The old clock in the front corner of the town hall finally clanged six times, and it got Alma Parkman scurrying up from her front row seat to the podium. Yes, she scurried. Alma might be past the eighty mark, but she was spry, happy and didn’t care squat if people gossiped about her. That was probably why Alma had recently announced that she was retiring as the town’s librarian and pursing a career as a stand-up comic.
“How-dee,” Alma greeted. She wore a pink top and capris and had her silver colored hair pulled up in a way that it resembled a mini palm tree on the top of her head. “Welcome, Parkmans. And Katniss.” She winked at Frankie.
No wink for Millie though when Alma’s attention landed on her. The pity practically gushed right out of Alma, causing Millie to dole out her customary response. A polite smile followed by the poker face. Millie had gotten good at plastering it on.
“All righty then.” Alma put on her thick reading glasses before picking up the gavel. “I’m calling to order this meeting of the Last Ride Society.” She banged the gavel three times. “We’ll start with a reading of the rules.” Alma looked down at the paper she’d brought to the podium with her and gave an exaggerated frown. “Hey, who scribbled that the first rule of Last Ride Society is there are no rules?”
Frankie and Alma giggled like loons, but many just looked confused. Probably because they didn’t get the Fight Club reference. Others because they didn’t approve of having a lick of fun.
“I confess, I’m the scribbler,” Alma continued, still snickering. “Just trying out some of my new skit. But here I go for real.” Her expression grew serious. “Our illustrious town founder, Hezzie Parkman, created the Last Ride Society shortly before her death in 1950, and each and every one of you honor Hezzie by being here this evening. Honor, tradition, family. Those are the cornerstones that make Last Ride our home.”
Even though it was a short speech that Alma gave every quarter, Millie saw a few people dab tears from their eyes.
Alma held up one finger to indicate the first rule. “A drawing will take place quarterly on the first day of January, April, July and October in the Last Ride town hall. The winner of the previous quarter will draw the name of his or her successor.”
Nearly everyone glanced at Ruby Chaney, last year’s winner. She definitely fell into the category of gobbling this up particular duty. She gave everyone a wave, obviously enjoying the last couple of minutes of her “celebrity” status.
“Second rule,” Alma said, lifting another finger. “The winner must research the person whose tombstone he or she draws. A handout will be given to the winner to better spell out what needs to be done, but research should be conducted at least once weekly as to compile a thorough report on the deceased. The report will be added to the Last Ride Society Library.”
Since the library occupied the large back room of Once Upon a Time, Millie often caught glimpses of the reports that had started some seventy years ago. Some had been bound professionally and were several inches thick. Others were handwritten and obviously hastily done. Ruby’s recent addition was over five hundred pages on a spinster who’d died back in the late 1800s.
“Final rule,” Alma went on. “On the completion of the research by the winner, $5,000 from the Hezzie Parkman trust will be donated to the winner’s chosen town charity.”
“I’m hoping it’s me this year,” Frankie muttered. “The baseball field needs fixing up.”
Millie was hoping it was Frankie, too. Not only because the woman wanted it but because Frankie was right about the baseball field needing a facelift. Millie made a mental note to set up a donation drive for just that.
“And now to the drawing.” Alma used the gavel to drum out her obvious excitement. “Ruby, come on up to the Bowl o’ Names and get to drawing.”
Ruby waved again and smiled at the applause. What she didn’t do was hurry. Not one little bit. Still obviously trying to hang onto her moment, Ruby crept to the table and hovered her hand over the bowl. Probably to boost excitement. Many probably hoped she’d just hurry so they could spoil their dinners with those snickerdoodles.
Ruby finally reached into the bowl, swirling around the slivers of papers, paused, swirled some more. Only when people started to groan and grumble did she finally pluck out one.
Ruby beamed and looked directly at her. “Millie Parkman,” the woman announced.
Oh, man. What kind of crap-ery was this? Suddenly all eyes were on her. Exactly where Millie didn’t want them to be.
“Congrats, Millie,” Alma muttered.
There was no congrats whatsoever in Alma’s tone or expression. No doubt because she, and everyone else in the room, were considering that Millie digging into that Bowl o’ Tombstones would maybe bring back the memories and grief over losing Royce. But Millie didn’t have to dig into a bowl to recall that memory. Everything brought it back.
Everything.
Millie forced herself to stand, and she got moving toward the front. She silently cursed the macaws because she could have used both the caffeine and sugar fix to get her through this. Unlike Ruby, she didn’t dawdle, didn’t make a production of it. Millie simply went to the Bowl o’ Tombstones and snagged the first one her fingers touched. She unfolded the paper.
Her heart went to her knees.
And she blurted out the really bad word.
“The name is Ella McCann,” Millie managed to say when she got her mouth unfrozen.
The room went tombstone-silent, but Millie figured there was already some mental gossip going on.
Frankie jumped to her feet. “I volunteer as tribute,” she repeated.
Millie considered taking her up on the offer. Considered shirking the duty that had been drummed into her since childhood. Parkman duty. Parkman pride. But it was more than that. It was spine. It would probably come as a surprise to many, but she did indeed have one. And Millie was about to prove that.
To them.
To herself.
Even if Ella McCann deserved each and every f-bomb that Millie would ever mutter, she’d do this. She’d research the “other” woman. She’d dig into the life of the woman who’d died in Millie’s husband’s arms.
Don’t miss Spring at Saddle Run by Delores Fossen, available June 2021 wherever HQN Books® and ebooks are sold.
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Copyright © 2021 by Delores Fossen
ISBN-13: 9781488077784
Tempting in Texas
Copyright © 2021 by Delores Fossen
Whatever Happens in Texas
Copyright © 2021 by Delores Fossen
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Tempting in Texas Page 33
