MEANWHILE, WAY OUTSIDE of town inside a big barn out on a hundred-acre ranch, a cowboy named Buck Jones was saddling up a horse named Lemon Drop. She had been his best friend ever since she broke out of the pasture next door, which housed a mustang rescue. The horse tried to steal a lemon drop right from his hand! After that, Buck adopted her, and the rest was history.
Cowboy Buck loved being one with the land. It was all he wanted: to be outside in Colorado, herding his cattle and riding Lemon Drop.
Buck rode Lemon Drop to meet the courier, and to sign for his invitation, the one on the fancy paper. Now Buck turned it over in his hands and considered accepting it. He’d been to the Barclay estate just a few days ago to talk to Mr. Barclay. But the conversation quickly turned sour (much like a lemon drop, but without the joy). Buck adjusted the straps on the saddle while he thought about whether he should go or not.
After what happened the other day, he wasn’t exactly on good terms with Mr. Barclay. Buck had called the man a few names—from afar, but still. They were sparring, that was the truth.
Not that Buck Jones was on particularly good terms with the truth, not by a long shot. He was a liar, he knew that. He lied every day, about owning the ranch—
Well, it was better just not to think too long on this nasty business. His last visit to Mr. Barclay in particular.
The thing was, Buck had a dream for the ranch: a horseback-riding stable and candy store. People could come ride horses and then pick out candy as they passed the displays. His horse Lemon Drop gave him the idea, and Buck thought it was brilliant. Buck would call it the Lemon Drop Shop. Horses and candy—who wouldn’t love to come visit?
But making a dream like that come true was difficult, to say the least. The ranch needed tending to every day: the fences needed repairs; the stables were showing their age. And the cattle needed herding. Ranching was hard work. And the thought of opening a candy store on top of that? Forget about it!
Buck hadn’t been on vacation for years. A little break from the ranch could be nice. This five-course meal sounded delicious, and Buck (despite being a rugged cowboy) really liked a refined meal from time to time. But if he accepted the invite, would he be able to keep his secret?
Of course he would, Buck told himself. He was a cowboy, and they kept secrets like nobody’s business. They knew when to be silent, and when to ride away from trouble (preferably on their favorite horse).
Buck got in the saddle, popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and adjusted his cowboy hat. It was decided: he was going to the Barclay Hotel that weekend.
Would he regret it later? Well, you can guess the answer to that . . .
IN THE TOWN of Aspen Springs, teen and children’s librarian Ms. Chelsea Griffin was in her home library, sitting in her oversize chair, having a cup of afternoon tea with lots (and lots) of honey in it. Ms. Chelsea needed a little comfort, after the excitement of the previous week.
On her coffee table, there was her teapot and the letter, folded next to the envelope with the broken seal. Ms. Chelsea had read the letter twice, but much like everyone else, she hadn’t read the fine print. She’d set the letter down, picked it up again, and studied the (clearly bona fide) seal on the envelope.
She’d hoped she’d won something big when the letter came—by courier, requiring her signature. Ms. Chelsea played the lottery and just about every contest you could find. At the young age of twenty-four, she had to be careful with her money. Being a teen (and children’s—she was a multitasker) librarian didn’t pay as much as she’d hoped.
When Ms. Chelsea got the fancy letter, she thought it might be prize money. Almost daily, Ms. Chelsea diligently filled out entry forms at those festivals in town, in her magazines, and online. But so far, she’d only won a bowling ball at the county fair last year. And she didn’t like bowling, not even with the bumpers on the sides.
But now Ms. Chelsea had actually won something nice: a weekend away. Only it was at the Barclay Hotel, the last place she should be seen. Because Ms. Chelsea—despite her status as librarian, a most trusted position—was a liar, just like the other invited guests for the weekend. She had a secret to keep.
A whopper of a secret.
Ms. Chelsea was nervous. A little scared, you could say, and everyone knows librarians are never scared. It takes nerves of steel to be a librarian.
She read the letter one last time, sipping her super-sweet tea before picking up the phone to RSVP. There really was no choice: she had to go, if she wanted to make sure her secret was kept. Plus, Ms. Chelsea had a dream—not for herself, of course, but for the library. She hoped for an elaborate extension to the kids’ section, with arcade games where you could win books, a giant slide (who didn’t like whirling down with their hands in the air?), and maybe even a locomotive that looped around the building. It was a bold and crazy plan . . .
Ms. Chelsea sighed. Aside from her dreams of expanding the library’s children’s department, all she wanted was to share stories with the kids. There was nothing like that spark when a kid read a book and was swept away by the story—just like she was when she was reading. Books were magic to Ms. Chelsea. She wanted to share that with the world.
But it was an uphill battle, being a librarian.
Maybe this weekend away would be a nice break, she told herself. Maybe I’ll bring my bowling ball.
No one could possibly find out her secret if she was bowling.