Falling for the Cowboy

by Mary Leo

  And she slammed the door shut. Maggie hesitated, then knocked, and Mrs. Abernathy opened the door a crack.

  “How’s my sister?”

  “She’s sleeping. You can’t see her now, anyway. By the time you get back, she’ll be wide-awake and full’a vinegar. You two can catch up then.”

  She shut the door again, and this time Maggie had no choice but to take the potato salad to booth number six at the fairgrounds, wherever the heck that was.

  * * *

  SURPRISINGLY, JUST AS Doc Blake had said, there was a line of traffic down Main Street. Where they had all come from, Maggie couldn’t imagine. She joined the herd, and in less than twenty minutes pulled her car into a slot in a dirt parking lot, grabbed the hopefully soon to be blue-ribbon salad and her purse, then followed the happy group to what appeared to be a small carnival off in the distance.

  A fair happened to be the one event Maggie always thought of fondly, more than any night on the town, any concert or cruise. A fair, complete with amusement rides, fortune teller and quilt contest, truly excited the little girl in her. But just like porch swings and lemonade, she thought she had successfully buried those triggers deep in her memory.

  The mere idea of a genuine country fair brought up emotions she tried never to dwell on. Good ones, of holding her aunt’s hand while they rode the Ferris wheel or played a ring toss game, hoping to win the doll with the pink hair. She and Kitty spending lazy summer days in Indiana, with nothing to do but laugh and play.

  She never did win that pink-haired doll. Their mom had come to retrieve her and Kitty before the fair’s closing night. Maggie had begged her mom to let them stay one more day, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Country life wouldn’t do for her girls. They were going to be successful businesswomen with high-paying careers and designer clothes, and a girl could only get those things in a big city.

  But at what cost?

  She shook away the memories and concentrated on the task at hand: getting Kitty’s potato salad to the correct booth.

  As she approached the main hub of the fairgrounds, the old familiar scent of fried foods and cotton candy filled the air, causing her to smile with delight.

  As country music poured from strategically placed loud speakers, Maggie picked up her pace, thankful she’d worn Kitty’s black boots today. Heels would have been a total disaster.

  Excitement bubbled up from her tummy, and she felt like a little girl anticipating a magic experience. She wanted to be surrounded by the sights and sounds of a good time.

  “What ya got there, honey?” an older woman asked as she walked up beside Maggie, all smiles and warmth.

  “A prize-winning potato salad.”

  The woman arched an eyebrow. “You don’t say. So, whatcha’ gonna do with that there prize winner?”

  “Drop it off at booth six for the contest.” Maggie had a funny feeling about this woman.

  “What kind’a potato salad is it?”

  Fortunately, Maggie had no idea what the salad even looked like. “The winning kind.”

  The woman smiled. “Mine is, too.” And she nodded toward the large black canvas bag she was rolling behind her. “Potato salad can be tricky, especially when you add the mustard. Too much and you lose the sweet flavor of the potato. What kind’a mustard did you use?”

  Maggie stopped abruptly to address the woman as they stood at the entrance to the fair. “You must be Phyllis Gabauer. I’m Maggie Daniels, Kitty’s sister. Kitty made the salad. I don’t cook, unless you want to call toasting a piece of bread cooking. I have no idea what she put in this salad, but according to Mrs. Abernathy, it’s good enough to give you a real run for that blue ribbon.”

  Phyllis straightened up. The friendly smile was gone. “I win this contest every year, honey. There ain’t a potato salad in this whole state’s better’n mine. I don’t care what that bitter nag says.” She made a humph sound and stalked off. Maggie chuckled.

  * * *

  WHEN MAGGIE DANIELS arrived at the booth carrying a red bowl, Blake figured he’d just struck gold. “I didn’t know you knew the first thing about cooking.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “This is Kitty’s entry.”

  Maggie handed him the bowl. He took it, but he had his doubts the bowl contained anything even remotely resembling potato salad.

  “This can’t be good,” he whispered.

  After dealing with Phyllis, Maggie felt as if she had to defend her sister. “It’s going to win the blue ribbon. There is a blue ribbon, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, but the judges are pretty finicky.”

  “So I’ve been told, but this salad is going to please even the finickiest.”

  “That would be Dodge, and he’s a traditionalist when it comes to potato salad. No tofu allowed.”

  “This is a time-tested recipe, handed down by a woman who has potato salad in her blood.” She cocked an eyebrow as if she was hoping he’d believe her.

  Blake grinned and handed Maggie a short form. “Fill this out so I can attach it to the bowl. The big tasting is tonight at seven. The winner’s announced tomorrow morning, right before the Spud Tug.”

  Maggie laughed. “A Spud Tug?”

  “It’s like a tug of war. And the winning team gets a Spudphy.”

  “I can’t even imagine what that might be.” She threw him a sly look. He was thinking how he’d love to see this city girl knee-deep in potatoes. Might be kind of cute.

