Bent, Miss Briggs. Then there was the lovely and svelte Miss Idaho on the outer right flank, who hovered somewhere in her very early twenties, and the rough-and-tumble Miss Rodeo Queen, who didn’t look a day over eighteen riding an obedient black stallion on the far left.
Callie had wanted to ride alongside the mayor and the president of the local Rotary Club, who were both much older than her, but the mayor wouldn’t hear of it.
“Your place is with the reigning monarchy of Idaho,” said Mayor Sally Hickman, a blond-haired, fortysomething beauty with a straight-talk, natural-born-leader disposition that had won her the last three terms, when Callie had approached her with the idea.
“But I haven’t held the title in ten years! I shouldn’t even be in the parade anymore. Who made up this rule, anyway? It really needs to change.”
“You know very well the good people of Briggs expect to see you in the parade. You’re the idol of every young girl in Briggs who hopes to grow up and follow in your footsteps one day. You certainly don’t want to disappoint them, now do you?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Good, then, short of a personal catastrophe, I’ll expect to see you in your usual place this year.” And she dismissed Callie for her next appointment, which happened to be with Callie’s older brother, Carson, who was grand marshal of this year’s parade.
Carson had won the National Saddle Bronc Riding Championship in Las Vegas the previous December, and the town more or less worshipped him for it. Unlike Callie, Carson had no trouble accepting the town’s accolades, which were well deserved.
Callie, on the other hand, wanted no part of it...at least not this year. She was starting her new position at Briggs Elementary in a few weeks, taking over as kindergarten teacher for Miss Sargent, who had retired last spring, and she wanted to be taken seriously. Not that winning the Miss Russet title wasn’t a serious accomplishment, it was. But her pageant days were so far over that her tiara was beginning to rust.
Now her only hope was the current Miss Briggs, Nellie Bent, who needed a good solid talent in order to win the coveted title of Miss Russet. Sadly, suspicions on the street had it that Nellie couldn’t hold a tune—at least no one had ever heard her sing—she couldn’t play a serious musical instrument, nor could she dance. What had secured her title as Miss Briggs was her ability to jump rope, not exactly the kind of talent the Miss Russet judges were looking for, but then Callie hadn’t seen the performance. Perhaps jumping rope took on a whole new cachet when Nellie did it.
Callie also knew Nellie had won a small scholarship to Idaho State, in Pocatello, a fine university if there ever was one, and Callie’s alma mater. Surely Nellie wanted to add to that scholarship fund by winning Miss Russet, which came with a college scholarship of its own. Nellie could slip right into Callie’s position in the Western Days parade and everyone would cheer her on, including Callie.
What young woman didn’t want that?
According to Mayor Hickman, every young girl in Briggs did.
Just as Callie was about to ask Nellie about entering the contest, once the marching band took a breather, she spotted someone in the crowd that sent a chill up her spine. When she craned over Nellie, first leaning forward in the saddle, then back to get a better look, that person had vanished into the crowd.
Or was never there in the first place.
“Is everything okay?” Nellie asked as she waved and smiled at the enthusiastic crowd who cheered and whistled as the Misses trotted by, their horses almost in sync with each other, heavy hooves click-clacking on the roadway. “You look a little pasty.”
Callie settled in the saddle, grasping the horn as if her life depended on it. “I...I thought I saw someone I knew, but I must’ve been mistaken. He doesn’t seem to be there now.”
“An old boyfriend?”
Callie grinned at Nellie, amazed that she could be that insightful. “Yes, a very old boyfriend, from college. A boyfriend who I’d rather never see again.”
Callie’s heart still pounded against her chest at the thought of seeing Joel Darwood. She’d practiced what she would say to him if their paths ever crossed, but at the moment, all those well-crafted words seemed elusive. Her brain had turned into instant mush as soon as she thought she’d spotted him standing in the crowd.
“I have an ex-boyfriend like that,” Nellie said. “He lives in Chubbuck now, and every time I see him I want to sock him in the gut. He cheated on me with a girl who can’t even ride a horse or rope a steer.”
Nellie couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, was no more than five foot two inches tall and seemed as delicate as a dandelion. “You can rope a steer?”
“I can do almost anything with a rope. I grew up with four older brothers.”
Her jumping-rope abilities just bumped up a few notches. “Have you ever thought about entering the Miss Russet contest?”
“Actually, I—”
But Callie had stopped listening. She’d spotted that guy in the crowd again...that guy who looked exactly like Joel, only without his scruffy beard and long dark hair. This was the clean-cut version. Look-alike Joel’s head had bobbed out between a group of people she didn’t recognize. This false Joel had pulled a young child off his shoulders, and in doing so he’d looked down so Callie couldn’t get a good look at his face, at his eyes. She’d know if it was really him once she could see his dreamy eyes. The real Joel Darwood had the kind of long dark eyelashes any girl would swoon over, and eyes so blue you’d swear they were part of the sky itself.
She jerked the reins a bit to slow Apple Sammy as she watched look-alike Joel take the child’s hand, a girl from what she could make out, with features that looked familiar...too familiar.
As he made his way through the crowd, he glanced up, but not enough so she could get a clear shot of his face. He slipped a light gray cowboy hat on his head, tipped it forward on his forehead and he and the child made their way up the crowded sidewalk.
The Joel she knew would never wear a cowboy hat, so it couldn’t possibly be him. The Joel she knew was more of the laid-back, chillin’ type, rather than a working cowboy, and in these parts of Idaho, if a male of any age wore a cowboy hat, that meant he was a down-in-the-dirt, hardworking, hay-hauling, calf-roping, horse-breaking cowboy.
His walk...that swagger...no one had a sexy swagger like Joel Darwood and sure as the sun rose over the mountains every morning, this false Joel had that swagger.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a teen holding a tuba yelled as Callie sidestepped Apple Sammy.
Her horse had drifted back into the middle of the marching band without her being aware of the intrusion.
“Sorry... I’m sorry,” Callie repeated over and over again as she tried to guide the ornery creature away from the group.
Unfortunately, getting Apple Sammy to mind her wasn’t exactly working, especially now that the band had started playing again. The loud music seemed to spook the poor creature and he didn’t know which way to go to get away from it. His ears kept twitching as if the sound was so annoying he was trying to somehow muffle it by flattening his ears as best he could.
Now more band
