Page 16 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
MeeMaw's signature "hmmm" was neither agreement nor disagreement.
"The restaurant needs someone who'll be there day in and day out," she continued. "Someone reliable. Bethany Sue's got a five-year business plan, projections, everything written out nice and proper."
"And no passion," Hattie countered. "That girl's never flipped a burger that wasn't photographed for her social media."
They moved out of earshot, leaving my stomach knotted like I'd swallowed a green jalapeño. No matter what I did, would MeeMaw ever see me as anything but that stubborn, impatient teenager who didn’t take anything seriously and left town at the first opportunity?
"You okay?" Burke appeared beside me, his voice low. "You look like someone just substituted salt for sugar in your favorite recipe."
I forced a smile. "Just pre-results jitters."
He studied my face, clearly not buying it, but didn't press further. "They're about to close the voting. Want to take a break while they count? Might help take your mind off things."
"Yes, please," I said, untying my apron. "Anywhere but here."
The midway lights were beginning to shine brighter as the afternoon sun softened toward evening. Burke guided me through the throng with a light hand at the small of my back, steering us toward the carnival games area. Barkers called out challenges, the air swirled with the scents of popcorn and caramel, and music blared from speakers mounted on colorful booths.
"Pick your poison," Burke said, gesturing to the row of games. "Ring toss? Balloon darts? The famous Sweetwater Longhorn Lasso toss?"
"Definitely not anything involving water," I laughed. "I've had enough of getting you wet for one day."
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Fair enough."
We ended up at a shooting gallery where metal ducks moved across a backdrop painted to look like a pond. Burke paid the operator and lifted the air rifle with surprising confidence.
"Ranch skills transfer?" I asked as he took aim.
"Something like that," he replied, then fired five shots in quick succession, hitting every target.
The operator's eyebrows shot up. "Well, butter my biscuit, look-y there! We've got a winner! Pick any prize from the top shelf for your lady friend."
Burke glanced at me. "Your choice."
I pointed to an enormous plush armadillo wearing a cowboy hat and boots. The carnival worker handed it over with a flourish, and I hugged the ridiculous thing to my chest.
"He's perfect," I declared. "I'm naming him Clyde."
"Clyde the armadillo," Burke nodded seriously. "It suits him."
For the next half hour, we wandered through the carnival area, trying different games and accumulating an increasingly absurd collection of prizes. Burke won a plastic sheriff's badge at the ring toss, which I immediately pinned to his shirt. I managed to knock over milk bottles and earned a small stuffed longhorn that Burke tucked into his back pocket, its horns sticking out comically.
At the cotton candy stand, Burke insisted on buying us each a cone—blue for him, pink for me. We found a bench near the edge of the midway where the noise dimmed slightly and sat watching the festival unfold around us.
"I overhead MeeMaw talking," I admitted, tearing off a piece of cotton candy and watching it dissolve on my tongue. "She still doesn't think I'll stay."
Burke was quiet for a moment, considering. "What do you think?"
"That's the thing," I sighed. "A month ago, I wasn't sure. But being back here, seeing everyone, working the festival... it feels right in a way Houston never did."
"So what changed?"
I studied the pink fluff in my hand. "Maybe I did. Or maybe I just needed to leave to realize what I'd left behind."
Our gazes locked, and for a moment, I wondered if he could tell I wasn't just talking about Sweetwater. But before I could say anything more, Mayor Davidson's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
"Would all hot sauce contestants please return to the competition area? We're ready to announce who's moving on to tomorrow's finals!"
My heart jumped like grease in a hot skillet. Burke stood and offered me his hand, which I took without thinking. We walked back toward the judging area, my armadillo tucked under one arm and my fingers intertwined with Burke's.
