Page 57 of Cherry Tree Ranch

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.