Page 30 of A Cowboy to Call Her Own

“Impressive,” Asher conceded.

“Not so very much,” Kelley admitted. “I had an ulterior motive.”

“What was that?” he asked, keeping his voice low to match hers and his gaze fixed on her face.

“If I’m organizing, I can’t be expected to participate in the parade, too.” Kelley shrugged as if it was all completely settled. After all, she was more than happy to organize the saddled horses in the parade line. It was the sitting in the saddle that she was seeking to avoid.

“Is it parades or participating in general that you don’t like?” he asked mildly.

She searched his gaze then asked, “You don’t remember, do you?”

He forgot. She supposed that was to be expected, if not the tiniest bit disappointing. Yet, it was one fleeting afternoon years ago during another Fourth of July parade. Back when preteen Kelley took a chance and took part. Only she ended up with a sprained wrist, a severely bruised elbow and more embarrassed than she had ever been after her horse spooked and tossed her to the pavement front and center for the entire town to see. But a cowboy—a mere teenager still discovering the depths of his maverick nature back then—came to her rescue.

Kelley caught the mayor motioning for her near the front of the dining area and shook her head slightly to clear the memory. “It’s not important. Remember, no eye contact.”

Asher smoothed a hand over his chin and nodded. “Got it.” He studied her a beat longer, then made his way over to Big E and the only empty stool left at the counter.

By the third item on the committee’s meeting agenda during the in-depth review of the firework display budget, Kelley determined she was the problem. She failed to follow her own advice. Oh, she avoided making eye contact with the committee members well enough. Try as she might, it was Asher whom her gaze tracked to over and over. Again and again.

Her city cowboy was seated on the very last stool; his legs were stretched out and his ankles stacked. Arms crossed over his chest, the brim of his cowboy hat was tipped forward to cover his gaze. He might have been asleep. Except Kelley had seen him nod ever so slightly the few times Big E leaned over to whisper something to him. Fortunately, Asher didn’t appear to be keeping tabs on Kelley and didn’t catch Kelley watching him. Or so she hoped.

The next agenda item was Kelley’s float update. She ran through the approved parade route along Derby Hollow Road and ending on Hitch Post Avenue. Then she finished up with details about the staging area and took her seat. Soon, she noticed her focus was right back to where it had started. On her cowboy.

“Very informative, Kelley.” Mayor Corbin drew Kelley’s attention to him. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop next to his empty lunch plate and said, “However, I still need to know the exact participation numbers for the parade.”

“Right.” Kelley flipped through the papers attached to her clipboard and said, “We’ve got fourteen floats and eight other entries.”

“That won’t do.” Mayor Corbin frowned.

“It’s almost double the entries from last year.” Not to mention Kelley had officially signed up all the townsfolk available to volunteer to be in the parade. She asked hesitantly, “If the whole town participates, who will be left to watch the parade?”

“The tourists will watch,” the mayor announced, certainty in his words.

“Where do you intend to find these tourists, Mr. Mayor?” That question came from one of the window booths where Sully Connelly and his family were smashed together on the bench seats.

“It’s not like we can boast about our Triple Laurel winner being in the parade.” That grumble came from the tables in the center, curiously close to where Patsy Richmond and her daughter Caroline sat.

Someone from upfront added, “Worse, without our Triple Laurel winner, there is no meet and greet with the colt, and that would have definitely enticed the out-of-towners to come to Gold Finch.”

A hush fell over the diner. Kelley searched for the grouser. No one looked at her. There was a sudden shifting in chairs and squeaking of vinyl in the booths. A dry cough followed another. Gazes were suddenly fixed on the tabletops. Kelly eyed her cowboy. Asher did not so much as flinch. The brim of his cowboy hat remained angled over his forehead, concealing most of his face.

“What’s the use of a parade with no one to watch it?” Finally, Patrick Connelly asked, then added, “We should cancel the whole thing and wait until we have something to celebrate.”

“The founding of our nation is something to celebrate,” the mayor countered and smacked his gavel on the tabletop. “We are not canceling the annual parade or any of the other planned festivities.”

Murmurs picked up like a ripple at low tide.

The mayor added another whack of his gavel and his words gained steam. “And this will be the best Red, White and Bluegrass Parade that Gold Finch has seen in an age. Maybe even ever. I can promise you that.”

“Hear hear, Mr. Mayor,” Beatrice Arbor called out and lifted her teacup in a toast.

“Now, we will have tourists coming to town.” The mayor smoothed a hand over his bolo tie and adopted a calmer voice. “They will be here because we will be featured onMorning Gallopfor having one of the largest parades in the tristate area.”

OohsandAhhsflowed as if that tide swelled back to supportive.

“What’s the catch?” Lynette Arbor asked before Kelley could.

“There isn’t one,” the mayor said, his expression and words overly pleasant.