I Only Have Pies for You, page 2
Zari shook her head. “Just promise not to freak out, okay?”
I nodded impatiently.
She took a deep breath, then let the words fly in a furious tumble. “ChaytonFreedellisbackintown.”
I blinked. My heart tripped. “I didn’t hear you right. Chayton Freedell is … back?” I hadn’t said that name in two years, and it tasted bitter on my tongue.
“He is,” Zari squeaked.
“What?” I shrieked, and Mrs. Beaumont dropped her knitting to clutch her chest.
“Everything’s fine,” Zari reassured everyone, then lowered her voice at me. “Breathe. I know you said you never wanted to see him again, but don’t go Hulk on me.”
I pressed my palms into the table. “Don’t you remember what he did to me?” I hissed.
“The parade disaster?” Zari scoffed. “Of course I do. I was the one who spent hours helping you wash the pie out of your hair.”
I shuddered at the memory. When I was ten, Chayton Freedell and I had ridden our horses side by side in the Bonnet County Fair parade. Only Chayton started fooling around, like he always did, snagging people’s hats off their heads, lying across the back of his horse and pretending to slide off. I told him to quit, but did he listen? Nooooooo. Course not. Instead, he spooked my Ginger until she bucked me off. I flew through the air and crashed into the Pies N’ Prattle booth, right atop the fifty huckleberry pies stacked sky-high for the fair’s pie-eating contest.
“He did apologize,” Zari reminded me gently.
“It wasn’t a real apology!” I remembered the tightness in Chayton’s voice, like he was trying to keep from busting up laughing, which he’d been doing only a minute before, along with most of the population of Bonnet.
“Dacey, it was two years ago. You’ve changed a lot since then. He probably has, too.”
“Not enough.” It wasn’t just about the pie fiasco; it was everything else that had led up to it, too. Chayton sat next to me in every class from kindergarten on, whispering knock-knock jokes and drawing cartoons he thrust in my face, whether I asked to see them or not. We were neck and neck for our grades in every subject. Somehow, he always ended up doing book reports on the same book as me, studying the same battle for every social studies project, and even tying me for second place in the spelling bee. The epic horse/pie disaster had been the last straw. When he’d moved away, I told myself I’d never have to speak to him again.
I dropped my head to the table, my anger fizzling into dismay. “Why is he back?” I groaned.
“Um, did you forget his grandpa lives here?”
“No,” I said grudgingly. I just didn’t like to think about the fact that Mr. Jenkins was related to Chayton at all.
“And you like Mr. Jenkins.”
“Because Mr. Jenkins isn’t anything like Chayton!” I looked up at Zari and frowned. “Irritating, show-off, know-it-all—”
“Generosity of spirit, Dace,” Mom interjected, coming over. “What’s this about now?”
“Good news for Bonnet, actually, Miss Edie,” Zari chirped. “Do you remember Julip Freedell?” Mom nodded, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Chayton’s mom was now famous as the host of the über-popular cooking and lifestyle show Prairie Living. Julip traveled all over Texas scouting for obscure craft ideas, antiques, and recipes.
“I just saw Mrs. Freedell at the middle school,” Zari explained. “She was registering Chayton for classes. She’s come back to Bonnet to film a special ‘Homecoming’ episode of her show. It’s going to feature the Bonnet County Fair and pie-eating contest!”
“Well.” If it were possible for Mom to look even cheerier than usual (which was a tall order, believe me), she did. “I’d call that news better than good. Julip’s show might breathe some life back into Bonnet, and bring in some fresh customers.”
“And save us from boredom,” Zari put in. “Newcomers mean intrigue and scandals and—”
“Trouble,” I grumbled.
Zari shook her head at me. “It’ll be fine. You’ll hardly notice Chayton’s back at all.”
All I could picture was my ten-year-old self, covered head to toe in huckleberry pie. I cringed. Hardly notice the return of my archnemesis? Not a chance.
The next morning, I reached the Jenkins ranch as the sun rose. First light streamed through the windows of the stable as I moved from stall to stall, saying good morning to each horse. Mr. Jenkins stuck his head around the door of his ranch office.
