Seed of Desire

by Ellen Parker

  Seed of Desire

  A Crystal Springs Romance

  By

  Ellen Parker

  Copyright 2018 by Ellen Parker

  Cover art by pro_ebookcovers

  Distributed by Smashwords

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews – without permission.

  Dedication:

  To all 4-H members and volunteers: past, present, and future.

  May you continue to practice the values learned through your projects and fellowship.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Other Titles in this Series

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Beth Cosgrove smoothed the fine hairs on the back of her neck with one hand. Her personal warning system tingled as if a thunderstorm lurked over the horizon. Glancing up, she confirmed the early August sky was clear. No hint of impending danger from Midwest weather. Nothing obviously wrong in the scene around her either. The sights, sounds, and smells reflected the normal controlled chaos of the Annual 4-H Dog Obedience and Agility Trials.

  She turned from her view of the judging ring in time to watch a sheriff’s department patrol car ease down the fairgrounds main road. It pulled to the side, and the deputy got out to direct traffic. Continuing to turn her head, she checked on the tweens and their dogs under her temporary care.

  Four youngsters wearing matching white-and-green club T-shirts sat on the grass near her blue ice chest. Near them, three dogs relaxed on slack leashes in the late morning sun. The fourth dog, a beagle, pawed at the tight turf of the fairgrounds racetrack infield, acting typical for his breed. She smiled as a fifth child approached with a young gray German shepherd by her side.

  “Is it time?” the tween asked.

  “Almost. The Border collie is on the final figure. Then the judge will give everyone on the far side of the temporary ring a moment before he calls your group.” Beth flicked her gaze to the judge on the set up on the racetrack. Easy on the eyes.

  The quick observation had her estimating the man near her age of twenty-eight, six foot, and lean. His wheaten hair could use a trim, but she’d forgive him for neglecting the barber shop. It should be illegal for a man to look that good in a white dress shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled to the elbow under his green official 4-H judge’s vest. Stop it. Men are off-limits.

  “Ms. Cosgrove?” The girl rubbed one hand on her denim shorts. “I’m nervous.”

  “You’ll do fine, Amber. Pretend it’s a practice session, and Tango will follow your lead.”

  At the sound of her name, the shepherd swung her head and looked up at Beth.

  She shifted her attention to the dog. It wasn’t right for a project leader to have favorites. Yet it was difficult not to favor Tango, a daughter of her kennel, part of the most recent litter from Dancer, her first and favorite breeding bitch. At nine months, still classed as a puppy, the animal oozed with intelligence and potential.

  “It’s going to be exactly like our practice sessions,” Beth added.

  Metal clanged against metal, making Beth flinch. One quick glance confirmed the noise came from the traveling carnival. They were setting up across the road from the back of the grandstand and would be ready when the River County Wisconsin Fair officially started at noon tomorrow. Within twenty-four hours, the fairgrounds would be a whirlwind of activity, with exhibitors putting the finishing touches on displays and performing last minute grooming on the animals. Today, the official events consisted only of the 4-H dog show and the preliminary round of equine judging.

  “Exactly?” Amber filled the word with doubt.

  “Yes.” Beth nodded. “The rules require a one-minute sit and three-minute down. I’ve been timing our group for a couple of weeks now.”

  “Group eight, please enter the ring.” A stray sound from the microphone key ended the announcement.

  “Wish me luck?”

  “Nail it.” Beth gave girl and dog a thumbs-up and a smile.

  A horse whinnied off to her right. Exhibitors for the afternoon event were unloading contestants from trailers into a temporary corral. From an earlier inspection, Beth was aware the corral structure consisted of metal gates attached to each other with steel fence posts at intervals for sturdiness.

  A thread of anxiety ascended Beth’s neck. She ignored the dog judging ring long enough to count the tweens and dogs around the ice chest again. All present and on good behavior. Even the beagle had given up his excavation attempt and was resting his head on his owner’s foot.

  Adjusting her white ball cap with the green 4-H logo, Beth settled her attention on Amber and Tango as they took their positions in the group of five handlers and dogs. She forced her gaze away from the judge walking a wide circle.

  Leave it. The warning phrase, practiced for three years now when near attractive men, came and went in an instant. The judge drew her attention like forbidden food tempted her dogs, so instead, she methodically moved her gaze to the several dozen spectators on the lower portion of the grandstand. They were a mix of supportive parents, dog show enthusiasts, and the curious.

  “Sit your dogs.” The judge faced the participants and paused until all the animals were in position. “Leave your dogs.”

  Beth held her breath as Amber walked away from Tango, turned, and stood stiff.

  Tango lifted her nose as if catching an interesting scent, but she didn’t move her body from the required pose.

