy to help you if you need it.”

  “Thanks,” Ginger said around a bite of pasta. “I’d take you up on that offer if I could justify it. But the truth is, no one will come in the store this afternoon, so I’ll have plenty of uninterrupted time to put it together.”

  “I like how you have the red and ivory satin and lace framing the window. Nice touch. Very sensual.”

  “The fabric store’s right down the street, so I can pick up what I need after lunch. Although…”

  She sighed and set her fork aside. This alarmed Liza because she could barely stop shoveling in the pasta herself. Good Lord. Mike was a culinary genius.

  “What?” Liza asked, covering her mouth as she spoke while it was full.

  Ginger shook her head. “Oh nothing, really. Just that Dorothy Culver owns the fabric shop and she and Lydia are close friends. I’m sure she’ll tip Lydia off that I’m ‘up to something’ when I come in for satin and lace.”

  Liza did the polite thing and swallowed before she spoke again. “So tell me what you need and I’ll go get it.”

  Though the sexy window display would put the saints in a tizzy, she couldn’t dissuade Ginger from creating it. The girl paid rent for that space, for crying out loud. She could do whatever the hell she pleased in her shop window as long as it was legal. And Liza was sure the mayor hadn’t outlawed thigh-high stockings, even if the reverend and his wife had guilted the townsfolk into believing they were the devil’s clothes.

  But Ginger surprised her by sitting up a little straighter in her chair. She said, “Thanks, but no. It’s my store. It’s my window. And I’m going to decorate it however I please.”

  “Atta girl,” Liza said. She raised her wineglass to Ginger’s iced tea cup, and the rims made a strange clink as the glass and plastic touched.

  Ginger looked pleased with her decision. “You know what? There is absolutely no law against putting my sales rack out on the sidewalk. Every other clothier in town does it. Hell, Murphy Cassidy displays his ugly-as-sin hunters’ garb every single day. God-awful camouflage paired with the most hideous, bright-orange rubber boots known to man. If any clothing displays should be outlawed, it’s his, based strictly on how wretched they are.”

  Liza loved her spirit. “Be sure to mention all of this the next time Lydia tries to guilt you into bringing your nighties inside.”

  “You better believe I will.”

  If Liza wasn’t mistaken, the petite blonde had just grown a backbone.

  Ginger attempted to change the subject and find out more about Liza, but Liza had come to the conclusion over the few days she’d been in Wilder that there was no point in rehashing her past. She could see things much more clearly now and she didn’t like the picture her past painted. About her or the people who’d been in her life.

  She’d had enough defining moments of late to realize that she’d suffered years of growing pains in New York. She had the chance to learn from them and move onward and upward. Right here in Wilder. If that was what she chose to do.

  After lunch, she and Ginger walked together until their directions veered off. At the fork in the sidewalk, Ginger said, “You’ll come by tomorrow and see the display, right?”

  “Absolutely. And we still have the website to discuss.”

  Ginger was positively radiant. Full of a new hope she hadn’t projected when Liza had first met her. “Thank you, Liza.” Ginger threw her arms around her. “You are such a good friend!”

  Blinking back the tears didn’t work this time. Liza squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments, but the drops seeped out the sides.

  Again, when had she become the emotional type?

  Ginger released her and said, “I can’t wait to see how this display comes out. C
ome by as soon as you can, okay?”

  “I take my morning break at Jess’ around ten.”

  “Perfect!” She clasped her hands together and said, “I have material to buy! See you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, thanks for lunch,” Liza called out as Ginger practically skipped down the sidewalk.

  “No, thank you!” she called over her shoulder.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re not going to believe this,” George said as he came through the door of the saloon the next morning. Jack wasn’t open for business, but he’d been expecting his campaign manager.

  Looking up from the limes he was slicing for tonight, Jack asked, “What’s up?”

  Sliding onto a stool at the bar, George said, “We’re going to be two weeks behind in getting our ‘Jack Wade for City Council’ signs.”

  “I thought our slogan was, ‘Jack, Jack! He’s our Man’!”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “You want coffee?”

  “Had more than my fair share this morning. And I’ve got to get to the office anyway. I only had a dental cleaning on the books until this afternoon, so I was able to get some other business out of the way.” George wasn’t the only dentist in town, much to his chagrin. “I stopped by Alex Winger’s shop because he’s always produced signs in less than three days. But he flat out refused to make our signs. Not for the front yards, the street corners or the store windows.”

  Jack frowned. “Why on earth not? Wades have thrown business his way for years. He did all the signage for the saloon and for the newspaper when my dad owned it.”

  “Yeah, well, turns out he’s producing all the signage for the incumbents, including your uncle.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched. “Finds it a conflict of interest, does he?”

  “Apparently so. And he wasn’t the least bit shy about rehashing the scene your father created when he went off about your mother’s affair. Seems he doesn’t want to see another Wade with that much influence in the community.” George sighed. “No offense.”