“I swear you could tell me what each one of them is thinking,” he said with gruff admiration.
“Well,” I began, taking on the challenge, “Butterscotch has asked for an extra helping of oats in her feed pail. Pepper would like a thorough mane and tail brushing.” I added in a whisper, “He’s hoping to impress the new mare.” Mr. Jenkins smiled. “And Caboose, here,” I said, stroking the oldest of the bunch on his wrinkled muzzle, “is wishing he still had his handsome teeth.”
A rumbling chuckle burst from Mr. Jenkins, and he turned away with a wave. “Ah, go on, Dacey! Soon you’ll have me believing it!”
“It’s all true!” I called after him as I made my way to Ginger’s stall. “Every word! Isn’t it, girl?” I nuzzled Ginger’s nose with my own, my heart warming. “You know, don’t you?”
I swear, she did. I could see the understanding in the pools of her eyes. I breathed in, relishing the sweet scent of hay and warm horse—my favorite smells in the entire world. Then I set to work, brushing Ginger until her russet coat gleamed velvet, and saddling her for our ride, feeling a quiet joy stealing over me. I loved my Saturday mornings at the stables, and Ginger looked forward to our long rides as much as I did.
Right now, she was nuzzling my palm impatiently as I adjusted the length of a stirrup, making me lose my grip on the strap.
“I know, I know.” I smiled. “I’m hurrying.” She stamped her right front hoof against the straw-strewn floor, whinnying, and I laughed. “Don’t get sore at me. It’s Zari who’s the late one.”
I glanced at my phone as I led Ginger from her stall into the stable yard: 6:32 a.m. Zari should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago, saddling up the Jenkinses’ horse Pepper. We got to the stables before dawn every Saturday to ride. That gave us two hours on the trails before I had to open Pies N’ Prattle with Mom at nine o’clock.
I texted Zari a WHERE R U? and seconds later got back a yawning emoji face followed by: SNOOZING IT. C U L8TR.
I rolled my eyes at Ginger. “Zari overslept again.” I ruffled her forelock. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
I put on my riding helmet and mounted Ginger, smiling as I slid into the saddle with the second nature of having done it a thousand times before. Even without Zari riding Pepper beside me, nothing could dampen my mood. I handled Ginger with a confidence I never felt in the kitchen. It was under the wide expanse of Texas sky, with its whipped-cream clouds, cantering Ginger through the golden prairie, that I felt most myself.
I urged Ginger on faster, nudging her with my heels and feeling her excitement as we broke from a canter into a full gallop, racing past the Jenkinses’ longhorns grazing in the fields toward the grove of oaks, walnuts, and elms that marked the edge of the Brazos River.
I slowed Ginger to a walk, steering her toward a serene trail that wound along the water to an old abandoned railroad trestle. We moved under the shade of the live oaks, then started down the embankment toward the water.
Once we were on the flat ground beside the burbling river, I loosened my grip on the reins, lying back in the saddle until I was almost horizontal, taking in the speckling of sky and green branches overhead. Ginger knew this trail as well as I did, and I closed my eyes, knowing she’d lead the way, sure and steady as always.
Suddenly, though, she jerked to a stop, jolting me until I nearly slid sideways out of the saddle. “Easy, girl!” I soothed Ginger, who was tense and wary, as I scrambled to grab the reins and right myself.
There was a horse blocking the trail, snorting and prancing, looking like he might rise up on his hind legs any second. I recognized him as Flash—the Jenkinses’ newest gelding, unbroken and feisty enough to throw anybody who showed even the slightest hint of fear. Horses are like that—they know weak riders from strong ones.
This rider, though—a boy about my age, wearing a Stetson hat—wasn’t shirking at Flash’s tantrum. A laugh broke from him, confident and rascally. I could only make out his silhouette against the morning light.
“Your horse shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” came his teasing voice.
“My horse!” I stiffened. “Your horse spooked mine! You’ve no business being on this trail with an unbroken horse. It’s not safe. He’s completely unpredictable.”
“Not when I’m riding him,” the boy replied. “And there’s room for two horses on this trail, if they’re going the same direction.”
