Part 33 (2/2)

Adelaide gestured toward the toilet-paper extravaganza. ”It's beautiful and you know it!”

The thing really did did look good. look good.

Over the course of the holiday weekend, folks would drop slips of paper, their vote for the best float in that year's parade, into a mammoth plastic raffle drum set up in the middle of the fairgrounds. On Sunday afternoon, the votes would be tallied and Bill Norman, who always emceed the rodeo, would announce the winner.

A trophy would be presented.

And Melissa had figured out this much, anyway: Both Bea and Adelaide wanted the honor.

Melissa cast an imploring glance in her brother's direction, but Brad didn't look her way, though even from a distance she could see a little grin resting lightly on that famous mouth. Unless she missed her guess, he was pretending that he hadn't noticed what was going on.

”It's too late to do anything about the float now,” Melissa said to Bea, in what she hoped was a sympathetic tone. ”Let's have a look at yours, shall we?”

Bea looked apoplectic, but she led Melissa away from the offending mobile ski slope to show off the Garden Club's entry, a giant bouquet of colorful papier-mache flowers of all types and sizes, the whole display perched precariously on top of somebody's farm tractor.

”It's lovely,” Melissa said, and she meant it. Enormous amounts of thought, effort and plain old hard work had gone into the construction of that float, and the others, too.

Bea was still upset. ”Rules are rules,” she exclaimed. ”Adelaide Hillingsley thinks they apply to everyone but her!”

By then, cars were pulling up, spilling out uniformed members of the Stone Creek High School marching band.

Melissa thought quickly. ”We have to set a good example in front of the children,” she said. ”So let's keep things as dignified as we can.”

Bea huffed at that, but her temper seemed to subside a little.

Melissa patted her back, cast another admiring look over the Garden Club float. ”You've outdone yourselves, you and the Garden Club,” she said. ”As always.”

The band kids began to toot on horns and beat on drums right about then. Mercifully, conversation was impossible.

Melissa fled, taking care to avoid Adelaide Hillingsley and her float as a.s.siduously as she meant to avoid Bea.

Just get through this, she told herself. she told herself. One crisis at a time. One crisis at a time.

She sought Brad out next, found him still over by the horse trailers, making sure the animals were unloaded properly.

”Thanks for all the help,” Melissa said, putting a sharp point on the words in case her brother failed to notice the irony in her tone and and in her expression. in her expression.

Brad grinned at her. ”There was a problem?” he asked innocently. ”I guess I missed it.”

Melissa punched him in the arm, but it was a halfhearted move. If there had been a real real problem, she knew, her big brother would have been the first one to jump in and help. problem, she knew, her big brother would have been the first one to jump in and help.

”I see the intervention worked,” he said, when she didn't say anything.

She gave a derisive little snort. ”That wasn't an intervention,” she said. ”It was just plain meddling. meddling.”

”You know Meg and Ashley and Liv love you,” Brad told her. His eyes were still twinkling. He went through the motions of looking at the watch he wasn't wearing. ”They ought to be here anytime now,” he added. ”Meg said you needed their help with the parade.”

”If I don't keep Bea and Adelaide apart until this is over,” Melissa replied ruefully, ”I may need help from the National Guard. National Guard.”

Brad laughed, laid a hand on her shoulder, but his eyes had turned serious. ”You all right, shortstop?” he asked her.

The childhood nickname, familiar as it was, made Melissa's throat tighten a little. ”Not you, too,” she managed to say.

”When Meg worries, I worry,” Brad replied gently. ”It's part of my job description as a husband-father-brother.”

”I'm fine,” Melissa insisted.

”Not so much,” Brad said.

Ashley showed up then, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved yellow blouse, her fair hair falling in a long braid down the center of her back. Joining her brother and sister, she smiled. ”I told you told you I would be here to give you a hand with the parade,” she said brightly, rubbing her palms together in antic.i.p.ation and ignoring Melissa's somewhat impatient glance. ”What needs doing?” Before Melissa could answer, Olivia and Meg arrived, Meg standing on tiptoe to kiss Brad on the cheek. He slid an arm around his wife and held her against his side for a moment. I would be here to give you a hand with the parade,” she said brightly, rubbing her palms together in antic.i.p.ation and ignoring Melissa's somewhat impatient glance. ”What needs doing?” Before Melissa could answer, Olivia and Meg arrived, Meg standing on tiptoe to kiss Brad on the cheek. He slid an arm around his wife and held her against his side for a moment.

”This had better not be another intervention,” Melissa warned. She was still a little insulted by the whole concept, frankly.

Olivia was, as usual, completely undaunted. She'd once treated a wild stallion for injuries, up in the hills, and it took more than an irritated younger sister to throw her off her game.

”The last one must have worked,” she said, after looking Melissa over. ”Your hair has been combed and you're wearing makeup.”

Melissa made a face, but then she had to laugh.

”You're impossible,” she said, addressing Olivia, Meg and and Ashley, all together. Ashley, all together.

”Looks like the ice cream shop's float is in trouble,” Ashley said, shading her eyes as she watched the giant cone, made of cardboard and crepe paper, teeter wildly to one side.

Meg pushed up the long sleeves of her fitted blue T-s.h.i.+rt. ”Let's go see what we can do to help before that thing falls over and spooks one of these horses or something,” she said to Ashley and Olivia. There were at least a dozen of the animals nearby, waiting to carry the sheriff's posse on a triumphant sweep along the relatively short length of Main Street.

”Good idea,” Melissa said. And they were off.

The horses, as it happened, were doing just fine- Brad and his wranglers had brought them to town and unloaded them early for the express purpose of giving them time to get used to being off the range and in a fairly unfamiliar environment.

”They mean well,” Brad told Melissa, watching the three women march over to take charge of the giant ice cream cone and the overwhelmed junior management type trying to contain the thing.

”I know,” Melissa said, with a little sigh. Then, as a farewell, she added, ”Later.”

”Later,” Brad confirmed.

It was surprising, Melissa discovered over the next couple of hours, how many things could go wrong with one small-town parade.

The convertible that was supposed to carry the mayor of Stone Creek, that year's grand marshal, threw a rod.

The tractor supporting the Chamber of Commerce's infamous toilet-paper float stalled out, and the teenage rodeo queen had to borrow a horse from Brad, because her own turned up lame.

And those were the easy easy things. things.

Nonetheless, Melissa found herself enjoying the distraction. At least, being so busy, she wasn't brooding over her life in general and Steven Creed in particular.

<script>