  “You’ll love it. You can keep it on your kitchen counter to crack open nuts, or knock out an intruder. Hell, I don’t rightly know all you can do with the thing, but you’ll have fun telling the story of how you won it to all your city friends. Besides, I take my team out to Sammy’s Smoke House afterward. Best dang barbeque in all of Idaho. We’re needing one more person. What do ya’ say?”

  She considered it for a full minute, which didn’t surprise him. Maggie was like that. She never jumped. Always took her time. He liked that about her, and wondered if that attribute somehow transferred into the bedroom. His ex liked to just get it over with, get the deed done, so to speak. Blake liked to take it slow. Make their time together last, which only aggravated his wife, until they hardly made love at all in that last year. He had a feeling Maggie was the same as he was, slow and easy, like a harvest moon passing over the endless sky.

  “Sounds delightful, but I’m not into mud.”

  “No mud involved.”

  “Or water.”

  “No water involved.”

  “What else—”

  He grinned and pushed his hat higher on his forehead. She was nothing, if not ornery.

  “Potatoes?”

  He nodded. “Mashed.”

  She paused for a moment, grinned and he knew he had her. “Then you’ll be here?” he asked.

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We win. I want that Spudphy.”

  “We’ll do our darnedest. The tug starts at two, but you need to be here an hour early to sign in. Plus, Scout’s in the Tater Trot and I know she’d love to see you on the sidelines cheering her on.”

  “I won’t even ask what a Tater Trot might be, but anything that Scout is doing I’ll most definitely be there to watch.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow then.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She winked at him, turned and walked away, leaving Blake as happy as a naughty pup with a new shoe.

  * * *<
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  “WHAT DOES SOMEONE wear to a Spud Tug?” Maggie asked Kitty as they both sat on her bed finishing up the scrumptious dinner that Mrs. Abernathy had prepared for them: baked brook trout smothered in lemon and slivered almonds, fresh green beans tossed with some sort of yummy pesto sauce and berry cobbler topped with rich homemade vanilla ice cream. The woman could not only nurse Kitty but she could cook like a New York chef.

  “I can’t believe Doc talked you into this. It’s almost a miracle of sorts. My sister, Maggie Daniels, willing to get her hair, makeup and designer clothes covered in mashed potatoes. Will wonders never cease?”

  Maggie cleared their trays from the bed. “Doc thinks we can win. We’re bringing that other team down, baby.”

  Kitty drank the last of her organic whole milk, wiped her mouth on the checkered cloth napkin she’d made herself and said, “Well, in that case, I’d wear skinny jeans, a pair of my high boots and a T-shirt. I have one from last year’s festival that you can have, in case you don’t own an actual T-shirt.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Of course I own a T-shirt.” But in all honesty, it wasn’t the kind of T-shirt Kitty was talking about. Maggie’s little pink shirt cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars, courtesy of Kate Spade, and she wasn’t about to get mashed potatoes ground into the fabric…not that it would ever happen, but still. “If you insist. Besides, I won’t stand out as much as a tourist if I’m wearing something local.”

  “It’s a small town, sis. You’d stand out even if you wore a potato sack. Which reminds me, I won’t get to see the potato sack booth this year and I love all the clever things the Phillips sisters make. Last year I bought a cute little purse and a tea cozy. Maybe you can check out the booth and tell me what they have?”

  Not in her wildest dreams could Maggie think of anything that could possibly be labeled “cute” made out of a potato sack. “Not a problem. I’ll check it out and report back.”

  Kitty smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, but potato sacks are biodegradable, and besides, I like to support local artists.”

  “No comment.” Maggie held back a giggle.

  “Go ahead and scoff, but you’ll change your tune once you see everything they make.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Cynic.”

  Maggie didn’t want to argue with her sister. Not tonight. Especially not over potato sack creations. What she really wanted to tell her was how she might be falling for Doc Blake. Not that she would put it that way, exactly. Just that she was definitely thinking a lot about him these days.

  Still, she couldn’t admit her feelings. That would make them real and she didn’t need to pile anything else onto her sister’s shoulders.

  “You’re right. I’m being close-minded…again. I’ll check it out.”

  “Great. You’ll see that I’m right. Oh, and you might want to bring a change of clothes. Those mashers can get pretty sticky and smelly once they’re on your clothes.”

  Maggie hopped back on the bed, next to her sister. “That would mean we’d have lost. Never going to happen. Doc promised me a Spudphy, and I intend to hold him to his promise.”

  Kitty smiled and Maggie’s heart soared. She was so happy to see her little sister more like her old self.

  “The coveted Spudphy. Now that’s something to get excited about. I have just one question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not falling for Doc are you? Every time you mention his name your face lights up.”

  Maggie couldn’t look at Kitty, so instead, she fell back on the soft bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s the town catch and I’m just passing through.”

