Her Baby Dreams. Debra Clopton
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watched the group of laughing women prepare to do battle with the squealing pig in the pen behind him.
When he’d first learned that Ashby was going to participate, he figured it might be another train wreck. She’d been heavy on his mind in the month since they’d walked or limped the bike into town. Ashby had not been able to hide the pain of her blisters by the end of the disastrous ordeal. The cantankerous woman had refused all his attempts to help, and he’d finally stopped trying. Fortunately, by the time they’d made it into town, almost everyone was off participating in other festivities, sparing them some of the hoopla associated with coming in dead last.
Dan had to hand it to her, she’d said she wasn’t riding the bike and she’d stuck to her guns. Blisters and all.
It stood to reason that when word spread of her raising money to win herself a spot in the scramble, there had been a stampede of cowboys lining up to help her along. The chance to support a worthy cause and see Ashby pitted against a pig had been too good to pass up for some people.
Not that she’d let Dan help her out. Oh, no, she’d refused to sell him a ticket.
Yup, she was still miffed at him.
Watching her now, he decided she looked stiff and nervous. He had to admit, though, that she looked nice, as usual. But his attention fixed on her luminous eyes, wide with trepidation.
His gut twisted. Those eyes should be wide with anticipation. He wanted her to relax and have a good time.
Not that she’d believe him.
Her back was as rigid as a ruler as she waited for the signal to enter the arena. Much like it had been every time she’d seen him over the past month.
Sunday school had been awkward, but he’d refrained from teasing her, not wanting to add to her dilemma. The one she had no idea she had. He’d tried to get the guys to stop with the “Ashed” nonsense, but his efforts had only drawn more attention to her plight. He had hopes for her tonight.
Tonight she might redeem herself. Tonight Miss Prim might just change her situation.
He hoped so. He didn’t like feeling guilty.
Dan knew Roy Don Jenkins’s voice was going to crack to life over the loudspeaker any minute now to introduce the women so he hurried to wish the ladies good luck before going back up to claim a seat in the stands. There were ten women in the group. Some were married; some were single; all had worked hard selling tickets to get into this arena. He admired the hard work they’d put into raising money that would help support the women’s shelter. If a gal was ever curious about the way to his heart, that was it—donating time or money to women in need.
Not that he’d ever tell someone that bit of info; there were some things too private to talk about. Still, he’d come to wish them luck, and in doing so, silently thank them for their hard work and good hearts. “Ladies,” he said, drawing their attention. “I just wanted to wish each and every one of you luck out there. Stay safe.”
“Thanks, Dan,” Lacy shouted over a sudden squawk of the amplifier.
Ashby jumped at the sound and her gaze connected with Dan’s. Maybe she’d learn a thing or two from tonight. Even so, he hoped she wouldn’t get hurt. As he went to find a seat in the stands, he sent up a prayer that they’d all be safe. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he’d sort of goaded her into this, and if she did get hurt, he’d be responsible. That was one burden he didn’t care to take on.
She’d lost her mind. That was the first thought that hit Ashby as she and the others jogged out into the arena. The crowd roared with laughter. In front of her, Lacy and Sheri mugged and waved at the crowd, while she stumbled right into a wet spot and nearly went down.
Sheri laughed. “What are you trying to do—steal the show?”
Relieved to still be standing, Ashby glared at her. “You can have the show. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Sure you do,” Lacy said.
Easy for her to say. Ashby wiped her damp palms on her jeans. The girl her mother raised wouldn’t dare be caught dead in an arena, sweaty and hot, chasing after a greased pig! For an instant, all lingering animosity toward her upbringing disappeared as regret over her newfound rebellious streak assailed her.
Stop it.
Twenty feet away, the little animal squealed from behind the gate where they were holding him.
Ashby was about to tango with a pig.
Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she reminded herself that standing here in the arena was going to help not only the shelter, but also her image around town.
She glanced at Lacy, who was hunkered down like a linebacker ready for the tackle.
The pig squealed again, sounding like wet brakes on an overloaded bus! Ashby shivered. Who was she kidding? She was way out of her element!
Nothing to do but follow people who looked like they knew what they were doing. Mimicking Lacy, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her elbows bent, hands out. She just didn’t have the personality to pull this off. Feeling foolish and out of place, she straightened and stood stiffly.
She was hopeless.
Roy Don called over the loudspeaker for the gate to open, and she almost jumped out of her skin when the pig shot into the arena in a frenzied panic.
And no wonder! Nine women reacted at once, squealing and laughing as they ran at poor Piggy en masse. This way and that the poor animal raced. When it suddenly froze, there was an instant pileup as everyone dived. Everyone, that is, but Ashby. She hadn’t moved.
Nope. She was still standing exactly where she’d started. Maybe her slow reaction had saved her. Someone in that pileup had surely captured the pig.
Her dismay was huge when the slick pig squirted from the pile like a bar of soap in wet hands—just popped right out of there and…and headed straight for her!
Surely the charging pig could see that she was no threat. She was still frozen to the spot! Surely it understood that all it had to do was a bit of sidestepping and it would be home free. That the safety zone loomed only paces away.
But no, he couldn’t know that. He was a pig. One with a vendetta, and who had decided to make like a bowling ball. After all, it had just taken down the nine other ladies, so why not Ashby?
Someone, somewhere, yelled for her to grab it.
Do what?
Grab it, her mind ordered.
Before she could analyze what she was doing, Ashby closed her eyes and dived.
That’s right, she dived.
Straight for the forty pounds of squealing animal coming at her like greased lightning. She wasn’t sure what astonished her the most, the fact that she voluntarily threw herself into the muck…
Or that she caught the pig!
She thought she heard the grandstands go wild, but the pig was screeching in her ear and kicking the wind out of her at the same time. One minute she had it, the next, Ashby was lying flat on her back as the slimy ball of lard used her as a launching pad. From her prone position, Ashby watched it shoot across the white line that had been drawn down the center of the arena. Pig: 1, Humans: 0.
Groaning, Ashby spat dirt and pushed herself up, grease and dirt embedded in her clothing. The slimy mixture of grime and muck had also worked its way into her hair and across the left side of her face—which had been plastered to the side of the small beast.
Molly Jacobs, who was covering the fund-raiser for her national newspaper column, suddenly jumped in front of her and snapped off a round of shots. Blinded by the rapid-fire flashes, Ashby blinked. What a mug shot that was going to be!
But it was over. That was all she could think as she stumbled toward the other women