“He hates it. Says people pull off the main road by the pastures he uses for grazing his cattle and traipse through his acreage to get to the fields. My dad added more signage to direct people to enter the festival grounds up here by the house, but some folks just won’t listen.” But would he really go to such great lengths to shut down the festival? Back when my dad ran a couple hundred head of cattle, he’d help with spring calving, and I’d never seen him mistreat an animal.
“What are you thinking?” Thorne asked.
“If Mr. Oliver really is behind this, it would make sense as to why Gonzo never barked. He’s been coming over here for as long as I can remember.” I didn’t want to believe the man my father had considered a good friend would go behind his back and try to steal his land away, but it seemed like the most plausible explanation.
“Can you call Dartman and say you’re ready to sign the papers? Tell him you’re swamped with the festival and won’t have time until the concert starts tonight. That would put him here around nine. I need it to be dark enough outside to provide me with some coverage.”
“What are you going to do? I can’t have you taking any more risks for me.”
Thorne cupped my cheek in his hand. “I’ll be fine. While he’s here, I’ll head over and see if I can locate Gonzo on the Oliver’s property. If I find him there, I’ll get the sheriff involved. The note on the cinderblock, details about the shell company tying back to him, and proof that Gonzo was locked up over there ought to be enough for them to take him into custody for questioning.”
“You really think this will work?” A sliver of hope edged into the center of my chest.
“It’s better than Plan B.” Thorne shrugged.
“Are you ever going to tell me about Plan B?”
“Like I said, the less you know, the better.”
“Okay, I’ll give Dartman a call.” I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and dialed the sleazeball attorney. It only took a minute to set up the meeting. He was more than happy to meet me at the house since I was smack dab in the middle of the bluebonnet festival and told him I couldn’t get away.
“Now what do we do?” I was too nervous to walk around and pretend like everything was okay.
“Now we wait. Why don’t you we go check on the vendors and you can introduce me to everyone? That ought to keep your mind off what’s going to go down later and if Dartman has someone keeping an eye on the place, seeing us together out and about will make him think we’re not up to anything.”
“You sure you’re up for putting yourself smack dab in the center of the small-town gossip mill?” Once people saw us walking around together, they’d jump to conclusions. And once they jumped to their own conclusions, nothing brought the lovely people of Hartsville closer together than sharing a juicy piece of gossip with someone who hadn’t heard the news.
He reached for my hand and twined our fingers together. “I grew up in Broken Bend, remember? You’re the one who’s going to take all the heat. If you’re okay with that, then nothing would make me prouder than walking around this festival holding your hand, minx.”
I wasn’t naïve enough to think there might be a future for the two of us, but that didn’t stop me from hoping. Also didn’t stop me from tightening my hand in his and leading him to the first stop on our little tour.
First, we stopped at a food truck that had driven up from San Antonio. Their website had hundreds of glowing reviews and they even had a group of fans who followed them from one event to the next as they made their way around Texas. Thorne ordered a breakfast burrito with chorizo and salsa. I opted for something sweet and picked out a giant chocolate concha.
Next, we stopped by a local artist’s table who specialized in mixed media paintings of my family’s bluebonnet fields. My mom had always loved her work, and we had one of her larger pieces hanging over the fireplace in the living room.
“Is this the artist you were talking about?” Thorne set his food down on the edge of the table and picked up a small canvas with a single bluebonnet stem set against a beautiful sunset.
“She’s the one.”
“These are amazing,” Thorne said.
I sipped on my coffee and nibbled on my concha while she told him all about her process. Thorne asked her to set the small painting aside and told her he’d come back for in a bit.
“I didn’t figure you for a man who would appreciate the fine arts,” I told him as we moved on to the next table.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” He arched a brow. “I’m an international man of many mysteries.”
“Austin Powers, right? I love those movies.” For a split second, the debilitating worry about Gonzo lifted.
Thorne’s eyes softened at the edges. “Maybe we can watch one of them together when this is all over.”
“I’d really like that.” I hadn’t wanted to ask what his plans entailed, but I hoped he’d have a little extra time to spend in Hartsville after the festival ended.
Taffy rushed over as we approached the area where she’d set up her bluebonnet cake decorating competition. “Entries are coming in from as far away as Amarillo. Promise me you’ll stick around to help me with the tasting part of the judging process later?”
Dozens of cakes rested on the tables behind her. All of them had some sort of bluebonnet motif worked into the decor.
“These are awesome, Taffy. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding volunteers to do the taste testing. Who else do you have judging?”
