Chapter Fourteen

 

I got a few strange looks and a couple of friendly waves as I hurried along the side streets back to the café. From the back alley behind the building, I raced up the stairs two at a time, wanting to keep Rose unaware of the mud problem until I changed my clothes. Of course, the universe had other plans and who would be just leaving her apartment but my cousin. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of me.

“Daisey, my goodness, what happened to your dress? And how is your dad? I just heard. Is he all right?”

“He’s going to be fine. Not a real heart attack. Something brought on by stress and overwork, according to Doc Stone. He’s been advised to slow down. Matt’s more than ready to step up to the plate.” Saying the positive words helped me believe he was going to be all right.

“That’s great news.” Rose smiled ear to ear, moving in to hug me.

“Better not. I’m a muddy mess.”

She leaned forward, avoiding contact with my dress, and kissed me on the cheek instead. “Are you finished with the wagon train trip? Are you going back?”

“No way I’m going back.” Too much temptation and aggravation.

“Why, something wrong? Did something happen between you and your new boyfriend?”

“Jack’s not my boyfriend,” I muttered.

Rose’s eyes widened. “You guys have a falling out?”

I shrugged. “We’re just different people. You know, he doesn’t even believe I can spot a lie.”

“That’s just plain crazy. Of course you can,” Rose said, ever my staunch defender.

“Tell him that.”

“Well, you’ll show him. He’ll soon be eating his words.”

“Yeah.”

“Daisey, are you all right?”

“Sure, why are you asking?”

“Well, Boyd was such a pain the other day and you’ve got so much on your mind what with selling the land and deciding on when to leave for New York.” Rose chewed at her bottom lip. “I just thought that maybe everything was wearing on you.”

“It’s not the best thing that’s ever happened to me, having to make a final decision of what to do with the land that’s been in my family for so many generations,” I admitted. “But I’m fine with it. Or at least I would be if the deputy sheriff would leave me alone to get on with things. He seems to have an opinion on everything.”

Rose laughed. “Like your ability to spot a lie? He’d be lucky to have your secret weapon in his profession, Princess True-Blue.” She had called me that when we were children in grade school, but I hadn’t heard her use it in years. The moniker made me smile now, with the sweet memory.

“I need to clean up.” I took a couple of steps toward my apartment door.

“That big-city detective will come around, mark my words,” Rose called after me.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” I hated to admit it, but I missed him already. He’d been such an awesome companion on the road. I had another thought and turned around. “Did it rain here?”

“No, well, just a few sprinkles yesterday. Why?”

“We had three days of downpours.” Another funny trick, eh? I rolled my eyes skyward and snorted. “Catch you later.”

I bunched the offending cloth in one hand and opened the suite door with the other, hoping to avoid a muddy trail. I rescued the precious journal from the pocket, struggled with the back fastenings of the dress, and shed it in the center of the kitchen floor. Filling the sink with a heaping cup of laundry soap and hot water, I left the dress to soak.

In the bathroom, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror. I giggled, partly with relief and partly because I looked so funny wearing fancy underwear, with a bonnet perched on my head.

In moments, unable to stop, my laughter turned to real sobs as tears streamed down my face. I let all the day’s anguish drain away before reminding myself that we were lucky, it was just a warning this time.

Then gathering myself, I shucked the remainder of my clothing and climbed into the shower. Oh, the pure luxury. Standing there, letting the hot, steamy water wash away three days of grit and grime, I began to feel like a new woman. Extra hair conditioner also helped. Time to tame the curls.

A fresh set of clothes, this time nothing fussy or gathered or full-skirted, but a sleeveless white blouse and a pair of beige capris turned me back into a better Daisey. A bit of properly applied makeup and a smooth swinging ponytail, and I was all set to get on with what was left of the day.

It was already past one o’clock. I grabbed an apple from the fridge to slake my hunger.

What first? I needed to check in with Al. I ate the apple in a few bites as I made my plans, then threw the core in the garbage.

The Sweetwater Times’ office is three blocks from the café, at the other end of Main Street, on the south side. Everything was still blocked off for the rodeo, making me feel I hadn’t missed too much being away.

I stopped in front of the two-story limestone building and looked in the big picture window etched with silver filigree spelling out The Sweetwater Times in cursive script. On the back wall were the mug shots, which Al called his “Wall of Fame.” All the happy couples that had brought together. Seemed every time there was an event in, a marriage followed.

My favorite section, next to the Christmas marriages, were the Rodeo Romances. If we didn’t put out a year end paper with all the happy events Sweetwater was responsible for, there’d be repercussions.

