Chapter Twenty-Four #2
We’re quiet for a moment while we all watch the next competitor. I want to hug Cash and shake him and tell him he’s probably going to finals, but I remind myself it’s not my place – and he hasn’t clinched the spot just yet. Fortunately for Cash, the rider comes off quickly.
“How’d you know about the rein?” Cash asks.
I shrug and readjust my sweaty legs hanging over the rail.
“I wish I could say. I had a dream when I was in the hospital about riding a bronc, and it was like I could feel where your hand should go…” I tuck my head.
“Sorry. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, telling you to do something based on a dream. ”
“Well, it worked,” his coach says, slapping him on the back again. “I gotta go spot Jimmy. Nice job, Cash.”
Cash rubs his hands together and blows out a short, nervous breath.
“You did great,” I say, beginning my careful climb down. “I need to get to the fair tent.”
He snaps his head in my direction and takes off his hat. “Will you watch the last two riders with me? See if I squeaked by?” He smiles bashfully. Then he looks down at my hand on the rail and scoots his pinky close to mine without touching.
I look around for Kaylee before giving Cash a questioning glance. “Sure…” I take one more step down but keep my chest at the top rail so I can see over.
The gate we’re near swings open with a clang.
Cash puts his hat back on and sits still, white-knuckling the rail where our two hands haven’t moved away from one another.
The rider comes off before eight seconds and then the last competitor breaks from the chute.
After his performance, he throws a fist in the air in celebration.
“Awesome ride. His horse bucked hard. Could be good enough to beat me,” Cash murmurs.
We look to the scoreboard nervously. It goes black and then flashes numbers – but Cash’s score and time don’t move. He’s still ranked number one.
The whole place cheers. The crowd stomp their feet on the metal bleachers, and the other bronc riders chant, “Cash, Cash, Cash!”
His face blooms cherry red.
“Nice job, cowboy,” I say, a wide smile plastered on my face. “You did it!”
“I wasn’t expecting this.” He raises an astonished eyebrow at the crowd. “Do you have a minute to talk before you go?”
“No, not right now, Cash. I’ve got to run.”
“OK. Well, now it’s your turn,” he says, the redness in his face spreading to his neck. “Go get ’em, Dahlia.”
At that moment, a swarm of cowboys comes running and pulls Cash off the rails, congratulating him. They throw their arms over his shoulders and pull him away, laughing and cheering. As I turn to leave, Cash twists back to watch me go.
My cowgirl boots click-clack against the sidewalk as I make my way to the competition tent.
With every step, adrenalin kicks up a notch, nerves replacing the exhilaration of watching Cash ride.
I pass booths, including Buckaroo Billy’s and Cash’s mom’s bakery.
She’s busy with customers, but still gives me a quick wave.
At Billy’s, Kaylee is holding her phone at arm’s length and talking to it with a permanent smile on her face.
I force myself to look away and focus on the tent ahead as kids squeal in the distance, the Tilt-a-Whirl spinning them in circles. My stomach feels similar.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my nicest pair of jeans. I don’t have time for anything but rehearsing my pitch one last time, but I reach for it with shaking, sweaty fingers.
This just in… Lani texts and attaches the latest from Cash and Kaylee’s page.
The caption says: My man killin’ it all the way to finals! I tap on the video. It’s Cash’s winning ride.
That’s you watching him in the background, right?
Yeah… I feel a twinge of embarrassment.
You’ve got a big heart, Dahlia. I don’t want to see you hurt.
We’ll talk later, OK? Gtg do my pitch at the competition. Wish me luck.
Good luck Just so you know, they’re live streaming an interview soon.
I growl at my phone and put it away, shoving the frustration away with it.
I need to focus. Before stepping into the giant tent, I glance down at my white tank top.
There are smudges of dirt from climbing the rails.
I wipe at it, but it makes no difference.
Last, I pull the bronze horse from my pocket and give it a kiss for good luck.
After the roar of the rodeo, the tent feels eerily quiet despite the thirty young competitors and their families milling around their tables, arranging and rearranging their products.
At my table, I straighten the cherry tablecloth and move the last remaining jar of cherries to the centre.
I’m buoyed to see I’m the only one with so little of my product left from yesterday.
I don’t want to assume, but I hope that means the public tasting went well.
