Free Hers for the Holidays by Samantha Hunter Page A

way.”
    “Thanks,” she said with a nod, anxious to finish her shopping and leave.
    She hated coming into town like this. The fewer people she ran into in the process, the better. Strolls down memory lane with old boyfriends were a case in point.
    Loyal was all grown up and still as handsome as ever. He kept staring at her piercings like he hadn’t seen anything like them before, but she’d passed two tat shops in Billings, and knew that Montana wasn’t that removed from the ways of the world.
    Still, her winter clothes covered the majority of her designs, which often drew attention even back in the city. Lydia considered it good advertising. When people asked her about her ink, she often talked them into visiting her shop, and she had found a lot of customers that way.
    “Hey, listen, if you need any help with anything at the house, let us know,” Loyal offered. “Old times and all,” he added awkwardly as she stared at him, silent, unsure what to say.
    “Thanks, but I’m good,” she settled on, starting to turn away.
    “Merry Christmas, anyway,” he said.
    “Yeah, uh, you, too,” she mumbled, anxious to get back to her list, but as she turned the corner of the aisle, Lydia felt as if she were caught in A Christmas Carol, facing the ghost of Christmas past.
    “Ginny,” she said on a sharp intake of breath, facing the one person she had hoped to avoid.
    “Lydia,” the woman in the wheelchair, facing her in front of the display of Christmas candy, said, looking apprehensive and just as surprised as Lydia was.
    “I heard you were back,” Ginny said.
    Lydia felt as if her throat was closing, and all she wanted to do was throw her basket and run, but she managed to nod.
    “I need to take care of Mom’s place,” she said stiffly, looking away, her eyes landing on the Christmas candy but not really seeing it.
    “You’re selling?”
    “Um, yeah,” she said, looking back at the rubber tires of the chair, and Ginny’s pink boots, planted on the foot holders. Ginny had always loved everything pink. Lydia had once, too.
    “I, um,” Lydia stuttered, looking for words, and saw the ice slide over her former friend’s gaze as someone else walked up to join them. A man unloaded some things into a cart, and shifted to face Ginny with a smile.
    “I think that’s it, darlin’,” he said affectionately, and then turned a smile in Lydia’s direction. “Hi, there.”
    Lydia nodded, taking in the guy’s handsome face, and his business-casual dress. A wool coat, nice leather boots. A businessman, not a ranch worker.
    “And you are?” he asked.
    “This is Lydia Hamilton, my best friend from high school,” Ginny said bitterly, her eyes pinning Lydia to the spot. “Lydia, this is my husband, Charles.”
    Husband. Lydia had known that, her mother had told her that Ginny had gotten married somewhere along the line. But she remained speechless.
    “Why are you bothering my wife?” her husband asked, his smile fading. “Why are you even here? You leave us alone,” he warned darkly, sending Lydia another look as he put a hand on Ginny’s shoulder.
    Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She met Ginny’s eyes, wishing there was something that could be said, but clearly her friend didn’t want to hear any of it, and Lydia couldn’t blame her. The resentment and accusation in her eyes and tone were all that Lydia could expect.
    “Take care of yourself, Lydia. It is what you do best,” Ginny said coldly, spinning her chair and following her husband to the register.
    Lydia’s knees were shaking, and it was all she could do to stand up. Abandoning her basket of items, she made her way to the door and out, needing air. Needing to escape.
    Her mother had told her she should confront her past. That Ginny had moved on with her life—which was clear—and that Lydia needed to make peace with it, too. But that was clearly impossible.
    Lydia knew her mother was wrong; she didn’t expect