Eventually, he promised himself, the desire to go after her would fade.
Chapter Two
Present day
The Night That Never Happened turned out to have a day of reckoning, and that day was July 2.
By then, due to her inability to say no to Daphne, Vanessa had been in town for a month. Her brother’s fiancée had mad skills when it came to coaxing people to do things they would ordinarily have no trouble politely turning down. Things like spending the summer in the hometown Van never visited for longer than a week or two at a stretch. Somehow, Daphne had convinced her that she needed to teach science to tweens and early teens out at Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary.
Daphne’s day camp, Young Adventurers, kept a lot of kids busy in the summer while their parents worked. In the mornings, Young Adventurers offered a fun and absorbing curriculum, an opportunity to learn cool stuff about chemistry, math, technology and biology. After lunch, the younger kids could pet the animals and learn about animal behavior while the older ones pitched in on the farm. They all seemed to love summer day camp at Happy Hearts.
And truth to tell, Van loved it, too. She loved it enough that she might not even have minded spending a whole summer in the town she’d left behind—except for the niggling little issue of a guy called Jameson John.
Every day for the past month, Van had wondered and worried, dreaded and anticipated the moment when she would finally come face-to-face with Jameson again.
Yet somehow, one day had followed another and she’d seen no sign of him. She’d even started imagining that she never would.
Wrong.
That gorgeous, sunny, early July day just happened to be the opening day of Red, White and Bronco—because in Bronco, people took their patriotism seriously. Every year, the town leaders and merchants pooled their resources to put on a four-day festival in celebration of Independence Day.
Van and Callie Sheldrick, Van’s summer roommate, had arrived at Bronco Park early to make sure they got a picnic table. A down-to-earth sort of person, both perceptive and warmhearted, Callie worked for Evan at Bronco Ghost Tours. She and Van had quickly become BFFs. In fact, during a girls’ night, just the two of them, a month ago, Van had shared her hardest secrets with Callie.
Today, Bronco Park looked nothing short of festive, with red, white and blue paper cloths on the tables, Old Glory waving from every tree and a whole marketplace of booths selling fireworks and patriotic hats, horns, dishware and souvenirs—along with just about every kind of picnic food and drink known to man. The smells of barbecue, popcorn and cotton candy filled the air.
Maybe twenty minutes after Van and Callie claimed their table, Evan and Daphne joined them, followed by three bright young girls who attended Vanessa’s morning workshops at Young Adventurers. More girls arrived—too many to fit at the table. But one of the girls had brought a blanket. They spread it out between the tables and sat on the grass.
Red, white and blue bunting graced the front of the outdoor stage set up in full view of all the picnic tables. The festival committee had also put out rows of white folding chairs so that everyone would have a place to sit and enjoy today’s main event—the Miss Bronco beauty pageant, held every year on the second of July, right here in Bronco Park.
This year, the contest had sparked controversy, thanks to several of Van’s students at Young Adventurers—the ones sitting at the table with her and nearby on the grass, as a matter of fact. The girls had spearheaded a successful campaign to rewrite the pageant rules. Some people weren’t happy with the changes.
Van thought it was great, and she’d shown up today to support her girls. She’d always made it a point to encourage her pupils to think outside the box. She urged them to transform what they found unfair or even downright wrong about their world and the way it was run. To that end, at Young Adventurers, she held discussion time each morning before everyone got down to work on current projects.
Back in early June, during discussion time, one of the girls had brought up the Miss Bronco pageant. She’d complained that girls from the same families almost always seemed to win, and that didn’t seem fair. A lively chat ensued.
And after that, the girls had done more than talk. They’d created a petition to change the rules and then gone door to door collecting the signatures to make that happen.
Van beamed with pride as the pageant began and Earl Tillson, this year’s host, kicked things off by explaining the new contest rules.
“This year,” announced Earl, “Miss Bronco will be chosennotby the usual panel of pillars of our community, but by an open vote to be held right here, today, as soon as the competition is concluded. Anyone in town can cast a vote as long as they fill out a ballot. Also this year, as a nod to all the single ladies you admire and want to recognize, you’ll find a space on your ballot for a write-in. Any and all unmarried females sixteen years of age or older are eligible.”
“Sixteen years orolder?” A skinny cowboy in a purple shirt jumped up from one of the picnic tables. “Howmucholder?”
“Well,” replied Earl, “she would need to still be breathin’, I’ll tell you that.” A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd.
That same cowboy argued, “That means any woman, no matter how old, can enter—long as she ain’t got a ring on her finger.”
“Young man,” growled Earl, “that is exactly what it means. As long as any single female person is sixteen, which we all agree is old enough to carry out the duties of the position, that person is welcome to claim her chance at the crown.”
“Well, that is plain wrong, Earl Tillson. We’ll end up with somebody’s single grandma wearing the sash and crown.”
Thirteen-year-old Cleo Davidson, one of Vanessa’s brightest summer students and an organizer in the campaign to make the Miss Bronco contest less biased and more inclusive, put her hands to either side of her mouth and shouted, “It is fair, and it is right!” Several spectators, including the girls seated around Van, cheered in support.
The cowboy bellowed, “No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is!” Cleo shouted back. “Your grandma should have the right to enter.”
“Like hell she should!” yelled the cowboy. “Some old lady can’t be Miss Bronco. It’s a beauty pageant. I love my grandma, but she’s no Miss Bronco.”
