Chapter Thirty-Three
Cleared of all traffic, the parade rolled down Main Street, with floats created by the Boy Scouts, The Shriners, The Elk’s Club.
A Billing’s high school band marched by, banging out the National Anthem with hardly any wrong notes.
Horses decorated in silver saddles pranced along the route, their riders giving the palm-up, side-to-side parade wave.
In the lead float, just a utility cart decorated like a giant rhubarb plant, with red stalks and green leaves covering everything except the steering wheel, Mayor Beekins was in his element. He grinned, shouted to people, waved a top hat.
Because the route wasn’t long and the parade had only a few floats, they made the circuit twice. Nobody minded.
Sarah and Milly watched it all from tree-shaded chairs Ben had found them. He used a long rope to close off the area, making it clear that no one should approach Sarah. The air was filled with the shrieks of delighted children and the smell of barbeque.
Ben kept on his feet, a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. She covered it with her own. He smiled down at her.
Her heart fluttered. She’d fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with him. There was no doubt he was a man for the long haul.
Sarah didn’t know what it meant. How was she to reconcile a return to her New York modeling career, something she still didn’t want to do, and building a relationship with Ben? How could they develop what had begun when he lived two thousand miles away?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to push the upsetting thoughts aside. Today was for celebrating the summer and the local people, not for fretting about the future. Ruthlessly, she thrust down the troubling thoughts.
A sudden commotion drew all their attention. Pushing through the crowd were several people just arriving at the festival. Sarah sighed. The press. Yancy and his crew.
Leading the charge, Yancy, the senior editor of Starstruck Magazine, wore a suit covered with enormous orange hibiscus flowers.
He sported a yellow fedora. His cameraman flanked him at one side and the man who’d braced Ben with his clipboard was on his left.
Trailing were a few others, young men and tattooed girls.
Before they could get to the cordoned off area, Ben’s team closed in and barred their way. Franklin crossed his arms over his mighty chest and Yancy fell back. “I say.” He looked up at the big man. “Have you heard of freedom of the press? We only want a word with Sarah.”
Franklin didn’t speak.
“Dang.” Milly observed the small pack with their eager expressions, all fixed on Sarah. “They’re like locusts.”
Ben came forward. “Yancy,” he said. “Been expecting you.”
The other man’s eyes lit. “Most excellent. Our readers are positively dying for word of Super Sarah’s current life.” He rubbed his hands together.
Ben regarded him calmly. “Here’s how the day will go.
You and one other will be allowed past these ropes.
” He indicated the closed-off area. “Your cameraman can stand on the other side. Any others can wait outside the area. Or they can go get a corn dog. Or watch a pie-eating contest. I don’t care. But they’re not getting in. Clear?”
No fool, Yancy considered the offer. “Are you saying we’ll have an exclusive?”
“She’ll give you ten minutes. She won’t be taking any personal questions, just about her career—”
“Now wait one moment,” the other man pushed back. “Word has come to me that someone may be threatening her. Our sources confirm that it’s true. That’s news and I’d be remiss if I ignored that.”
Ben didn’t budge an inch. “Agree to my terms or you won’t get near her.”
Yancy screwed up his features and peered into Ben’s face. “Are you her manager?”
“That’s correct,” Ben replied without hesitation. “Right now, I’m managing every aspect of her life. At the end of the ten minutes, you’ll also agree to pack up your crew and hightail it out of town. Do we have a deal?”
Yancy sputtered, straightened his hat, glanced around.
At last, he studied Sarah sitting in her sundress and big hat.
She could see the hamster spinning on its wheel as he considered the narrow parameters of Ben’s deal against having no access to her at all.
He had magazine issues to sell and a voracious audience for all things to do with celebrity.
There was no way he’d allow this opportunity to pass.
She knew exactly when the hamster fell off.
“Deal,” Yancy said.
Pointedly, Ben raised his wrist and looked at his watch. He lifted the rope for Yancy and his assistant. “Ten minutes,” he said.
The assistant, the man whom Ben had roughed up, edged by him in wary side steps. When Ben sent him a warning glare, Sarah didn’t blame the other when he flinched.
