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“On the contrary.” They were likable kids, and seeing the rodeo and other festivities through their eyes had been a bonus.
“I’ll get my purse so you can buy your lunch,” Nell told her children.
“That’s all right, Mom,” Emma said. “Travis already fed us.”
Nell’s gaze briefly met his.
“We didn’t ask,” Jeremy added, apparently recognizing the look in his mother’s eyes.
“It was the least I could do,” Travis said, not understanding why she’d be disturbed about something so minor.
“My children and I pay our own way, Mr. Grant,” she said before he could say anything else.
“It was my pleasure, Nell—honestly. Without Jeremy and Emma, I would’ve been lost.” Both kids had taken delight in tutoring him in each of the rodeo events. They’d also shared tidbits about the community and its traditions, and the education he’d gained had been well worth the price of a couple of hamburgers and ice-cream bars.
“When are the judges going to be here?” Emma asked.
Nell glanced at her watch. “Not for another hour.”
“You’re gonna win,” Jeremy said with confidence.
“I’m crossing my fingers for you, Mom.” Emma held up both hands to show her.
“Good luck,” Travis tossed in.
“We’re headed for the carnival now,” Jeremy said. “I promise I won’t spend all my allowance.”
Nell nodded and glanced at Travis. “Listen, everyone, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier. I guess I’m more nervous than I realized about this contest.”
“That’s all right, Mom.”
“No apology necessary,” Travis said, thinking it was unusual these days to find anyone willing to apologize. It was a sign of maturity and inner strength, and he admired her for it. In fact, there seemed to be quite a bit to admire about Nell Bishop….
“Have fun at the carnival,” she said, stirring her chili.
“We will.”
“If they don’t mind, I’ll tag along just for the fun of it,” Travis said to Nell. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on a Ferris wheel—probably when he was younger than these two; and maybe he could convince Jeremy and Emma to go on it with him.
He’d never spent much time around kids, although his books were geared to them. Life was full of ironies such as this, he reflected. Valerie used to say he related to children because he’d never grown up himself, and he supposed it was true. She’d meant it as an insult, but Travis had considered it a compliment.
They had a wonderful afternoon on the midway, and he loved every minute. He let Jeremy and Emma spend part of their allowance, but he paid for most of the rides. They went on the octopus, a ride he remembered from his boyhood, and Emma covered her eyes, screamed the entire time, then insisted they do it again.
“Don’t spend all your money on us,” Emma said when he bought them each a huge cotton candy.
Travis was half-tempted to say there was plenty more where that came from, but decided it would be a crass comment. “Don’t worry…” he began.
“Be happy,” Jeremy completed for him.
“Right,” Travis said and chuckled. He enjoyed children, always had. That was one reason he’d chosen to write for the age group he did. His overwhelming success had surprised even him.
“In that case, could I have some popcorn, too?” Emma asked.
Laughter bubbled up inside him. Both of these children were forthright and honest, hardworking and appreciative—and they had a sense of humor. It would be unfair to compare them to children in New York, since he knew so few, but he was sure these two were special. As special as their mother.
“Have you met Dovie?” Emma asked a short while later between mouthfuls of popcorn.
Dovie—not dove. A name. “No, I haven’t.”
“You gotta meet Dovie,” Jeremy said, directing him away from the carnival rides.
They led him to a large booth set up close to the chili cook-off area. A friendly, slightly rotund, older woman stood in front of a colorful patchwork quilt.
“Hi, Dovie,” Jeremy said.
“Hi, Dovie,” Emma echoed.
“Hello, Dovie.” Travis figured he didn’t want to be left out.
Dovie looked at him and blinked, as if she was afraid she should’ve recognized him and hadn’t. Jeremy and Emma burst out laughing.
“This is Travis,” Emma said and reached for his hand. It was an innocent gesture, but it tugged at his heart.
“He’s staying at the ranch,” Jeremy added.
“From what I hear, I’m the first paying guest,” Travis explained.
“Pleased to meet you,” Dovie said, holding out her hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m wondering if I could interest you in a raffle ticket for this fine quilt.”
“Of course.” Travis reached for his wallet.
“The Dorcas Group at church is raffling it off to raise money for missions.”
“How much?”
“A dollar each, or six for five dollars.”
Travis pulled a ten from his wallet. “Give me twelve tickets.”
Dovie flashed him an appreciative smile.
“He’s a good guy,” Jeremy said proudly.
“I like him, too,” Emma added.
Travis tucked the ticket stubs securely into his hip pocket and wished Dovie luck with the quilt.
