Chapter Thirty-Two
The morning of the Rhubarb Festival dawned bright, with a crisp snap that would soon surrender to early summer’s balmy temperatures.
In the kitchen by dawn, Sarah fed the dogs early and prepared a huge breakfast for the men.
As a group, they were unusually quiet, their demeanors sober.
They were in Montana to work and each took his job seriously.
She knew that Ben was particularly tense about having her in a crowd, but she couldn’t work herself up to his level of concern. It was certainly possible she was still in danger. Maybe after all, Ridley Kemper hadn’t been the one making trouble. Nobody knew.
Ben was right to be careful. She supposed it was his nature to be suspicious.
All she knew was that for months she’d been looking forward to this day and she meant to enjoy it.
This was why she’d come home—for family and neighbors and community.
His mood couldn’t affect her. It was Festival Day! Maybe he’d be able to loosen up later.
After making sure that Willie had fed the chicks and horses before he headed to town for the day off, Sarah put on a floral sundress that swung around her knees.
She slipped on sandals and arranged her hair into her customary braid that swung to her hips.
On her head, she added a huge white sun hat probably more appropriate for the Kentucky Derby, but she didn’t care.
In her handbag, she tucked the knife Ben had given her, still sheathed, and left her pistol inside her nightstand. As heavily guarded as she was, she’d have no need of it.
“What are you doing?” Ben asked, coming into the bedroom. Frowning, he stood rooted in the doorway, a sturdy oak.
“You want me to take a weapon everywhere,” she said. “So, I am.”
“I want at least one on your body. Preferably your pistol.”
“Ben! I can’t strap a holster over my dress.”
He looked her over critically. “Okay, then put your knife in your pocket.”
“Ahem,” she said. “Dresses don’t have pockets.”
He regarded her without humor. “Figure it out.”
Uttering a small growl, Sarah took the knife from her purse and stood staring into the closet.
She chose an item and carried it into the bathroom.
In a few moments, she came out and lifted the hem of her dress to show her upper legs.
Impatiently, she waited while he inspected her. “Does this work for you?”
She’d fastened the sheath to a thin leather belt and strapped it around one thigh.
He allowed himself a brief grin. “Sweet Pea, that view will always work for me.”
She dropped her hem with a little flip. “I mean the knife.”
“Good old female initiative,” he said. “I like it.”
“It’s not very comfortable,” she added, still annoyed with him.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Within the hour, Sarah, Big Jim, Ben, and his team arrived in town. Simmons handed earbuds to the men and held a radio. As Ben, Franklin, and Jones put them into their ears, Simmons ran tests and found them all in working order. The men fanned out.
Sarah turned in a slow circle, taking everything in. She felt lighthearted, the way she had as a child when the annual festival finally arrived. She had many happy memories of years past.
If she’d thought the day before had been bustling with people, this morning the activity had reached fever pitch.
It seemed that everyone was busy, bordering on panic, putting finishing touches on booths, setting out chairs, hooking up speakers for the stage.
People milled about and sang out happily to one another.
Tourists and neighboring county folk were arriving. Families got out of cars and couples strolled up, hand in hand.
A dunk tank was being filled with water, and a slender guy in a tall Rhubarb costume strolled by. The body of the costume was a red suit, and the man wore red tennis shoes. The upper part obscured his face but featured huge green leaves sprouting from the top of his head.
Willie perched on the dunk tank seat, and due to a few early fair patrons with accurate aims, fast balls, he wasn’t dry long. Splashing repeatedly into the tank, he laughed and waved to Sarah.
Although she had fed her father a big breakfast, he headed straight to Milly’s Diner. She smiled to herself. She’d told Milly not to serve that morning so Jim wouldn’t see her, and to meet her early at the salon. He’d just have to do without her for a bit.
Sarah and Ben found Milly just outside the salon door. As instructed, she wore one of the new dresses and heels, and her hair had been brushed attractively to the side. When she spotted Sarah, she said, “Remember, I don’t want to look like a Kewpie doll.”
“Don’t be silly. Clothes, hair, and makeup are in my wheelhouse, remember? This will be just right.”
Like men the world over in women’s salons, Ben glanced around uncomfortably. “I’ll wait out here,” he said.
Just for Milly, the makeup artist had come in early, and she already had her products laid out—pots, brushes, and foam wedges. Sarah said to her, “We’re going for an understated look, with emphasis on the eyes. Think of a bridal presentation.”
