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“I doubt it,” Noah says, watching it drive down the street. Wilson isn’t in it. He’s walking in the opposite direction to us, toward the petting zoo. “I’m still new to the force. I have no say on how things are done.”
The small crowd dissipates now that Troy is gone. Lucas taps away on his phone. “I’ll call Blake.”
“Blake?” I look to Kellan for an answer.
“He’s a defense lawyer and a friend of Lucas’s. But it’s a holiday and the weekend, so Troy won’t have bail set until Monday at the earliest. More likely Tuesday since they’ll have backlog from being closed Friday.”
I deliberate for a second if I should tell Troy’s brothers about Violet. But that would mean betraying her trust and possibly make matters worse. Besides, if I did tell anyone, it won’t help Troy, and what if no one believes me? We’re talking about me accusing the town’s chief of police of abusing his wife.
If Violet’s too scared to admit it’s true, my accusations might make things worse for her, for Sophie, and even possibly for Troy.
Lucas gets off the phone a few minutes later. “Blake’s now aware of the situation and is going to do what he can. But there’s really nothing he can do until Monday. In the meantime, we might as well make the most of today’s celebration.”
“Even though Troy’s in jail?” I fight back the urge to rub at my wrists again. Rubbing them won’t erase the memories of my arrest.
Lucas releases a long, hard breath, his frustration at the situation clear. “Troy messed up, but he’ll be pissed at himself if we go home because he got himself arrested. While it might have been a stupid move, he must have thought he had a good reason for shoving Wilson. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done it. So yeah, we’ll stay and have a good time. For Troy’s sake.” The smile that stretches on Lucas’s face seems two shades short of genuine.
The second team of horses clip-clops toward us, and Emily and I return to our job of helping people load and unload from the ride. I focus on that and try not to think about what happened between Troy and Chief Wilson. Try not to think about Troy’s injured shoulder.
By the time our shift is over, I’m exhausted from trying not to worry about Troy.
Emily is smiling, her gaze directed over my shoulder, but there’s something slightly off about the curve of her lips. “Hi, Joanne. Ian.”
My stomach drops. Oh, God. Troy’s parents. They’re going to hate me. I don’t know what exactly caused Troy to go off the rails and push Wilson, but I have a feeling it had to do with the way the man was glaring at me before Troy stormed over to him. And if that’s true, they definitely won’t want me dating their son.
They won’t want me going anywhere near him.
“Are you two having fun?” Joanne asks us.
“It’s been busy, but yes,” Emily responds, her voice overly cheerful, even for Em.
I follow her lead and tug my mouth into a near-painful smile. “I’m glad I got to volunteer here.” I wave in the direction of the wagon.
“That’s wonderful. We’re heading out. If you two see my boys, tell them I said hi and we’ll see them once Ian and I get back to town.”
Emily shares a quick glance with me. “You’re going somewhere?”
“We’re going to Sacramento for the week. We’re visiting some friends down there.”
I can almost feel the tension drain from Em on an inaudible sigh at the news. Tension I hadn’t realized gripped us both at seeing Troy’s parents.
We wish them a great trip, and they walk toward the parking lot of the festival grounds.
“Thank God she didn’t ask where the guys are,” Emily says. “I’d rather not be the one who tells her what happened to Troy.”
That makes two of us. But I’m sure they’ll eventually hear what happened—either from their sons or because there were witnesses to his arrest.
“Do you think his parents will be mad?” I ask.
“Probably not. But they will wonder what possessed him to act that way.”
And then they’ll question their son’s choice of girlfriend.
Zara and Simone are finished with their shift at the petting zoo by the time we arrive at the entrance to it. They’re talking to two women who could be sisters or cousins, one of whom is holding a child. Both have long blond hair. Both are wearing shorts and T-shirts, but the clothes of the woman not carrying the two-year-old appear to be more big-city chic than small-town casual.
The woman with the toddler takes in our group. Her gaze searches the area. “Where’s Troy?”
“Olivia,” Simone says to her, “have you met Jessica?”