  “Return to your dogs.” The judge walked in a slow circle while jotting notes on the clipboard. When he stopped, he was on Beth’s side of the ring, less than six feet away.

  Beth rubbed at another nervous shiver down her neck as two horses started a verbal quarrel in their new quarters. Pay attention. She took a few seconds to check on the other children, who were still obeying directions.

  “Down your dogs.” The command was quickly followed by the next. “Leave your dogs.”

  Attention back on the judging ring, Beth sighed with relief when Tango remained still in the Sphinx-like position as Amber walked away. If the shepherd messed up, it would be either at the moment of separation or in the final fifteen seconds. Beth could sympathize with the latter. Three minutes without moving was difficult for humans too, even adults like her.

  As the judge walked in slow, confident steps around the handlers to the far side of the ring, Beth’s gaze moved with him. No ring. Blue eye
s and almost invisible brows.

  Unbidden, she recited under her breath portions of his bio from the official program. “Jackson Dray. Active in North Wisconsin Working Dogs Association. Formerly judged 4-H events in Brown County.”

  She forced her attention away and checked once more on the other club members. Two handlers from other clubs had joined them. She counted four tweens in Lucky Leaf shirts and accounted for the matching dogs before turning back to the judging ring.

  “Return to your dogs.”

  Amber released clenched hands during the return walk, pivoted when beside Tango, and reached down for the leash.

  “Dismissed.”

  A moment later, Amber and Tango followed another pair out of the ring and headed toward her.

  Beth sent a big smile and two thumbs-up to them. “Good job. Both of you.”

  “It was hard. Harder than practice.”

  “Let’s get some water. You both need it.” Beth raised her voice on the last two words to compete with the increasingly noisy horses. She saw several handlers among the small herd, catching halters and speaking to the animals. Beth opened the ice chest to retrieve disposable dog dishes and bottles of water. “Water break. Remember. Dogs first.”

  The canines tugged on leashes and whined. Shouts and whinnies from the horse corral were punctuated with the metallic clang of trailer gates. With the dogs behaving conflicted between the desire for a drink and exploring the arriving horses, she hurried to hand out the final dish and water bottle. She noted several other groups scattered around the racetrack infield and discarded the brief notion of moving. This was a good location, with a clear line of sight to both the judging ring and the fairgrounds traffic.

  The noise multiplied from the corral. One, two, then more dogs barked at the commotion. A resounding thud and loud clatter were followed by more shouts and the rumble of restless hooves.

  “Hiya! Get up!”

  Beth turned in time to see three horses break out of the temporary pen and head straight toward them. They had riders who appeared to be encouraging the escape rather than bringing their mounts under control.

  She spread her arms in an attempt to herd her charges away from the approaching steeds. “Run. Now.”

  ***

  Jackson struggled to keep his attention on the words of the ring steward. The increasing activity from the horses made him nervous. He never trusted equines. After one brief, painful encounter when he was a youngster, he figured the best place for a horse was a mile away from his position.

  “Hiya! Get up!”

  Jackson sensed rather than actually saw the large animals out of control and approaching. “Down!”

  He wrapped his arm around the waist of his assistant and brought her to the ground with him. He shielded her with his body and rested his forehead against the fine sawdust. Please, God, miss us. He held his breath as the first huge shadow leaped over them. An instant later, a second horse jumped clear.

  A single police siren added an insistent voice to the confusion of horses, dogs, and humans. A heartbeat later, second and third sirens joined the chorus.

  “Not yet,” he shouted near the ring steward’s ear.

  Counting seconds, Jackson was at four when the third horse bumped his legs while passing over them. He rolled to his left, checked for any more attackers, and reached for a leash trailing in the sawdust.

  “Clear,” the ring steward said, pushing to a sitting position. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Jackson scrambled toward another loose dog.

  A moment later, two leashes in one hand, he tested the standing position. It worked better than expected. No doubt he’d have a huge bruise tomorrow, but that was better than his previous encounter with a horse.

  He offered a hand to his assistant, flinching when all his weight went on the bruised leg. “Are you still in one piece?”

  She brushed sawdust off her arms, surveying the shambles around them. “I think so. Kids, dogs, and horses. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Jackson nodded at her smile and good humor.

  As the sirens were silenced one by one, the number of barking and howling dogs decreased until a relative calm settled across the area. Jackson’s attention was briefly drawn to a knot of spectators gathered on the far side of the racetrack. Kids, dogs, and a generous sprinkling of adults were gathered around the deputies as the three riders were forced to dismount and loaded into patrol cars. Additional deputies gathered reins and held the restless horses.

  Jackson scanned the area and sighed with relief at the sight of adults calming the horses remaining in the corral. He continued sweeping his gaze in a wide circle, paused, and smiled. The woman with the auburn ponytail was speaking to a girl in a white 4-H club shirt.

