Free A Brush With Love by Rachel Hauck Page A

go.” She hammered down the steps with a manufactured bravado, shoving past him and his monstrous mount.
    “Ginger, you don’t have to walk.” Tom chirruped to the horse, bouncing the flashlight over the grassy, muddy path still shadowed in the remainder of night.
    “I’m not getting on that thing.” Ginger pointed back at the horse and plodded on, jumping over the muddiest parts, grateful for Tom’s light since she’d clearly forgotten hers. “What happened to Scott’s truck?”
    “He got stuck himself doing some midnight mudding. The Maynards’ stable horses are here, so I borrowed one to come help you.”
    “Seriously . . . with a horse?” Ginger’s next step sank into a gloppy rut hidden by a clump of wild grass.
    “Have you seen this brute? He could pull a barn off its foundation. He’s a worker, Ginger.” Tom landed the light on her, his sweet chuckle floating down around her. But she didn’t dare look up. “We hitch your VW to his harness, he’ll be like, ‘What’s this little thing chained to me?’ ” Tom’s laugh traveled through the cold dawn.
    Ginger stopped, glancing up at him. “You think this is funny? I have a job to do and you’re making jokes.”
    “Then why are you being stubborn about help? Ginger, get on the horse.” Tom extended his hand toward her. “You’re sinking deeper as we speak.”
    “I’ve got this.” The farther away she strode from the house, the softer the ground and the wetter the grass. Her feet plunged into the mud, loading down the hem of her jeans.
    “You got this?” Tom dismounted and sloshed alongside her, guiding her with the flashlight’s wide beam. “Mind telling me how you’re going to get your car out of the mud?”
    She stopped, turning around, causing him to pull upshort just before she spun into his thick, sculpted chest. “I . . . have . . . no . . . idea. There, you happy?”
    He stiffened, drawing back. “Wow, forgive me. I didn’t know you wore bitter so well.”
    She stepped into him, releasing the scent of clean cotton and soapy skin. “I find out about your dad and my mama from Ed Frizz? Why didn’t you tell me?”
    He sighed, running his hand the length of the horse’s reins, aiming the flashlight down at his feet. “I didn’t know myself until a few months ago. At the time of the move, my parents told my sister and me they had marriage issues to work on but that everything would be all right. When I told Dad I was returning to Rosebud to start a church, he gave up the rest of the story. That Shana Winters was the reason he had to leave.”
    “What kind of reason ? Edward seemed to know a whole sordid bunch.”
    “Yeah, Ed’s a blowhard. He likes playing the role of big shot but he doesn’t know any more than I do.”
    “But he thinks he does and he’s using it to tell you what to do.”
    “No, he’s not. It’s just Ed being Ed.” He sighed and clicked to the horse to walk on. “Let’s just get your car out of the mud, then you can drive to the house.”
    Ginger stopped, wrestling with the sense she was the bad guy in this scenario. Tom was the hero, literally riding up on a dark horse to save her. How then was it her fault Tom’s father and her mother had been somehow involved? Which made Ed cast shadows on her?
    Ginger’s emotions flowed into words. “Hey, I’m notthe bad guy here.” She chased after him, stumbling into yet another sloppy mudhole to coat the hem of her jeans. “No one said a word to me. Never heard one shred of Rosebud gossip. Come on, I’m the scarred, freak girl. Surely someone was dying to tell me how my mama toppled the county’s most successful preacher.”
    Ginger’s intensity shaved the ice from the air. The gelding raised his head, snorting, his breath billowing from his broad nose.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Ginger. But between now and three days ago, when was I supposed to do that? ‘Hey, I haven’t seen you in a dozen years, and oh by the way, how about your mom