Sloan didn’t know anything about those places, but he doubted that Ginger had the education or training for a job like that. She might have babysat for the kids in the foster homes where she had lived, but that wouldn’t carry much weight in a licensed day care center.

“How many do you have?” Connie called over her shoulder toward Ginger. “Between us we’ve got one shy of three dozen. That means you have to have thirteen, or else there’s still some out here to be found.”

Ginger glanced down at her basket. “How did so many get in here? Did you cheat, Sloan?”

“No, ma’am. I only picked up the ones that you either had a toe against or else you pointed out to me,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I’d never cheat at something with this much riding on the game.”

What he didn’t say was that while they were talking, he’d seen Betsy sneak up behind them and put a couple of eggs in Ginger’s basket. Then Connie had done the same thing. Kate almost got caught giving one more to Ginger but had quickly run to the other side of the yard and picked up another egg.

“There’s thirteen eggs in here.” Ginger frowned. “But I only remember picking up about six or seven.”

“Guess you was all involved with Sloan and didn’t keep a good count. Looks like you win the contest and get the hundred dollars,” Betsy said. “It’s time for our last picture of the day. We all sit on the porch like we did when we were little girls with our baskets full of eggs on our knees.”

They made their way to the porch, and Sloan took the picture, but he sure wished they hadn’t cheated. A hundred dollars would take Ginger a long way from Rooster, and he didn’t want her living on the streets with a new baby to take care of.

Why? What difference does it make to you? You vowed to never get close to anyone again after they sent you home to Texas. The pesky voice in his head was like a little kid with too many questions to answer.

Who says I’m close to her? he argued.

Time for a reality check, Cowboy. This time it was his buddy Wade’s voice in his head. Wade, from down in southern Louisiana, had gone through basic with him. Wade—who’d been out on that detail with the team that morning that changed their world forever.

He hadn’t heard that deep Southern accent since the night before Wade had died, and it jarred him to the very marrow of his bones. He took the final picture of the day and then followed the ladies into the house. When they’d agreed on what pictures they wanted, he’d be free to leave. His hands shook as he set the phone on the table and they gathered around to fuss over the photos.

Have you forgiven me? he almost said out loud.

Ain’t nothing to forgive. It was a fluke. Wade was like that. Sloan had never heard him say a negative thing about anyone or anything. Once when they were out on a mission, they’d had a flat tire. It was at least a hundred and fifteen degrees, and the sun was beating down on them like it was trying to fry their brains right out of their heads. A wind had picked up and sand blew in their faces when they stepped out of their vehicle. He remembered thinking that not even Wade Beaudreaux could find something positive to say about that situation, but old Wade had just grinned and spit the sand out of his mouth. Then he had said, “Well, boys, at least it’s on the shady side of the truck.”

Sloan shook his head and came back to the present in the Banty House. Kate had just handed Ginger a hundred-dollar bill, and the woman was holding it like she’d won the lottery. He quickly snapped a picture of her and slid it over into his personal folder.

“So what are you going to do with it?” Betsy asked.

“That’ll require more thinkin’, but the first thing I’m buyin’ is a cute little outfit for my baby to wear home from the hospital,” she answered.

Sloan couldn’t help but wonder just exactly where home would be when she delivered her child.

Chapter Seven

On Monday morning, Ginger awoke, went right to her suitcase and felt around in the pocket. She’d dreamed that the money they’d given her for finding the most eggs—even though she wondered how she’d managed to do that—had been stolen. Lucas had taken it to buy drugs and booze, and she’d awakened in a sweat, fearing that it was gone. He wasn’t a mean drunk, but he could get mean if he didn’t get his way. Alcohol didn’t have anything to do with those times when they were low on money and he couldn’t have what he wanted right that moment, like beer or joints or a new video game. At one time he had suggested that she take her skinny butt out on the street, saying she’d make more money than she could ever bring in as a waitress.

The first time he’d said that, she’d locked herself in the bedroom and cried herself to sleep. After the fiftieth time, it had rolled off her like water off a duck’s back. By then she was wishing he would just leave. She was paying for everything anyway. He was always using his money to buy something to snort up his nose or to pour down his throat.

Everything came to a head the night she came home to find his worthless friends at the apartment with him. He told her that they were going to pay him fifty dollars each to get two hours with her in the bedroom. She’d told him to go to hell and stormed out of the apartment. She’d slept in a shelter that night, and when she got home from her job the next day, she’d learned that Lucas was dead. If he hadn’t been, her plan was to gather up her things and move out of the apartment, even if she had to go back to the shelter.

She found the hundred-dollar bill and held it close to her chest for a few minutes, then put it back in the suitcase. It, along with what the Carson sisters would pay her on Thursday, would take her a long way toward California. She’d heard that there were lots of jobs there and that cafés were constantly needing waitresses. She slumped down in the rocking chair over beside the window and gave thanks that she hadn’t let Lucas talk her into selling herself that night. Had she done that for him, she wouldn’t know who the baby belonged to, and somehow that was important to her. Even if Lucas had been a lowdown bastard, at least she knew who her baby’s father was.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She’d just made a judgment that was unfair. The Carson sisters hadn’t known for years who their father was, or even if they had the same one. They were all kindhearted and sweet ladies, and she hadn’t meant to condemn them or their mother.

She was sleeping in a room where no telling how many men had paid for a woman’s time and feeling all superior with a better-than-thou attitude because she hadn’t taken those junkies to the bedroom. She could have been sleeping on a park bench or living in a box under a bridge if Connie hadn’t sat down beside her a few days before.

As if on cue, Betsy knocked on her door and poked her head inside. When she realized that Ginger was crying, she hurried across the room and gathered her into her arms. “What’s the matter, darlin’? Is it the baby?”

“No. I wasn’t thinkin’ nice thoughts,” Ginger admitted, wiping her nose. “I’ve been blessed to get to spend time here and . . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t tell Betsy that she’d been patting herself on the back for being righteous when the sisters lived in a house that had been a brothel. It seemed so ungrateful for all the love and care she’d received since she’d been there.

“We’re the blessed ones, my child,” Betsy said softly. “And you are welcome to stay with us and help us out for as long as you like.”

“Are you serious?” Ginger asked.

“Very much so.” Betsy straightened up and patted Ginger on the shoulder. “We can use an extra set of hands, and we just love having you here with us. It’s up to you to make the decision about when you want to leave. We don’t want to pressure you in any way, and we’ll take you to the bus station any day that you say you want to go, but we could sure use some help. We ain’t none of us gettin’ any younger.”

Ginger pulled a tissue from a box on the table beside her and dried her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re sayin’ that. What about Kate and Connie?”

“They agree with me,” Betsy said. “I’ve already talked to them.”

“I could be a scam person, just here to talk you out of your money, or even worse. How can you trust me like this?” Ginger asked.

“I’m a pretty damn fine judge of character.” Betsy smiled. “Now, let’s go downstairs and get breakfast on the table. Connie’s got a full day planned for the two of you, and I don’t want to hear her bitchin’ about me hornin’ in on her time. She gripes enough because you like to be with me in the kitchen.”

Ginger couldn’t ever remember anyone—not even Lucas—being jealous of someone else spending time with her. Maybe she would just stay a little while longer and get a nest egg built up for the baby.