Ginger laid a hand on Flora’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Honey, I’m sure I didn’t have it as bad as you. At least I wasn’t being shifted around in foster care,” Flora said. “Now, let’s talk about something else. I heard that Edith took out a restraining order on every person in the Banty House. She says that she came here to visit and the Carson sisters tried to kill her. I also heard that Betsy had to spend a night in the hospital over it.”

“Yep.” Ginger nodded, not really knowing how much to tell. “They got into it when Edith bad-mouthed Belle. Betsy hit her and she kicked Betsy. Seems our new cats got in the way somehow, and anyway, Betsy fell and sprained her arm. She also got stitches in her head.”

“Dear Lord, what are they going to do about church?” Flora asked.

“We’re going to go to some over in Hondo starting this Sunday. I don’t want to see Betsy in jail.” Ginger figured saying that much wouldn’t be overstepping her boundaries.

Flora threw back her head and guffawed. Her laughter was high pitched and so infectious that Ginger couldn’t help but join her, even though she had no idea what was so funny.

When Flora got herself under control, she raised up her shirt and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Edith has done crapped in her little nest.”

“What does that mean?” Ginger asked.

“When we were kids, her daddy was the preacher, and she always said she would marry a man like him, and she did. Then, when her son James came along, she said from the day he was born that he would be the third-generation preacher, and he was. She’s built this nest of preacher men in her family. It takes money to run a church and pay James’s salary, and Belle was the lifeblood of the Rooster church when it came to donations. Her daughters continued what their mother started. Now that Edith has made it so they can’t go to James’s church, they’ll take their money and go elsewhere,” Flora explained.

“Honey, that air-conditioning and those lights and the maintenance on the building isn’t free. Edith just crapped in her nest, like I said,” she repeated. “Tell Betsy tomorrow that I’d appreciate it if y’all would pick me up on Sunday morning. I’d rather go with you as sit with Edith. I’ll be waitin’ on the bench in front of the old post office.”

“All right.” Ginger nodded.

“On that note, I’m going home now. You have a good night.” Flora left as quickly as she had appeared.

Ginger let the swing stop moving and stood up. She heard a ping on her new phone and pulled it out of her hip pocket to find a text from Sloan: Thinking of you as I fall asleep.

She sent back a smiley face with hearts where the eyes should be, and went inside and up to her bed with a smile that not even sucking on a lemon could have erased.

Chapter Sixteen

Be still and stop wiggling,” Dr. Emerson told Betsy. “I swear to God Himself, you are worse than a kid.”

“You’re yankin’ me bald-headed,” Betsy told him.

He lifted the bandage and leaned in close to her. “It’s lookin’ good, and you’re only bald in one little spot. It does look a little like you have the mange, so you would be wise to wear this.” He handed her hat back to her and then looked at her leg and arm.

“So, can I get rid of this sling and start cooking tomorrow?” she asked.

“No, you cannot. No lifting for at least two more weeks, and then we’ll take some more X-rays to see how your arm is healing. Old people don’t mend as fast as the young’uns,” he said.

Ginger patted Betsy on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ll be there to do whatever you want.”

“What I want is a joint,” Betsy sighed. “It helps me sleep. I didn’t realize how much it helped my arthritis until I couldn’t have it.”

So that’s why she was so cranky, Ginger thought. She’s having withdrawal symptoms. For almost sixty years, she’d been growing and smoking the stuff.

“Who told you that you couldn’t have it?” Ginger asked.

“I asked a nurse in the ER when they brought me in, and she said definitely not,” Betsy said.

Doc patted her on the knee. “Honey, if you want a joint before you go to bed each night, then you have one. Just don’t go down stairs or—”

Betsy reached up and hugged him before he could finish the sentence. “I’ll see to it that Kate tucks in a pint of her strawberry shine next week Monday when I come to get the stitches out.”

“That will be great,” Doc Emerson said as he took a step back and pulled Ginger’s chart up on his tablet. “Now, young lady, let’s listen to your baby’s heartbeat. Looks like you gained two pounds this week, which is about normal at this point in your pregnancy. We want to keep it below thirty pounds overall if possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Ginger felt like a cow when she got onto the table and lay back. “I read that walking helps, so I’ve been doing that most evenings.”

“Good girl.” He put the stethoscope on her tummy and listened for a while, then extended a hand to help her sit up. “Everything looks great. We’ll see you next week. Make an appointment when you leave. And Betsy can have her wacky weed, but you’d best leave it alone.”

Ginger gave him her best smile. “I quit that and alcohol of any kind when I found out I was pregnant.”

“That’s great. Liquor and smoking make for underweight babies,” Doc Emerson told her. “Looks to me like you got a good healthy one on the way.”

“I hope so,” Ginger said.

“Okay, then I’ll see y’all on Monday for Betsy and then on Thursday for you,” Doc said as he left the room.

Betsy stood up and moved her hips from side to side. “I get a little taste of weed tonight. Life is good.”

“I’ve got a good-sized baby.” Ginger mimicked Connie’s head wiggle.

“Good doctor’s visit. Let’s go home and make a chocolate pie for dessert tonight,” Betsy said, and then her eyes got big. “Better idea! I’m in the mood for some double-layer cheesecake brownies, so we’ll stir up a batch of those.”

Ginger was elated to see Betsy in better spirits. “Those do sound good, but no funny grass in them, right? Or I can’t have them.”

Betsy raised her good arm. “Hand to God. I would never jeopardize our baby, darlin’ girl. But I just might make up a little batch of double chocolate, or I should say I’ll show you how to make them, to put in the freezer. Never know when I might need some of them for a special occasion.”

“Betsy?” Ginger lowered her head and raised her brows.

“I make a little pan for Flora every so often,” Betsy told her. “Purely medicinal purposes. She’s given them to her mother to help her.”

Betsy had always been truthful about everything, from the reputation of the Banty House to her little patch of weed in the flower garden out back, and even what was drying in the garage, so Ginger had no reason to doubt her. But there was something in the glint of Betsy’s eyes that caused her to smell a rat.

When they got home, both Connie and Kate were waiting in the kitchen. Connie had a glass of sweet tea. Kate had a glass of shine at least as big as a glass of tea and was sipping on it. The two of them looked more like sisters with their gray hair and cute little red sweat suits that day than Betsy did with her dyed hair. She’d dressed in her Easter dress and hat to go to the doctor’s office, and she came in with a limping spry step in her walk.

“Doc says I can have my little smoke before bed, so I’m happy.” She threw her hat at a chair and missed. Both Hetty and Magic made a dive for the hat and started clawing and kicking at it like they were trying to kill the strange thing.

“Praise God.” Connie threw both hands into the air. “If I’d known that abstaining from your weed was what was making you so bitchy, I’d have rolled one for you myself.”

Kate just smiled and held up her glass. “I’ve got the blackberry perfected. Want a sip?”

“You know I don’t drink,” Betsy said. “That stuff ain’t good for you. And for God’s sake, Kate, get my hat off the floor before those cats . . . No, leave it there. Let them have their fun. Y’all get on out of our kitchen. Me and Ginger is going to do some baking.”

“You sure you didn’t let her roll one on the way home?” Kate whispered to Ginger.

Ginger just grinned and shook her head.

Sloan made the drive to Grant, Texas, on Thursday morning. When he and Tinker reached the cemetery, he gave the dog the full length of his leash so he could run and play. Then he sat down in front of Creed’s grave. He closed his eyes for a minute and let his mind go back to the two years he had had with the team. Creed had been the quietest one of all of them. He had a wife back here in Texas, and a couple of kids—rug rats he called the twin boys.