Tom dropped his head with a heavy exhale. Edward had been wanting to do this since Tom agreed to start the church. He thought Tom should, “Get it out in the open.”
“We don’t need any gossip or scandal cropping up.”
Ginger glanced between them. “Excuse me? My mom? The woman who hates church? Who . . . wouldn’t . . . even . . . take me?” Her words slowed as some sort of revelation dawned. But only for a moment. “No, no, not my mama. Preachers were definitely not her type.”
“Say what you will, but Shana Winters was in love with Tom Wells Sr.”
“Edward!” Tom shoved him out the door. What was wrong with him? “Ginger,” Tom paused inside the threshold. “I’ll come for you in the morning.”
“What are you talking about? She never even knew Tom Sr., let alone fell in love with him. My mother and your father? It’s laughable.” She turned away from them, disbelief tainting her expression. “My mother? She’s a lot of things, but not a home wrecker.”
“You’re right. She wasn’t a home wrecker,” Tom said. He could deck Edward. Seriously. “We can talk about this later.”
“No. Edward brought it up, so let’s talk about it now. My mother is responsible for your family leaving town, for your father losing his church? For you never calling me again?”
“Okay, here’s the truth. My father is responsible for losing his church, for us leaving town, and I’m responsible for never calling you.”
“So my mother wasn’t involved? Edward is lying?”
“Not exactly lying. Your mother and my father were friends—”
“He said something about love.”
“Ed,” Tom said. “Can you give us a moment?”
He started to protest, then turned for the door. “Hurry, it’s late. Eric’s waiting for us.”
As the door clicked closed, Tom reached for Ginger but she stepped away. “Edward doesn’t know the whole story.”
Ginger exhaled, the light in her golden eyes dimming as she closed the small window she’d opened to him.
“Then what is the whole story?”
From beyond the door, the truck horn sounded. Tom grumbled low. Wait until he was alone with Ed.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll pick you up and we can talk about it in the morning.” He smiled, coaxing her agreement. “Go, shower, get warm. I’ll see you at . . .”
“Eight. But is there any truth to what he said?” she said after a moment.
“Some.” He peered at her, gaze holding gaze.
She sighed, sinking down to the chair, then standing back up, remembering she was wet and muddy. “Even more reason now.”
“Reason for what?”
“That we can’t be more than friends. I told you your friends won’t let you.”
“And I told you, my friends have no say. See you in the morning, Ginger. And please, do not worry about this. Trust me.” The door clicked closed behind him and he jogged toward the waiting truck. Climbing in, he thumped Edward in the head. “Nice going.”
“She needed to know.” The man showed no remorse. “But really, Tom, her? Of all the women in southern Alabama?”
Tom mulled over the challenge as Scott revved the truck toward the big house, the powerful beast undaunted by the muddy, rutted terrain.
Why not Ginger Winters? She was kind and considerate, more than the man next to him who claimed to be a Christian. Every time Tom saw her in the past few days, she caught a piece of his heart.
But could he be more than friends with the daughter of the woman who played a role in his father’s demise?
Yeah, Tom had some praying to do. A conversation with God was about to go down. He’d be open, listening. But in the moment, the answer to Edward’s question was a resounding, Yeah, her. Really.
She’d tossed and turned half the night, trying to piece together Edward and Tom’s story as she listened to the rain. It peeled off around midnight as a strong wind swept over the grounds, batting the western corner of the homestead.
Mama and Reverend Wells? Ginger counted a half a dozen times she’d seen Mama talking to the senior pastor, but she never imagined there was anything more than a how-do between them.
Mrs. Wells, Tom’s mama, was a beautiful, well-respected woman. And nice. Not cranky and twisted-up like her own mama, used and spit out from too many poor relationship choices.
Mama never listened to anyone when it came to men. She picked her man and that was it. The police could show her a rap sheet a mile long but if Mama believed in him, wanted him, she hung on like a dog with a bone.
Dressed and ready for the day, Ginger chose a scarf from her duffle—a dark forest green—and wound it around her neck. She wanted to get her stuff from the car and get to the main house before Tom showed up. She didn’t need him to rescue her.