Page 6 of Small Town Sash

Braden nodded, the scent of the java a small comfort. "Staff Sergeant Braden Harding. And I'm here to train with my K9 partner, Dash, not judge...is it evening gowns or swimsuits?"

"Both and talent," Randy added, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "They picked me because they said the media is required to be neutral. I tried to explain to them that all reporters have a natural bias, but George Wallace didn't seem to want to hear it."

"Is that Clipboard man?" Braden asked as he gestured with his head toward the man who was checking a list while talking on his cell phone again.

"Clipboard man?" Randy asked with a chuckle. "That's funny. And yes, that's the mayor's assistant and son, I might add," Randy explained.

"Great. It's looking like I have less and less of a chance of getting out of this." He took a long sip, buying himself a moment.

"Not gonna happen. You're stuck, so you might as well get used to it. Maybe you'll even enjoy it," Randy said in a tone that sounded as if he was trying to convince them both.

"Or maybe it's a colossal waste of time." Braden set the coffee down, a decision brewing.

"Or maybe," an older woman pushed a piece of paper with a checklist toward him, "it's just a few nights. A couple of hours. You can spare that, right?"

"They got you, too, Torrey?" Randy asked with a chuckle.

"Unlike you, Randy, I don't mind helping out the town when they ask," the older woman snapped back with a glare.

"That's because it's job security for you," Randy challenged with a roll of his eyes. "Isn't it required as the town manager's assistant?"

"No, but I'm happy to give my time," she stated with a lift of her chin. "And you two should feel the same."

"Everyone needs to be quiet and listen to the rest of my instructions," George raised his voice as he looked at the bickering judges.

"Didn't realize you cared so much about pageants, George," Randy drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't," George snapped, irritated. "But I do care about keeping the mayor off my back. So can we all play nice?"

"I'm always nice," Torrey said with a sweet smile, patting her notepad against her palm.

"All right then," George sighed, rubbing at his temples. "The girls will come on stage in alphabetical order by their first names. You will mark down your scores in the provided spaces."

"And what are the categories?" Braden glanced at the sheet in front of him, furrowing his brow.

"Swimsuit, evening gown, talent, and final question," George told them.

"Great. Real specific," Braden muttered under his breath.

"Just remember," Torrey leaned over, pointing at a line on the paper. "No score below seven."

"Why not?" Braden looked genuinely confused.

"A seven is basically a zero in the pageant world," she informed him with a knowing look.

"Oh boy," he ran a hand through his black hair. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"More than you know," Randy chuckled from beside him.

"When do we find out who the contestants are?" Braden asked with curiosity.

"Oh, I'm sure it's the regular suspects," Randy jested with a shrug.

"What does that mean?" Braden asked in confusion.

"Just the same pretty girls every time, some new ones here and there, but I bet my eyeteeth that Lily Shomacker and Hadley Wilder will be in the competition," Randy explained with a touch of contempt. "Their stage moms and grandmas are always using their daughters and granddaughters to get attention."

Hadley Wilder. What were the odds that the pretty woman he bumped into at the coffee shop was going to be one of the contestants in the beauty pageant? He wasn't sure if he was ever going to see her again, and now he was going to be around her for dozens of hours because of the pageant. She was a complication he didn't see coming and wasn't sure how he was going to handle.

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