Mr. and Mrs. Manchester picked up one of the blankets and spread it out next to the Osborns and sat down. Each had a drink in hand, and Mrs. Manchester’s face was flushed. Safe bet it was the booze or a fight with her husband.

Bonnie, Dora, and Jessie laughed, looked toward Ruth, and then went back to whispering.

It set her teeth on edge when they acted like they knew better than everyone else. They’d been doing it a lot this week, and she was finding it harder to brush off the hurt feelings.

Talley leaned close to Ruth’s ear. “We should find something to whisper about them too.”

Ruth looked up at Talley, surprised to see the determination in her eyes. “Like what?”

“Maybe Bonnie has big feet. Maybe Jessie’s face is too wide. And Dora’s a little too tall.”

When Ruth looked at the girls again, her gaze moved from Jessie’s face to Bonnie’s feet to Dora’s legs. She giggled.

“Melons, bushels of cornstalks, and beanpoles,” Talley said.

“That’s mean,” Ruth said.

“Where I come from, family sticks together, no matter what.”

Ruth laughed, seeing more grit in Talley’s expression. “I think you might be the toughest of us all.”

“No, that’s you, Ruth. Hands down.”

Henry’s gaze looked past Ruth, and for a moment his jaw dropped before he snapped it closed. Ruth turned and saw Carlotta wearing an emerald-green dress that hugged her curves. She wasn’t wearing shoes, but wedge sandals dangled from her manicured fingers.

She moved slow and steady, knowing as she approached that several of the fathers had shifted their gazes to her. She never sneaked into a room. She always made sure everyone not only saw her coming but had a moment to pause and admire her as they stole second looks.

Carlotta approached Ruth and Talley, smiling. “Evening, ladies. Looks like you’ve built a very fine fire.”

“Daddy’s about to light it,” Ruth said.

Henry cleared his throat.

“Carlotta, this is Mr. Henry Anderson,” Ruth said. “He works here most summers.”

Henry extended his hand to Carlotta. “Nice to meet you, Carlotta.” His drawl deepening, he drew out her name in a slow, meandering way. Blue eyes studied Carlotta as if she were the only woman in the world. “Have we met before?”

Carlotta smiled but didn’t seem flustered by his attention. “No, I don’t think so. I understand you’re the man with the ghost stories.”

His chuckle was deep, husky. “Mostly they’re tales of pirates and treasure, but I’m sure there’ll be a ghost or two for Ruth’s sake.”

“Ruth,” Daddy said. “Want to help me light the fire?”

“Yes!”

“Where’s your mama?” Daddy asked.

“Still in the kitchen.”

Daddy looked toward the dunes. “We best be quick about it, girls, before she catches us.”