“Hey, hey.” Betsy gave Ginger a hug when she arrived that at the Banty House. “We missed you at breakfast this morning. How’d you do on your first night at Sloan’s?”

“Not so good.” Ginger tied an apron around her body above the baby. “What are we doing today?”

“Making dozens and dozens of cookies for the Romp tomorrow,” Betsy said. “We’ll spend the day on the porch and serve cookies and lemonade to anyone who wants to sit a spell and visit with us. Last year, we went through twenty dozen cookies and so many gallons of lemonade that I lost count. The folks appreciate free refreshments.” She talked as she stirred up a batch of peanut butter cookies. “And, honey, there’s some folks who can’t afford to buy off them high-dollar vendors. Now tell me why you didn’t sleep good.”

“I had a bad dream and Sloan is asking me to do something I’m not sure about,” she said.

Betsy whipped around with narrowed eyes, pursed lips, brows drawn down so hard that the wrinkles in her forehead deepened. “What’s he done?”

“It’s complicated, but you got to understand the nightmare first.” Ginger told her about the dream and then what Sloan had said.

Betsy pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down somewhere in the middle of the story. Ginger told her everything except the part about the fertility clinic. “So what do you think? Give me some advice.”

“Oh, Ginger, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Betsy wiped tears from her cheeks with the tail of her apron. “That’s such a sweet thing for him to do. You’ve got to think about it . . .”

“Think about what?” Kate came in from the living room. “I’ve got the chairs and the card table all set up for the Romp. I thought you might have some cookies already out of the oven. I was going to steal one.”

“You got to tell her and Connie,” Betsy said.

“Tell me what?” Connie walked into the kitchen and set a can of dust spray on the table. “When’s the cookies going to start coming out of the oven?”

Ginger told the story again. “What do I do? I never set out to take advantage of anyone, and if I do what he’s asking, I feel like I am. I’d love for Martha Belle to have a father listed on her birth certificate, but it doesn’t seem right to lie.”

“Martha Belle?” Betsy whispered.

“You’re naming the baby for our mama?” Kate asked.

“I picked out Belle first, and then I saw the name Martha on Sloan’s granny’s tombstone and they kind of went together. I plan to call her Belle,” she answered.

“Mama would be so proud, and so would Martha. Since you’re doin’ that, I think you should do what Sloan asked,” Connie said. “His granny would be so proud to know that she had a granddaughter named for her.”

“I’d like our baby to be called by both names. There ain’t nothing sounds more Texan or Southern than a double name,” Kate said, “and when she gets old enough, I’m going to teach her to make shine just like my mama taught me. I went to the basement with her the first time when I was twelve. By the time I was fifteen, I could make a run all by myself.”

“Martha Belle.” Connie smiled. “It rolls off the tongue so well. I can see Mama smiling up there in heaven right now.”

“But she’s not blood kin to either his granny or your mama,” Ginger argued.

“Honey, do you think that makes a bit of difference to either of them? No, ma’am, it don’t. You think on it for a while and make up your own mind.” Betsy stood up and set about getting a pan of cookies ready to go in the oven. “And while you’re thinkin’, we’ll get cookies made.”

“I got one more thing to say,” Kate said. “You ain’t blood kin to us, either, but we couldn’t be happier that you’re in our lives or prouder to have you for our adopted granddaughter if you was our very own. Blood don’t always make families. Hearts do.”

The only thing that came to Ginger’s mind was “Amen!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ginger didn’t have to worry about what she’d wear to the Rooster Romp. Betsy had remodeled a dress for her—one of the remaining white cotton dresses that the last round of working girls had left at the Banty House. It had been decided that she would sit on the porch with the ladies in the afternoon, but until noon, she could go with Sloan down to Main Street. Betsy said that she needed to see all the vendors and maybe get some cotton candy at the carnival, but she warned her about riding the Ferris wheel.

“What if something crazy happened and you couldn’t get down off that thing?” Betsy asked. “It happened to me one year, and I was stuck up there for a whole hour. Connie got really bitchy by the time that stupid thing started to move again.”

Ginger hadn’t ever been to a carnival, so she made no promises. She’d imagined the whole thing would be much bigger than it was, but it was actually quite small. Everything was set up right on Main Street and covered only two blocks, with the Ferris wheel sitting in front of the old post office.

“Let’s do that,” she said.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Sloan said emphatically. “Betsy gave me my orders. You can ride a horse on the merry-go-round, but you’re not to get on that thing. She’ll take a switch to me if I don’t take care of you.”

Ginger wasn’t sure if it was the result of pregnancy brain, or if she’d had enough of men telling her what she could or could not do. She handed Sloan what was left of her cotton candy and marched right over to the Ferris wheel. She handed the man enough money to purchase a ticket and sat down in the seat he held for her.

Sloan dropped the paper cone of pink candy and raced over to the teenage kid who was operating the Ferris wheel. “She can’t ride this. She’s going to have that baby in four days. So make her get off.”

“Sorry, sir, but my manager says anyone can ride this, including pregnant women, and I’d get in trouble if I made her get off. She could sue the carnival, and I’d lose my job,” the kid said as he pushed the button to bring the next seat into play. “Next?”

A couple of lovestruck teenagers got into the seat and huddled up next to each other. Ginger heard the ticket taker tell Sloan that he’d have to wait until the next ride, and then the wheel began to turn. She didn’t realize that she was afraid of heights until the swinging seat reached the top of the wheel. She looked out over the town of Rooster, and her stomach started to clinch up into a knot. The nausea hit on the second round, and even though she closed her eyes at the top, the swaying motion reminded her of just how high she was. By the fifth round, she absolutely hated the thing and its lively music. If she could have reached the kid who had insisted that it was all right that she rode the thing, she would have slapped him for selling her a ticket. She prayed to God that she hadn’t caused her baby any harm and vowed to never ride anything at a carnival again if she could just put her feet on solid ground.

When it finally stopped, Sloan was there for her, and she was glad to have him to hang on to because her knees were weak and she was sweating bullets. “Just take me to the Banty House,” she whispered. “I feel sick, and I need to lie down.”

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?” Sloan asked.

“No. I’ve just never been that high up off the ground, and I found out the hard way that I don’t like heights,” she admitted honestly. “If I can just lie down for a little while, I’ll be fine.”

“Just lean on me, and we’ll get you out of this crowd,” he said.

She’d never appreciated anyone as much as she did Sloan right then. He never said that he told her so, not even once. He kept his arm tightly around her until he could flag down a golf cart and help her into the back seat. Five minutes later he was leading her up the porch steps to the Banty House.

“Good God!” Betsy jumped up from her rocking chair. “Is she in labor? Doc said she can’t deliver the baby naturally, that he’ll have to take it.”

Kate was on her feet next. “Take her into the parlor and put her on the sofa. I’ll call Doc. He’s at the Romp, so he can come on down here and check her.” She hurried into the house and headed for the kitchen telephone.

“Why haven’t you already called him on your fancy phone?” Connie fussed at Sloan as she followed everyone into the house.

“Didn’t even think of it,” Sloan said.

“I did it to myself,” Ginger whispered. “I’ve never been that high and the bucket thing was rocking back and forth and”—she grabbed her stomach—“I think I just had a contraction.”

“We’re going straight to the hospital,” Kate yelled into the phone and hung it up. “Get her out to the car, Sloan. I’ll lock the doors, and we’ll be there by the time you get the engine started.”

“I’m fine,” Ginger protested just as her stomach knotted up again.