Rescuing Harmony Ranch

by Jennie Marts

  Her grandmother had told her she only needed one bidder, and she’d set her sights on who that bidder would be. But Mack might not figure out the most obvious clue: the forged iron heart covered in dried flowers and tied to a length of jute circling the top of the pail. If he didn’t bid on her picnic, she’d be eating lunch alone. No one else would waste their money.

  Her only saving grace was that the sites were anonymous. So if no one bid on hers, she would just not show up either, and then inconspicuously clean up the evidence of her dumb idea later. Way later. After the festival was over. She’d starve before she sat out there eating that grim lunch on her own.

  Jocelyn and Mack had prayed for people to show up, and their prayers were answered—in droves. Within the first few hours, hundreds of people had spilled through the gates. The steady sound of the tractor hauling hay-rack riders through the fields and the occasional shriek of children laughing was music to Jocelyn’s ears.

  She and Mack had been racing from one end of the ranch to the other, answering questions, running change to the gatekeepers, and dealing with every issue from a vendor’s electrical problem to a request for a bandage for a skinned knee. She only wished she’d been wearing her Fitbit, because she knew she was logging tons of steps.

  Despite the crazy rush of activity, the festival was going great. Every event attracted crowds, and there were constant lines at the food vendors. Visitors carried around bags of kettle corn and drank cups of the ranch’s signature lemonade. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. With luck, all that fun was converting to cash.

  The festival had always been such a good time, and she hated to keep thinking about it in terms of dollars, but this year was an exception and they needed the income. Or there wouldn’t be another festival next year.

  Jocelyn sagged against the side of the general store, taking a moment to catch her breath. She almost choked at the sight of her grandmother waving as she pushed toward her on Midge, the wonder knee scooter.

  “Gram, what are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

  Her grandmother waved away her concerns. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

  “How did you even get out here?”

  “Hank helped me.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “I had to wait until Loretta left to run the pie auction booth, then I made my escape.”

  Jocelyn peered behind her. “So what happened to Hank?”

  Her grandmother shrugged. “He’s probably hiding from Lo. She’s gonna read him the riot act when she finds out he aided and abetted my escape plan.”

  “I’ll bet she will. I’m a little ready to, myself.”

  “Oh, please. My leg is sore, but other than that, I’m feeling fine. And there’s no way anyone is keeping me cooped up in the house on festival day. I need to be out here, in the action, helping if I can. Plus, I could smell the kettle corn all the way in the living room.”

  Jocelyn knew her grandmother well enough to know this was a battle she wasn’t going to win. “Fine. But let’s find you a place to sit, at least.”

  “I’m only sitting if it’s somewhere in the middle of things. My legs might not be able to run, but my mouth sure can.”

  Jocelyn pressed her lips together to hold the laugh in. “You said it, not me.”

  A large tent had been set up at the main entrance where volunteers sold event tickets, set up tours, scheduled hayrides, and peddled yearly memberships to the living history museum. That seemed the best place to park her grandmother. Jocelyn was sure the other volunteers would do their best to keep an eye on Gram and not let her do too much.

  It took them twenty minutes just to get to the tent because her grandmother had to stop to talk to everyone they passed. That woman seemed to know the entire population of Harmony Creek. And not just them, but their spouses and their kids and their neighbors’ spouses and kids too.

  By the time she got her grandmother set up with a chair, a bag of kettle corn, and a promise to stay put for the next few hours, it was almost noon.

  Jocelyn’s nerves tensed as she tried to casually walk by the sign-up board for the Boxed Lunch Social. A large grid had been drawn on butcher paper in the same setup as the picnic sites, and each site had a lined sheet of paper for the public to mark their bids on. Some pages were full of names and bids, while others only had a few. Jocelyn could see from several feet away that Sophie’s page was crowded with bids.

  She only needed one bid, and Jocelyn could see something scrawled on the first line. Thank goodness. Mack had figured out her clues and bid on her box lunch.

  She held her breath as she got closer and zeroed in on her page. She couldn’t believe it. Someone had made a fifty dollar bid for her lunch. But her heart sank as she read the name next to the bid.

  It wasn’t Mack’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jocelyn read the name next to the exorbitant bid again. Clyde Barrow.

  The name had a familiar ring to it, but she couldn’t place it. He must have been a local, or maybe a friend of her grandma’s.

  The sign-up was across from the general store, and she nonchalantly wandered over and climbed the steps of the store’s porch while still keeping an eye on the board. There were only a few minutes left before the auction closed, so if Mack was going to outbid this Clyde person, he’d have to hurry.

  The minutes ticked by and a few bidders raced to the board to get in a last-minute bid, but Mack was nowhere to be seen as a volunteer walked up and tacked an “Auction Closed” sign at the top of the board.

  Jocelyn tried to conceal her disappointment as she made her way to her picnic site. Although really, Clyde was the one who was about to be disappointed. He’d shelled out fifty dollars for a simple lunch of sandwiches and the pleasure of her mediocre company.

  She’d been sure Mack would get her clues.

