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Geez Louise. What kind of romantic comedies has this lady been watching? Because I’d like a recommendation.
“Nothing to worry about there.” I turn my back to the woman and head to the mudroom to don my boots.
“So I’ll take that as a no?”
I’m still ruminating when she peeks into the mudroom. “Shoot, I was hoping this year we could make a real impact on the emergency aid fund, set up some reserves, maybe hire a second grant writer….”
Ah heck. She’s wringing her hands over this event and acting like I’m her last hope to vote on this guy. This cowpoke must be a real character if she’s that desperate.
I tug the brim of my hat down and pause halfway out the door. “Anything for a worthy cause. I’ll be there.”
Violetta squeals, clapping her hands, and I bolt toward the barn while she gushes. She makes it awkward with her gratitude. “Oh, thank you so much, Casey. You saved my hide!”
I’ll do whatever needs to be done. Don’t need a thank you, either.
ChapterTwo
Tanner
I stare straight ahead in the lighted mirror while people torture my ears two ways. Barnette squawks at me on speakerphone while Hattie Wilkins styles my hair.
Most days, I can handle Barnette. The talent agent who took me under his wing when I was just a teenager is about done with my dating shenanigans.
“Do not stand the girl up this time,” he says.
I never stood anybody up. Barnette had set up a blind date with the daughter of some rodeo bigwig, presumably to help tame my unfounded wild-man image, and I hadn’t agreed to the date.
But we’ve been over this, and he doesn’t want to hear my side.
He goes on and on. “We cannot afford you disappearing again. All you have to do is go on one date. Be a gentleman, hold the door open for her, ask her about her cats or her Etsy shop or whatever the hell she’s into, smile, take her home, give her a kiss on the cheek, post some selfies with her on Instagram with a caption saying something nice about your welcoming hometown, and head to Calgary for your next appearance. Simple.”
I don’t see the point of a fake date, and I tell him so. “No sense in all this pretending. Can’t I just donate to the cause and be done with it?”
At this, my other torturer, Hattie, lets the clippers chomp at my ear. Not enough to draw blood but enough for me to know that it was no accident.
I don’t complain; I don’t dare.
Hattie and I go back even further than Barnette and me. We briefly dated as teenagers until she dumped me for some made-up reasons that had the whole town flapping their gums and pointing fingers at me for a while.
To my relief, Hattie’s happily married with kids and runs her own salon here in our hometown of Darling Creek. She might still be mad about how things went down between us; I’m not sure.
“No, you can’t just make a donation and walk away, Tanner,” Barnette says. “You get on that stage and give that scrubby little podunk town something to remember you by.”
At this, I wince and catch Hattie’s eye in the mirror. “Oh, I think you done did that already,” she mutters, pumping some gel product into her hands and rubbing her palms together.
“We about done here?” I ask.
“Who me?” This question comes from both Hattie and Barnette at the same time.
So I answer both of them. “Yeah, you.”
Hattie lubes up my hair into a spiked crown that is not at all me. I look like I’m in a boy band from the 2000s. But she’s gesturing for me to leave my chair, as she’s got a long line of cowboys waiting to have their hair trimmed for this auction.
I pick up my phone and take Barnette off-speaker as he chides, “Just remember, rodeo is a small world. If you break another girl’s heart, word will get around.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” I say before hanging up.
Roping cattle for the fun of it to cheers and boos? Not a problem.
