by Kim Redford
With that in mind, he walked over to Main Street, imagining how it would look without parked or moving vehicles. The town would close both ends of the street to through traffic so vendors could set up tents and trailers to showcase their handcrafted wares and offer food and drink. No way to tell just how hot it’d be in a couple of weeks. They could hope for the low nineties, but they could just as easily get high nineties. Five degrees either way would make a big difference in it feeling acceptably hot or hot as hell. He was hoping for low nineties, but he wasn’t counting on it. If he was making a wish about the weather, it’d be for a dip into the eighties, but that wouldn’t stand a chance of happening unless they got rain, which would present its own set of problems. He was in a wait-and-see mode.
No matter the final temperature, it’d still be hot, so iced drinks, ice cream, and all sorts of cold delights, particularly easy on-a-stick treats, would be highly prized by everyone. Elsie’s Bluebonnet Café’s offerings would also bring a big crowd to her trailer because it just didn’t get any better than her burger and fries, or Indian tacos and fry bread drizzled with honey.
There wasn’t anything to be done on the street till the night before Wild West Days, so he walked back to the pocket park. He put his hands on his hips as he examined the area. He needed to get a small bandstand set up against this side of the Chuckwagon. Bert Two did some fine woodworking, so he’d be the guy to ask about making it, particularly since he was now getting around pretty well with a medical boot supporting his broken foot. They could fit another picnic table into the park, and that’d make five tables that could handle anywhere from eight to ten folks each. It wasn’t enough seating for a big crowd, but most people would be standing for the entertainment, eating, drinking, and listening. Many would bring their own folding chairs and fan out from the bandstand. He was glad it’d make a great venue for local talent.
As he was considering the size they’d need the bandstand to be, he felt that itching on the back of his neck that alerted him to possible trouble. He whipped his head around to look at the street. A dusty, rusty pickup with faded green paint idled on the street across from the Chuckwagon. A man wearing a blue ball cap pulled low on his face and oversize dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes focused in that direction. As if he felt Craig watching him, he turned his head, aiming those glasses that looked like insect eyes at the pocket park, then he eased forward, leaving a cloud of smoke from the oil-burning engine in his wake.
Craig tried to get the license number, but the plate was covered in mud, so he could only watch until the truck was out of sight. But not out of mind. The stalker. Yes? No? Maybe? The chill left in the wake of the sighting was a pretty good indicator of the needle pointing toward positive, but he had no proof, and that was what he needed to stop the torment aimed at Fern.
There’d been no more roses or texts since Sure-Shot and the ranch, but that didn’t mean the man wasn’t still out there, watching and waiting for his next opportunity to reach Fern. It wasn’t easy for him now. She carried a new cell phone for safety, and she had a new number. She was also never alone. But harder didn’t mean impossible…and that pickup was just the type of camouflage necessary for a stalker to disappear into the tapestry of Wildcat Bluff County.
He wasn’t going to tell her about the sighting or call the sheriff. No point in worrying either of them about something they couldn’t do a thing about at the moment. But at some point, it would all come to a head. He didn’t know when or where, but he had to be ready to react instantly if and when the time came to keep her safe.
For now, he’d go about his business of setting up Wild West Days with Fern’s input all the way. It’d be upon them before he knew it, and he wanted all the events to go smoothly. Of course, it was a given that there’d be glitches here and there, but folks were used to adjusting to unforeseen incidents, so even those would turn out okay in the end.
It was time to pick up Fern, so he stepped up on the boardwalk and headed that way. As he reached the door to the Chuckwagon, it burst open and three tall, muscular cowboys almost mowed him down getting out of there.
“Trey, Kent, Shane, what’s up?” Craig asked, stepping back to make room for them. They were all dressed about like him in hats, shirts, jeans, and boots.
“That Sydney!” Trey Duval jerked his cowboy hat off his head, revealing thick dark hair, and slapped his hat against his thigh as if knocking off dust. “Once she gets something in her head, there’s no getting it out.”
Craig took another step back. “She’s not collecting volunteers again, is she?”
“Oh yes, she most certainly is doing that exact thing,” Kent Duval said with a dimpled grimace. “You’d better watch out.”
“Right,” Shane Taggart said, rolling his hazel eyes. “You’re not out of the woods any more than the rest of us.”
And the door burst open again. This time the tall, strawberry-blond cowgirl under discussion, wearing a Chuckwagon T-Shirt, ripped jeans, and flip-flops, stalked out. She cocked her head and gave all four cowboys a sharp-eyed look.
“I’m just here to pick up Fern.” Craig backpedaled to the edge of the boardwalk.
“Glad you showed up.” Sydney settled her hands on her narrow horsewoman’s hips. “As the cochair of Wild West Days, remind these guys why they’re volunteering for the firefighter dunking booth.”
All three cowboys swiveled their heads toward Craig and gave him steely-eyed looks.
He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Did he get on Sydney’s bad side or betray his cowboy brethren? On the other hand, he was cochair, and he had a responsibility to the event.
