But Winona only jumped lightly to her feet. She started taking the covers off the side dishes. A few minutes later, the others, Callie included, returned with clamshell containers of hot, fragrant barbecue.
Van waited for everyone to settle into the meal and start chatting together before asking her friend in a whisper, “So...? Tyler Abernathy, huh?”
Callie leaned in close and answered for Van’s ears alone, “I didn’t see his wedding ring until his mom handed him his baby girl—whose name is Maeve, by the way. Maeve is nine months old and, as you might have noticed, completely adorable. Just like her mother, I have no doubt.”
Van made a sad face. “Sorry, honey.”
Callie grabbed another rib from one of the containers in the middle of the table. “At least the food is the best ever.”
Earl Tillson jumped to the stage where the band would play later. He stepped up to the mike there. “May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen. Once again, Red, White and Bronco is giving you the best barbecue in Montana, courtesy of our local ranchers. The entries have been judged and the competition was fierce, and I’m up here right now to give you your winners.”
A wave of applause followed.
Earl announced, “In third place, the Double J!” Everybody clapped as Randall John got up to accept the white ribbon. Taylor Beef came in second. Cornelius strutted to the stage to claim the red, his second-born son, Brandon, at his side.
“And in first place, let’s have a giant round of applause for...” Earl drew out the moment before shoving a fist in the air and shouting, “Abernathy Meats!”
It wasn’t much of a surprise. For as long as Van could remember, the Taylors and the Abernathys inevitably won the top two ribbons. Still, the applause level rose higher than before as Tyler and his handsome brothers broke out in cheers. Their father, Hutch, stepped up to take the blue ribbon.
But not everyone approved of the Abernathy win. At the next table over, Van heard a man mutter, “Right. Once again, it’s the Abernathys and Taylors taking first and second place...”
“Surprising exactly no one,” groused the woman beside him.
The complaint was picked up and echoed here and there through the park. One of the Dalton boys, Boone, said right out loud it wasn’t fair. A distant Abernathy relation shouted at him to pipe down.
Earl Tillson put an end to the barbecue controversy by announcing, “And now, I want to introduce you all again to our one and only Miss Bronco. Vanessa Cruise, get on up here and say hi to the folks!”
“Yippee,” she muttered under her breath as she cleaned the barbecue off her hands with a wet wipe. Rising, Van executed a fancy pageant wave at all and sundry. Everyone applauded as she headed for the stage—which was good. Wonderful, even. At least today no one had questioned her claim to the crown or called her “the fake Miss Bronco.”
Not so far, anyway.
Up on the stage, Earl stuck the mike in her face, and she said a few words about the superior quality of barbecue produced by Bronco ranchers and how great it was to see everyone out having a fine time on this gorgeous Independence Day.
“Vanessa,” Earl spoke into the mike again. “It’s my job to ask you the all-important question...”
“Hit me with it, Earl.”
“Are you ready to judge twelve tasty pies created with love and skill and tender care by the best bakers in Bronco?”
“Earl, when it comes to pie, I’m always ready.”
“And ain’t that what we needed to hear, ladies and gentlemen?”
The park erupted in applause, whistles and catcalls.
Earl waited till the ruckus died down a bit to instruct, “Right this way, Vanessa.” He led her to the three pushed-together folding tables decked with patriotic bunting, accented with vases of red, white and blue mums, and crowned with a row of absolutely beautiful pies.
Sometimes the duties of a beauty queen sucked. But judging the Red, White and Bronco Fourth of July pie contest almost made it all worthwhile.
Right then, Charity, carrying her own folding chair, appeared on Van’s left.
Van sat in the chair Earl held for her and beamed up at Charity. “Come on, sit right here beside me. Let’s get to work.”
Such a challenging task, but someone had to do it. Van and Charity took their time tasting each and every pie—some more than once. Just to be sure. They had a great time, laughing together, making a big deal of each offering so that no baker would feel slighted.
A crowd gathered around them, including all the contest entrants and several of Van’s Young Adventurers. Everyone laughed and offered suggestions and encouragements as Van and Charity consulted and argued the merits of each pie, with Van always eager to dig right in and take another bite. Charity held her back, reminding her that they had to respect the “physical integrity” of every pie.
“It’s important,” Charity insisted, “that we don’t eat too much of any one pie, in order that enough of every pie remains to take an attractive picture of at least one large and appetizing slice when the winners are declared. You know we’ll make the front page of theBronco Bulletin, right?”
