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Chapter One
“Lord have mercy,” Ginger Monroe groaned. “It’s the second coming of the GCB.” She caught a glimpse of the Reverend Bain’s wife, Lydia, and her disciples as they stalked down the sidewalk with purpose and a misguided air of authority. The “Good Christian Bitches” hadn’t lasted long on TV, but these less glamorous ones were still going strong in Wilder, Texas.
Ginger reached for the clothes rack standing in front of her store, about to pull the display back into her lingerie shop, located on a corner of Main Street. But her friend, Liza Brooks, halted her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “You are not kowtowing to those women.”
With a sigh, Ginger asked, “Are you forgetting Lydia Bain set my last shop on fire and destroyed my entire inventory?”
“How could I forget?” Liza replied in a dry tone. “She nearly killed us both because we were trapped in the attic.”
“It was an accident,” Jess Mills reminded them. She’d had lunch with Liza before they’d stopped by to see Ginger this afternoon. Jess was always the voice of reason, though she was no more a fan of the reverend’s high-and-mighty wife than the other two were.
“Regardless,” Ginger said, “she’s still publicly denouncing my wares.”
“Not many people are listening these days,” Liza commented. “We’ve talked about this. Your sales are up in the store and they’re off the charts online. The two of us confronting Lydia after the fire and not backing down thereafter made a remarkable impact on your bottom line. Stick to your guns, girlfriend.”
“You have a point.” But the mere sight of Lydia Bain made Ginger’s shoulders bunch as tension skittered through her.
The reverend’s Plain Jane wife, who wore no makeup or jewelry other than her simple gold wedding band, was dressed in her usual drab-gray attire. Her most notable feature was her shiny brown hair, styled in a chic bob. Despite being a genius hairdresser—owning the only salon in town—she was as humdrum as they came.
With a smug look on her face, she and her three equally plain and conservatively dressed female companions approached Ginger and her friends.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Liza said in her chipper voice, which still held a slight New York accent, despite her full immersion in Texas culture over the past year. Upon her spectacular, whirlwind arrival, she’d instantly become Ginger’s best friend and business advisor—not to mention her most frequent customer. Liza had been the one to suggest an online store when Ginger was about to lose the lease on her boutique due to dismal sales that had been a direct result of Lydia’s crusade to keep lingerie out of Wilder bedrooms. And certainly off its sidewalks.
“Good afternoon to you too,” Lydia said in her haughty tone as her gaze indiscreetly swept over Liza, taking in her flashy emerald-colored dress and fancy designer shoes. The flicker of disapproval in her gaze was unmistakable. To Ginger, she added, “I’m pleased to see you’ve reopened your shop.”
Ginger resisted the urge to take a step away from the reverend’s wife, lest God strike her down right there on the spot for that whopper of a lie. Must be Lydia felt being polite exonerated her from such a blatant mistruth.
“That’s kind of you,” Ginger told her, forcing her teeth not to grind together. Lydia Bain was the equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Her existence made Ginger cringe.
“I wonder if you might want to keep your displays inside your boutique,” Lydia suggested in her clipped voice. “A little discretion goes a long way here in Wilder.”
“Not this again,” Liza grumbled beside her. “Really, Lydia, everyone else is allowed to have displays on the walkway. It’s not illegal for Ginger to do so as well, nor is it a sin. These nighties are quite tasteful. Nothing kinky or overly revealing here.”
Lydia bristled visibly. Ignoring Liza’s observation, she said, “I was hoping to appeal to your good Christian nature, Ginger.”
“Christian women need panties too, Lydia.”
The reverend’s wife gasped in apparent shock over Ginger’s sudden nerve, and possibly over the way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch, staring Lydia down as she followed Liza’s advice about not kowtowing to the Prude Brigade.
“Come along, Lydia.” Martha Hinton, Sunday school teacher and wife of the town’s ophthalmologist, ushered her friend away, a look of disgust on her face as she eyed the satin-and-lace garments hanging on Ginger’s display rack. “Off to church we go. We’ll pray for these girls.”