  At least I won’t be eating alone, she thought, as she approached her picnic blanket. And whoever this Clyde guy was, he’d made a good donation to help the festival and her grandmother. Maybe he was a friend of Gram’s and had just put his name and his money on the only page that didn’t have any bids. That would make sense.

  Due to the heat, the participants had been given the option to pack their lunches in coolers and store them in a small covered area next to the Boxed Social grid. Jocelyn pasted on a smile and waded into the frenzy of excited picnic creators who were laughing and chatting happily about all the bids their sites had received. She grabbed her cooler and made her escape as quickly as she could.

  Her mystery donor must still be paying for the lunch, because her site was empty. Or so she’d thought. When she sat down, she found a thin white box, tied with a pink ribbon, tucked in between the jar of lilacs and the pail.

  As she lifted the box into her lap, she peered around her. Who had left it?

  She opened the lid—and let out a gasp. Then she smiled, admiring the gorgeous iron-forged long-stemmed rose inside. Taped to the stem was a note that read, “For Bonnie, my favorite partner in crime.”

  Clyde Barrow. The name came back to her now. Her grandfather had always teased her and Mack when they were younger, calling them Bonnie and Clyde when they got caught after causing trouble or cooking up some crazy new scheme.

  A shadow fell across the blanket. She beamed up at the talented blacksmith who’d crafted her this beautiful rose. He dropped onto the blanket next to her, and she playfully swatted his leg. “Very clever. You really had me going.”

  “What? I thought you’d figure it out easy.”

  She shook her head. “I totally should have. My brain must be on overdrive. I thought Clyde was one of Gram’s friends who felt sorry for me.” She narrowed her eyes. “So why the fake name? Were you worried people would know you bid on my lunch and think something was going on with us?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sittin
g here with you, out in the open for everyone to see, aren’t I?”

  She tentatively nodded. “Ye-es.”

  He leaned forward to speak into her ear, his voice deep and roguish. “And unless I just imagined that moment in the kitchen last night, it feels to me like there is something going on between us.”

  His breath tickled her cheek, and his words sent a shot of heat down her spine. He smelled like aftershave, cinnamon gum, and the faint scent of woodsmoke present in the blacksmith shop. She nodded, trying to keep the smile from completely taking over her face. “Yeah, it feels that way to me, too.”

  He held her gaze for another moment, long enough to convey an unspoken message—a promise of something more to come. Then he knocked the side of the cooler with his knuckles. “I’m starving. I can’t wait to see what you brought. What kind of amazing lunch did I buy with my fifty dollars?”

  A laugh bubbled out of her. “You may have overshot your gastronomical expectations. I never expected anyone to spend fifty bucks.” She reached into the cooler and spread out her offering of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, individual-sized bags of kettle chips, and a small clear tub of oatmeal cookies. “You did say last night that you appreciated a simple lunch of sandwiches and chips.” She handed him a large mason jar filled with iced tea and lemon slices, the sides of the glass slick with condensation from the ice she’d packed the jar with. “And I didn’t forget the cold glass of iced tea.”

  “Looks perfect.” He picked up the container of cookies. “Are these oatmeal scotchies?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I haven’t had one in years. These used to be my favorite cookies.”

  “I remember. I got up early this morning and made a batch just for you.”

  Peeling back the lid, he pulled out a cookie and took a bite. He groaned as he closed his eyes. “Mmmm. These are amazing.” He opened his eyes and pushed the container toward her. “You want one?”

  She shook her head. “I’m good. Between the bites of dough and the half-dozen warm cookies I had for breakfast, I think I’m good for a while. But I love how you dig right into the dessert before you’ve even unwrapped your sandwich.”

  “I paid fifty bucks for this meal, I’ll eat it in whatever order I please.” He grinned and stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Sometimes life calls for you to grab the good stuff first, before you miss your chance.”

  Yeah, sometimes it did.

  They heard another satisfied groan next to them and looked over to see Hank sitting on Sophie’s blanket. His eyes were closed in bliss as he tore off another bite of Sophie’s famous fried chicken.

  “Grandpa?” Mack glanced from Hank to Sophie, then back to Hank again. “What are you doing?”

  Hank’s eyes popped open, and he licked a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “Enjoying a piece of the best fried chicken in the county.” He ducked as if something might fly through the air toward him. “Don’t tell your grandmother I said so.”

  “Your secret’s safe with us,” Jocelyn said, sneaking a glance at Sophie to see if she appeared to be seething in jealousy that Mack had picked someone else’s lunch offering. But the other woman was smiling at Hank, her face beaming with pride at the compliment to her chicken.

  Sophie waved a hand at Mack’s grandfather. “Oh Hank Talbot, you old so-and-so, you already won the lunch, you don’t have to flatter me.” She offered Jocelyn a genuine smile. “It looks like we both lucked out in getting to share our lunch with the Talbot men—two of the handsomest men on the ranch.”

  Jocelyn smiled back, not quite sure what to make of Sophie Scott. She seemed so nice and sincere, but she’d also just winked at Mack after she’d called him and Hank handsome. Was that a friendly “just teasing” wink? Or a flirty wink?

