by Kim Redford
“Beginning?”
“Where I’m just some guy in the band. You’re the star.”
“How can you say that?” She stood up, feeling shocked at where he was going with his anger.
“You didn’t text. You didn’t call.” He leaned in closer, hands on his hips. “You just came in here where it’s cool, got a bottle of water, and sat down to drink it. No thought about how worried I’d be if I knew or if I found out. In what world is that okay?”
“Well, when you put in that way, I guess—”
“Fern, we either have some kind of a relationship here or we don’t. If we do, you let me know when you’re in trouble, and I do the same with you. That is not something that should need to be spelled out.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think her behavior had been that out of line. She was safe. Nothing had happened to her. Nothing had burned down. And then it hit her. He was terrified for her…and it came out as anger.
“Tell me,” he said.
She set down her bottle of water, stepped in close to him, and put her arms around his neck, hugging him hard.
He resisted at first, then he grabbed her and held her so close she could hardly breathe. Finally, he eased up and looked down at her.
“I apologize. I should have called you right away. I just didn’t want to worry you or interrupt you with Fernando.”
He took a deep breath, nodding as he swallowed hard. “We’re either in this together or we aren’t. I can’t go halfway with you.”
She reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling such an outpouring of love that it took her breath away. “Together…always together.”
Chapter 32
After lunch at the Chuckwagon Café, Craig walked Fern to Old Town Park in time to hear the Red River Wranglers. He kept an eye out for the stalker, but with the big crowd filling Main Street and folks in the park listening to a wide range of local musicians, the guy could easily blend in with everybody else. Craig was still steaming that the stalker had gotten so close to Fern. He shouldn’t have left her alone, knowing the dangerous situation, but he hadn’t planned to be gone long, and he’d figured she’d be safe in town with a deputy watching over her. Not true. He’d been as mad at himself as he’d been with her when he’d heard the news. Now he wouldn’t let her be alone until the stalker was caught. And that better be soon.
He stopped with her in the back of the crowd, feeling good about the success of the pocket park that now brought such happiness to performers as well as listeners. They’d made a good decision on use of the park, and he was glad they’d been able to facilitate its transformation.
He felt cooler here and with good reason. They stood on soft, moist grass instead of hard, reflective cement. It meant there was probably only a reduction of temperature from mid-nineties to low nineties, but that factor still helped a lot. He hoped they might hit high eighties after dark. That’d really feel cool, so he was looking forward to it.
He smiled in pleasure as Renegade stepped up to the mic and launched into an oldie but goodie from way back in the thirties, “Under the Double Eagle” from Bill Boyd, a native Texan and one of the legends of western swing who went on to become a hero of the silver screen. Craig was glad to hear a young band paying tribute to the originators of music that had endured through so many generations. He always included a variety of standard favorites, as well as original material, too, when he performed at Wildcat Hall.
Soon, folks started clapping and singing to other down-home songs, mostly written by the Texas and Oklahoma natives who originally created western swing, as they joined together in a traditional type of community sharing of culture and heritage that was so valued in country settings.
Fern leaned close. “They’re good, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. And they’ll get better from here on out.”
“True. I’m glad they have local venues to showcase their talent and gain experience.”
He squeezed her hand. “We’ve already made a good start on our goal of supporting other musicians, haven’t we?”
“Yes. This is a wonderful start.”
After several more popular songs led to more sing-alongs, he checked his watch and groaned at the time. It was now or never. If he didn’t go to the cowboy firefighter dunk, he’d never hear the last of it. He just hoped he wasn’t the only one to show up for the event, or he’d be sending out hunting parties for the other guys.
“It’s about time, isn’t it?” Fern checked her phone, then slid it back into her purse.
“Yep.”
She glanced at him. “Are the others all wearing Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue T-shirts and Wranglers, too?”
“Sydney insisted we dress alike to promote the fire station.”
“Good idea.”
“She thinks so.” He didn’t say what he thought about dressing like all the other cowboys, because it was better to just keep that to himself or risk the wrath of Sydney. Nobody wanted get in hot water with her, particularly when she was fund-raising.
He held Fern’s hand, swinging their arms together as they walked along the boardwalk, weaving in and out of the crowds that thronged every available space. From the look of things, this had to be the biggest and best ever Wild West Days. He was proud of that fact. He and Fern had worked hard to bring the event to this point.
Still, he wondered just how much Fernando had to do with the increased interest, since he was so popular. His fans wouldn’t be disappointed because Slade had come up with something to use so the big bull could be featured tomorrow. He knew Slade and his family would never endanger Fernando, so Craig was satisfied all would work out for the best. For now, he just needed to focus on the next item on the list of events.
“Sydney picked a good dunk booth.” Fern pointed ahead at the contraption that was already drawing a crowd.
He groaned at the sight, squeezing her fingers even as he wanted to disappear back into the crowd. “Wish me luck.”
“At least you’ll get cooled off.”
“Good point.”
“Craig! You finally made it,” Sydney called, grinning when she saw him. “Get in line for the dunking. This is going to be huge.”
