CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Delaney
Two weeks ago,if someone had told me Sunridge Ranch would host the Coyote Cup Showdown kickoff, I would’ve pictured something low-key: a couple of card tables, some lukewarm chili, five men arguing about beanbag trajectories.
What I would not have imagined is… this.
The south pasture has transformed into a festival.
String lights sparkle overhead like fireflies.
The smell of smoked sliders and fresh cornbread has men moaning in line.
The music from the hay bale stage, Wild Reverie in acoustic mode.
Children race across the grass.
Adults scream at plywood boards like their souls depend on it.
And the men?
They are acting like cornhole is the Olympics.
“Miss Delaney!”
A mini tornado launches into my thigh. Sadie wraps her arms around me, breathless with excitement and possibly sugar.
“Daddy says we made it to round three! And Uncle Silas said our team is destined to win, but also said that he can levitate beanbags with his mind, so I’m not sure if I believe him.”
“That’s a fair assessment.”
She grabs my hand. “Come see! All the teams are warming up, and Pickle is on the loose!”
Oh no.
She drags me toward the competition area, weaving through the crowd.
There are four main courts, each with hand-painted boards and dramatic signage.
Court 1: The Ranch Wranglers — Boone & Caleb
Court 2: Wild Crew — Silas & Jesse Fletcher
Court 3: Ink & Intimidation — Mitchell & Freddie
Court 4: Fire & Spice — Leo & Karl.
And roaming freely between all four courts… Pickle, wearing a tiny referee jersey and blowing a whistle definitely stolen from someone’s pocket.
“Pickle!” Ivy shrieks. “Drop it!”
Pickle drops nothing and immediately commits to havoc, a hazy, snorting blur tearing across Court 3.
Mitchell lunges like the board personally offended him.
Timothy drags a hand down his face. “He’s doing this on purpose.”
“Let him play,” Freddie shouts, already clapping. “Natural athlete.”