  “My point, exactly.”

  * * *

  “COME ON, SCOUT!” Maggie yelled as she stood next to Doc while Scout and several other kids her age ran along a short grass track. They were all balancing a big fat russet potato on a large wooden spoon held out in front of them. So far, most of the other kids had lost their potatoes and were out of the race, but Scout and three other little boys seemed determined to make it to the finish line.

  Without even thinking about it, Maggie stuck two fingers in her mouth, curled up her tongue and let out an ear-shattering whistle. The high-pitched blast must have hit a chord with Scout because her little feet moved faster.

  “I never could do that,” Doc Blake said.

  Maggie shrugged. “Easy.” Then she turned her attention back to Scout, who moved with speed and grace, totally concentrating on the mission with her tiny lips scrunched together, tongue poking out every two seconds, forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowed against the sun and tiny pink cowgirl boots moving in a steady rhythm.

  The nearest boy, whose parents wore huge potato-shaped brown hats with smiling faces emblazoned on the front, cheered their son on, their overly loud voices drowning everyone else out.

  Maggie had no choice but to whistle again, and once again Scout picked up speed.

  “Somehow, I never thought of you as a whistler,” Doc told her.

  “Tomboy when I was a kid.”

  “You’re the hardest girl to figure out.”

  “That’s my charm.”

  Scout was only steps away from the finish line, but it looked as if the potato-hat family had their boy pumped up to win.

  Then, from out of nowhere, a deep male voice boomed across the field. “You can do it, Scout! Run, girl! Run!” And Scout took off like greased lightning right over the finish line.

  The crowd burst into cheers. Even the potato-hat family joined in applauding Scout’s achievement.

  Maggie let loose a high-pitched whoop, while Doc yelled out his joy over Scout’s win.

  “Was that Dodge hollering for Scout?” Maggie asked Doc, as they headed for his daughter, now surrounded by well-wishers.

  Doc nodded. “He has a way with kids.”

  “I’ll say. Seems like he’d be perfect to help with some of your patients.”

  “He’s been in a time or two.”

  “Would he consider giving me lessons?”

  “Only if you intend to hang around a spell.”

  “Define a spell.”

  He turned toward her, sincerity splashed on his face. “A spell in these parts could mean anywhere from a few months to the rest of your life.”

  She had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around him and tell him the rest of her life would really suit her.

  But she said, “That’s a fairly broad definition.”

  He nodded. “Might be, but the way I see it, after a few weeks a person either can’t wait to wipe the dust from this ol’ town off their boots or they’ve taken to the place so strong the dust’s turned into cracked mud.”

  Maggie gazed down at Doc’s boots. Sure enough, they were the same boots he’d worn every day: scuffed, scratched and now caked with dried mud. Maggie had spent the entire morning polishing Kitty’s borrowed boots so even now, as they walked toward Scout on the dirt trail, her boots were as pristine as they had been that morning.

  She wondered if Doc had noticed.

  As soon as Doc reached Scout, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around. “Daddy, did you see me? I won, Daddy. I won!” She held up her Spudphy, her face beaming.

  “I saw every minute, baby. You were quicker than a bee buzzing for the hive.”

  She giggled, and faced Maggie. “I won, Maggie! I won!”

  Doc put his daughter down, and she reached out for Maggie. Maggie squatted to
her level and gave Scout a tight hug. At once, Maggie felt pure joy as Scout’s tiny arms wrapped around her shoulders.

  “You were amazing, Scout,” Maggie told her.

  Scout pulled away and handed Maggie the Spudphy, a four-inch-high silver russet potato with a smiling face, a cowboy hat, and spindly arms and legs. It wore cowboy boots and a belt with an oval-shaped buckle that read BAKER in black letters. Maggie figured the word baker on little potato man’s buckle was there to remind everyone that a russet was meant for baking, a fact that she had only recently learned. “Isn’t it beautiful, Maggie? I never won one of my very own before. Don’t you want one, Maggie? It’s so beautiful.”

  “Your dad, here, promised me one for the Spud Tug.”

  “But you have to win it, and the Spud Tug is hard.”

  “That’ll make it all the better,” Maggie said, staring at Blake, who now seemed a bit unsure of himself.

  “Not a problem, Scout. Spudphies all around.”

  But Maggie wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Eight

  Edith Abernathy sat on a white plastic folding chair in the front row with Maggie Daniels perched right next to her, as a group of stoic-looking judges announced the winners of the various cooking and baking contests. Phyllis Gabaur, who had already won the pie contest, pickle contest and scalloped potato contest, sat at the other end of the row, proudly displaying her blue ribbons that had been pinned across her scrawny chest.

  With each announcement, a cheer would rise up from friends and family of the winner. The rest of the anxious audience would offer up their tepid applause, obviously anxious for news of their own entries.