He dodged a group of boys running in different directions before opening one of the doors to the Hall. “After you,” he said to Michelle.
“Ryan, I appreciate the thought, but you really don’t need to watch me judge the contest.” She fluffed her hair with her fingers again, a sure sign that she had a bad case of the nerves.
“Are you trying to get out of this and you don’t want any witnesses?” he teased and gave her a wink. “If you need an accomplice, why didn’t you say so?”
“The thought did not cross my mind,” Michelle responded as she tugged the hem of her sweater over her dark blue jeans.
“Are you sure about that?” He glanced around as they walked by the Horseradish Still Life art competition. “No one has spotted us. We can make a break for it.”
“I am staying. You can leave anytime.”
“How about if I take you somewhere? Like, oh, I don’t know, my place.”
Or my bed. My car. Anywhere we can be alone.
Michelle cast a look from the corner of her eye, but he couldn’t decipher it. Was she tempted? Was she ready to continue what they had started on the bluff?
He didn’t even get a chance to lure her near a bed when they returned to the bed and breakfast. After a quick shower and change of clothes, Michelle and Ryan had to jump back into Vanessa’s car and race to the fairgrounds.
But he didn’t need to rush her into his bed. He didn’t need to seduce her in less than a second. Michelle said she loved him. This gave him something to build upon, to work with before she returned to Chicago.
Then again, she had loved him the first time around. Ryan winced as the sour taste of fear filled his mouth. Michelle hadn’t backed up her declaration of love that last time, now, had she?
Ryan bumped against Michelle when she stopped short and stared at the Canning and Pickling Contest. She looked around frantically. “Where is the recipe contest being held?”
Like he would know? “Let’s try over there.” He pointed at the far end of the hall.
“I’m late, I’m late,” she chanted under her breath.
“They will forgive you.” He placed his hand against the small of her back.
“Ha!” The word burst from her lips and she shook her head. “You have no idea.” She zigzagged past old ladies and women pushing strollers. Ryan was finding it difficult to keep up with her.
“There you are, Michelle!” Mrs. White’s voice carried over the hum of the crowd.
They looked over to where the very proper woman stood. She wore a mottled brown dress with a high ruffled neckline that reminded Ryan of a turkey.
“Hello, Mrs. White,” Michelle said with a firm smile. “Oh, this is Ryan Slater. Ryan, this is Mrs. White of White Motors.”
Ryan greeted the woman who interestingly didn’t have a first name. His hand flexed against Michelle’s tensed back. He couldn’t help it. Mrs. White always gave him the hives.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“It’s my fault,” Ryan said before Michelle could say anything. “We just finished the scavenger hunt.”
“Oh, did you win?”
“No, the Aschenbrenners did.”
Mrs. White gave a twitch to her nose. Margaret and Dennis were probably not in her elite circle of friends. Her eyebrows rose higher when she noticed Ryan standing closely to Michelle. “You competed together?”
“Yes.” Michelle looked up at him and gave him a smile that made him feel strong and invincible. “Ryan was my partner.”
“As a couple?” She leaned forward, as if she was trying to comprehend. “A
romantic
couple?”
The back of Ryan’s ear started to itch. Okay, now things were going to get sticky. Ryan wasn’t sure how to handle this line of questioning.
“Are the two of you”—Mrs. White paused as if she couldn’t quite believe it—“dating?”
“Yes,” Michelle answered. She didn’t hint at the shock zinging inside her. What really surprised her was that she didn’t even hesitate with the answer.
“No,” Ryan answered, just as swiftly.
“Hmm-mm.” Mrs. White looked at Michelle, then at Ryan, and back again at her. “Well, that’s enough chitchat for now. Come along, Michelle. We need you to judge the horseradish recipes.”
“There wouldn’t by any chance be a Bloody Mary in the finals?” Michelle asked.
Mrs. White stopped and pivoted on her chunky high heels. “Excuse me?” she asked icily over Ryan’s chuckle.