I started to argue, but I knew what he said was true. Zari and I rode this trail together all the time. Only I didn’t want to admit it to this stranger. His brashness had me on the defensive.
“I’m not.” I prodded Ginger to get her to step around Flash. “I’m going the other way.”
“Of course you are.” He laughed again. “You always go your own way, Dacey Culpepper Biel.”
I froze, staring at him. How did he know my name? I opened my mouth to ask, but then he swept his hat from his head. I caught my breath. Espresso eyes were set in an angular bronze face under thick, jet black brows. His black hair fell to his chin in disheveled waves. He had a rugged cuteness, but something about his face nagged at me. He looked familiar. “Who … ?”
“You don’t remember?” He grinned. “It’s me. Chayton.”
My heart plunged to my toes as my memory of the ten-year-old Chayton meshed with the twelve-year-old boy before me. My expression must have revealed my dismay because Chayton gave a wry nod.
“Yup, it’s me. The boy you swore you never wanted to set eyes on again as long as you lived.”
My fist tightened around Ginger’s reins. “I was covered head to toe in purple pie filling at the time.”
His eyes glinted maddeningly. “Hey, purple is your color.”
I frowned. “And your teasing is just as badly timed as always.”
“Aw, come on. You can’t still be angry about that, can you? Two years is too long to hold a grudge.”
“Not if it’s justified,” I muttered.
Chayton shook his head. “You never could admit to being wrong, Dace,” he said softly.
“What?” I glared at him, every muscle in my body tensing. “You don’t even kn—” I swallowed down the rest, knowing it was pointless to argue. But I got even madder when I caught Chayton’s amused expression, as if he thought my indignation was great entertainment. I whipped Ginger around in the direction of the stables. “I’m heading back.”
“Don’t leave on my account.” Chayton urged Flash past us, setting his hat back on his head. “I ran Flash hard already. I’ll go. You stay.” He tipped his hat to me, a gentlemanly gesture I was sure he’d learned from his grandpa. “Good to see you, Dace.”
That last part he said quieter, and some of the mischievous glint left his eyes, replaced with—what? Regret? No. It wasn’t possible. Not with Chayton. Still, my face flushed, and I was glad he’d spurred Flash into a gallop and wouldn’t notice.
Ginger craned her neck to watch Flash and Chayton until they disappeared from view. Then she gave me a pointed look and snorted.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I avoided her gaze as I walked her farther down the trail. “He started it.” I blew out a breath. “I knew this was going to happen. That the second I saw him, he’d do something to annoy me.”
I wished that Ginger was capable of nodding in agreement. But then I wasn’t sure she would, even if she could. Animals—especially horses—were the best listeners, but I had a sneaking suspicion they harbored plenty of opinions of their own. Ginger was my sounding board, but also, sometimes, my conscience. Now, she simply steadied her gaze on the river bend. We rode in silence and, listening to the burbling water and the distant lowing of cattle, I settled into calm again.
I stared out at the river—beautiful to me even in its muddied olive color. Okay, maybe it was a lot to hold a two-year grudge. But seeing Chayton again had brought back the embarrassment I’d felt all those years ago, and that wasn’t an easy thing to shake.
I knew what Zari would say if she were here. No doubt I’d hear it later when I told her what had happened. “You’re not going to be able to avoid him completely,” or “Maybe he just wants to be friends.”
It was true; I’d have to see Chayton at school. But I didn’t need any more friends. I was good, just the way things were. I clicked my tongue and swung Ginger away and up the riverbank and into the flat prairie grass. I was done thinking about it.
“Come on, girl.” I nudged Ginger into a gallop. “Let’s break it wide open.”
Ginger’s head dropped, her neck and legs pumping as she gave a great burst of speed. I laughed, exhilarated, as we tore through the field, and the wind whipped away every trace of Chayton Freedell.
When I reached Pies N’ Prattle, I saw Dad’s bicycle leaning against the shop’s porch. I smiled. Most Saturdays, Dad held morning hours at his Paws and Claws veterinary clinic. Because he owned his own business, like Mom, he worked hard, but while Mom always took her work with her—giving advice and/or pies to clients when she ran into them at the grocery store or the salon—Dad was better about leaving his work at the clinic.
