Page 11 of Small Town Sash

"Contestant number eleven," whispered Randy to the other judges, scribbling something on a notepad. "Pageant robot," the newspaper owner muttered under his breath.

Braden watched Hadley's curvy frame pivot at the end of the runway. She was all poise and grace, yet something about her felt off. The words didn't seem to match the person he glimpsed during those unguarded moments between poses or his previous private interactions with her.

"Braden?" Randy nudged him. "You're zoning out, man."

"Sorry," he said quickly, snapping back to reality. He couldn't afford distractions; after all, he was here to be impartial. As he watched Hadley, a nagging curiosity began to itch at the back of his mind.

"Hey, you think there's more to Miss Wilder than the tiara twirl?" Braden asked, half-jokingly, hoping for an ally in his growing suspicion.

"More than meets the eye? It's a beauty pageant, Harding, not a mystery novel," Randy chuckled, shaking his head.

Braden wasn't convinced. As Hadley took her place center stage and began delivering her speech to the empty auditorium, he leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the real person behind the pageantry. Her voice rose and fell with well-rehearsed inflections, yet each word seemed to hang heavy in the air like they were borrowed or staged.

"Doesn't it get tiring?" Braden said aloud, although more to himself than anyone else.

"What's that?" Torrey questioned beside him with a raised eyebrow.

"Never mind," Braden replied, pushing away from the table. He watched as Hadley's peach-colored skin flushed slightly with the effort of her recitation, her practiced smile unwavering.

"Beautiful, sure. But I bet she's got more grit than glitter underneath," he murmured, imagining her tackling challenges with the same determination someone like him would admire. Someone who valued the guts and glory of search and rescue over the gloss of superficial accolades.

"Maybe," the skeptical Randy conceded, following his gaze. "Or maybe she's just really good at winning crowns, and that's her only skill set."

Or maybe we've never really heard her, just the echoes of what's expected, Braden countered in his head, his brown eyes fixed on Hadley as she finished her speech. The judges clapped politely.

"Then again," he added with a smirk, "what do I know? I'm just a guy who searches for bombs with a dog."

"Right," Randy laughed. "Let's stick to judging, Sergeant Harding. Leave the psychoanalysis to the professionals."

"Fair enough," Braden conceded with a grin, though his attention remained locked on Hadley Wilder—the beauty queen who might just have the heart of a warrior if anyone would give her a chance to prove it.

A little while later, Braden leaned against the auditorium wall, his arms crossed, as he watched the contestants disperse from the stage after the final hour of the grueling practice session. His gaze followed Hadley, noting the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly the moment she thought no one was watching. The façade of perfection slipped, and for a fleeting second, he saw a glimmer of the real Hadley Wilder.

"Hey, Hadley," Braden called out, pushing off the wall.

She turned, her blue eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, hi, Braden. You're still hanging around here?"

"Seems like it," he replied, taking a few steps closer. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said cautiously, smoothing down her blue dress.

"Back there, on stage..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Why did you say what you said?"

Hadley blinked, her practiced smile faltering. "What do you mean?"

"Your speech," he pressed gently. "It's polished, perfect. Exactly what most judges would want to hear, but do they come from you? Your own thoughts, dreams?"

"Uh..." She looked taken aback, her black hair falling over her shoulder as she tilted her head. "No, not...not exactly. My mother plans them out for me."

"Ah." He nodded, though he felt a twinge of disappointment. "Doesn't it ever feel like you want to share your own story?"

Hadley's eyes darted away, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features before she composed herself. "It's just how these things go, you know? Winning is what matters in the end."

"Is it?" Braden asked softly. He wanted to nudge her, to see that spark of authentic passion he suspected was buried deep within.

Braden leaned against the backstage wall, arms still folded, a half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But wouldn't it be better if it was, I don't know, natural? Something that came from your heart?"

Hadley's gaze flitted across the room before settling back on him. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sash, the white fabric contrasting sharply against her blue dress. "Natural doesn't win pageants," she said with a rehearsed precision. "The speeches my mom writes...they work. That's all that matters."

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