  Mack had told her they weren’t a couple, but that didn’t mean Sophie wasn’t still interested in him.

  She glanced at Mack, who was happily digging into a peanut butter sandwich. Maybe it wasn’t with quite the same enthusiasm Hank had for Sophie’s chicken, but he still seemed to be enjoying it, and he had chosen her picnic. Jocelyn touched the cool metal of the iron rose and did feel lucky indeed.

  Mack’s afternoon flew by. He would’ve loved to spend another hour hanging out with Jocelyn, but the festival was in full swing, and he had classes to demonstrate and the chili cook-off to get set up. And sitting on a blanket surrounded by half the town of Harmony Creek wasn’t the most private of settings.

  Not that they’d needed privacy. Sitting there with just the two of them, talking and laughing like they used to, made it feel like they were in their own little bubble. He didn’t think either of them even noticed the other people around them.

  Although if it had been just the two of them, he might have given her a thank-you kiss to go along with the quick hug of appreciation for the lunch. The hug alone would no doubt start a few tongues wagging, but he’d never cared about town gossip before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  He liked being with her, liked to make her laugh. But their time of laughter was going to come to a quick halt when she went back to New York. That thought sobered him as he yanked long rods of steel from his workshop wall in preparation for his next demonstration. It wasn’t for an hour yet, but he liked to have everything in place when the audience started shuffling in.

  The door to his shop opened, and the object of his musings burst through, her cheeks flush with color.

  “Hey, I’m glad I found you,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just needed you. A group from Woodland Hills challenged a group from Harmony Creek to an obstacle course, and I need a partner. Hank is discreetly passing around a hat taking bets, and we want that cash, so I’m looking for a guy who can pull his weight in a three-legged race and a gunny sack hop.”

  He chuckled. “I’m your guy. I’m also pretty proficient at running with an egg balanced on the end of a spoon.”

  “Perfect. You’re hired.” She laughed as she waved him forward. “Let’s go. We’re starting in ten minutes.”

  Mack couldn’t help but laugh as he hurried after her. This was why her grandfather had given them the Bonnie and Clyde nicknames. The two of them were always ending up in some kind of wacky scheme, whether it was starting their own newspaper or setting up a lemonade and zucchini stand. And Jocelyn was typically the one leading the charge. As usually happened, just like today, Mack jumped on the crazy train with her and went along for the ride.

  The last few days had been like a wild trip on a roller coaster with his emotions zooming up and crashing down. He normally considered himself a pretty even-keeled guy, but having Jocelyn pop back into his life had thrown him completely catawampus.

  This morning, he’d tried to back off, to step back from the feelings coursing through him. But he couldn’t stay away or keep his thoughts from her. He found himself concocting the Bonnie and Clyde plan to bid on her picnic, just because he thought she’d get a kick out of it. And because he enjoyed teasing her a little, then earning the reward of her laughter.

  She was laughing now as she dragged him toward the starting line where the other teams were already strapping their legs together in preparation for the first leg of the race. “I’m counting on you, Talbot. The first section is the three-legged race, then we have to hop around the hay bales in gunny sacks. At the end of that leg, we have to carry two eggs on spoons while walking over a balance beam. We have to get at least one over the line, then one of us has to walk on stilts for the last section.”

  He shook his head. “Geez-o-pete. Who came up with this nutty obstacle course? This is crazier than anything they have on Survivor. Can I just request to be voted off the island now, and you can do this thing without me?”

  Jocelyn planted a fist on her hip. “Oh, is this race too challenging for you?” She p
eered around at the audience gathering behind him. “Should I try to find another partner who might be a little more athletic? More up for the task?”

  “That’s a low blow—questioning my commitment to a challenge.” He grinned as he grabbed a swath of fabric from the table. “I’m in. And not just in—we’re gonna win this thing. Now get your leg over here and let me strap it to mine.”

  She pumped her fist in the air. “Yes, there’s the Mack I know. Let’s do it.” She grabbed the folds of her dress, hiking it up as she pressed her ankle to his.

  He tied the fabric around their calves, trying not to be distracted by the smooth skin of her bare leg.

  “Hurry up. They’re getting ready to start.”

  He stood, and they stumble-walked to the starting line along with the other contestants.

  “This dang dress is so cumbersome,” Jocelyn grumbled, struggling with the extra yards of cloth. “You’ll have to put your arm around me and anchor us while I try to keep a hold of my dress.”

  “I can do that.” He slipped his arm around her back and took a firm grasp of her waist. “Are we starting on our right or our left foot?”

  “Are you kidding?” She pointed to where her left foot was strapped to his right. “Did you forget how this works?”

  He shook his head. She’d distracted him by asking him to anchor her. “I can’t think straight with you this close to me,” he muttered. “Plus you smell so dang good, I’m having a hard time focusing on anything other than when I’m finally going to get a chance to kiss you.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared up at him.

  “Shoot. Did I say all that out loud?”

  A coy smile curved her lips, and she beamed up at him. “You sure did.”

  “Get ready!” a volunteer yelled from the starting line, breaking the moment.