It was a brilliant move by Ben to stipulate no personal questions. She should have thought of that.
Two more folding chairs were placed in front of hers and Yancy and his assistant lost no time settling in.
Milly folded her hands and remained silent.
At first, he asked vanilla questions about her favorite designers, and soon he segued to questions about the festival.
To eat up time, she tried to make her answers long, descriptive, and thoroughly vague.
The writer held a recorder and also scribbled on his clipboard.
From outside the prescribed area, the cameraman caught it all.
Within minutes, as expected, he finally broke the rules. His elbows on his knees, he leaned in. “You must know that your adoring public is ravenous for word about you. They want to know why you’ve abandoned the catwalks and runways. Won’t you tell us?” he wheedled.
“Time’s up.” Ben tapped Yancy on his shoulder.
The assistant said, “It’s only been seven minutes.”
“With that last question your boss blew it. Take it up with him, preferably in your van headed out of town. Goodbye.”
He looked at his men. “Simmons, Jones, assist Yancy and his people back to their vehicles and make sure they’re headed onto the highway.”
His men nodded. Protesting, Yancy and his men made a grudging exit. Within a few minutes, Ben’s team reported that they’d left the vicinity.
Sarah was glad to get that out of the way. “Thank you, Ben. You handled that well.”
He stared off toward the highway. “Hope they don’t come back.”
“They won’t.” She was confident in that. “They’re scared of you.”
“Ah, that’s a shame.” He didn’t look in the least sorry.
Milly looked toward the highway, too, distaste crossing her features. “I still say they’re like insects. Locusts—or fleas. Yeah, like fleas that want to keep taking little bites out of you until there’s nothing left.”
Sarah smiled. Because the parade had ended, she said to Milly. “It’s time. Let’s go to the diner.”
Milly’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, lets.”
Just outside the restaurant, they found the mayor, glad-handing with the populace, grinning and chatting with everyone. He was resplendent in a maroon suit, multi-striped tie, and gleaming dress shoes. He still wore his top hat.
Ben scowled.
Sarah wished he’d relax, but she knew that wouldn’t happen, at least until he got her away from the throng.
Before Sarah or Ben could say anything, Milly lit into him. “Mayor Beekins,” she scolded. “That was a rotten trick you pulled, putting it out on twitter that Sarah was the parade marshal.”
“Well?” He spread his hands without apology. “I had to get people to show up. Whether she rode the float or not, she’s in town, isn’t she? She’s here, and that’s the point. People want to see her. And the town needs the income.”
Ben muttered something beneath his breath that sounded something like you little jerk.
Sarah said nothing. Mayor Beekins was an officious man and always would be. Yet like her, he cared about the town, and she tried not to hold the issue against him.
Pulling Milly inside, she looked for her father. Close on her heels, Ben followed. Big Jim sat at the counter, jawboning with a few other ranchers. Casually, he peered over his shoulder.
Milly needed no encouragement. She stepped toward him. Instead of walking in her normal no-nonsense strides, she moved in what Sarah could only call swaying.
Sarah hid a grin. Big Jim was about to get a shot fired across his bow.
“Hi there, Jim,” Milly said. She did a slow pirouette, and Sarah was proud of her new confidence. “Has the wait staff been getting you enough coffee?” She smiled, her lip gloss glistening.
He looked her up and down, from her new, pointed-toe heels to her dress, to her face and hair. A scowl formed on his forehead. “I never get enough coffee,” he muttered. “What’s with all the paint?”
Milly blinked.
“Dad!” Sarah came forward, frowning. Oh, no, he didn’t.
“What?” he said. “Is Milly gonna be part of a carnival act or something? Is that why she’s all got up?”
Appalled at her father’s insensitivity, Sarah gaped at him.
Milly whirled and rushed for the refuge of the kitchen, her new heels clacking, but not before Sarah saw her face crumple.
“Nice work,” Ben observed to Jim. “Guess it’s true what women say sometimes about us men.”
Jim watched Milly run away, perplexed. “What’s that?”
“We can be real stupid.” Ben shook his head.
