by Meg Muldoon
The line to the pie stand was getting longer and longer with each passing minute. The booming voice of the rodeo announcers echoed throughout the grounds and was often followed by wild cheering from the crowd in the stands. The general atmosphere of the fairgrounds was one of just barely controlled chaos.
And it was only one o’clock in the afternoon.
Poor Daniel was going to have his hands more than full today and tonight.
But I didn’t have much time to dwell on the staffing problems of the Sheriff’s Office. With Chrissy on vacation, I was having some staffing problems of my own at the moment. The line to Cinnamon’s Pies was beginning to reach out into the middle of the Grub Walkway, and it seemed like I couldn’t scoop heaps of ice cream onto slices of pie fast enough for the hot and bothered crowd.
I kept my head down, taking money and pushing plates out. I wished I had more time to watch people as they savored my pie – call it vanity – but there was no time for that either.
Smile, take the order, scoop the ice cream, push the plate out. Brush away the sweat. Repeat.
It was going to be a long, long day.
I took a $10 bill from one customer in a Stetson. I got him the change, but the man just shook his head.
“You just go ahead on and put that in the tip jar, there, honey pie.”
I shrugged, then nodded gratefully.
On the bright side, at least it was going to be a very green day too.
Chapter 22
“I hate pie.”
The line had almost disappeared as we approached the dinner hour. Sweet tooths gave way to cravings for hot, savory fare. Lines to places like the Christmas River Fry Shack and the Holiday Dumpling Cart stretched out far, full of customers fanning themselves with the Rodeo catalogue, standing impatiently.
I’d been rejoicing in the short break. Tiana had made another shop run, and was on her way back to deliver some more Blueberry Cinnamons and Mountain Cherries for the desert crowd. I was sitting down, resting for a spell, propping my feet up on the small refrigerator under one of the tables.
That’s when the man approached me, saying something I hadn’t ever heard anybody say.
I looked up from the Rodeo catalogue I was reading, squinting at him.
I didn’t recognize him. He was in his mid-50s or early 60s, and looked to be sort of a grizzled, mountain man kind of character. He had a long, overgrown beard, and he was wearing a cowboy hat. He had a pair of clear blue eyes that gazed out from beneath it.
He was holding an empty plate.
“You hate pie?” I said, standing up. “What kind of thing is that to say?”
“I didn’t finish the thought,” he said. “The rest of it goes something like ‘I hate pie… usually.’”
“Does that mean my pie changed your mind?” I asked.
“Changed my mind? I wouldn’t go that far. At least not yet.”
He handed me the empty plate.
“I’ll try that cherry one this time, if you would,” he said. “You see, I’ve got to have all the facts if I’m going to make an informed decision.”
I took his plate, sliding a large slice of the cherry onto it and adding a heap of ice cream on top.
“I’m all for informed decisions,” I said, giving him his plate back.
I took the crisp five dollar bill from his hand and put it in the cash register.
“Quite an event, isn’t it?” he said.
“Sure is,” I said, nodding in agreement. “Is this your first time to the Christmas River Rodeo?”
“It is,” he said, taking a bite. “I haven’t been to a rodeo in 20 odd years.”
“Really?” I said. “That surprises me. I’d think a cowboy like you would be a regular at these kinds of events.”
He shrugged.
“I’m not much of a cowboy,” he said. “Just one of them urban cowboys, I guess. I couldn’t tell the difference between a filly and a steer if it came down to it.”
He took another bite of his pie. A coy grin crossed his lips.
“I could be wrong, but I think I might’ve won the battle,” I said.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “There might be a round three in order later. We’ll see.”
I laughed.
“So, what are you doing later, pie lady? You want to see the bronco riding event with this old urban cowboy?”
I gave him a half smile, then held out my left hand for him to see my ring.
“Aw, well,” he said, letting out a little sigh. “I should’ve known.”
“I appreciate the compliment, though,” I said.
“Your husband is one lucky man, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
He let out a belch and then pat his stomach.
“Though if I were to guess, I’d say his doctor probably isn’t too happy with him. I’m sure the man wants for nothing in the food department.”
“Well, he’s the Sheriff,” I said. “So that keeps him in shape most of the time.”
“Give it a few years,” he said.
He smiled crookedly.
“Well, I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your break,” he said. “But just know that you might’ve picked yourself up a convert here.”
He threw the empty paper plate in the trashcan near the stand, and then left, heading toward the arena.
It was nice to see civility at an event like this. So many times, people got hot and frustrated and drunk at the Rodeo, and acted as though they forgot their manners at home. If they even had any to begin with.
A moment later, a long line suddenly formed, seemingly from thin air, and I was once again swamped and sweating.
Just a few more days, I thought to myself, repeating my mantra of the month. Just a few more and we’ll be home free.