Heck, people even framed the page that included their own or family members’ joyous days and their stories of their Happily Ever After. That was one feature I truly put my heart into, writing those inspiring stories.

“Is Al around?” I asked the only other employee of the newspaper.

Terry Jones runs the office and puts out the paper. He’s a short, blandly handsome, blown-dry type. If the paper ever went bust, he could attempt a career as a TV news anchorman or game show host. He had the right voice for it, reassuring with an even timbre.

Terry looked up from his computer screen, fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Hey, I thought you were making the trek this week?”

“I was, but I got called back.”

“Oh, my. Right, your father. Is he okay?” Terry asked with a frown.

“Yes. Thanks for asking. The doc says he’s going to be fine. Just needs to slow down.”

“Say, I heard you’re selling your land to the Green Wave group.”

“Who told you that?” I frowned. Not again, someone setting the rumor mill on fire.

“Sally Perkins.” He must have read my flare of outrage. “Oops! She announcing it a bit prematurely?”

“A bit? The nerve of those people.”

And the nerve of Sally for horning in on Jack last night. Maybe I had been a touch jealous. I threw the uncomfortable thought aside. No more thinking about Jack, please.

“Well, they do say they have the town’s best interests at heart,” he hedged. “Even if they can’t afford to pay you much.”

“Not you too. I don’t know who I’m going to sell to or if I’m going to sell at all.”

“Well, I for one, would like to see you get a chance at New York.” Terry was one of my few supporters for leaving here. Maybe because he’d once shared with me that he’d like a chance at the big time too. “You got the chops. You deserve the chance to prove it.”

“Thanks, but it’s definitely not going to happen if I sell to the Green Wave. They’re offering peanuts.”

“While the Crown Development Corporation will pay you well. Quite a dilemma. Just don’t rush the decision. Lots of time yet to mull it over.”

“Daisey Winslow, if you’re done picking Terry’s brain, I need to see you in here. Now.” Al’s voice rang out loud and clear. He sounded more riled than normal.

I took a deep breath and walked the last few condemned person’s steps to Al’s office. He sat behind his battered desk, a piece of furniture that was a true reflection of himself. Rough looking salt-and-pepper hair, weathered skin, oversized facial features. Add in piercing grey eyes and a fondness for denim, and Al was the epitome of the rancher type he’d been until finding a calling in journalism. Sold his ranch to his brother-in-law and never looked back. Darn good at the job.

I don’t think anyone else alive could have kept the paper alive and thriving. He made it a point to personally drive to the surrounding towns to sell ads, too, and report their news.

“You wanted to see me,” I said. He was staring out the window at the street, looking like a man with a burden.

He turned and directed those riveting eyes my way. I gulped. He always made me nervous.

“How’s Meadow?” I asked, hoping to soften him up.

“The girl’s fine.” He dismissed my question and nodded at a chair. “Have a seat.”

“What’s up?” I asked brightly.

He shoved a sheaf of papers aside and crossed his arms on his desk. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah, soon as I was told about my dad I came home.”

“I was sorry to hear about it. How is he?”

“He’s going to be fine, thanks.” I filled him in on recent events like I knew I’d be doing until every last person in Sweetwater had been reassured. Best duty ever.

“Any photos of the wagon train?”

I swallowed. “Ah, sorry. The Wagon Master confiscated all the phones, so no pictures.”

“Then get back there and make sure he aims his camera where you need it.”

“I’m not planning on going back.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’d rather not. It’s hard to get back to where they are. The ground’s a mess from the rain. Plus, I didn’t get along much with my wagon mate.” For some reason, around Al, I always spilled every last bean.

Al rubbed his head like he was getting a splitting headache but then I remembered something sure to pacify him. “Oh, I know, Sandra took some photos and video. Cripes, but I need my phone back! Mel still has it locked up with the others. Sandra did say she’d email me so I can check it out when I get back home. Send you what I got. Pretty sure she got some good stuff.”

“That’ll help. I need new photos of the rodeo now that you’re back in town. That’ll give me time to make a round trip to scratch up some more advertising in the district. Maybe get a photo of the wagon train on the way back.”

“The land between the interstate and the wagons is muddy as heck. Wear rubber boots if you go.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled, and I relaxed for the first time since I walked into his office. He pulled a stack of papers back in front of him. “Well, we both have our jobs to do. I want finished copy with accompanying photos on my desk by seven o’clock this evening. Can you manage that?”

“Sure. Don’t I always?”

“Okay, cookie, see that you do.” Al must be feeling better to use his nickname for me.

