“Ican’t believe wehave to wear this crap,” Dylan complained as she walked into my room.
I laughed. “I think it’s cute.”
We both wore skinny jeans and cowboy boots. I wore a blue bustier andpurple cowboy hat, my tummy was bare, and I’d pulled my blonde hair in a side ponytail. Dylan had pigtail braids and wore a reddish-brown tank top and brown cowboy hat, but she wasn’t about to show any skin, so she’d tucked her top into her jeans.
Jake wrapped his arms around my waist. “I think it’s sexy as hell.”
I had to hold my hat on my head as he shoved his face into my neck and kissedme. I giggled and half-heartedly slapped his back.
Dylan leveled a stare at us. “We look like cast-offs from the set ofHee Haw.”
“Of what?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Can we just get this thing over with so we can go home?”
Dylan was feeling a little surly, and I couldn’t blame her. Jake had called the local police station and verified her fears that Wyatt was never even booked.They claimed lack of evidence to arrest him and asked Jake to remind us that we’d signed a waver not to hold the town or the fairgrounds liable for any injuries caused when we registered for the race. We knew Dylan’s dad was stealing the jewelry and needed to turn our proof over to the local authorities, but Dylan would never roll over on Sergio even if she thought the video footage would convicther father so we had to find another option. We knew there was something going on with Not-Nurse Helen, but we’d hit a dead end there too. We were both ready to cut our losses and head home.
“Two hours, love.” Asher pulled her close, kissing her gently. “Then you never have to come back.”
“I’m holding you to that promise.”
I watched the two of them, wondering what was going on. After Dylan’sannouncement that she was going to marry Asher, I’d grilled her for details and came up confused. All she’d tell me was that there hadn’t been a proposal, but Asher had asked her father for his blessing. I needed to ask Asher—since he was usually easier to drag information out of—but had yet to get my brother alone.
We climbed into my car and headed to the station to “catch” the train. A paraderoute had been set up along the tracks and people were already starting to gather. The train would apparently circle around the town and return back for a potluck.
All the Roundup participants were in attendance, but only the winners would ride in the darling little red caboose. I don’t know where the town had gotten an eighteen-hundreds steam engine, but they’d done a wonderful job restoringit to its former glory, and I was kind of excited to join in. I didn’t tell Dylan that, however. Lest her head explode.
As we climbed up the stairs of the caboose, the mayor (with a little more excitement than should be legal) pinned a sheriff’s star on each of our chests as the crowd applauded and cameras flashed. I kept a smile plastered on my face throughout numerous photos that would be includedin the tourism brochure the town would be producing.
Stepping inside the air-conditioned car, I was surprised to find it decked out in old-time décor. I felt like I should be wearing a hoop skirt instead of jeans.
We were offered what the locals called “champagne,” but I saw the bottle and knew it wasn’t the real stuff. Since I wasn’t a fan of sparkling wine, I declined.
Dylan, on the otherhand, took a glass and downed it.
“You okay there, sunshine?” I asked.
“Peachy. My home town’s gone to shit and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I do have this shiny little sheriff’s badge now. Do you think that makes me a co-conspirator, or an accessory?”
Okay. This was the Dylan I’d be dealing with today.
“You should have grabbed a glass so I could have yours, too,” she said.
Iwent back to the server and got my friend another much needed drink. She thanked me and downed that one as well.
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know how you can drink that cheap crap.”
“If it keeps me from remembering the humiliation of this day, I’ll drink lighter fluid.”
I giggled. “Well, take it easy there, babe.”
As we mingled on our way to the snack area, Dylan and I were congratulatedseveral times. It appeared the whole town had watched our race and would be talking about it for years.
By the time the sixth person stopped us—a hot cowboy named Trent—I could tell Dylan needed another glass of sparkling wine. She was fidgety and looking around. She stopped him midsentence and said, “Sorry, Trent, but have you seen Brandy?”
“You two aren’t gonna fight again are you?” he asked.“Because if you are, I want a front row seat.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I haven’t punched anyone since middle school and have no intention of restarting that nasty habit. Brandy’s taking great care of Dusty, and I wanted to congratulate her on winning the barrel racing.”