“Craig, this is not a multiple choice question,” Sydney said, putting iron in her voice. “Need I remind you that Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue is one hundred percent volunteer and one hundred percent self-funded? There is only one correct answer.”
“I’m not sure if I can make the dunking booth either.” He held up his hands as if the matter were out of his control. “I’m cochair, and I’m performing at the Lone Star. My days and nights are full.”
Sydney shook her head as if at a recalcitrant mount. “Okay, firefighters, I’m going to pull out the big guns now. I’ve already talked with the ladies—Misty, Lauren, Eden—and they’re sure you’ll want to step up and do your duty to your county. And Dune, being my fiancé and all, was only too happy to volunteer to help us.”
Craig sort of doubted it, but on the other hand, all those cowgirls could get cowboys to change their minds about most anything, particularly when love was added to the mix.
“Fern just said she thought you’d be happy to make time for the dunking booth, too.” Sydney smiled, eyes lighting up with mischief.
“Yeah, we did discuss it.” He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he glanced at his friends. They had the same look on their faces that he felt in his gut. Once the womenfolk got behind an idea, you might as well grin and bear it, because you loved them and wanted them to be happy. The trouble was that sometimes happy to them wasn’t happy to you. And still you did it…for them. Only for them.
“You’re not going to snap photos and make a calendar out of it, are you?” Kent asked.
“Yeah,” Trey said. “We haven’t lived that one down yet.”
“We’re still getting ladies coming to town looking for the fire station,” Shane added. “I mean, what do they think we do there? We’re volunteers. We’ve got ranches to run. We don’t live there.”
“For some reason, they think we’re corralled at the station just waiting for them to arrive and take their pick.” Trey slammed his hat back on his head.
“That calendar’s a menace,” Kent said. “No doubt about it.”
“If any one of you were still on the market, you’d be singing a different tune.” Sydney laughed as she glanced around the group.
“I had no idea posing as Mr. September would garn
er so much interest in me,” Craig said thoughtfully.
“Better not let Fern hear you say that.” Sydney gave him a sharp look. “Anyway, I figure she put an end to any outside interest.”
“Right,” Craig quickly agreed.
“Y’all should be glad that calendar is such a big hit, instead of running for the hills every time you think I might have a camera with me. Dune made a great Mr. December in the last calendar.”
“We don’t need another calendar,” Trey said. “There are plenty of other ways to fund-raise that don’t involve us getting ogled by hungry women.”
Sydney grinned as she looked from one cowboy to another. “Now, where’s your sense of adventure…or to be more exact, where’s your sense of letting others have an adventure?”
“We don’t want to even go there,” Kent said. “We’re trying to maintain some dignity for the county here.”
“I do believe dignity is highly overrated in this day and age. Sex sells. Get over it.” Sydney cocked her head to one side, as if considering possibilities. “I’ve got it. Wet and Wild Cowboy Firefighters. Am I good or am I good? This calendar is going to be an even bigger hit.”
All four cowboys groaned in unison.
“You’ll be happy you volunteered when those sales numbers come rolling into the station…and money along with them.”
“Think we could get a new rig?” Craig asked hopefully, trying to at least get something fun out of the trouble.
“Right,” Trey replied. “It could almost make the whole ordeal worth it.”
“Ask Hedy. She’ll make the final decision.” Sydney opened the door behind her, letting out the tantalizing scent of barbeque. “Thanks again for being so generous with your time…and bodies. We do love our volunteers in Wildcat Bluff.” And she disappeared inside, letting the door shut firmly behind her.
Craig glanced at his buddies. “We were never going to get out of it, were we?”
“Not unless we left Texas and missed Wild West Days.” Kent looked toward the street as if he was considering heading out.
“At least the dunking can last only so long,” Shane said.
“I hate to mention it,” Trey added, “but there could be a really long line of cowgirls just waiting for the opportunity to dunk us.”
“Payback?” Kent asked.
“Let’s don’t go down that road. It’s just trouble.” Craig held up his hands as if to ward off impending doom.
“Right,” Kent agreed. “There’s not a heartbreaker among us.”
Craig watched every one of them look as if they were moving back in time and counting numbers. He had a feeling that line of women might stretch from Wildcat Bluff to Sure-Shot. In any case, the line stood a good possibility of being a lot longer than the organizers would likely anticipate.
“Anyway,” Shane said, “it’ll be a hot day, so it won’t be so bad to cool off in the water.”
“Good point.” Craig nodded at his friends in encouragement. They all knew it was going to be bad, but they were just going to have to man up and take it. After all, it was for a good cause. At least, that’s what they’d just have to keep telling themselves till they got through Wild West Days.
“Yeah, good point,” Trey said, agreeing. “Right now we’ve got stuff to do.”
“Someplace where Sydney can’t find us,” Kent added.
“You might rethink opening that door to the café.” Shane slapped his friend on the shoulder. “See you later.”
Craig watched his friends take off down the boardwalk, long legs power-walking away from the Chuckwagon.
He wished he could go with them.
