Page 63 of Wilde Ride

She sat down behind her desk, pulled the old-fashioned Rolodex toward her—which I still didn’t understand why she used—pulled out a card, and held it up.

“Ha! Here we go.” When she saw my confused expression, she smiled. “I’m going to call a friend of mine in Denver.”

Shaking my head, I asked, “And?”

“She owns The Colorado Post. I’m going to ask her to do an article about River Falls and our annual pie contest, and mention me and my famous cherry pie.”

I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open in stunned silence.

“Don’t you see?” When I didn’t say anything, she went on. “Not only will it bring even more people to River Falls, which will be great for the economy, but they’ll come just for my pie! It’ll drive Grace mad!”

I held up my hands and closed my eyes. “Okay, wait, Mom. Where is this really coming from? You don’t have to prove anything to Grace Miller.”

“I know I don’t, but she crossed a line when she went after my cherries. And my hen!”

Blinking at her, I asked, “She insulted Mildred?”

Mildred was my mother’s pride and joy. We often teased her that she loved Mildred more than her own kids.

“Yes! In the same article, she said Mildred wasn’t really an Orpington! She crossed two lines.”

“What about all the times she went after the family? Like when she claimed it was really Gatlin working as a farrier, and not Ensley?”

She waved me off. “Everyone knew those were made-up lies.”

“What about when she said I didn’t deserve to win the state championship in barrel racing?”

Snapping her head up, she pointed at me. “I went down to the gift shop and demanded she retract that!”

I bit my lip. I’d forgotten she’d done that.

“Are you trying to say I care more about my cherries and chickens than I do my own kids?”

“No. But do I need to remind you about the time when the new pediatrician asked you my birthdate, and you gave him Mildred’s birthday, instead.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “That was one time, Emeline. Are you ever going to let that go?”

“You got my birthday mixed up with a chicken’s, Mom.”

She stared at me…then sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh my God…what is wrong with me?”

“It’s okay,” I said, kicking at nothing on the floor. “It hurt at the time, but I’m over it.”

When she didn’t say anything, I glanced up to find her scowling at me. “I’m not talking about that, Emeline. I’m talking about letting Grace get to me. I lost my head for a moment.”

“Good. I’m glad you see that.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing. I’d better get back to work.”

Turning, I started to leave…then stopped and glanced back at her. “But I’d still call your friend in Denver. That was a genius idea.”

She winked. “Oh, I intend to.”

I headed back to her office when I remembered she’d had two things to talk about. She was already on the phone with her friend. Smiling, I turned around and walked away. Whatever the second thing was, it could wait.

I pulled up and parked behind Ensley’s Ford F-250. I was the only one in the family who drove a pickup truck solely when needed. Otherwise, I was in my Subaru Outback, which I loved.