“Never—” Michelle stumbled into silence as she watched Mrs. White pull something glittery out of a plastic shopping bag. “Is that my crown?”
“Yes!” The older woman showed a glimmer of enthusiasm. “Your mother found this and your sash. She gave them to me for the judging. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Define wonderful
. Michelle’s calm and serene smile was firmly in place. “You want me to wear them? Now?”
“Of course.” Mrs. White gave her a strange look as if Michelle was a bit touched in the head. “You need to hurry because the newspaper reporter is waiting.”
She was expected to wear a tiara and sash over her sweater and jeans? And then get her picture taken for the paper? And why did Michelle feel as though her mom would give her full approval? Hmm…three guesses…
“I don’t think the crown will work with my hair.” Not to mention she was going to look like a freak.
“It’s a shame you had to cut your hair.” Mrs. White tsked and handed Ryan the rhinestone tiara. “I’ll go find some hairpins.”
Ryan waited until the woman disappeared into the crowd before he asked, “Why did you tell her we’re dating?”
“Because we are,” she answered as she slipped the sash over her head and settled it against her hip. “We’re a couple. Starting now.”
“Michelle.”
“Can you hand me the crown?” she asked politely, reaching for the glitter and paste monstrosity.
“How can we be a couple?” he asked in a low voice as the crowd bumped and moved around them. “I live here and you live in Chicago. You’ve made it clear since you’ve been back that Carbon Hill is too small for you.”
“What about it?” She set the crown on top of her head. It immediately tilted and slid over one eye. That couldn’t be good.
“Don’t expect me to follow you,” he said as he took a step back and slid his hands into his back pockets.
“I’m not.” And really, what made her think he was going to act differently? He had never pursued her and he had no reason to do so now.
“I feel like we’re right back to square one,” he said, looking away. “You had no problem leaving the last time we were dating.”
“This is different.” This time she knew what she was up against. Her fears as well as Ryan’s. It wasn’t going to be easy to conquer them, but recognizing them was half the battle.
“And I had no problem letting you go,” Ryan seemed insistent to point out.
“Yes, you did. Just like you are now,” she said as she readjusted her crown, the glitter coming off on her hands. No telling how much was caught in her hair.
Ryan’s eyebrows dipped into a V as he frowned. “What makes you think that? You can go. I’m not stopping you.”
“Let me put it to you this way. The scavenger hunt is over. Why are you still hanging around?”
Ryan’s smile was wry and self-deprecating. He wasn’t going to win this argument and they both knew it. “Maybe I’m here to see the events.”
“Yeah, you’re really the type to see if a kid can conduct electricity from a horseradish.” She gestured at the science fair projects. “Just to let you know, he can’t. There’s no citrus in horseradish.”
“Since when are you an expert on horseradish?”
“I’m not. I’m making a wild guess.” She tapped the crown and prayed it wouldn’t move. “How do I look?”
Ryan reached out and straightened the crown. “Just as I remember,” he answered in a rough voice as nostalgia tugged at his smile.
Just as she was five years ago? “Is that good or bad?” She’d like to think she had improved with age.
“It’s very good. And don’t listen to anyone else about your hair,” he told her. “I happen to like it.”
Michelle smiled back at him, reluctant to leave his side.
Yep, he’s a keeper
. “Now don’t go anywhere.”
“Me? Nah,” he said as he rocked back on his heel. “I want to see you eat horseradish and smile.”
Michelle gave a small groan just as Mrs. White approached her. “Here are some pins. We can anchor the crown here and here.”
Michelle winced as each hairpin made skid tracks in her scalp. She schooled her expression as Mrs. White studied her with a frown.
The older woman gave a long-suffering sigh. “It will have to do. Let’s hurry.”
Michelle decided she wasn’t going to let it get to her. She wasn’t a beauty queen and she wasn’t going to try and meet these women’s unrealistic ideals. So there. And she was going to keep this attitude. At least until she caught a glimpse of herself in the newspaper looking like a schizophrenic fashion victim.
