“I’ve seen my fair share of concussions.” Sloan opened the brown paper bag of food and set a burger, an order of fries, and one of the milkshakes on the bedside table that Betsy wasn’t using. “I got chocolate. Hope that’s all right.”

“It’s great.” Ginger bit into the burger. “Going out to eat twice in one day is a big thing. Thank you.”

Someday, if she stuck around long enough, Sloan was going to really take her out for dinner and maybe a movie. He’d show her what a real date was supposed to be. He squeezed out ketchup into the paper boat the burger and fries came in and dipped a french fry in it. She reached across from her chair and dipped one of her fries in his ketchup. If one of his buddies had done that, the fight would have been on, because Sloan had a thing about sharing any portion of his food. Strangely enough, it seemed perfectly all right to share with Ginger.

“I wonder why Betsy thinks I’m her granddaughter and why the other sisters won’t talk about it. As far as I can understand, none of them ever had a child,” Ginger said between bites. Poor old darlings only had each other. Connie and Kate would be devastated if something happened to Betsy. “I wish I was her daughter,” Ginger muttered. “Growing up in that house with them would have been like growing up in heaven.”

“I guess it kind of was. Granny was their friend, so I could go up there and visit them anytime I wanted. I’ve always taken it for granted until today when I saw Betsy on the floor. I guess it never dawned on me that someday they’d be gone,” Sloan said. “In some ways, I guess I was their child as well as Granny’s. I always wished I’d had a brother or a sister, but who can complain with neighbors like I’ve got.”

“I wanted a sibling, too. I’ll probably only ever just get to have one child because I’ll be trying to raise her all alone, but if things were different, I’d want at least four.” She spoke in low tones so she wouldn’t wake Betsy. “I never knew anything but foster homes, so that was life, but I always wanted a brother or a sister that was all mine. If I had a choice, I’d want my child to have brothers and sisters. If”—she paused—“I had a sister, I could support her, and she could do the same for me. We’d have each other, kind of like the ladies have had all this time.”

“There were other kids in the homes, right?” Sloan asked.

“Oh, yeah, and most of the time I was the oldest and had to take care of them, but I never had a real sibling. Someday, maybe I can give my daughter one,” she said. “But if things don’t work out that way, I’ll just give her all the love I can and make sure she knows she’s special.”

“What was your mama and daddy’s names?” Sloan asked.

She whipped around to look him in the eye. “That question came out of the clear blue.”

“I was just wonderin’ if it would help if you could go visit their graves. Family seems pretty special to you, so maybe if you could see where they’re buried, it might bring you some closure,” he said.

“Do you think it would bring you closure to go see where your buddies’ graves are?” she asked.

Her question hit him square in the chest, and he felt as if an elephant had plopped down on him. Thinking of that again made it hard for him to breathe. He couldn’t even imagine what he might feel if he stood beside where they’d buried what was left of Creed or Bobby Joe, or his other three friends.

“According to my birth certificate, my biological parents were Brenda and Larry Andrews,” she finally answered.

“Ever look them up?”

She shook her head. “Why would I? My mother killed my father in a bad drug deal, and then she died in prison. I would assume both of them are buried somewhere in Kentucky, or maybe they were cremated. I have no idea.”

“What about grandparents?”

“When I got old enough to ask the social worker about them, she told me that my mother and father were both raised up in the system. There was no family to take me when I was born, so that’s exactly where I went, too.” She finished off her burger and fries and then went to work on the milkshake.

Sloan didn’t feel pity for her. Instead he felt even more pride than ever in the fact that she was so strong and independent, coming from that kind of background. He also felt just a little ashamed that he hadn’t gotten closure for what had happened in Kuwait. Maybe in the near future, he’d do just what she suggested—go and visit all the graves of his fallen buddies. All of them were buried in Oklahoma or in Texas. They had always said that’s why they made such an amazing team—they’d been raised in adjoining states, liked and had respect for the same things. Well, other than the weekend of the OU–Texas game. Then all claims to friendship were off.