“Bridal!” Milly exclaimed.
“It just means subtle colors and a light touch.” Sarah patted her arm.
“Oh. Well, okay, then.” Milly relaxed slightly.
The artist got to work and within half an hour, Milly was gaping at herself in the mirror.
A thin application of eyeliner and then mascara emphasized the blue of her eyes, a light foundation smoothed out her skin, and pink lip gloss finished her look.
With her open expression and new makeover, she appeared years younger.
“Wow,” Milly breathed, still staring into the mirror. “I didn’t know I could turn out like this.” She got up to swish her skirt, glimpsing herself from every angle.
“I know, right?” Sarah beamed at her. “You look fantastic. It’s still early.
Let’s go to the diner for some coffee.” Outside, she found Ben close by.
Seeing him, a thrill shot up her spine. The delicious knowledge that he was her lover warmed her inside and out.
The world felt as though it were perfectly aligned and in order. Exactly right.
Before they got to the diner, she touched Milly’s shoulder. “Remember, you’re not to work. Your servers are perfectly capable. Today, you’re taking it easy and just being ornamental.”
They moved through the sunlight. “Oriental?” Milly asked.
“No.” Sarah laughed. “Or-na-men-tal. Like a sparkly Christmas tree ornament. It’s pretty and you admire it, but it doesn’t really do anything.”
“Got it,” Milly said. “Today, I’m oriental.”
Sarah stopped herself mid-sigh.
Two doors down, Annie Smith came through the pharmacy doors brandishing a tablet computer. “Sarah, I don’t think you’re going to like this.”
Sarah already didn’t like the sound of it. “What’s going on?”
Annie held up her tablet. “I was just reading my twitter feed. There’s lots of news about the Rhubarb Festival. And a tweet from the mayor apparently went out last night.”
“What’s it say?” Milly asked.
Annie drew a deep breath and read, “Supermodel Sarah Lang has graciously agreed to be our parade marshal!” She glanced up, troubled. “Then he invited everyone from around the state to come and meet you.”
Sarah closed her eyes and groaned.
“Fucking hell,” Ben said, frowning at Sarah. “You’re not getting on any float, horse, moving vehicle, or any other high-profile position.”
“But the mayor called her the marshal.” Annie lowered her tablet. “The marshal always rides on the main float.”
“I don’t care if he calls her the Easter Bunny.” His voice came out low and guttural. “She won’t be on any float.”
Sarah touched his arm. “I won’t, Ben. I’m sticking right beside you all day. Okay?”
He glanced around dourly. “Damn straight.”
“Everyone knows how famous Sarah is.” A frown pinched Annie’s brow. “We were expecting a crowd, but now we’re about to be inundated.”
“Annie’s right,” Milly said. “Every week, we send people looking for Sarah in wrong directions, sometimes more often than that.”
“What?” Sarah stared at her.
“Well, we don’t want people bothering you.” It was Milly’s turn to pat Sarah’s arm. “You know that.”
Beside her, Ben never stopped scanning the street. Sarah could see his jaw tensing. He was gearing up to make her leave—she could feel it. He said, “I don’t like this, Sarah—”
“Ben, I’m not going. Don’t even suggest it.” She shook her head mutinously. “All I want to do is take Milly back to the diner, then enjoy the day. I want to see the kids’ pigs, have a snow cone, watch the dunk tank, listen to the band. It’s no big deal if people want autographs.”
He shook his head and started muttering into a throat microphone. She heard him order the team to close the perimeter around her. Instead of down the block, now they’d be mere yards away in a triangular grid. “Sarah,” he said, “what about the press? They read tweets, too.”
“They’ll be here, won’t they?” She thought about it a moment. “Usually, the best way to handle them is agree to give them some time—say a quick interview—with the agreement that they leave me alone for the remainder of the day.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You want to do that?”
“No. But if I don’t, they’ll pester me the whole time.”
“Okay, if you insist. I’ll be right beside you.” Ben gave her a look.
Determined to stay in town, Sarah figured he could do whatever made him feel better.
Even if now she’d have more exposure, she owed this to her friends in town.
People were coming to see her and meet her.
And they’d spend money. The small businesses needed that revenue.
Signing autographs and chatting with people was never a burden.
In front of the pharmacy, the two farmers in overalls from the day before had set up a pen. Little Emily led up a black and white spotted goat.
