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“Oh thanks. I get the part that makes me look like an idiot.”
He stopped and stared pointedly at her as he aimed a finger at the hat on his head.
She pressed her lips together to hold back a giggle. “Point taken.”
They made it to the starting line, and Kaylee took his vest and held it out for him to stick his arms through. “Do you know those people?” she asked, nodding to their competitors.
“Yeah, sort of. They’re Rod and Sandy Hooper. They run the Pizza Shack in the next town over. See their T-shirts? They’re probably just doing this to get publicity for their restaurant.”
The Hoopers looked to be in their mid-forties and both seemed to be having fun with the competition already. Sandy’s chicken-bobbing hat kept falling forward on her head, and she was cracking up as she tried to get the feather-covered vest around Rod’s stout arms. Her vest was stretched tightly across her ample figure. She had short legs, an apple-shaped body, and a big head of blonde hair.
Kaylee was trying to remember they were the competition and not get taken in by the couple’s infectious laughter. “Well I don’t care what they’re doing this for. We’re doing this for Emma.” She plunked the chicken hat resolutely on her head. “Now, tell me how the heck to race chickens.”
Luke chuckled. “It seems more of a chickenchasethan a race.” He pointed to the cages set at the starting lines. “I’ve never done one myself, but I’ve seen them, and I’ve certainly ran around trying to herd chickens back into their coop before.”
“See? I told you. You’ve already got way more experience than me.”
A tall man wearing a black cowboy hat stood up next to the judge’s table and tapped a microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the 9thAnnual Bartlett Chicken Race competition. You all are in for someegg-sellententertainment.” I mean, we’re about to have a real “egg-citing” race.” He waved off the good-natured boos the audience threw his way. “Looks like we’ve got a real toss-up with tonight’s competitors, and I can’t wait to see who makes it to the top of the pecking order.” He consulted his clipboard. “Racing for the red team, the Shack Attack, are Rod and Sandy.” He paused as the Hoopers raised their arms and whooped and cheered. The audience ate up their antics and clapped and yelled for them.
Kaylee dreaded the announcer calling their names next. She had zero experience at this sort of thing and had no idea how to get the audience to cheer for them. Was it too late to back out of this whole silly idea? What had she been thinking when she’d agreed?
“And racing for the blue team, the Dusty Acres Chicken Chasers, are Luke and Kaylee.” The announcer pointed their way.
Kaylee summoned every ounce of her Sassy spirit and took a step forward to wave to the audience. The front of her boot hit a plastic candy wrapper half-buried in the dirt, and her foot went sliding out in front of her. She pinwheeled her arms, trying to over-correct her body weight and not pitch forward, and instead fell backward. Right into Luke’s outstretched arms. Her chicken hat fell forward on her face as her back landed hard against Luke’s chest.
Without missing a beat, he popped her back on her feet and whispered close to her ear. “Take a bow and act like you meant to do that.”
“What?” she stammered. Like shemeantto make an even bigger fool of herself?
Luke waved and smiled at the audience. “Stylepoints. Take a bow,” he repeated through a fake smile.
She bent forward at the waist, and her cowboy hat fell off, the chicken landing in the dust. Scooping it up, she raised it in a wave, and the crowd went wild.
“Whoo hoo!” she could hear Emma’s cheer from the judge’s table as the girl jumped up and down and screamed for them at the top of her lungs. “You can do it Mom and Dad!”
Kaylee shoved her hair, and her pride, back and rammed the hat back on her head. “We’ve got to win this,” she told Luke. “For Emma.”
“Contestants, take your places,” the announcer shouted into the microphone. “The winners will be determined by who gets their three chickens around the obstacles and across the “fowl” line first. Remember, you’re not allowed to actually touch our feathered friends. No picking them up or any physical contact to “egg” them on. Use only your herding skills and your powers of persuasion. Ready? Set? GO!”
Wait?Go?She wasn’t ready. She had no powers of persuasion or herding skills, especially not where chickens were involved.
But she did have heart. And she cared about Emma and didn’t want to let her down. “What do I do?” she called to Luke as the cage door opened, and three chickens wearing bright blue ribbons around their necks waddled out.
“Stay over there, and don’t let them get by you,” he said, raising his arms out to the sides as he shooed the chickens toward the first obstacle. “And start bawking.”
Arrggh. This was nuts. She folded her arms into wings but kept them close against her body. “Bawk,” she squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The crowd cheered as one of the chickens made a break for it and ran past her legs.
“Go get ‘em, Kaylee,” Luke yelled, still trying to corral the other two forward.
Go get ‘em?How the heck was she supposed to do that?
She looked over at Rod and Sandy who were hopping around and clucking at their red-ribbon tied birds.
She had to do this. She was in it to win it.
Turning around, she chased after the chicken, her elbows up as she flapped her arms and made loud bawking noises. “Here chicken, chicken,” she called as she sprinted around and got in front of it. The bird didn’t seem to be responding to her flapping, so she waved her arms in circles to try to shoo it back to toward Luke.