I take a seat in the folding chair and position my pamphlets on the table.
I’m proud of how they turned out. I wrote about the history of the ranch, the bees and the old trees, and I used the design Emery created of the honeycomb dripping into a cherry, plus the photos Cash and I took of the orchard and the beehives.
The jolly woman who took my jars on Thursday, with the short grey curls, Mildred, stands in the middle of the tent with a microphone.
She announces the three judges and reviews the rules, the most important being that our pitch must be under two minutes and we don’t speak while the judges taste-test.
I take a deep breath, but the screaming from the Tilt-a-Whirl does nothing to relax me.
My table, closest to the tent opening, will be last in the circle they’re making their way round.
I try to analyse the judges’ body language at other tables, but it’s only putting me more on edge – I’d rather distract myself.
I scoot my chair to the side and peer out of the tent.
The Buckaroo Billy’s booth is impossible to miss now.
There are dozens of people holding their phones above the crowd to get a shot of Cash and Kaylee’s interview.
My heart sinks and I feel queasy. Lani must think I’m a fool, going to support Cash’s ride.
And now, away from the buzz of the arena, I realize I must be.
Where is he during my big moment? Over there by his “girlfriend’s” side, no doubt talking to fans about what a happy, successful couple they are.
I scoot my chair to the very edge of the opening. The angle I’m at is perfect for seeing Kaylee, but not Cash.
“Dahlia?” Someone clears their throat. “Dahlia, the judges are ready for you.”
I nearly jump from my chair. Mildred is standing right by my table. “Right! I’m ready.”
I smooth my jeans and stand up. At that moment, Mom walks in from the back opening and gives me a quick wave. She made it just in time. Her arrival gives me a welcome boost.
The three judges position themselves in front of my table with clipboards in hand.
I take a slow breath and remind myself what all this is for – to save the ranch.
I square my shoulders and try to channel the tenacious energy of Daisy, who fearlessly rode wild horses, never failed to dream big and loved our ranch as much as I do.
I deliver my pitch with barely a fumble, telling them about the land my family has tended for generations, and the resilience of the cherry trees that grow where nothing else does.
I tell them how I’ve adapted my grandma’s recipe, blending our unique honey with the sour cherries to create a new product, and hand each judge a pamphlet.
One of the judges scans the QR code with her phone. I’m encouraged to see her taking the time to look at the link containing the photos and video.
“Hmm.” She taps repeatedly. “It’s not working for me.”
The other judges pull out their phones, scan the code, and tap the link. It doesn’t work for them either.
My chest tightens. How have I messed this up? I move round the table and try the code with the man’s phone. When it doesn’t work, my hands begin to sweat.
“Mind if I look up the website instead?” I ask him.
“By all means,” he says kindly, but the other two judges glance impatiently around the tent like they’re over it.
I type my website into his search bar with damp fingers and misspell it, having to delete and try again. The site loads, but it’s painstakingly slow. “I’m sorry,” I say, handing him his phone. “It’s loading, but I wonder if the tent is blocking the signal.”
As the judges wait awkwardly, staring at the screen, I sneak a glance out the opening of the tent to see Kaylee beaming while answering questions. The crowd is eating it up, smiling and laughing. The contrast with the quiet, uncomfortable tent and prickly judges stings, and I feel my cheeks burn.
When I turn back, the male judge gives me a flat smile, indicating I better get on with the show. They can’t wait for videos to buffer all day.
“Well – maybe you can watch that later,” I say.
The judges watch as I twist the lid’s metal ring.
It lets out a beautiful pop, meaning it was processed safely.
Using Grandma’s antique spoon, I carefully scoop out three honey-laced cherries into a petite white dish, but my hands are shaking and my mind is fixed on what Kaylee’s saying to make everyone so enthralled.
As I hand the first judge her dish, commotion outside catches my attention, and this time it’s not the Tilt-A-Whirl.
I hear, “Kiss her!” and turn to see a woman calling to Cash and Kaylee, who are now facing the crowd, looking every bit the picture-perfect rodeo couple. The interviewer has her phone in Cash’s face and their sponsor, Billy, in his ten-gallon cowboy hat, smiles smugly at all the attention.
Others join in, chanting, “Kiss, kiss!”