“About once a month,” Betsy answered. “Mama said if you play something too often it’ll get boring, so we vary things. We didn’t play last week because you needed to get settled in a little. It was Kate’s turn to choose our Friday game that time, and she always picks dominoes. Next week it’ll be my turn, and we’re playing Scrabble. That’s good for the mind. Keeps it active. Connie changes her mind and goes back and forth between Monopoly and Yahtzee.”

“I like playing games with y’all and Sloan.” Ginger finished arranging the olives in the center section of the crystal plate. She didn’t say it out loud, but she also liked helping make pretty food with Betsy in the kitchen.

“Did you remember to ask him to movie night?” Betsy asked.

“Yes, I did, and he said he’d come next Wednesday,” Ginger answered.

They took the food plates to the dining room and set them on the buffet.

“Whoever isn’t playing at the time can help themselves,” Betsy said. “Plates and napkins are right here. Don’t get anything greasy on Kate’s dominoes or she’ll throw a fit.”

“You bet I will. There’s no telling how many games have been played with these little ivory darlin’s.” Kate shuffled them well, and then everyone slid their own share over to set them up. “Mama kept really good records about who played dominoes and who got baths.”

“What do dominoes and baths have to do with each other?” Ginger asked.

“Honey, this wasn’t a regular old whorehouse where men came and went all night long,” Connie explained as she started out the game by laying down a double six. “This was a special brothel. Only six men, one to each of her girls, were allowed through the doors each evening, and they had to make an appointment. Mama had senators and doctors and lawyers comin’ to the Banty House and we have all her records to prove it.”

“But what about baths?” Ginger asked.

“It was like this.” Kate talked as she studied her dominoes. “Each man got special treatment the night he came to the Banty House. To start with, whichever girl he had an appointment with gave him a bath and then a massage.”

“Why?” Ginger asked.

“Honey, this is Texas,” Connie whispered. “After a hard week’s work, Mama’s customers smelled pretty bad.”

Kate giggled and went on. “After that, she served him a good meal of his choosing—fried chicken, roast beef, steak—Mama’s menu usually offered their choice of one of several meats and sides, right along with dessert, coffee, and a cigar if he wanted one afterwards. The meal was served in his girl’s bedroom so the two of them could have conversation and visit.”

“That must’ve been very expensive,” Ginger said.

“It was.” Kate laid out a domino with a sharp click. “The clients had to pay up front, and they had to be gone by seven o’clock in the morning. Mama ran a strict house. Straight-up sex if the guys wanted it—no whips or cuffs and nothing demeaning to her girls.”

“The girls got one-third of what they made, but Mama made them save part of it. The house got one-third, and the other part of the money they collected each evening went into a general fund. When a girl had worked a year, Mama gave them a severance package and put them on the train to wherever they wanted to go so they could get a fresh start in a new place,” Connie said.

“Why?” Sloan asked.

“Mama said that it was good marketing to keep fresh faces in the house,” Betsy said. “And she never let her girls look like anything but angels. They wore white dresses every night. That way the menfolk thought they’d made a trip to heaven when they left in the morning.”

“Did she ever have trouble keeping help?” Sloan played a domino.

“She had a waiting list of girls who wanted to work when she closed down the place right after I was born,” Connie replied. “And from what she said, she hurt a lot of guys’ feelings when she had to tell them that she wouldn’t be doing business anymore.”

“I betcha there’s a whole list of folks who would kill to get their hands on those records your mother kept.” Sloan chuckled.

“They’re in a really good safe at our bank,” Kate said. “Mama didn’t believe in blackmail, but she did believe in protection.”

Kate finally won the last round of the evening. “Aha,” she said, “the ivories didn’t totally forsake me.”

Sloan covered a yawn with his hand. “Thanks for the evening and for the food, ladies. I’ll be here soon as the dew dries tomorrow to mow the lawn and spruce up the flower beds.”

“I need you to take half a dozen jars of jam to Joy Goodman over in Hondo right after lunch. She’s havin’ some kind of fancy whoop-de-do with her book club and wants to give them away as door prizes,” Betsy said.

“Sure thing.” Sloan tipped his cap toward them and started for the door. “Want to walk me out, Ginger? You didn’t get your evening stroll. It’ll just be across the yard to my truck, but you can get a nice breath of fresh air.”

“I should stay and help Betsy clean up.” She glanced around at the dirty plates.

“I’ll help her,” Connie said. “You kids go on. It’s a lovely night to sit on the porch swing.”

“Are you sure?” Ginger asked. “I was gone part of the afternoon already today.”

“You’ll make it up later. We don’t punch a time clock around here. If we did, you would have already been working overtime, since you played dominoes with us all evening.”

Ginger grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from the coatrack in the foyer and slipped it on before she went outside with Sloan. He waited until she was settled on the swing and then sat down beside her.

“I’d never heard that story about the way the brothel was run,” he said. “Granny always said that Belle Carson had good business sense and knew when to shut the place down.”

“I wouldn’t have thought she’d tell her daughters all about it,” Ginger said.

“Maybe she was hoping they’d understand why she did what she did, or maybe she was trying to help them realize if times got really tough again after she was dead, they could always get creative in ways to make money.” Sloan kept the swing going with his foot.

“I want to be that honest with my daughter,” Ginger said. “I want to be a mama like theirs was.”

“She must’ve been one special lady,” Sloan said. “But then so are you.”

“I don’t know about that, but I sure intend to try.” Ginger sucked in a lungful of fresh air. “I smell honeysuckle.”

“It’s blooming on fences everywhere around here,” Sloan said. “The wind is bringing the scent right to you.”

“I’m worried, Sloan,” she whispered.

“About what?”

“Leaving,” she admitted. “I’ve only been here a week and a day. Walking away would break my heart. I’ve never had friends like you and the sisters.”

“It’s sure something to think about.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I really should be going. It smells like we might be in for more rain, and I left my truck windows down.”

“Have a good rest of the night.” The touch of his lips on her skin sent tingles dancing down her spine.

She sat on the swing and watched him cross the yard and get into his truck, continuing to keep an eye on the red taillights until they disappeared into the darkness, and then she touched her forehead to see if it was as hot as it felt.

Finally, she placed a hand on her stomach and said, “Baby girl, how about the name Belle. Does that suit you?”

The baby kicked her hand hard enough that Ginger giggled. “I’m not sure if that was a yes or a no, but you sure had an opinion about it.”

Chapter Eleven

On Saturday morning the sun came out, bringing heat and humidity with it. Betsy said the weather was like sending her flower beds to a spa all day. Sloan showed up right after breakfast, made a trip into Hondo to deliver jam to Joy Goodman, and then worked in the garden most of the morning. In the afternoon, Connie claimed Sloan and Ginger to help deep clean the two spare bedrooms.

“This is Mama’s room,” Connie explained as she opened the door. “I clean it every spring from top to bottom. I come in here and sit in her rockin’ chair when I’m having a hard day, and after a few minutes, everything is peaceful inside my heart again.”

“I’m not against anything that brings about peace. I’ll get the bed dismantled and put out in the hallway,” Sloan said.

Ginger had thought they’d wash the baseboards and clean any dust that might have collected off the ceiling fan. Evidently, Connie’s idea of deep cleaning and hers were two very different notions.