“Hey, you two, what’s . . . ?” Betsy sat up in bed and grabbed her forehead with both hands. “Where am I? What kind of weed did I get into that would give me this kind of a headache?”

“Do you remember Edith coming to the Banty House?” Sloan asked.

Betsy shook her head. “Did Kate tell her that I got my dress fixed just fine and we refuse to hire girls to act like hookers?”

“No. I don’t think that’s why she was there,” Ginger answered. “She was bad-mouthing your mother.”

“My head hurts. I can’t think or talk about that now. Why am I in the hospital? Dear Lord,” she gasped when she noticed her arm. “Did I break it?”

“Yes, you’re in the hospital, and your arm is only sprained. You’ll have to keep it in a sling for a few weeks.” Ginger continued to answer questions. “You fell in the kitchen, hit your head on the floor, and hurt your arm. You have a concussion and several stitches in the back of your head, and you’ve got a big bruise on your shinbone.”

Betsy’s hand went to the bandage on the back of her head. “Did they shave my hair off?”

“Just a little bit. You can wear a hat to church and no one will even notice,” Ginger assured her. “Right now, you just have to rest and get better so you can go home.”

“Why did I fall?” Betsy looked up at Ginger.

“Seems you and Edith had a fight, and you stumbled and fell backwards,” Ginger explained.

“She pushed me, didn’t she?” Betsy closed her eyes and the snoring began again.

“I’m kind of surprised that she even said that,” Sloan said. “Sometimes folks with concussions can’t recall things that happened twenty-four hours before.”

A couple of minutes later she opened her eyes, scanned the room until she found Ginger, and asked, “Did we go to church this morning?”

“Yes, we did,” Ginger answered.

“Good, then God will forgive me for tryin’ to kill Edith,” she said, and then her eyes closed again.

“We never got a chance to talk about church this morning. Did it make you uncomfortable to be there?” Ginger asked Sloan.

He shook his head slowly from side to side. “I dreaded going in those doors, Ginger.” He felt as if he could bare his very soul to her, almost as if God, Himself, had sent an angel to Hondo for the Carson sisters to discover. Other than his team members, who were like brothers to him, he’d never felt so comfortable with anyone. “The last time I was in church was for my granny’s funeral. God took her away from me when I had already lost all my buddies. God was too unfair. But today, right on that pew, it was almost like she was right there with me. I liked the feeling. I don’t know why I’ve stayed away so long.”

“Did you pay attention to the hymns?” she asked. “The first one we sang said to simply trust every day and to trust all through the storm.”

“Trust is a bit of an issue for me,” he said.

“Me too, as you can imagine, but whether you call it destiny, God, or Fate, I think I was brought to Rooster for a reason. I got to be friends with a woman in the last café where I worked. I’ve never met a person with stronger faith. She was always telling me that destiny would not take me anywhere where the hand of God would not protect me,” Ginger said.

“Do you ever intend to go back and see her?” Sloan asked.

“No, she died and the owners closed it down soon afterwards. Customers expected food like she made, and well, she was gone. I would go see her if she was alive, though. I really loved her.” Ginger wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “She reminded me of Betsy. She loved to cook and was kind of round.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “That was rude. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that Betsy was ugly. I love her so much that I don’t care what size”—she shook her head—“I’m just diggin’ myself deeper into a hole.”

“Did I hear my name?” Betsy roused again and looked out the window. “It’s dark. How many days have I been in this place?”

“You just got here this afternoon,” Sloan answered.

“And you might get out tomorrow,” Ginger said.

“Where’s Kate and Connie? Did Edith hurt them, too? Are they in another room? Dammit to hell, Sloan! Go tell the doctor to put them in here with me. I don’t even care if Connie smokes in here. Just bring them in here with me.”

“They are fine,” Ginger said in a soothing voice, patting her arm.