  After a quick visual inspection of his two canine charges, he walked toward her.

  “Are these yours?” Jackson held back the shepherd lunging toward the girl.

  “Tango.” The girl wrapped both arms around the dog’s neck and muttered into thick fur.

  “Nice reunion.”

  The woman looked at him with hazel eyes flecked with gold. “Thank you, Mr. Dray.”

  He swallowed, unable to form a word for an instant. Freckles. He feared she’d hear his heart racing over the continued shouts of handlers calling for their dogs. He’d noticed her the first time she sent a team into the ring this morning, and he’d tried for a closer look without success during the long downs. Drinking in the sight of her now, he memorized a height of five eight or nine, average build, and a mouth quick to smile.

  “Crystal Springs?” He pointed at her shirt. The tiny village of 522 was his new address, as of four days ago. “I know the place.”

  “That makes you part of a small, select group.” She smiled before tapping the girl’s shoulder. “Amber. Manners.”

  “Thank you for finding Tango, Mr. Mr.… Judge.”

  “Mr. Dray. And you’re welcome. It’s easy to see you’re special to each other.”

  “A good team.” The girl took a proper hold on the leash. “That’s what Ms. Cosgrove calls us.”

  He turned his attention back to the leader. “And would you be Ms. Cosgrove?”

  “Beth.” She offered her hand. “Project leader for Lucky Leaf 4-H Club.”

  “Jackson.” He managed to keep the handshake short and professional by ignoring the hum of energy at the touch of her skin. “Now, do you know the handler for—”

  “Rupert.” A middle-aged lady holding the hand of a reluctant boy hurried over from their left.

  The All-American dog with floppy ears beside Jackson whipped his tail in a show of recognition at the approaching pair.

  Jackson squatted and found the tag on the dog’s collar. “Rupert. 715-888-5555.”

  “No more adventures, Rupert.” The boy took the leash and accepted sloppy kisses on his hand.

  Jackson exchanged a few pleasantries with the new arrivals. Then he directed a smile at Beth. “Excuse me. I’ve got duties in the ring.”

  He turned around and walked away without glancing back. If he looked at Beth’s face, with that charming butterfly array of freckles, he’d never finish his judging duties. He repeated her name under his breath as he gathered the last of the papers that had scattered when the table was overturned. Places where they would cross paths in the normal business of day-to-day life popped up as he handed the ring steward ribbons to arrange in neat rows on the awards table. Crystal Springs was tiny. It would be surprising not to see her again.

  Cosgrove. He turned the name over in his mind a few times but didn’t find it familiar. Tonight he’d slip the name into conversation with his brother and sister-in-law. Most of the families had deep roots in the community. While he and his brother, Linc, had been raised in another portion of the state, their family, ending with their grandparents, had lived and farmed in Crystal Springs since the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

  “Here.” The ring steward pressed a bottle of water into his hand. �
�Drink up while I check if the speaker system still works.”

  “Be sure to announce that no one was disqualified today.” He cracked the seal on the drink.

  “It’s on the top of my script.”

  Three at a time, Jackson presented the white and red ribbons to the pairs of youngsters and dogs. He posed for photographs with each small group. The blue ribbon winners were called individually for their awards. By the time he had two awards left, his face ached from smiles and sunburn.

  The PA system stuttered to life. “Reserve champion for River County 4-H Dog Obedience, Novice Class, is Amber Zimmer and Tango. Please give them a nice round of applause.”

  Jackson presented the ribbon to Amber and risked a glance at the ring entrance. Beth Cosgrove stood straight and proud, the other members of her group beside her, all clapping for the club member.

  After presenting the ribbon for champion to a young man with a Norwegian elkhound, Jackson concentrated on packing up the records and equipment. By the time he looked out to the infield, Beth and her group weren’t within sight.

  “Plans for the afternoon?” the ring steward ventured.

  Jackson lifted a box for the fifty-something woman and walked beside her to her van. “What’s a good lunch spot in Wagoner? I’m not real familiar with the place.” Yet.

  On Monday, he’d be starting his new job as an associate at the law firm of White & White. He felt certain that within several weeks, he’d learn the town, or at least the few blocks surrounding the courthouse.

  “Wagoner only has one traditional café, smack dab in downtown. Fast food place between here and there. Corner Bar serves a good Reuben. That’s on the highway, west of downtown. Near the motel.”

  “Sounds like a good place to try.” He discarded the notion of stopping at the fast food place. It would likely be overwhelmed with leaders giving their dog handlers a treat. A local tavern would suit him fine before he headed back to his brother’s orchard on the hill outside of Crystal Springs.