I gave him a smile and made my escape.

The clock over the copier in the outer office suggested I’d better get a move on if I wanted to make the pie-eating contest. I had the schedule for the week memorized.

Before I’d signed up for the trek, I had intended to cover all rodeo events.

“Talk to you later, Terry,” I said and sailed out the front door.

Hmm. Groups of animated people were talking about something serious, no doubt about it.

News travels fast, bad news faster.

I hurried along the sidewalk, wanting to see what the deal was.

“Hey, Daisey! Over here,” Holly said, waving from partway down the block. I hurried to her. She was talking with other members of her band.

I gave her a quick hug. “What’s up?” I asked.

“How’s your dad?” She looked worried. “Everyone’s talking about what happened.”

“He’s going to be fine.”

“Thank goodness.”

Holly was as lovely today as always, maybe a bit solemn, which was to be expected, but she was dressed for a concert in her spaghetti-strapped yellow sundress and sky-high heels.

In my fresh summer outfit and flat espadrilles, I felt dowdy standing next to her. Well, at least my feet didn’t hurt. “I’m on my way to cover the pie-eating contest.”

“Oh, time for that already?” Shelby, the band’s awesome drummer, asked. She was ready to perform and looking the part, wearing a sky-blue dress the same cut as Holly’s.

“Almost.”

“We’re going to play twice today, two sets. Got a four o’clock slot and a nine o’clock one. Can you make the later one?” Holly asked.

“I can try. Al’s got me running in circles now I’m home again. In fact, I better get going or I’ll be late.”

“Would you consider playing the nine o’clock with us? I can have your electronic piano set up in no time. It would be awesome if you could,” Holly said.

I let loose an audible groan. Holly rushed to speak, not giving me time to craft a polite answer.

“Please, just this one time. I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the week, I promise. It’s not like you can do this for much longer, you know.”

The guilt worked. She was right, I wouldn’t get to do this much longer. A sudden pang sluiced through me, driving the point home. “Count me in. Fair warning, I’m a bit rusty.”

“You’ll be great! It’s going to be such fun!” Holly squealed, the rest of her band joining in for the chorus.

I took my leave and headed for the fairgrounds. Next up, pie eating.

On the way a mid-sized dog began following me. I leaned down and patted its head, admiring its tan and brown coloring with the spectacular full white ruff around its throat and chest. She looked like Lassie so I figured her as a Border Collie, having watched the old television shows with my grandma.

I didn’t recognize the dog and I pretty much know all of them in the vicinity. “Who are you? Are you lost, girl?”

She looked to be in decent shape, so someone must be missing her. But with no collar, I had little to go on. Maybe she’d been abandoned?

I squelched that idea. The last thing I needed now was to adopt a pet. Especially a dog that needed to be outside. Who knew how tight the accommodations would be in New York?

Anyway, after a few head pats and general conversation, the animal wandered away and I continued on. Maybe she belonged to the sheep breeder, Nils Svenson, who lived north of town.

The crowd for the pie-eating contest was already gathered when I arrived. You’d think the contest would attract big people with hearty appetites, but you’d be wrong. Lots of skinny people who’d trained themselves were active participants.

How they stayed thin was beyond me. One extra piece of Danish or pie and the scale jumped ahead with glee. Maybe I should just hide it away in the back of a closet under a laundry basket. The darn thing annoyed me so much.

That reminded me of my stash of cookies on the wagon. Hopefully it would be driven back soon and I could offload the precious commodity.

It was a shame about the trip. Some of it had been fun. Yet it had also been so darn confusing—no, I mean irritating. Well, no matter, time to concentrate on my job.

“Daisey, over here,” a loud voice called out to me.

I turned around and spotted who was yelling. Mayor George Williamson was pushing through the crowd, making a beeline for me. The determination on his sweaty face did not bode well.

I sprang into immediate defense mode, desperately wanting to head this off at the pass. Like that would ever work with our mayor, but I had to try.

“No! Absolutely not!” I burst out before he could speak. “I’m not the one to ask. I need to take photos, be ready with a caption and story. Plus, I’m wearing white, for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll give you a bib. I’ll pay for dry cleaning if need be. Please, Daisey, some entries were a no show.”

Something always made me bow to the social pressure—do the right thing. That was why I needed to get away from this town where everyone knew me and, everyone knew my weaknesses.

Feeling so much guilt at just being myself and psychologically incapable of saying no when I wanted to had to stop.

I sighed and went with the mayor. Well, I could just not try very hard to win and hope not to gain five pounds. I dragged my feet all the way over to the lineup of eager eaters.