Thinking of babies sent Sloan’s thoughts to Ginger. The way she’d reacted to only one baby made him think she was disappointed, but he hadn’t asked her outright about it. Maybe he’d do that tonight when they talked. He blinked a couple of times, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He’d come to make peace with Creed, not think about Ginger.

Don’t waste your time thinkin’ about me, Creed’s voice popped into his head.

“Hello,” a female voice said behind him.

He was losing his touch for sure. Two people in as many days had snuck up on him. No wonder they’d sent him home to Texas with a disability discharge. If he couldn’t even hear someone coming up behind him in a quiet cemetery in broad daylight, he sure wouldn’t have lasted long in the field.

“Hello,” he said.

“Are you a friend of Creed’s?” she asked.

“Was at one time,” Sloan said. “How about you?”

“I knew him, but not well. He went to school with my younger brother. I just come by when I visit my mother’s grave, since it’s close to hers. I’m Gloria Tisdale, and you are?” she said.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sloan Baker.” At first it seemed strange that someone who knew Creed would be in the cemetery, especially after the day before, when Teddy had shown up. “Do you know his wife and kids?”

“I did, but only because they attended the same church as I do,” Gloria answered. “She’s remarried now and living out in California somewhere. She doesn’t get back here very often.”

“Creed would have wanted her to move on,” Sloan said.

“He was a good guy, so you’re probably right. I should go. My husband is waiting for me in the car. Nice talking to you, Sloan.”

“Same here.” Sloan turned back to the tombstone and did the math. Creed had been twenty-five when he died, and he had already gotten married and had two little kids. Suddenly Sloan felt as if he was dragging his feet.

He and Tinker drove on up to Hugo that evening, and checked into a hotel right close to a Mexican restaurant. He made sure the dog had plenty of water and food before he walked next door to have supper. If he struck up a conversation with someone, maybe they could tell him where the cemetery was.

An hour later, he was back at the hotel. The folks at the restaurant had come from Oaxaca, barely spoke English, and he had spent the time looking up cemeteries on his phone while he waited for his order. In the morning he planned to go see Chris’s grave and then get on over to Randlett for John’s and Wade’s gravesites. They’d come from Randlett and a little town called Chattanooga, or Chatty, as the locals called it according to Wade. Even though the towns were close together, they hadn’t known each other until they enlisted. Could be that he’d be home by dark tomorrow evening after all.

He fell back on the bed and sent a text to Ginger asking her if she was free to talk for a while. The phone rang within a few seconds.

“How are things going?” she asked.

“I couldn’t ask for them to be better,” Sloan answered, “and I feel like I’ve lost about a ton of weight off my shoulders. How’d the doctor visit go? Is the baby all right? How about Betsy? Stitches weren’t infected, were they? And are those scratches on Kate and Connie healing up?”

“Whoa,” she said. “One question at a time. Let’s see . . .” She went on to tell him all about her day, ending by telling him about talking to Flora the night before.

“You need to watch Betsy like a hawk,” he warned.

“Why?” Ginger asked.

“She’s sly as a fox, and believe me, she and Flora are good friends. I’ll just bet she’s got something up her sleeve that she plans to do with those brownies,” Sloan said.

“You mean with Edith?” Ginger gasped.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. She’ll work her way around that restraining order somehow. She’s pretty mad at Edith over whatever she said about Belle,” Sloan said. “But I didn’t call to talk about our children.”

“Children?” Ginger almost shrieked.

“Don’t you feel a little like a parent raising rebellious kids? We’ve got one making moonshine in the basement, one growin’ pot in the flower beds, and God only knows what Connie is doing that we don’t even know about. She’s the sneakiest one for sure.” Sloan laughed. “And you just came into the parenting business a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been at it for more than two years now.”

“I never thought of it like that,” she said. “It’s one of those role-reversal things, isn’t it? I should be in the Guinness World Records if this is true. I’ll have a new baby and three daughters who are all nearly eighty.”

“You are so funny,” Sloan said. “You put sunshine in my life.”

“Now, that’s a fine pickup line,” she told him.

“What do you know about pickup lines?” he asked.

“Honey, I’ve been on my own for almost two years. You think I never used a fake ID to get into a bar?” she fired right back.

“It would take a lifetime to hear all of your stories, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“Yep, and another one to hear all of yours,” she agreed.

By the time they said good night and hung up, Ginger was restless. She wanted what he already had—parents and grandparents. Even though they had passed on, he could go sit in front of their tombstones and think about them.

She pulled out her phone and followed thread after thread until she found the funeral homes that had cremated her parents. She didn’t expect anyone to answer, but she made the call anyway to the one that took care of prisoners when no one claimed their bodies.

“Solid Rock Funeral Services,” a man answered.

Ginger waited for the rest of the message so she could leave her phone number.

“Hello, hello, is anyone there?” the deep voice asked.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were an answering machine.” The words tumbled out so fast that she had to stop and catch her breath. “My name is Ginger Andrews. My mother died in prison about nineteen years ago. I’m trying to locate her grave or find out where her ashes were taken. I was told she was cremated.”

“And her name was?” the man asked.

“Brenda Andrews,” she said.

“Would you have a number?” he asked.

“No, sir, just that name,” Ginger answered, wishing, not for the first time, she had more information.

“Let me go check our records.” A thud signaled the phone being laid down.

It seemed to Ginger like it was an hour before he was back, but according to the clock beside her bed, it was only five minutes.

“I’m glad you called. We have those ashes stored here at our facility.” He cleared his throat.

“How much do I send to have them shipped to me, and can I use a debit card?” she asked.

“Of course you can. It’s a flat twenty-five-dollar fee, and I’ll take your numbers right now if you’d like for me to send the ashes tomorrow. We have to send them by priority mail and mark them cremated remains, so look for a package like that,” he said.

Ginger got her new debit card from her purse and gave him the numbers. She asked him to hold just a minute and she ran across the hall and knocked on Betsy’s door.

“What is it?” Kate opened her bedroom door. “Is it the baby? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“No. I need the address to the Banty House,” Ginger said.

“It’s 800 South Main, Rooster, Texas, 78862,” Kate replied. “What do you need it for?”

Ginger rattled off the address into the phone and then said, “Is that all you need?”

“Yes, ma’am. They should arrive at your address in two days.”

“Thank you so much. You wouldn’t, by any chance, know how I could find my father’s remains? His name was Larry Andrews,” she said.

“I can check. We . . . Oh, yes, ma’am. He’s here, too,” the man said. “We often take care of people who aren’t claimed in this area. Should we ship them to you, too? Same payment and address?”

“Yes, please,” Ginger answered. “And thank you.”

“I’ll send you a receipt with the remains for your records. I can send you a copy of the death certificate for each for an additional ten dollars per person,” he said.

“Please, I’d like that very much,” she said.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

“That’s all, and thank you again.” She wasn’t sure how she should feel, but it sure wasn’t anything like what she was experiencing right then. Her chest had tightened, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d never known them, but between them, good or bad, they were her parents. Wherever she put their ashes would be the place where she settled down. No matter what their past was, she wanted her daughter to have ancestors that she could call her own.

She turned around to find all three sisters standing in their bedroom doors, staring at her.

“Are you okay, child?” Betsy asked. “You are pale as a ghost.”

Chills ran down Ginger’s back and she opened her mouth, but words wouldn’t come out.

Betsy rushed to her side. “Is it the baby?”

Ginger shook her head. “I just found my parents. I’m having them shipped to me.”

“Their bodies?” Connie frowned.