If there hadn’t been a steeple on the top and stained-glass windows flanking the double doors in the front, the little white church set back off the road would have looked like a plain clapboard house.

Ginger felt a little overdressed as she entered the sanctuary with the Carson sisters, but the feeling soon went away when she looked around at the small congregation. The ladies all wore hats and gloves. Most of the men wore creased jeans and nice shirts. Some had on sports jackets, but not many. Evidently Easter was the biggest holiday in Texas.

She felt all eyes on her as she followed Kate down the center aisle and took her seat on the second pew with them. No one else joined them on the long, polished oak bench, but then there seemed to be plenty of room for maybe another fifty people. The place wasn’t nearly as crowded as the last little church she’d attended on Mother’s Day before she was kicked out of the system.

She picked a hymnal from the pew in front of her and thumbed through it. From what she could remember, it was about the same as the one she’d sung from a year ago, but this cover was burgundy instead of forest green. The music director took his place behind the podium. They sang a congregational song before the church secretary reported on what the Sunday-school offering and attendance had been that morning. Then the lady compared it to the previous week and made a few comments about how good it was to see the attendance up by 50 percent that day.

Ginger glanced over her shoulder and figured that meant last week there were only about half as many folks in the building, but then Rooster wasn’t a very big place, so maybe that was a good number. The sign on the edge of the city limits said it had a population of ninety-five. She’d thought it had to be a mistake until she saw just how few houses there were in the town.

The preacher took his place behind the podium, looked out over the crowd, and adjusted his reading glasses to the right place on his nose. With a deep voice, he told them that he’d be speaking about the Resurrection that morning.

Surprise! Surprise! Ginger thought, but then she began to compare where she’d been a week ago to the place she was that morning. She wasn’t Jesus—not by any means. But she’d been in a very dark place for three days, just like he’d been in the tomb. She’d lost her job, was down to her last bowl of cereal, and had walked the streets looking for work. Everyone had taken one look at her rounded belly and shaken their heads. Now she’d been brought out of the dark into the light. Jesus got to ascend into heaven at the end of his days. She wondered if her final destination would feel like heaven to her.

Betsy startled her when she leaned over and whispered, “I wonder if Sloan has the eggs all hidden. Last year it took us a whole hour to find the last one.”

The preacher cleared his throat, and Betsy straightened up. Ginger noticed that she’d crossed her fingers like a little girl who was either telling a lie or hoping for something.

“Eli Thomas, will you please deliver the benediction for us this morning?” the preacher asked.

An old guy on the pew behind them stood to his feet and prayed, and prayed, and then prayed some more. Ginger was sure she’d either fall asleep listening to his monotone or get a crick in her neck from trying to look over her shoulder at him before he finally ran out of air and said, “Amen.” The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes and was able to focus again was that Betsy’s fingers weren’t crossed anymore and that everyone was getting to their feet.

“I didn’t get my wish this morning,” Betsy whispered.

“What did you wish for?” Ginger asked.

“Same thing we all did,” Kate answered.

Connie scanned the area around them and then said in a low voice, “We all hoped that the preacher would ask Everett Dickson to pray. He keeps things short and sweet.”

Ginger bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Y’all are so funny.”

Before any one of them could answer, a lady touched Betsy on the shoulder. “I thought I might drop by tomorrow and pick up a few jars of jelly. Have you got strawberry and grape made up?”

“I sure do.” Betsy nodded.

Several other women had approached Betsy by the time they were outside and asked if they could come by the next day to pick up jams or jellies. She graciously told them that it would be fine and then broke into laughter when she got into the car.

“I swear to God, and I do not mean that blasphemously right here on Easter morning”—Betsy took a lace-edged hankie from her pink handbag and wiped her eyes with it—“that I’ve never had this much business on a Sunday morning in my life. Ginger, you are my good-luck charm.”

“How’s that?” Ginger asked.

“They want to find out about you, so we’re going to play this close to our vests. Tomorrow I want you to help Connie and stay out of sight.” Betsy rubbed her white-gloved hands in glee.

“You’re evil,” Connie laughed, “and I love it. I bet you sell every jar of jams and jellies that you have made by next Sunday.”

“I’m plannin’ on it,” Betsy said sweetly.

Ginger thought the whole thing was a hoot. Folks in Rooster must love gossip and drama as much as the people in the shelter had. She’d always avoided that kind of thing, but today it was more than a little humorous.

Kate parked the car in the garage, and they all went inside through the kitchen. Sloan was leaning against the doorjamb leading from the kitchen to the dining room. He was dressed in his usual camouflage pants, and his dark hair had recently been combed back. His biceps stretched the knit of his army-green shirt, and a smile barely tickled the corners of his mouth.

“Well, don’t you ladies all look just like a picture out of one of those fancy magazines,” he drawled.

“Thank you,” the Carson sisters said in unison.

Ginger nodded, afraid that her voice would be all high and squeaky. Just looking at him had jacked up her pulse. She should feel guilty for feeling that way—after all, she was carrying another man’s baby.

“Are you ready for the annual picture-taking event?” His eyes locked with hers.

“Just make me look pretty in the pictures,” she whispered.

“That won’t be a problem.” He grinned.

“Yep,” Betsy said. “We want some with us sisters, and then we want some with Ginger in the photograph with us.”

“Are you sure you want me in the pictures?” Ginger asked.

“Of course,” Connie said. “You’re with us this Easter, so you should be in the book. Mama would like that.”

The ladies posed on the porch exactly like they had in the pictures Ginger had seen in the album. They lined up from oldest to youngest, put their arms around each other’s shoulders, and smiled at the camera. Their big hats would have been the rage at the Kentucky Derby, what with the huge bows and floral arrangements. Her fascinator had looked pretentious to her that morning when she’d settled it on her head, but now the poor little thing made her appear underdressed.

For the first several pictures, she stood beside Sloan as he snapped away with his phone. Every time the wind shifted, she caught a whiff of his shaving lotion—something woodsy with a hint of a fiery, spicy aroma that sent her senses reeling.

Dammit! Pregnant women don’t feel this kind of thing.

Chapter Six

Easter dinner was the traditional ham, sweet potato casserole, baked beans, hot rolls, and a lovely green salad. At least that’s what Betsy said it was. Ginger couldn’t have proven it by her past. The only real celebration dinner she might have known had been when she was with the religious couple. That year, she couldn’t answer the questions about the Resurrection, so she didn’t get to eat, but one of the other children slipped her a ham sandwich after dinner was over.

The ladies removed their gloves, but they wore their new dresses and hats to the table that afternoon. Sometime during the meal, Ginger laid her hand on her stomach and silently told the baby that this was like eating with the Queen of England. The best china had been brought out of the cabinet, and the sterling silver had been polished. Ginger fingered the lace cloth that covered the table and felt the heat rising from candles. Before he died, Lucas had gotten high and told her a little about his family and how much he hated what people expected of folks who had money. She’d thought he had been affected by the pot and the liquor, but when she met his mother, it all became pretty real.

If he was so against having money, then why did he try to scam so many people? she wondered, putting another bite of ham into her mouth. She was jerked out of the past and into the present when Sloan accidentally brushed her shoulder as he reached for the bread basket to passed it down to Kate.

“What do you think, Ginger? Want to put your bet on the table?” Kate asked.