“Fern, you’ll stay with Hedy or MG or another friend while I’m involved with the dunking, won’t you?” Craig didn’t want to leave her, but duty called and he needed to answer now.
“Yes. I’ll be careful.”
“I just don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’ll stay safe.”
“Good.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, walked over to the end of the line of cowboy firefighters, and stopped behind Slade.
“Glad you made it.” Slade rolled his broad shoulders as if preparing for rodeo. “I thought you might have used that cochair thing to get out of your sworn duty to your firefighter brethren.”
“I believe I need say only two words to explain my presence, and those two words are Sydney Steele.”
“I hear you.”
“Don’t you have any control over your sister?”
“Not so you’d notice.”
“I figure about the only guy she’ll listen to is Dune Barrett.”
“And he’s in line just like us, so what does that tell you?”
“That Sydney’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“Yep. And my niece Storm is coming up fast in the same mold.”
Craig caught Slade’s eye, and they both grinned proudly at the thought of Sydney and Storm.
And still he didn’t want to be here any more than the other firefighters in line did, but they all knew their duty and were doing it to the best of their ability, as always. He nodded to his friends, who looked about as morose as he felt, particularly when Eden and Wildcat Jack showed up with Nathan to livestream on KWCB, the Den. And that was in addition to the photo op for the calendar. At
least there didn’t appear to be a makeup chair and cosmetologist waiting to powder their noses or some such, but he was keeping an eye out just in case.
Hedy sat in her wheelchair behind a table, selling three ball tosses to a line of women that trailed out of sight. Morning Glory was bustling around in flowing skirt and jangling necklaces, making sure there was no cutting in line. Fern joined Hedy at the table to help sell tickets, laughing and talking with her.
“Folks, step right up,” Morning Glory called to the crowd. “This is your one and only opportunity to dunk a cowboy firefighter in water…and see if he looks as good wet as he does dry.”
Fern and Hedy laughed at her words, rolling their eyes at the cowboy firefighters who were the objects of so much attention.
Craig felt Slade bump his arm, so he glanced at his friend, who was shaking his head as if the situation was getting worse by the moment. And he was right. Nathan had begun livestreaming Morning Glory and broadcasting to the world, catching the long line of eager women as Eden and Wildcat Jack began their clever commentary.
“We’re coming to you live from Wild West Days in Wildcat Bluff in the Lone Star State of Texas, where it’s hot enough to fry eggs on the road.” Wildcat Jack tipped his cowboy hat as he gave his trademark twinkle-eyed, white-toothed grin for the camera. “And, folks, that’s plenty hot.”
“So true,” Eden said in a serious, professional tone as counterpoint to Jack’s homey style. “It is in the nineties here, so that is plenty hot. And yet, all twelve of these big, strong, dedicated volunteer cowboy firefighters are about to get cooled off in a big way.”
“Big way is right,” Wildcat Jack replied, winking at the camera.
“We’re here today to watch these firefighters get dunked for the benefit of Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue,” Eden continued in a confidential tone. “The fire station is completely funded by donations and charity events. Our firefighters are very generous with their time and talent…and are also very brave. They protect our county day in and day out every month of every year.” She turned, pointed at the dunking booth, and then continued to gesture down the line of firefighters.
“Step right up, folks,” Morning Glory called again, cutting in. “This is your lucky day. Pick the cowboy firefighter of your dreams… I mean, select your choice…and dunk him to your heart’s content.”
Slade turned toward Craig. “That sounds like we’re going to have to get up there and be dunked more than once.”
“You think? You might be right. There are only twelve of us. How many women do you estimate are in line?”
“I’m afraid to count. I’m pretty much even afraid to look,” Slade said with a grin. “Give me a fire to fight any day over this.”
“Me, too.”
“What if those cowgirls go back to the end of the line and start over after dunking us once?”
Craig groaned, braving a quick glance at the growing line. “Do you think Sydney will limit the tosses to three balls per woman?”
“We’re talking Sydney on a fire station fund-raising mission. What do you think?”
“I think we might be here all weekend.”
Slade groaned this time. “I think there’s a time limit, or at least I hope there is a limit, like maybe an hour.”
“An hour could feel like eternity.”
“What if it’s more than an hour?”
“Don’t even go there.” Craig was wishing he were someplace else, but he reminded himself that it was a good deed for charity. Maybe next time he could just write a check…like Sydney would let him get away with something so simple.
As Craig watched, money started flowing and balls started being tossed and firefighters started falling into water while Eden and Wildcat Jack told their audience how much fun the cowboys were having as they fell into the water and got drenched.
By the time Craig climbed up the steps and sat down on the seat and waited to be dunked, he couldn’t tell if the line had shortened one bit. He was surprised when Fern stepped up with three balls, smiling mischievously at him. He just nodded at her, letting her know that he’d remember this next time they were around water and then it’d be her turn to get wet all over. He didn’t mind that idea at all, and an image of Fern in a wet T-shirt hugging all her curves distracted him from his present situation.
