Part 12 (2/2)

He only had himself to blame.

And how long could someone hold an unfair, unfounded, and unreasonable grudge anyway?

I thought about my gammy and her nemesis Abigail Winegardner.

To infinity and beyond. That's how long.

Thanks to my man of mystery, I'd ridden in style to the kick-off city. Once Manny dropped me off at the Mini-Freeze location and we got the stand open for business, I'd vamoosed. Uncle Frank had agreed to spring for a hotel room (one room for all four of us, the big spender) for TribRide eve. The remainder of the week, Frankie, Dixie, and Taylor would be pitching a tent like the rest of us, or sacking out in the Suburban.

I'd showered and slipped into denim shorts, a T-s.h.i.+rt featuring a black silhouette of a cowgirl kicking it up that said, ”It's all in the boots”, and my comfiest pair of slouch boots. I plopped one of my favorite Stetsons-the one that sported a totally cool, black and turquoise band-on my head. I might be consigned to wearing a Trekkie Tee, padded pedal pushers, pedal-friendly footwear, and a dorky-looking bike helmet during the ride, but dang if I was going to hang out in a beer tent wearing tennies and hatless.

After all, this cowgirl had a reputation to uphold.

I looked around and frowned. I stuck out like my gammy on Easter Sunday. Bless her heart, each spring Gram embarks on a search for the perfect Easter bonnet. Last year's creation had a brim so wide we had to leave the seats on either side of her open.

”Hey you! Blondie! Calamity! Calamity Jayne!”

I turned my head in the direction of the call and was rewarded with a click and a camera flash.

”What the-!”

”Thought I'd better commit the pre-TribRide Tressa Turner to photographic memory,” Dixie Daggett, also known as The Destructor, said. ”You know. To immortalize the moment. Just in case of...” She raised her shoulders. ”Well, whatever.”

”I thought this get-together was for registered riders only. What are you doing here?” I asked.

”Vendors pay a fee so we're comped,” Dixie said. She pointed at my beer. ”What's that? Liquid courage?”

”Seriously? Since when do I need a reason to drink beer?” I said.

”Oh. So you're not even the least bit apprehensive about the ride?”

”Apprehensive? Do I look apprehensive?” I followed the query with a hearty gulp of beer. Unfortunately, it dribbled down my chin.

”Oh, no. You don't look the least bit nervous. In fact, you exude confidence and aplomb.”

Aplomb?

”Why, you're just...full of it,” Dixie went on.

I resisted the urge to accidentally spill my beer on her. Hey, it's beer, after all.

”I'm surprised you could take time off from your law enforcement academy pursuits to cater to cyclists,” I observed. ”What's up with that?”

”I've finished all the application requirements, and I'm just waiting for Public Safety to make offers,” Dixie said. ”Besides, I wouldn't miss Tressa Turner's Tandem TribRide for anything.”

Great. I'd have Dixie Daggett d.o.g.g.i.ng my tail across the state.

”Speaking of duos, where is your fiance?” I asked. ”You are still engaged, right?”

Dixie lifted her brow. Yes, that's right. I said brow. You know. As in unibrow.

”You know perfectly well we're still together,” she said.

”Just checking,” I said.

”Right.” Dixie grabbed a handful of nuts. ”We all were surprised to see you climb down out of that bus yesterday. We were even more surprised to see who had delivered you in said motor carriage. Manny DeMarco? Word on the street has it Manny took you by surprise by showing up on the little honeymoon cruise. Now, he shows up here in a customized bus and, lo and behold, who should step out but Grandville's answer to Baba Wawa, Calamity Jayne Turner.”

”Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?” I asked, not exactly thrilled with the blatant speculation concerning my love life.

”That's what I'd like to know,” Dixie asked. ”What exactly is going on between you and that guy?”

”Which guy?”

”Okay, I'll play. Just what are you doing hanging out with Manny DeMarco?”

”No comment,” I said.

”Okay. How are things going with your new step-cousin then?” Dixie said.

I winced. That just sounded...wrong.

”There you are. I see you found her.” My cousin, Frankie, walked up and wrapped a long, gangly arm around his fiancee's shoulders. He gave me one of his goofy grins. ”Tomorrow's the big day,” he said. ”So. Tressa. How are you? Are you ready to r...r...rumble?”

”More like tumble,” Dixie offered.

Frankie shook his head. ”No, really. How are you, Tressa?”

I made a face. ”How are you, Tressa? Are you ready, Tressa? Do you have a helmet, Tressa? A living will? Life insurance? Jeesh, guys. Give me a break, would you? What part of 'bike ride' are you missing?”

”Maybe the part where this bike ride goes on despite rain, heat, wind, hail, thunder, and, sometimes lightning, if you're really unlucky. Or that this particular ride historically averages sixty to seventy plus miles a day or four hundred seventy-five miles total,” Dixie observed. ”And, that this bike ride-”

”Thanks for the illuminating information, Ms. Statistician,” I cut her off like a jagged toenail.

”You can't blame us for being...skeptical, Tressa,” Frankie said. ”It's a lofty undertaking.”

”Like getting into the peace officer academy?” I suggested. ”Hmm. Let's go back in time. Back to a time in the not-so-distant past when you aspired to such lofty heights-and where, if memory serves, your beloved and loyal cousin gave you unconditional support-this despite her own sense of er...skepticism.”

To this day, just the memory of Frankie's grim performance on the state public safety academy obstacle course made me wince. The photographic evidence I shot that day? Well, it was enough to give you the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.

”Well, uh, er, since you put it like that,” Frankie stammered.

”Oh, please. You had a calendar made from the pictures you took of Frankie on the obstacle course,” Dixie pointed out.

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