When Dad didn’t have any morning clients I’d find him in the pie shop, helping Mom in the back or, if business was slow like it had been recently, doing the Sudoku puzzle in the Bonnet Times. I loved having his laid-back presence there, especially if it meant I could challenge him to a game of rummy instead of baking pies.
“Hey, Honeybee.” Dad grinned at me over his reading glasses as I entered the shop.
“Hey!” I said.
I stepped toward him—then stopped when a sticky-sweet voice crooned, “Why, Dacey Culpepper Biel. You’ve shot up two feet since I last set eyes on you! And what luscious hair!”
I turned to see Julip Freedell beaming at me from the couch where she was sitting beside Mom. From her flawlessly matched tunic and capri pants to her sleek chignon, Chayton’s mom looked every bit the TV star she was. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Freedell,” I offered quickly and politely, hoping that was all that would be needed for me to escape to my dad.
“I was just chatting with your mom about the Bonnet County Fair. It’s going to be the best fair yet,” Julip gushed. “It’ll take work, of course. Some banners and white twinkle lights for Main Street.” She tapped a fingernail against her glossy lips and consulted a quilted floral-patterned planner in her lap. “This fairy godmother’s going to need a whole lot of mice to make over this pumpkin patch. But we can do it!”
Mom smiled indulgently. “It will be wonderful for Bonnet,” she said.
“What would be even more wonderful”—Julip leaned toward Mom—“is if that Heartstring Pie recipe could be found in time for the fair. Folks would come here in droves for a taste of it. And I—I mean, we—could stream the entire experience live. The ratings would be through the roof.”
Mom’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “Now that would take magic.”
“Magic—bah!” Julip dismissed the idea with a crinkle of her nose. “It takes digging and research is all. I’ve got people working on it already.”
I felt a tug of unease in my gut. “Working on finding the recipe?” I asked.
She smiled. “Of course! The Bonnet library’s archives are a rat’s nest, but I’ve got a Prairie Living historian combing through them right now. We’re bound to find something …” She began humming a jaunty tune, then registered Mom’s silence and added, “Of course I’ll share anything we find with you, Edie. Right away.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mom said flatly, her expression troubled. “But, in all honesty, I’ve never been completely sure GG Hazel wanted that recipe found.”
“Well. I doubt she would’ve said ‘no’ to the fortune it could make this shop today, when you need it most.” Julip pressed her hand over Mom’s. “Savvy businesswomen know when to seize profitable opportunities, don’t they?”
I frowned, and Mom caught sight of it and sent me a warning look. Then the shop’s front bell dinged and in came Mrs. Gonzalez with the crying Marco.
Mom stood. “Julip, I have to go.”
“So do I!” Julip scooped up her planner. “Off to Joe’s Hardware for paint samples.” She blew a kiss to Mom and breezed out the door before she registered my grimace.
I collapsed into a chair beside Dad. “Seriously?” I grumbled. “Julip Freedell hasn’t set foot in this town in two years. She doesn’t care about our business. She cares about entertaining her audience!”
Mom glanced at us as she scooped Marco from Mrs. Gonzalez’s arms.
“That’s not fair, Dace.” Mom swayed as she patted Marco’s back. “Julip left Bonnet not long after she divorced Chayton’s dad. She needed a job to help take care of Chayton. Chayton’s grandpa wanted her to move back to the ranch, but he and Julip didn’t see eye to eye. They haven’t been on speaking terms, but now they’re trying to start fresh for Chayton’s sake.”
“Oh.” Some of my annoyance dimmed. “I didn’t know that.”
Dad leaned toward me, whispering, “Haven’t I always told you? Best never to start a debate with your mother. She could argue an owl out of a tree.”
“Heard that!” Mom called playfully from the other side of the room.
Dad jerked his thumb in her direction, his eyebrows lifted.
“Saw that, too!” Mom said, although her back was to us.
Dad chuckled. “There’s no reckoning with Culpepper women. They’re a force.”
Mom handed a calmer Marco back to Mrs. Gonzalez, then walked over to Dad and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Wiser words were never spoken, my love.”