She grinned at his expression and threw her first ball. It missed the white button needed to trip the lever that’d dunk him.
He shook his head, letting her know what he thought of her lousy throwing ability.
She lost her grin on the second throw because it missed, too.
He couldn’t keep from chuckling, because at this rate, she was going to lose out to another woman who would be the first to dunk him. But he lost his humor when her third ball hit home…and he splashed down into the water. It was warm from the sun, and that was a big disappointment. He climbed up and out of the tank, dripping water all the way, then returned to the end of the line.
“Guess that wasn’t so bad after all,” Slade said, doing his own fair share of dripping.
“Yeah. Could’ve been worse. Too bad the water’s warm.”
“Makes it hard to cool off.” Slade glanced back at him, chuckling. “That Fern couldn’t resist dunking you, could she?”
“She knows payback’s coming.”
“Maybe something in your shower?”
“I could get into that.”
“Yeah,” Slade said, “Ivy probably won’t want to be outdone by her sister, so she may show up anytime to dunk me.”
“If she didn’t ask Fern to do it.”
“There’s always that. Once those two sisters gang up on us, we might as well throw in the towel.”
“I think we already did that,” Craig said with a chuckle.
Slade laughed, nodding in agreement. “And we wouldn’t have it any other way, would we?”
“Not on your life.”
Craig wasn’t even surprised that when they were all thoroughly wet and hot and disheveled, the photo shoot began in earnest. Nathan had a new camera, and he had them pose in the water, out of the water, and beside the water. He posed them in a group, trying to get grins out of them, but finally he gave up and settled for stoic expressions that Sydney insisted were perfect machismo for the calendar.
As Craig waited with the other firefighters for Nathan to finish, Sydney hurried over to check the photos. She swiped forward on Nathan’s camera as she furrowed her brows in concentration.
“What do you think?” Nathan asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Good. Thanks. But I’d also like to see that long line of women as a backdrop in a series of shots. Will that work for you?” She handed back the camera.
“Sure. We can try. I don’t see why not. It’ll be interesting.”
Craig waited to one side as Nathan posed and clicked, posed and clicked the cowboy firefighters with the long line of women in the background. He felt a line of sweat dripping down his back as he stood in the sun. Soon he decided another dunk in the water wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.
Fern walked over to him. “How are you holding up? You’re not getting too hot, are you?”
“I’m hot. Everybody’s hot. And the water is not cold.”
She grinned at him. “Did you expect us to ice it down for you?”
“That’s a good idea.”
She just laughed, shaking her head.
“Anyway, it’s been downhill since that throw of yours got me.”
She smiled mischievously while bumping him with her shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure I was your first.”
“You couldn’t be anything else but my first…always.”
She turned serious. “You’re always my first, too.”
“Hey,” Sydney called. “Craig, you’re holding up Nathan.”
Craig stayed focused
on Fern. “I’m thinking you might get dunked in the shower at home.”
“As long as you’re doing the dunking, I’m all in.”
“It’ll definitely be me.”
“Craig,” Sydney called again. “One more shot.”
He answered her by stepping forward, but not without giving a backward glance at Fern to let her know he’d be thinking about her—and her alone—while he was in the dunking booth.
Chapter 33
That evening, Fern sat in a comfortable chair on the music dais at the Lone Star Saloon. She cradled her beloved guitar in her hands, taking comfort in the familiarity that always afforded her pleasure no matter what else was going on in her life. And at present, there was plenty happening to give her concern and make her feel uneasy.
No one had seen or heard from the stalker since the white rose at the dunk tank incident earlier in the day, and she was grateful for it. Still, the idea that he was out there left those who knew about him on edge, even in the midst of providing so much fun and entertainment. The sheriff and his deputies in particular were on high alert, but until Simon took another overt action and they caught him in the act, there was little they could do.
And yet, here in the saloon, she was able to focus on what she knew best, what she enjoyed most, and what she could do for others. Maybe music didn’t make the world go ’round, but it did hers…and it definitely should be high on everyone’s list.
Another thing that made her feel better was the fact that she had a good view of the batwing doors where everyone entered or left the saloon. If Simon was stalking her tonight, he’d come here to see her sing. Maybe he’d toss roses at her feet again…and if he did, the sheriff’s deputy who stood by the bar watching everything and everyone could nab him. She didn’t expect that to happen because Simon had been too clever to get caught thus far. White roses were a giveaway for him now, so surely he wouldn’t employ them anymore. He’d wait to catch her alone, but he wouldn’t ever get that chance again.
And so she relaxed a little bit more as she sat there with Craig and his band, waiting for their gig to start and listening to the player piano. Folks stood several deep at the bar as they ordered drinks and snacks, while others sat at tables and even more stood chatting here and there in groups on the dance floor. They were dressed mostly in cowboy and cowgirl gear—boots, jeans, T-shirts or western shirts—but hats were left on tables or on hat racks or in pickups because it was the height of rudeness and socially unacceptable to wear a hat on the dance floor.