She walked to the table decorated with plastic table cloths and swags. Michelle gave her queenly wave as the women applauded, scanning the dishes that had made the finals. There was a small blip in her shoulder-shoulder-elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist move when she saw the five dishes. Five very unusual looking and pungent dishes.
And not one of them looked like a Bloody Mary.
At least there was some good news. The gelatin mold hadn’t made the cut. And that was about as good as it was going to get.
She sat down as gracefully as one could with a tower of rhinestones anchored to one’s head and smiled. Sometimes she had to do things she’d rather not do, but expectations had to be met. It was a fact of life.
Michelle looked over the crowd and spotted Ryan. Even he had expectations of her, but was he going to have to stand in line and wait his turn? Was he going to get tired of waiting for her to fulfill the expectations already placed on her? Or was she going to find the courage to put him as top priority and blow off everyone else.
If only it were that easy.
“Michelle Nelson,” Mrs. White said by way of introduction, “is a former Miss Horseradish and currently a chef in Chicago.”
The women in the crowd oohed and ahhed while a few took pictures. She was so tempted to tell everyone the life of a chef was not all that it was cracked up to be, but that statement would reek of ingratitude.
“She has graciously accepted our invitation to sample the recipes,” Mrs. White continued before turning away from the crowd and deigning Michelle with a regal nod. “Michelle, please sample the recipes.”
“Thank you.” While she was tempted to reach for the least scary dish, Michelle forced herself to go in order. She kept her face completely blank, fighting her way through a professional analysis of each dish.
“Have you determined a winner?” Mrs. White asked after Michelle reluctantly went through the samples a second time. She owed it to the contestants to make a thorough decision, even if her stomach would never forgive her.
“Yes, I have.” Michelle discovered her voice was hoarse and cleared it. One of those dishes had been very…piquant. “The third prize goes to the delightful Tuna-Horseradish Salad.”
There was a shocked silence and a twitter in the audience. Michelle gave a quick look to Ryan. He shrugged, unclear about the response. She braced herself as she saw the mayor’s wife slowly walk to the stage and unsmilingly receive her green ribbon.
Mom is so going to kill me.
If her parents both got jury duty this year, they’d know who to blame. Michelle kept her smile bright even though the politician’s wife’s handshake was like holding a dead, floppy fish.
“The second prize,” Michelle continued as if she hadn’t rocked the foundation that Carbon Hill was built on, “goes to the Cole Slaw with Horseradish.”
An even larger gasp rang out. Michelle didn’t blink. Didn’t close her eyes. She instinctively sought out Ryan, who was suspiciously rubbing his hand over his mouth.
A very old woman with lavender hair hobbled to the front of the crowd and grabbed the red ribbon from Michelle’s hand.
“You don’t know nothing,” the geezer told Michelle, bypassing her outstretched hand. Michelle moved her foot right before the woman could impale her with her cane.
Okay, why did her mom want her to do this judging? Did she have a death wish for her one and only daughter? “And the grand prize goes to”—Michelle braced herself for the imminent apocalypse—“the Horseradish and Apple Salad.”
The crowd was deathly silent and then a startled smatter of applause rang out. Michelle flinched when she heard a squeal of unbridled delight. She stood very, very still as a young girl ran up to the stage.
“Oh, my gosh,” the girl screamed and squatted before jumping up and down. “I can’t believe I won.”
She gave a quick look at Ryan, who was leading the applause.
The women of Carbon Hill are going to run me out of town.
“Congratulations on your win,” Michelle told the young girl who couldn’t be older than twelve.
“I can’t believe I won,” the girl kept repeating. She pressed her hands against her bright pink face. “I have to call my best friend.”
Yeah, that can wait until after I make a fast getaway.
She gave the winner the blue ribbon and asked, “Did you create the recipe?”
“Well, kind of.” The girl shifted from one foot to the other. “This is something my mom always throws together when we have leftovers.”
