Ginger pulled some articles of clothing from one of the bags and spread them on the bed. “Well, anyway, as I said, I don’t know that it’ll benefit you much to stay right here so close to the hospital when you already know the shortcuts through town. Graham gave the other renters condo suites. Insurance covers it.”
“Is there a condo nearby?”
“Here in Branson, there’s always a condo nearby. There’s a furnished duplex over on Blackner that’s always looking for renters. The manager’s a friend of your brother’s. It’d be barely a five-minute drive to the hospital from there.” Ginger quirked an unplucked, copper-bronze eyebrow. “However, the best place to stay is—”
“I know, I know.” Willow chuckled. “Hideaway. You sound like a commercial for the place.” She had almost weakened a time or two under Ginger’s determined but sweet-natured onslaught, especially since she enjoyed this woman’s laid-back attitude and up-front sense of humor.
But she couldn’t allow others to control her life right now, no matter how well-meaning they were. They didn’t know her situation, and she needed that control.
Ginger held up the one purchase she’d made for herself at the Dress Barn. “Mind if I use your bathroom to try this on?” She glanced toward the tiny room. “If I can fit into that broom closet. I want to see if our all-we-could-eat breakfast has affected my dress size in the past couple of hours.”
While Ginger changed, Willow unpacked socks, shoes, jeans, T-shirts, toiletries and a flashlight, while listening to Ginger’s comments, accompanied by an occasional grunt from the bathroom.
“This dress is the gift Graham’s getting me for my birthday,” Ginger said through the crack in the door, which she’d left ajar. “He just doesn’t know it yet. I plan to spring it on him before he can buy me something totally inappropriate.”
Willow unwrapped a package of socks. “When’s your birthday?”
“Next Tuesday. I’ll be fifty-three.”
“No way.”
“Big way. My age is one of the reasons I was forced to come back to America.”
Back to America? “Fifty-three isn’t old.”
“It is to some people.”
“Where were you living?”
Another grunt, then a low mutter about too many buttons. “Belarus. I’m a physician’s assistant, and for ten years I worked at a mission clinic on the outskirts of Minsk.”
“You’re a missionary?” Now that she thought about it, Willow realized that Ginger hadn’t talked much about herself today, nor had she asked any personal questions about Willow. What she had done was fill Willow in on the Branson hot spots and tell her all about the charms of Hideaway and its residents. And she’d called the hospital every hour for a progress report on Preston, who was still sleeping.
Ginger had been the perfect hostess, putting Willow totally at ease—quite an accomplishment. Until today, Willow would have thought that would be impossible.
“Was,” Ginger said. “Was a missionary. Big difference.”
“Why did you have to come back?”
“Heart problems. Mine got broken one too many times by some of the children who came through our clinic. Of course, the chest pains might’ve had something to do with it, as well.”
“Chest pains?” Willow asked.
“Yes, and some big mouth told Graham about it, and he insisted I come back to the States for a workup. So here I am. I had the workup, found a little problem, nothing worth mentioning, and while I was away, some new med school grad replaced me.” She came out the door, her face flushed from exertion. “But I’m not bitter.”
She wore a leopard-print dress that made her look like a very fluffy female stuffed animal with Grand Canyon cleavage. “Well, what do you think?”
Willow tried to keep all expression from her face. “About what?”
Ginger held her arms out and did an ungainly model’s pirouette. “How do I look?”
Oh, boy.
“Come on, give it to me straight.”
“The color looks good,” Willow said. “Excellent color choice.”
“You really think so?” Ginger pattered barefoot to the small dresser and did another pirouette, straining to turn her head far enough to see the back of the dress. “You know, this is the first time in years I’ve had a chance to go shopping for something nice like this. I don’t even know what’s in fashion anymore.”
“Nose rings and tattoos,” Willow said dryly.
“That I cannot do. I’m not a fan of pain. So you really think this dress looks good on me?” She turned to face Willow, hands on hips.
No way was Willow going to lie to this woman. “Um. What I said was that the color is good on you.”
Ginger blinked. “The color?” She turned back to the mirror and frowned. “Granted, I’d have to do something drastic to rein in the neckline, but don’t you think the print gives me a certain flair?”
“Maybe a vertical tiger-print top with a slim black skirt.”
“Oh-oh.” Ginger patted her derriere, chuckling. “Looks like my love for pig fat, borscht and potato pancakes has caught up with me. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted kholodets.”
“How long have you been back in the States?”
“Going on a month,” Ginger said, turning again to check her reflection. “You don’t think a nice wide black belt would do the trick?”
Willow made a face.
Ginger grimaced. “Didn’t think so.”
“What did you do before you went to Belarus ten years ago?” Willow asked.
“Oh, the usual. Had to get married at seventeen, was a scandal in our small hometown and a disgrace to the family. I was divorced at eighteen, got married again at twenty-five, was widowed at twenty-nine.” Ginger’s gaze sought Willow’s in the reflection of the mirror. “Life does go on, even though I didn’t want it to back then.”
Willow held the gaze. She swallowed. “Any children?”
“Two boys. Twins. They were the reason for the first marriage, and the reason why I did keep going after the divorce and after their stepfather died. They’ve got families of their own now, teenagers and all, paying for their raising.” She winked at Willow. “You?”
Willow closed her eyes and nodded. “I lost a little girl when I was four months along, a month after my husband’s death. Pedestrian versus car.” She didn’t know this fun-loving missionary well enough to confess that she suspected the “accident” was no accident. Saying that in the past had earned her some uncomfortable looks, and even more disconcerting comments.
Ginger turned from the mirror and walked over to plop down onto the chair beside the bed. “Oh, honey, you’ve been through it, haven’t you?”
Willow didn’t want to sink into grief today. She wanted to forget the nightmare for once and forget the reason she was here, doing this right now—because there had been a fire.
She’d become so lonely and overwhelmed by her dreams and her fears that she’d finally given in to her brother’s insistence that she move in with