Chapter 21
Fern waved goodbye to her friends in the Chuckwagon Café, then pushed on the front door with one hand to go out just as Craig pulled the door open from outside. She fell into his strong arms, chuckling at the delightful surprise. When she glanced up at his face, she discovered he looked leery about what awaited him inside. She wasn’t too surprised, because she’d overheard the conversation Sydney had with three of their cowboy firefighters. She understood their reluctance about the calendar, but it really was a worthy cause.
“Did Sydney work out the details with you cowboys for her dunking and calendar?” She smiled, wanting him to see the humor in the situation.
“Don’t even go there.” He shut the door as if to provide a protective barrier. “No point in fighting it. Once Granny Duval gets to cooking in her kitchen, the whole county is gonna eat whatever she serves up and they better like it.”
“They usually do like it, don’t they?” Fern chuckled as she nodded in agreement, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Anyway, steel magnolias have a way of getting what they want.”
“Right. Add her granddaughter Sydney to the mix and you better just step back, so you don’t get trampled on their race to the finish line. And don’t even get me started on MG and Hedy.” Craig tried to sound perturbed, but there was too much humor and admiration in his eyes to back it up.
“I take it your friends headed out to find the nearest border to cross and left you to face Granny alone.”
“I’m cochair.” He pulled Fern a little tighter to him. “I’ve got to say Wild West Days is shaping up to be a little on the interesting side.”
“You think?” She chuckled as she patted his chest in reassurance, feeling the strong muscles react to her touch just as she was getting hotter by the moment, even after cooling off in the AC of the café.
“Yeah. I hate to ask, but do you know what else they have planned for the firefighters?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
“There is no safety around here, not when the womenfolk get out their pens and honey-do lists,” he said, chuckling.
She joined his laughter, then she stepped back, straightened her crimson Wildcat Hall T-shirt over her Wranglers, and hooked her hand around the crook of his arm. “Come on. You’re all volunteered and everything.”
“It’s ‘everything’ that’s got me concerned right now.”
“Let’s take a walk.”
“Why?” He sounded suspicious. “Is there something in the café you don’t want me to see?”
“I’m happy for you to go right in there and talk with Granny and Sydney…if you’re up for more volunteer work.”
“I’ll take the walk.”
“I want to go to Morning’s Glory.” She laughed as she tugged him down the boardwalk, enjoying the sheer pleasure of being with him in Wildcat Bluff. Just like the good old days. She heard sparrows chirping, chittering, and fussing in the eaves of the buildings as they laid claim to their personal lairs. She felt as if she were doing the same thing—laying claim to her personal cowboy firefighter. Instead of chirps, she’d break into song to construct the strongest of sound fences. And she’d join Craig inside it.
“Now? I thought we were going to the Lone Star to make plans.”
“We were, but MG came by the Chuckwagon and told me she wants to show us something she found at her store.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“I guess it could, but we’re fast running out of time before Wild West Days to do anything except that event.”
“Far as I’m concerned, anything else can wait.”
“We’re talking MG here. She was sort of insistent.”
He stopped and looked at her. “More volunteer stuff?”
“She heard about our interest in the old buildings near Sure-Shot.”
“Can’t keep anything a secret around here.”
“It’s not a secret.”
“Did you tell her?” he asked.
“I might have mentioned it to Hedy.”
“That’s like announcing it to the entire county.”
“I thought it might cut down on research time if somebody remembered something t
hat’d help us.”
He sighed. “It’s just that we’re short of time right now.”
“I didn’t expect an answer so soon. I simply thought I’d get the process started for later.”
“Let’s get it over with and then go to the saloon.”
“She probably doesn’t have much to show us anyway.”
She led the way to MG’s store where MORNING’S GLORY was painted in purple and green using a sixties’ fancy font on a front display window. She opened the door and stepped inside with Craig right behind her.
“Y’all made it!” Morning Glory called from the back of her store, then hurried toward them in a flurry of bright color—long, full, rustling skirts and long, dangling, clanging necklaces. Somehow, she never looked a moment past her glory days as a flower child of the sixties.
“Your news intrigued me enough to bring Craig over to see what you found for us,” Fern said.
Morning Glory enveloped her in a big hug and a cloud of patchouli special blend perfume.
As Fern stepped back, she glanced around the store, noticing the open arch that led into Adelia’s Delights next door. She appreciated the tie-dyed fabric wallpaper, old oak floors buffed to a waxy sheen, and decorative pressed-tin ceiling. MG had filled the store with wood shelves containing colorful glass jars in all shapes and sizes that held perfumes, bath salts, lotions, and all manner of beauty supplies. Several sections were devoted to individual artisan creations, such as hand-carved wooden animals like wildcats, buffalo, horses, and cattle, as well as beautiful, colorful original quilts. One wall displayed delicate watercolors in gold frames depicting local scenes of the Cross Timbers.
“Good thing you told Hedy, who told me,” Morning Glory said. “She’d come over from next door, but I’m watching her store for her right now.”