Michelle nodded as if she were interviewing Julia Child, all the while thinking,
I am so beyond dead.
“Only this time”—the girl rubbed her nose with the back of her hand—“when I put the cinnamon back on the shelf, it tipped over and spilled into the salad.”
Deader and deader.
Michelle continued to nod as if her life, doomed as it was, depended on it.
“So I tried to take out most of the cinnamon,” the winner chattered on. “But I couldn’t start over because I didn’t have more ingredients.”
Michelle was aware of the grumblings in the audience and hoped the girl was oblivious to it. As much as her decision would bring trouble on Michelle’s head, the girl won fair and square and she wasn’t going to shortchange her of the spotlight.
“Well,” Michelle said when she realized the girl had finished, “sometimes the best ideas come from accidents, or making do with what you have on hand.”
“Oh, yeah. That was the other thing.” The girl smacked her hand on her forehead. “The apples. I usually make the salad with Granny Smiths, but all we had in the house were the Golden Delicious.”
“Really?”
Nail my coffin shut.
“I can’t believe I won.” The girl did that squat-jump-squeal routine again. “I thought for sure I’d lose. Man, I’m going to use goldens from now on. They are what probably got me the grand prize.”
“Are you ready to pose for the paper?” she asked, guiding her to face the newspaper reporter, who snapped a series of shots with his digital camera.
The girl giggled as she held her ribbon close to her face. “My best friend isn’t going to believe this.”
Yeah, she’s not going to be the only one.
Michelle saw the photographer scribbling furiously. She could almost see the headline. “Goldens Got Her the Real Gold.”
Golden…Michelle gasped as it hit her.
Ryan pushed off from the wall as Michelle hurried over to him. “What’s up?” The Carbon Hill women might hate her right now, but there was no need to find a fast getaway car. The women couldn’t move that fast in their high heels and girdles.
Michelle leaned close to him and bunched his shirt in her fists. “I know where the real treasure is,” she whispered as she looked around her in case of eavesdroppers.
“Wait a second.” Ryan peeled her fingers away, one by one. “You don’t believe there is a treasure. You said it was long gone. Remember?”
“Okay, I did say that. But listen to me now. We need to go back to the bed and breakfast.” She started to move toward the exit. “And we need a shovel. A big one.”
“Oh, now I see why you’re dragging me along,” he said as he strolled leisurely behind her. “You want someone to do the hard labor.”
“No. I want you there because I think we make a damn good team,” she answered with more than a trace of irritability. “I want you there because you said you like the idea of a treasure being found. If you like the idea so much, then do something about it.”
Michelle winced as she realized she had dug up the old accusation. “Never mind.” She held up her hands in apology. “That’s not what I meant. If you want to go on another treasure hunt, then you know where I’ll be.” She turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Ryan was immediately at her side before she could go far. “You’re going to need me,” he announced.
“I do need you.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and knocked him on the cheek with her crown.
“Ow.” He rubbed his chin. The tiara should be registered as a lethal weapon.
“Sorry.” She clawed at the hairpins and removed the tiara before she poked someone’s eye out.
“You need me for a ride,” he clarified and caught her eyebrow waggle. “We’ll stop by the bowling alley and get some shovels.”
“We just need one,” Michelle said as she pulled off her Miss Horseradish sash.
“You’re the one all into ‘one must act.’ You want action?”
“Yes, please.” She batted her eyelashes and Ryan’s gut twisted with desire.
“Good,” he said hoarsely. “Then you’re going to shovel.”
Michelle watched the muscles ripple in Ryan’s bare back as sweat trickled down his bronzed skin. “Why was there no shoveling task in the scavenger hunt?” she asked him.
He grunted as he tossed dirt out of the giant hole they had created in the bed and breakfast’s backyard. “Less talk and more shoveling.”
She couldn’t work. Not when Ryan was standing in front of her, shirtless and gleaming with sweat. While she watched the fading light play along the lines of his body. Forget the treasure. She was ready to pounce on Ryan and take him in the dirt.