Free Love, Lies and Texas Dips by Susan McBride Page A

afterward. “No, I’m sorry, but tomorrow night won’t work for me.”
    “Hush, please, darling. Let Grammy think.” Rose cocked her head and fiddled with the pearls around her neck, a sure sign that she was cooking up something that suited her, regardless of what anyone else had in mind.
    Ginger felt completely at her mercy. Not even a prearranged call from Mac faking car trouble could bail her out this time, she thought with a sigh.
    “I know.” Rose brightened. “How about y’all come here? Ginger can model my debutante gown so you can take pictures or whatever it is you do to prepare, Kent, dear. You can even use the library for as long as you’re working on the portrait. It’s where Gus painted me, if you hadn’t already guessed.”
    “What a lovely idea,” Deena piped up with a smile—the first real smile that Ginger had seen on her mother’s face all afternoon. She turned to Ginger. “Sweetie, we can go together, if you’d like. I have to be at the meeting anyway.”
    Would anyone listen if she said no?
    Kent obviously noticed her frustration. But instead of making it easy on her by suggesting another date, he stepped toward her, explaining, “I promise it won’t take long. We’ll just do some preliminary staging, and I’ll take some photographs. It’ll be over in a flash.”
    “A flash, huh?” Ginger sighed, realizing this wasn’t something she could get out of gracefully—or at all. She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. So long as I’m allowed to come by myself. Thanks anyway, Mother.”
    She glanced at Deena, who shrugged, which was as good a nonresponse as any. Ginger had expected a bit of an argument, but her mom seemed too happy about the turn of events to put up a fight. That got Ginger to wondering if this whole scenario hadn’t been cooked up between Deena and Rose to keep her occupied for a while so she wouldn’t waste her time on “unworthy boys” like Javier Garcia. Ginger wasn’t normally a conspiracy theorist, but she found the idea entirely plausible.
    “So there we are,” Rose said, and her pale eyes lit up within the soft folds of her face. “I’ll see everyone back here tomorrow night at around half past eight. Ginger?” Her grandmother’s penciled brows arched.
    “Yes, Grammy, I’ll be here,” she agreed, wishing it didn’t mean skipping out on her two best friends.

Trust has noting to do with love.
It’s vigilance that’s import.
—Tallulah Bankhead
Love may be blind, but I’d rather
keep both eyes wide open.
—Jo Lynn Bidwell

Five
    “No freakin’ way!” Jo Lynn squealed into her iPhone as she drove her Audi one-handed down tree-shaded Bunker Hill toward the cul-de-sac where Dillon lived, already late for his family’s Labor Day barbecue. “You saw Laura Bell working out at the club? Sure you didn’t sprinkle crack on your Frosted Flakes?”
    “It was Laura, I swear to God,” Camie Lindell assured her.
    “Damn, I would’ve paid to see that! Does the Hostess Cupcake even know how to break a sweat?”
    “Only if it involves shoveling food into her mouth,” Camie said, laughing.
    “Snap!” Jo wondered if Laura’s workout was in any way inspired by the edible gifts she’d been getting from her phony admirer. She smirked at the thought. If Laura seemed panicked about her weight, then maybe Jo’s plan to bulk her up and get her booted from the Rosebuds was right on track. Being a Glass Slipper Club deb was a privilege that a debutank like Laura didn’t deserve. “Was she alone?”
    “Do Randoms ever travel alone?” Cam retorted. “She was with that mousy Mac Mackenzie. Although they were bothgone by the time Trisha and I finished with yoga. They probably had heart attacks after five minutes on the treadmill.”
    “I doubt Laura even lasted that long.” Jo snorted.
    “Dillon was there too. We ran into him before our class.”
    “Oh, really?” Dillon had mentioned working out before the party, but still Jo’s pulse picked up at the