href="#litres_trial_promo">Extract
Joel Darwood tried to take in what Mrs. Bradshaw was saying about his daughter, Emma, being disruptive to the class, causing the teacher to have to reprimand her after she bonked Jimmy Slater in the head with her baguette during lunch. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading. This was the third preschool his daughter would be expelled from, and she wasn’t even five years old yet. What would happen when she was in regular school?
“Fortunately, no one was hurt during the attack,” Mrs. Bradshaw said, looking as though the baguette could have caused immeasurable damage.
“It was a baguette, still fresh from this morning when I picked it up at the bakery down the street. I hardly think we could consider it a weapon.”
“Maybe so, but she struck him.”
“Jimmy is a full two inches taller than Emma, and if I have the story right, he swiped her Juicy Juice box and was taunting her with it.”
Mrs. Bradshaw grinned, seeming self-righteous as she intertwined her fingers, then rested her hands on the desk in front of her. “That’s hardly a reason to smack him with her lunch. Plus, as you know, this isn’t the first time Emma has disrupted the class. There were two other incidents that were far worse.”
“I wouldn’t call asking for seconds on orange slices or refusing to go outside for recess when it was windy and snowing disrupting the class.”
“It might not have been so bad if she had simply told her teacher she didn’t want to go outside, but she inspired the entire class to rebel. Her behavior is quite unacceptable. Emma needs to learn how to follow rules, and so far, your child demonstrates signs of becoming a rabble-rouser, something we cannot abide here at Mission Academy. Therefore, I’m afraid, Emma is no longer welcome at the academy.”
“So you’re expelling her?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“No need to be afraid. We’ll leave peacefully. I already ate my baguette on the way over.”
“Excuse me?”
Joel stood as a grin tightened his lips. “There is no excuse for you or this restrictive school. Good day, Mrs. Bradshaw. Oh, and by the way, I’d rather my daughter be a rabble-rouser than a complacent doormat. And if that’s what it takes to be part of Mission Academy, you can take your school and...”
But he didn’t finish the statement. Instead, he widened his grin, spun on his heels and marched out of the room, careful not to slam the door behind him.
As he walked to his SUV, all he could think of was how he and his daughter needed a change...a big change. One of those start-over kinds of changes that inspired new beginnings in new surroundings. Heck, he needed it as much as his daughter. Neither of them had any reason to remain in Boise, especially now when Joel’s position at his dad’s accounting firm seemed to be going nowhere fast.
Unlike his dad, Joel had never been all that interested in crunching numbers. He only majored in accounting in college because his dad had expected him to. Joel had found his job incredibly tedious and would try to avoid doing anything too complicated by handing off some of their best clients to one of his contemporaries. Joel was more of an embarrassment rather than the prodigal son who would one day inherit the business.
A change of venue might be exactly what the doctor ordered.
The cream-colored stallion whinnied and stomped his heavy hoof, eager to get this show on the road. It took all of Callie Grant’s riding skills to keep Apple Sammy from taking off before it was time to begin the parade, which stretched out for at least three blocks behind them, including all the side streets.
Lawn chairs had been set out along the route as placeholders for the townsfolk the night before. Every child under the age of ten had an undisputed spot at the front of the sidewalk, joined by seniors over the age of eighty, especially the town’s elderly military heroes. Anyone who had served in the military was considered a hero in this small town nestled in the Teton Valley, and was treated as such. No one spoke of these rules. They were simply woven into the tapestry of everyday life here in Briggs, Idaho, home of the mighty russet potato.
Now that the parade participants were lined up and eager to go, the sounds of their excited chatter echoed off of each shop and residence along Main Street. The teens in the marching band, dressed in gold, red and white, the official school colors from Ronald Reagan High School, readied themselves directly behind Callie. They seemed about as anxious as Apple Sammy. Fortunately, their director, Mr. Harwood, head of the music program at the school, knew how to corral his fifty or so students much better than Callie was able to control one determined horse.
Apple Sammy pulled back and whinnied once again as Mr. Harwood gave the direction for the band to begin its first tune, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which just about blew out Callie’s eardrums. Sadly, she’d forgotten her earplugs.
It was Western Days in Briggs, Idaho, which meant the only Miss Russet, Callaghan—Callie—Grant, who had won the coveted title for her hometown, took the center spot between the Misses, directly in front of the marching band in this year’s parade. Not that Callie wanted the hallowed position, nor did she still particularly enjoy the title. The Miss Russet sparkly tiara had long lost its appeal and riding in the annual parade dressed in her best cowgirl wear no longer generated any excitement.
After ten years of participating in countless parades and community events, she would gladly hand over the reins to any other Miss Russet her fair town could produce. Unfortunately, no other contestant from Briggs had won the coveted title since that fortuitous day.
Callie hadn’t even entered the pageant the year she’d won. Her sneaky sister Coco was responsible for that effort, and once the die was cast, Callie had no choice but to go along with the program. Her family was much too delighted at the prospect of a win for her to back out. Could she help it if her biggest competition that year was Helga Schnook, whose yodel sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than an actual yodel? Callie had tried to downplay her own talent, playing the piano, by picking “The Minute Waltz” by Chopin, thinking it was a relatively short and uncomplicated piece compared to some of the others she’d played in previous recitals and competitions. Unfortunately, that year, Helga and the other contenders had woefully failed to deliver any real talent, so the judges had unanimously chosen Callaghan Grant, from Briggs, Idaho, as Miss Russet, solidifying her now long-standing title...a title she now wished she had never won.
The biggest reason for her disenchantment for participating in the parade this year happened to be her age. At twenty-eight and twenty pounds heavier than when she picked up her title, she felt awkward sandwiched in between paper-thin sixteen-year-old Jackie Winslow, the current Miss Russet who hailed from Firth, Idaho, and equally thin seventeen-year-old, Nellie 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