Chapter 23
Before packing up and leaving the chaotic, teeming, fairgrounds for the night, I met Daniel at the front entrance ticket office. I’d packed him a little pick-me-up in the form of a large slice of Peach Blueberry Pie.
Daniel’s collared sheriff’s shirt was practically soaked through with sweat. He looked tired and overworked. The way standing out under a hot sun all day would make you.
I was sure I didn’t look much better.
“Thanks, Cin,” he said, taking the paper bag from me. “This is a life saver.”
“How’s everything going?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“About how I expected it to be. But so far, nobody’s blown chunks over my boots yet. So I guess you’d say I’m still in the black.”
I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and told him I’d see him later when he got back home.
“It’s fixing to be a long night,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“We’re almost there,” I said. “Just think of those cool trade winds of Maui. I can almost feel them. Can’t you?”
He smiled.
But the smile quickly faded as Wyatt Rasmussen, the drunk who’d coincidentally been the one to blow chunks all over Daniel’s boots at last year’s Rodeo, stumbled over an electrical cord connecting to one of the generators. He came a few feet away from taking a face plant.
The plastic cup he was holding went flying, and beer spilled out across the dusty ground.
“Tarnation!” he said. “Der goes six dollars and fifty cents right der!”
Daniel looked at me and just shook his head.
“Just think of those winds,” I said.
“They seem a little far away right now,” he said, going over to Wyatt and grabbing the man’s arm, helping him to his feet. “But I’ll try, Cin. I’ll try.”
I watched as he walked away, talking to Wyatt. Saying something along the lines of “You think you might want to call it a night, Wyatt? Get a head start on getting rid of that hangover?”
Wyatt was nodding his head like he was actually considering the proposition, but we all knew that he was going to be at the Rodeo for the long haul tonight. As long as there was beer flowing from the tap
s, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Luckily, I was.
I headed for the parking lot, and left the madness that was the Christmas River Rodeo behind in the dust.
I hadn’t seen a single rodeo event.
But there was still tomorrow to look forward to.
Chapter 24
I sat outside Kara’s house in my car, feeling like a creeper extraordinaire.
A normal person would probably walk up to the house, knock on the door, and give Kara a chance to explain what was going on.
But instead of doing any of that, I just sat there, watching through the open window.
Despite being a wreck of tired legs and aching feet, I had decided to stop by Kara’s house anyway after I packed up the pie stand for the night.
Normally, she wouldn’t pass up the annual Christmas River Rodeo. She’d gone every year since I’d known her. She loved breaking out her pink cowgirl hat and watching the cowboys do their best against the livestock. Just like the rest of the folks in Christmas River.
But this year was different. She had told me she wasn’t feeling up to the crowds, and that instead, she was going to spend a quiet night at home in the bathtub reading a romance novel.
Expect that wasn’t what she was doing tonight.
An unfamiliar black Mustang sat in her driveway. The lights were on inside, and I could see them sitting close together on the sofa in the living room, watching television.
I bit my lip.
Bradley Houston looked a lot different than he used to, but I still recognized him right away. He still had that raven dark hair, only instead of it hanging shaggily around his face, it was now styled and slicked off to one side. He’d changed his look a little in the years since leaving Christmas River. He now sported large-framed hipster glasses, and wore a tight flannel shirt.
As I gazed through the window at the two of them, I realized I was gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles were turning white.
How could Kara do this? And do this so plainly in sight, for the whole neighborhood to see?
She knew how talk got around in Christmas River. How could she be so cruel to John?
I knew that I should have been on her side. I was her best friend, and that meant offering support, no matter what.
But this was hard to stomach. John really loved Kara. He’d been there for her for these past two and a half years. And it seemed like she had loved him back.
But I guess she’d had a change of heart.
Kara had every right to break up with John if she wasn’t happy with him anymore. But to cheat on him? That was the cowardly way out.
Almost equally as offensive was how she’d kept this from me too. Her best friend, of all people.
How could she just shut everyone in her life out like that?
How could she—
Suddenly, the sky lit up with a bright flash. A few moments later, there was a loud splitting crash that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. Kara and Brad glanced out the window at the lightning and thunder.
I suddenly realized they were looking in my direction.
A normal person might have gotten out of the car then. But clearly, I was far from normal.
I panicked. I turned the ignition and put a foot to the pedal, inadvertently doing the exact thing that would draw more attention to myself.
I pulled out and sped down the street, getting as far away from her place as fast as I could.
I glanced up in the mirror and just shook my head at myself.
I was pretty sure they had seen me.
Chapter 25
The window panes shook as a crack of thunder ripped through the air outside.
Huckleberry was barking at the edge of the bed.
I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird.
I sat straight up in bed. Every muscle in my body felt strained and my throat was drier than the dusty Rodeo fairgrounds.
I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. I turned the lamp on, and downed the liquid.
