soothing, more sympathetic. “Are you all right?”
Liza stood back a few feet, watching the interaction. The woman in the car—
Lydia—was roughly their age. She was a simple-looking woman, dressed in soft pink,
her brown hair pulled back in a short, tidy ponytail. She wore no makeup, save for clear lip gloss, and no jewelry other than a thin gold band on her left ring finger. Her
knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel.
“Yes,” she finally said with a nod of her head. “I’m fine. I just… Oh, Jack, I’m so
sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he told her.
“No, it’s not!” Her voice rose. “Look what I’ve done to your truck!”
“It’ll survive,” he said, still the epitome of calm. “Let me help you out.”
She shook her head, yet conceded at the same time. She let go of her death grip on
the steering wheel and allowed Jack to help her out of the car. Her entire body shook, Liza noticed. She felt bad for her. Lydia had been distracted when she’d hit them and was clearly shaken by the accident.
“We’ll pay for the damages,” she said to Jack. “I’ll tell Tom at the body shop to put them on Jonathan’s account.”
Jack’s jaw tightened—a telltale sign Liza read so easily now. No powers of
deduction needed to determine to which “Jonathan” Lydia referred. She was the
Reverend Bain’s wife. And Jack’s aunt by his mother’s second marriage.
Liza looked at the woman with different eyes. Before she’d known her identity,
Lydia seemed like a fragile, disoriented woman. But now… Her gaze shifted and
landed on the dress rack across the street that Lydia had said had grabbed her attention and caused her to hit Jack’s truck.
Liza’s jaw fell slack. One would never guess from the demure signage and window
display that there was a lingerie shop in the neighborhood. But the rack—or rather, the lacy nighties hanging on it—was a dead giveaway.
The reverend’s wife hadn’t been distracted by a pretty dress. She’d been stunned
into paralysis by the “risqué” display—and Liza did have to use that term loosely,
because she personally couldn’t find anything wrong with the clothes. Lydia Bain had
slammed right into Jack’s truck as, Liza presumed, she’d gawked at the sexy lingerie.
Good grief. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
It hadn’t occurred to Liza before, but Hill Country was part of the Bible Belt. And
she was now fully immersed in its culture. Her brows knitted together as she watched
Jack take such good care of his aunt. Other people gathered round to make sure she was okay, and a few seconds later, Liza heard the familiar sound of a police siren.
She found it interesting that Jack did not express the same disdain for the
reverend’s wife as he did toward the reverend himself. Liza was already seeing
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Devil in Texas
evidence that she shared her husband’s views, so why was Jack so tolerant of her and
not Bain?
She shook her head. Liza was racking up more questions about the Devil than she’d
ever anticipated. And found it incredibly ironic that she’d pinned the nickname on
someone so representative—especially in a town such as this—of the moniker. Sinner
that he was.
“Really,” Lydia was saying with disapproval in her voice, which pulled Liza from
her thoughts. “What is Ginger thinking?”
Once again, Lydia’s eyes were on the clothes rack across the street. Liza’s gaze
didn’t leave the reverend’s wife. She was clearly unnerved. No, it was more than that.
She was shocked at the audacity of the shop owner who’d put her sexy wares on public
display.
What was the big deal anyway? The nightgowns were short and lacy, sure. But Liza
had seen more risqué outfits in a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Then again, considering
everything Jack had divulged thus far, her guess was the reverend preferred his wife in plain white cotton rather than sexy red lace.
Jack’s earlier words came back to Liza in a flash.
I don’t like him shoving his personal beliefs down everyone’s throat.
Interesting. Did it rub Jack raw that Lydia Bain was subject to her husband’s
crusade to save the morality of the townsfolk? Did he know something about her that
made her prudishness disturbing to him?
As though Liza had spoken all of this aloud, Mrs. Bain’s gaze snapped to her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Liza asked, having no other comment to make because
she was still trying to sort out this whole Twilight-Zone experience she was suddenly living.
“You must be Miss Brooks,” Lydia said. Her spine stiffened notably when she
spoke.
“Guilty as charged,” Liza replied.
Jack shot her a “Did you really have to say that?” look and Liza stifled a grin. She
didn’t mind ruffling stiff feathers.
“I’m Lydia Bain,” the reverend’s wife said in a suddenly haughty tone. She eyed
Liza from head to toe and added in a clipped tone, “Welcome to Wilder.”
Then she turned away, dismissing Liza completely. Her chin even lifted a notch.
Liza bristled at the obvious slight. Who was this woman to judge—and dismiss—
her? Who was she to judge the lingerie boutique owner or anyone else for that matter?
Fuming, Liza took a step forward, but Jack was on the move.
The local Barney Fife had arrived on the scene and Jack walked away from Lydia,
letting her give the details of the accident. Liza couldn’t see any visual signs of injury on her person and she assumed Jack felt she was fine too. At least physically.
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Calista Fox
He stalked toward Liza in that purposeful way of his and hooked his arm around
her waist. She turned with him as he continued to walk, bringing her around to the
passenger’s side of the truck once more, out of eye- and earshot of everyone else.
The tension was suddenly visible on his face and in his tight muscles, so Liza asked,
“What gives? You were the one spouting the ‘I don’t let anyone tell me what to do’
thing, but Jesus. You don’t seem the least bit disturbed by her obviously narrow-
minded views.”
“Little more to it than the obvious, darlin’.” He opened the truck door. “Why don’t
you get in? The Bains and I have the same insurance agent, so it’s not like we need to exchange information.”
Liza didn’t budge. “Aren’t you going to give your side of the story to the police?