Free A Brush With Love by Rachel Hauck

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 themorning, 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 fromher 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.
    But his defense of her last night resonated with her. He’d stood up for her. The notion warmed her with some sort of hope.
    With a glance in the mirror, she secured her scarf, then headed out, slipping on her jacket and looping her purse over her head. If she learned anything as Shana Winter’s daughter, it was not to mistake kindness as affection. Or love. She’d end up like Mama if she didn’t watch it—bitter and used up.
    She already knew no man would ever want to hold her ugly, scarred body.
    Dawn had not yet kissed the meadow, so if she hurried, she’d be at the house before Tom was out of bed. Plan for the day? Avoid him as much as possible.
    But when she opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning, she was confronted with a white orb of a light and Tom Wells astride a ginormous horse.
    “Good morning.”
    Ginger stumbled back, hand over her heart. “Good grief, you scared me. What are you doing here so early?” She pointed to the mocha-colored beast. “On that?”
    “Waiting for you. Help you get your car out of the mud.” He aimed the flashlight at her feet. “It’s still a mess out there.”
    “Well then, let’s