Sarah made her way over. “Emily, is this your prize goat?” She reached out to scratch its head. “I love the coloring. It looks like a paint horse. Like a pinto.”
“Pinto! That’s his name,” Emily exclaimed, smiling shyly. She glanced at her father, then said to Sarah, “Miss Sarah, would it be okay if my dad takes our picture? You, me, and Pinto all together?”
“Sure, Emily, no problem.”
The father reached into a backpack and withdrew something. He rushed over to Sarah and Emily.
Instantly, Ben stepped between them, put a staying hand on the man’s chest.
The man fell back, his mouth falling open.
“Ben!” Sarah said, aghast.
The man raised the object in his hand. It was an old digital camera. “Sorry, Miss Sarah,” he said, clearly chastised. “I meant no harm. Guess we don’t need the picture.”
Emily looked crushed.
Sarah sent Ben a warning glance. “Of course you’ll get your photo.” Sarah crouched down, put an arm around Emily and Pinto and smiled.
After a tense moment, Ben stepped aside.
Keeping a wary distance from Ben, the dad snapped a few shots and thanked her profusely.
****
Ben stood by stiffly. He didn’t like this: the crowds, the noise, the confusion, the people rushing Sarah. Under these circumstances, it was nearly impossible to protect her.
Three more people approached—a woman, a teenager, and a man. The man wore a shirt and vest, the woman and girl were in simple cotton dresses. The woman carried a small baby.
They didn’t look threatening, but he stepped forward anyway, placed his body between them and her. Sarah wasn’t going to like his rudeness. He didn’t care. With his height and bulk and tense demeanor, he supposed he presented an intimidating figure. Perfect.
Eyeing him warily, the three slowed. The woman came to a halt several feet away. “Miss Sarah,” she said, keeping Ben in her sights, “Virgil and Daisy and me just wanted to say hello. You look so nice. Don’t she look nice, Daisy?” She gave her daughter a little shove.
Timid and halting, Daisy came forward. A grudging Ben allowed it.
“You’re so pretty,” Daisy said. “The prettiest person in all the county.”
Sarah smiled and got up to give Daisy a quick hug. “I bet you’re getting ready to head off for college soon. When do you leave?”
As the women chatted, Ben realized the father, Virgil, was watching him.
Virgil leaned his head to the side, indicating Ben should come his way.
Taking three steps closer, Ben waited.
“We know about Sarah,” he said in a low voice the others couldn’t hear, “havin’ some kook comin’ after her. We don’t like that.” Moving surreptitiously, he opened his vest just enough for Ben to see a hidden shoulder holster and a handgun tucked inside.
Ben felt his brows go up. With a short nod, he acknowledged that he’d seen the weapon. “It’s good to know others have her back.”
Keeping his gaze, Virgil slowly nodded back.
In a short time, the three moved off, with Sarah waving and smiling.
An elderly man pushed an even older woman past them in a wheelchair. The woman’s hair was snow white, and she had a blanket draped across her lap. “Hello, Sarah,” she called out, her voice reedy. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Hi, Mrs. Atchison,” Sarah called back. “It’s a great day!”
“That it is, dear. You stay safe now.” As the wheels of the chair turned, the woman caught Ben’s eye. She lifted her blanket to reveal her veined hand wrapped around the ivory grips of an old Ruger .22 pistol. She winked at him, lowered the blanket, and the man pushing her rolled on.
Ben’s eyes widened. Holy crap! Was everyone here packing?
He glanced around the crowd. How often had he heard the townspeople call Sarah, our Sarah?
Well, they’d known her since childhood. There was no secret that she had a stalker because he’d told them himself.
Now, it appeared that many of their number had taken that to heart.
He did personal protection for a living.
But her friends and neighbors weren’t willing to rely on his services alone.
Nobody was going to hurt Sarah. Not on their watch.
For the first time that day, he allowed himself a brief grin. The way these people routinely protected her from predatory press, and now by busting out their weapons, well, he’d never seen anything like it.
He glanced at Sarah, petting another kid’s pig, and she looked up from under her big hat. She was amazing, and she was super. Not because of her modeling career. Because so many thought the world of her.
He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone with such innate goodness. Her heart was as big as Montana.
What a woman, he thought in admiration. Nobody would be allowed to harm a single hair on her head.
Anyone who tried ... he’d kill.