“All right, darlin’,” the woman said, holding out the giant paper plate. “Enjoy.”
Reid took the plate. “I’ll carry it, you eat. Let’s walk toward those turkey legs.”
She plucked a warm doughnut hole from the plate and popped it in her mouth. A burst of heat had her parting her lips and blowing out steam, but she refused to waste the delicious mound of flaky pastry. “So good.”
He chuckled and led the way past colorful displays of homemade wares and trinkets.
It’d been years since she’d visited the rodeo, too concerned with preparing her bar for the annual line dancing to take time from her day to just enjoy the festivities. She’d forgotten how much she loved watching the people in traditional Western wear walking beside the younger generations with tattoos and piercings, coming together to celebrate traditions as old as the West itself.
But even when she’d visited the rodeo with her parents, she hadn’t spent much time looking at the homemade candles or knickknacks. She’d been more excited by the livestock and action in the arenas.
Now she understood her mistake. Jars of jam and beautiful crafts that must have taken hours to create lined decorative shelves. If her fingers weren’t covered in sugar, she’d be tempted to run them over the knitted blankets and Native American dream catchers. Each step took her mind further from her troubles, and she could almost pretend this was just a normal day with a handsome man and delicious food.
The path curved and a burly man who could be a professional lumberjack sat hunched over on a tree stump. He concentratedon something in his hand, his big brow furrowed. She stopped and watched, unable to see what he worked on.
Behind him was a trifold draped in burgundy fabric. Decorations of some kind hung on the display. She took a step closer, not wanting to disturb the man but eager to see what he was selling. The decorations were all shapes and sizes with intricate patterns and details.
Terror swelled in her chest, forcing the air from her lungs. The items might all be different, but they had one thing in common. They were all carved from wood.
Tugging on Reid’s sleeve, she pointed to a small selection of carvings resting in a porcelain bowl on the table.
“What is it?”
“Look,” she said. “Flowers.” A flash of panic shook her hand and made the sweet treat revolt in her stomach.
Reid followed her sight line and frowned, shifting his focus back to the man on the stump. “That’s not the same guy, is it?”
The man was sitting, but Eve had no doubt if he stood, he would have a good five inches on Reid. The man who’d attacked her had been a similar height to Reid. The man in front of her had a beard, but it wasn’t as long, and the white whiskers blended with the black.
Eve shook her head. “No, but those flowers look so similar to the ones I keep finding.”
“Excuse me,” Reid said, stepping forward.
The man lifted his gaze, his hands stilling. “Can I help you?” His long drawl of each word spoke of a man who gave careful thought to what came out of his mouth.
“Those flowers.” Reid flicked his wrist toward the bowl a few feet away. “Did you make those?”
“Sure did. I make everything you see here.” He tipped his head in the direction of the display boasting his products.
“Do you mind if we take a closer look?” Eve asked, a pit forming in her stomach.
“That’s fine. If you don’t see anything you like, I can make most anything. The bigger the challenge, the better.”
Reid approached the table, Eve right beside him, and picked up one of the flowers.
“These petals are more intricate,” she said. “It’s close, and standing farther back they look identical. But these aren’t the same.”
The man stood, placing the piece he’d been working on in a tan leather apron tied around his waist. “Not the same as what?”
“Someone has made flowers like yours and left them in her home,” Reid said.
“Like a gift or forgot them or something?”
Clearing her voice, Eve stood a little straighter. “As in he broke in and left them there to scare me.”
The man’s features pinched, and he fisted his hands at his sides. “He did what?”
“Someone is stalking my friend here,” Reid said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her near. “He’s using little wooden flowers as part of his weird mind games. Do you sell other whittled flowers that have less precise details on the petals?”
