CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DARBY CAHILL ADJUSTED his Stetson as he moved toward the bandstand. The streets of Gilt Edge, Montana, were filled with revelers who’d come to celebrate the yearly chokecherry harvest on this beautiful day. The main street had been blocked off for all the events. People had come from miles around for the celebration of a cherry that was so tart it made your mouth pucker.
As he climbed the steps, Darby figured it just proved that people would celebrate anything. Normally, his twin sister, Lillie, attended, but this year she was determined that he should do more of their promotion at these events.
“I hate it as much as you do,” she’d assured him. “But believe me. You’ll get more attention up there on the stage than me. Just say a few words, throw T-shirts into the crowd, have some fry bread and come home. You can do this.” Clearly, she knew his weakness for fry bread as well as his dislike of being the center of attention.
The T-shirts were from the Stagecoach Saloon, the bar and café the two of them owned and operated outside of town. Since it had opened, the bar had helped sponsor the Chokecherry Festival each year.
He heard his name being announced and sighed as he made his way up the rest of the steps to the microphone to deafening applause. He tipped his hat to the crowd, swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “It’s an honor to be here and be part of such a wonderful celebration.”
“Are you taking part in the pit-spitting competition?” someone yelled from the crowd, and others joined in. Along with being bitter, chokecherries were mostly pit.
“I’m going to leave that to the professionals,” he said, reaching for the box of T-shirts, wanting this over with as quickly as possible. He didn’t like being in the spotlight any longer than he had to. Also he hoped that once he started throwing the shirts, everyone would forget about the pit-spitting contest later.
He was midthrow when he spotted a woman in the crowd. What had caught his eye was the brightly colored scarf around her dark hair. It fluttered in the breeze, giving him only glimpses of her face.
He let go and the T-shirt sailed through the air as if caught on the breeze. He saw with a curse that it was headed right for the woman. Grimacing, he watched the rolled-up T-shirt clip the woman’s shoulder.
She looked up, clearly startled. He had the impression of serious dark eyes, full lips. Their gazes locked for an instant and he felt something like lightning pierce his heart. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Rooted to the spot, all he could hear was the drumming of his heart, the roaring crowd a dull hum in the background.
Someone behind the woman in the crowd scooped up the T-shirt and, scarf fluttering, the woman turned away, disappearing into the throng of people.
What had that been about? His heart was still pounding. What had he seen in those bottomless dark eyes that left him...breathless? He knew what Lillie would have said. Love at first sight, something he would have scoffed at—just moments ago.
“Do you want me to help you?” a voice asked at his side.
Darby nodded to the festival volunteer. He threw another T-shirt, looking in the crowd for the woman. She was gone.
Once the box of T-shirts was empty, he hurriedly stepped off the stage into the moving mass. His job was done. His plan had been to have some fry bread and then head back to the saloon. He was happiest behind the bar. Or on the back of a horse. Being Montana born and raised in open country, crowds made him nervous.
The main street had been blocked off and now booths lined both sides of the street all the way up the hill that led out of town. Everywhere he looked there were chokecherry T-shirts and hats, dish towels and coffee mugs. Most chokecherries found their way into wine or syrup or jelly, but today he could have purchased the berries in lemonade or pastries or even barbecue sauce. He passed stands of fresh fruit and vegetables, crafts of all kinds and every kind of food.
As he moved through the swarm of bodies now filling the downtown street, the scent of fry bread in the air, he couldn’t help searching for the woman. That had been the strangest experience he’d ever had. He told himself it could have been heat stroke had the day been hotter. Also he felt perfectly fine now.
He didn’t want to make more of it than it was and yet, he’d give anything to see her again. As crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t throw off the memory of that sharp hard shot to his heart when their gazes had met.
As he worked his way through the crowd, following the smell of fry bread, he watched for the colorful scarf the woman had been wearing. He needed to know what that was about earlier. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but if he got a chance to see her again...
Someone in the crowd stumbled against his back. He caught what smelled like lemons in the air as a figure started to brush by him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorful scarf wrapped around her head of dark hair.
Like a man sleepwalking, he grabbed for the end of the scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. His fingers closed on the silken fabric, but only for a second. She was moving fast enough that his fingers lost purchase and dropped to her arm.
In midstep, she half turned toward him, his sudden touch slowing her. In those few seconds, he saw her face, saw her startled expression. He had the bizarre thought that this woman was in trouble. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her arm.
Her eyes widened in alarm. It all happened in a manner of seconds. As she tried to pull away, his hand slid down the silky smooth skin of her forearm until it caught on the wide bracelet she was wearing on her right wrist.
Something dropped from her hand as she jerked free of his hold. He heard a snap and her bracelet came off in his hand. His gaze went to the thump of whatever she’d dropped as it hit the ground. Looking down, he saw what she’d dropped. His wallet?
Astonishment rocketed through him as he realized that when she’d bumped into him from behind, she’d picked his pocket! Feeling like a fool, he bent to retrieve
