His tumble down the hill relegated him to three days at home and a week of desk duty, answering phones, doling out fishing licenses. So when the Fourth of July rolled around, Ryder was more than ready for the celebration at Scott’s Farm.
He moved slowly in the mornings, and today was no different. He showered and dressed, then ate a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter. Beyond the windows, the July sun celebrated America’s independence by burning away every last fluffy cloud.
Today should be fun. And he needed a distraction. Being stuck alone at home or at his desk stirred old feelings. Lonely feelings. Tina had kindly sent meals his way a couple of days—for which he was grateful—but never by Elizabeth. Of course, she worked during the day and?—
Rein it in, Donovan. He’d thought of her entirely too much lately. That was the worst part of being cooped up at home with only Fred and Ginger to keep him company.
The second worst part was being on desk duty, sitting outside Travis’s office, listening to his big voice gladhanding on the phone, talking to investigators about the illegal removal of trees, trying to blame “a member of my staff.”
Ryder had a growing sense Travis wanted to pin recent messes on him. Which came first? The odd cherrywood orders or the loggers without a contract? Did they both point to him somehow?
Never mind. Today he was celebrating his country and his freedoms with good food, good music, and good friends. Maybe even try to dance with a pretty, curly-headed brunette. His cuts were healing, and the bruises, which got worse before better, were just beginning to fade. He did look like he’d gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson and lost.
He rinsed his bowl and set it in the dishwasher, then gently stretched his shoulder—which hurt, but the pain was bearable. Taking his keys from the hook by the kitchen door and grabbing the cane he used to keep pressure off his knee, he headed out.
At Scott’s Farm, he crossed through the crowded and lively grounds, looking for the Dorsey family camped under a wide oak. He’d missed the event two years ago, busy moving. Then last year he’d worked. This year, being on injured reserve had at least one perk.
“Ryder! Just in time.” Ethan grabbed him into the Dorsey family huddle. “We’re dividing into teams for the three-legged race.”
“Ethan,” Granny D. said. “The man has a cane. He can’t run.”
“I don’t know…I can give it a go.” Ryder bounced around, but his knee buckled a little. “With the right partner.” His gaze fell on twelve-year-old Austin, son of one of the Dorsey cousins. The kid smiled. Ryder smiled.
However, Austin was paired with someone else for the kids’ division. Will made a team with Markey, yet another Dorsey cousin. When Ryder was younger, he desperately wanted to be a Dorsey cousin. They were everywhere.
Jeff and Ursula paired up, and Ethan and Julie. Pops and Granny signed up for the senior division. That left Ryder without a partner.
“I’ll get Beth.” Jeff backed toward the line of food trucks tucked under a row of shady trees. In the distance, the first band of the day warmed up on the bandstand. “She can break away for one run.”
“Hey, that’s okay. She doesn’t have to—” But Jeff was already making his way down the row, calling for Elizabeth like she was lost in the woods. He rushed back, saying, “She’s in. We’ll get her when we need her.”
Ryder hobbled with the family toward the section roped off for the three-legged race. Maybe he should back out. His knee was aching just from the short walk. Running injured risked further damage to his knee and shoulder. Falling might hurt Elizabeth or any team they tumbled into.
Yet he wanted to race. Wanted to test his mettle. Want to rope his leg with Elizabeth’s and link his arm around her. Hooley, who still manned the race with his clipboard and bullhorn, marched into their midst.
“Okay, Dorseys,” Hooley said. “Give me your teams. You know you ought to let some other folks win now and then. Did you hear about the year we had a prince in the race? Yeah, Prince John from Lauchtenland. That’s how he met Gemma. She’s a princess now. Go figure. But I guess all y’all know that, eh? So what you got for us, Dorseys?”
“Yes, we know all about the prince and princess, Hooley,” Granny said. “We live here too, you know? And we’ve lost races to the Wedding Shop teams plenty.” Granny D. looked over at Haley Danner and her husband Cole. “We’re coming for you.”
“Bring it on, Betty,” Haley said, laughing.
“Say, Ryder, you back in town?” Hooley licked the tip of his pencil and jotted down his name. “Who you racing with, and what’s your team name?”
“Elizabeth Dorsey. And um, well?—”
“‘And um well’ ain’t a name. How about D and D? Donovan and Dorsey.”
“Team D and D?” Ryder made a face. “How about Team Winners?”
“Please,” Hooley said with a scoff. “I get a dozen folks saying that to me every year.”
“Losers?”
Hooley laughed. “Never heard that one before. You want me to write down Losers?” He poised his pencil over the clipboard with one eye on Ryder. “Don’t blame me when you actually lose.”
“Okay, okay, how about Forest Boy-City Girl?”
“Kinda long, but I like it.” Hooley wrote it down, running out of room at the edge of the page. “Got a ring to it.”