I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming about. Only that it must have been bad. The feelings leftover from the dream felt like they were still running roughshod over me. There was a bad sensation in the center of my chest.
Maybe it was the thunderstorm that caused the bad feelings. All that electricity hanging in the air didn’t make for restful sleep.
I grabbed my phone and checked the time. It was late. Daniel hadn’t called. But I did have two messages.
Did you come by the house earlier? I thought I saw your car out front the first message read.
It doesn’t matter… Cin, I have something to tell you. Can I come by tomorrow a.m.?
Caught red-handed, Kara no doubt wanted to tell me about her affair with Brad.
I’d respond in the morning.
Even though it was warm in the house, I grabbed my robe and wrapped it tightly around my waist. I slid my phone into one of the pockets. I sat back down at the edge of the bed for a moment, stroking Huckleberry’s soft fur.
He was tense from the storm, standing on edge, waiting for the next crack of thunder. He let out a few low whines.
“It’s okay, Hucks,” I said, in a soft voice. “It’s just a little thunder. Everything’s okay.”
After some coaxing, his ears relaxed. He lay back down on the bed, looking up at me with big, unsure doggy eyes.
I kissed his little head, reassuring him that there wasn’t anything to worry about.
I went out into the hallway, flipping on lights as I walked through. I got to the kitchen, and filled the teapot with water. I placed it on the stove.
I gazed out the kitchen window into the black soul of the night. The wind was railing against the house something awful, but so far, it didn’t seem as though there was any rain to go with it. A dry thunderstorm had descended upon us. Something that wasn’t all that uncommon for August up in the mountains, but something that was unheard of in September.
I crossed my arms and leaned against one of the counters, waiting on the tea.
Lightning suddenly brightened the meadow. A few moments later, there was another loud crash that caused the ground to shake.
Hucks came running out of the bedroom, barking again in no direction in particular. I grabbed a bacon dog treat from the cupboard and gave it to him. Then I kneeled down, petting his head again, trying to calm him down.
Trying to calm myself down.
I liked thunderstorms. During the day. But at night, they became something different.
It made me think of a time I cared not to remember.
The days after my mom’s accident, Christmas River was hit with an unusual bout of thunderstorms. I remember lying in my bedroom looking up at the ceiling as the storm raged on outside, gripping my teddy bear, scared to death at each crack of thunder.
I didn’t know if I ever felt so alone in all my life as I did during those nights. Warren had been there with me, but I still felt so alone, knowing that I’d never see my mother again.
Knowing that she was gone forever.
I gripped Huck’s soft fur and tried to push the memory out of my mind. He seemed to sense my fear, and let me just hug him there for a while.
“It’s all okay,” I said.
I wished Daniel was here.
I tried to think of something else. But it didn’t work.
My mother’s funeral suddenly flashed across my mind. The image of her lying there in the—
I bit my lip, shaking my head.
The night sometimes had a way of opening up the floodgates to every bad memory you ever had.
I jumped as my phone started vibrating in my robe pocket. I pulled it out, expecting to see the caller ID show that it was Daniel.
I was surprised to see that it wasn’t.
I furrowed by brow at the name that came up on the screen. A moment later, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Peters?”
His voice cracked
in the middle of it, and something sounded very off. I suddenly felt my stomach plummet like an anchor cut loose.
“Yeah, Trumbow?” I said quietly.
“Uh… Ms. Peters, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but there’s been…”
“No…” I said, knowing where the sentence was headed. “No…”
“There’s been an acciden—”
All I could hear was the screaming of the teapot.
Chapter 26
There were no tears.
Just a terrible numbness that wound its way through my body like a python. Like my blood, my veins, the tendons of my muscles, had all been injected with Novocain. Like everything was enshrouded in a thick cloud of poison gas.
I didn’t remember driving to the hospital. I couldn’t even say what I was thinking. Only that it was probably a miracle I didn’t crash the car.
Trumbow had offered to come by and get me, but I was already out the door a minute after hanging up the phone.
I rushed through the sliding doors, up to the receiving desk. Mindy Berenger, someone who was in my high school class, was sitting there in nurse scrubs.
“My husband…” I croaked out, my voice hoarse and ragged.
I didn’t have to finish the sentence. She knew who I was, and she knew who he was.
“Third floor. Ask the nurse at the desk when you get there.”
My stomach lurched like a sinking ship.
I went to the elevator, but I had no patience to wait for it. I found the stairs and ran up, feeling like one of those firemen in those stair climbing challenges. Except instead of carrying firefighting gear, I was carrying the heavy shackles of fear.
I got to the third floor, completely out of breath. I ran through the doors, down the hall, to another nurse station.
The lady at the front desk was on the phone.
“Daniel Brightman,” I said loudly. “Where is he?”
She glanced up and held up a finger to me, as if to say “Just a minute.”
I wasn’t a violent person. But I could have strangled that woman and not given two thoughts to it at that moment.