“No shit.” Sarah shot daggers at her father through her eyes. Big Jim would have a long way to go before he got past this.
In the kitchen, Sarah found Milly re-folding and stacking perfectly folded and stacked kitchen towels. She was sniffling.
“Don’t cry.” Sarah rubbed her back. “You’ll only wreck your makeup.”
“What does it matter?” Milly whispered. “Maybe Jim’s right. It’s just paint. It doesn’t change who I am.”
“The makeup just enhances you, it doesn’t change you. Nobody wants to do that. You’re wonderful as you are.” She smiled encouragement. “Now, don’t listen to that old fool. I still want you to enjoy the day, have fun, let other people see how truly lovely you can be.”
“I—I thought I did,” Milly said, glancing downward, “did look nice.”
“You do. Take it from me. I’m a supermodel, right?” For once, she didn’t mind using that term. “I know beauty when I see it.”
Milly raised her gaze to Sarah’s. “Yes, I suppose you would.”
“Now, let’s go outside and have fun! Don’t let Jim see he’s gotten you down.”
“Okay.” She smoothed the skirt of her new dress. “I do have my pride.”
“Of course.”
Milly tilted her head back, squared her shoulders, and with her nose only slightly pinkened, she ignored Jim and walked past him to the outdoors.
Jim followed her progress darkly.
Ben held the door for the women.
The crowd milled, growing heavier. The country band had struck up on the stage, raising the noise level close to deafening. Several people recognized Sarah, shouted her name, and she waved back. The youth wearing the Rhubarb costume ambled past in his red tennies.
Festival goers wanted her to sign their hats and booklets, others wanted selfies. She happily took pens and smiled for their cell phone cameras.
As best he could, Ben kept her and Milly moving and led them back to the roped off area where they could watch the dunk tank. He pulled up the folding chairs and got them sodas. Only a few feet away, he stood watch.
Seeing him, Chief King approached. He wore his dark blue uniform and, on his chest, his gold badge shone. “Everything’s quiet so far,” he said. “All good with your men? I see Sarah’s fine—” He froze, his gaze going to Milly. He stared, giving her the once-over.
“Hello, Chief King,” Milly said. “Thank you for your service in keeping our city safe. You make it look as easy as falling off a piece of cake.”
Sarah bit her lip and decided not to make a correction.
The chief didn’t seem to notice. “Miss Milly, do these old eyes deceive me? Is that you?” An admiring smile bloomed over his features. “Why, you’re pretty as a peach.”
She blushed. “Oh, go on.”
His smile didn’t fade. “I’m on break for thirty minutes. I’d be right pleased if you’d join me in a stroll.” With as courtly a gesture as Sarah had ever seen, the Chief offered his arm.
Rising gracefully to her feet, Milly took his arm. “I’d love it. Lead the way, kind sir.”
Proudly, the man escorted Milly away.
Sarah watched them go, pleased. “Funny, what a little paint can do,” she said dryly.
Ben nodded at the couple, their heads close together as they chatted, Milly’s arm linked in his. “When Big Jim gets a gander at that, he’s gonna explode.”
“Serves him right,” she said with relish. “He was just awful to her.” Then, she sighed. “Hey, that soda has gone right through me. I need to go to the ladies’ room.”
“The one in the diner?”
“No, there’re small public restrooms on the corner. One for men, one for women. It’s closer.”
As she tossed her paper cup into the trash, Ben spoke into his throat mic, reporting their movements.
With a hand on her back, he guided her along the row of adjoined brick buildings until they reached the corner of the town square.
Here, the crowd thinned. The youth wearing the rhubarb costume strode past them, reaching the alcove outside the restrooms first. His boots tapping on the tile flooring, he turned left into the men’s room.
Ben escorted Sarah to the alcove, saw that she was headed into the ladies’ section, and left to station himself outside.
He didn’t like having Sarah out of his sight, but he supposed he couldn’t exactly go into the restroom with her. She would be safe in there. He glanced up and down the nearly empty side street.
A troubling notion nibbled at his consciousness. A fact he should recognize, yet it hovered just outside his reach, dancing away. He couldn’t put his finger on it. There was something amiss.
Something was wrong.