“Thank you. How long will you be in town?” she asked.
It’d been a common question all day. “I’m not sure yet.”
“I hope you enjoy yourself.”
Emma took his hand again. “You ready?” she asked. “For the chili judging?”
“Sure,” he returned.
“Is it time?” Jeremy asked.
Emma nodded.
A crowd had gathered around the chili cook-off area and the judges, five of them, stepped forward to do their taste tests. The samples were numbered so it was impossible to tell who had cooked which chili.
“That’s Ellie Patterson,” Jeremy whispered. “She owns the local feed store.” A pretty brunette sampled the first taste and nodded in approval.
“I hope that was Mom’s,” Emma said.
So did Travis. The taste she’d given him the day before was fabulous and nothing like any chili he’d tasted before. He’d accidentally discovered her secret ingredient was beer but had been sworn to secrecy.
In his short visit he’d learned quite a bit about Texas chili, which was different from anything he’d tasted in New York City or on his previous travels. In Texas the chili was thick with meat and spices and it wasn’t made with beans.
“That’s Mr. Jordan,” Jeremy said, identifying the next judge. “He owns the Western-wear shop.”
Someone called Billy D, owner of the local tavern, and Adam Braunfels, a restaurateur, tasted next.
The last one to try the chili samples was a large rancher type.
“Who’s that?” Travis asked.
“Pastor McMillen,” Jeremy whispered back.
That surprised Travis. The man looked like he’d be more comfortable on a horse than in a pulpit.
After all the judges had sampled the entries, they cast their votes. The crowd grew quiet with anticipation as the town sheriff, Frank Hennessey, stepped forward with the results of the voting.
Emma stood next to Travis with her eyes tightly shut, her hands raised and fingers crossed.
Sheriff Hennessey cleared his throat. “It was a difficult decision this year, but it appears that one entry stood out as the most flavorful. The voting is unanimous. The winner is—” the faint sound of a drumroll could be heard in the background “—number five.”
Travis frowned, not knowing who the winner was until he noticed Nell. She stood there as though in a daze.
“Nell Bishop,” Frank Hennessey shouted cheerfully as a stunned Nell moved slowly toward the microphone. “It gives me a great deal of pleasure to present you with this check in the amount of five hundred dollars.”
Nell might be in shock, but Travis noticed that she snapped out of her stupor fast enough when it came to reaching for the check. The crowd loved it.
Following the competition, spoonfuls of chili, dished up in small paper cups, were left for the crowd to taste. People surged toward the table that held the samples labeled “number five.”
“Yay, Mom!” Emma said, rushing forward and hugging her mother.
“This is really cool,” Jeremy said. He exchanged a high five with his mother.
Travis barely knew Nell Bishop, but he was as thrilled that she’d won the cook-off as if the success had been his own.
NELL WAS EXHAUSTED. Exhilarated but exhausted. Adam Braunfels, one of the judges and the owner of the Chili Pepper, the best restaurant in town, pulled her aside when the competition was over. He told Nell her chili was the best he’d ever tasted and that he’d like to talk with her later about the possibility of buying her recipe. He wanted to serve it in his restaurant. Nell could hardly believe her ears.
Following their conversation, Adam handed her a ticket for a free meal and suggested she stop off at his booth for dinner. Nell sat at one of the picnic tables at the far end of the rodeo grounds and savored a barbecued-beef sandwich and a heaping cup of coleslaw. It was the first time she’d eaten all day; she’d simply been too nervous before.
Jeremy and Emma were with their grandmother, who’d taken them home. The kids had chattered incessantly about Travis Grant. Apparently he’d shown them the time of their lives and they sang his praises to all who’d listen.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Her thoughts seemed to have conjured up the man. Travis stood directly across the table from her, holding a cup of coffee.
“Please.” Nell gestured toward a chair, and Travis sat down.
“Congratulations again,” he said.
“Thank you.” She was dying to tell someone about her conversation with Adam Braunfels, but held her tongue. Nothing was definite, and she didn’t want to say anything until the details were settled.
“From what I understand, I owe you a debt of thanks,” Nell said. “The kids told me this was the best rodeo of their lives, and all because of you.”
“I was just about to thank you for sharing them with me. They’re terrific kids, Nell.”
“I think so, too.”
She pushed aside the rest of her dinner and reached for her coffee. After being on her feet all day, she was grateful to be sitting. “Ruth drove them home,” she said unnecessarily. She’d stayed to clean up the kitchen area and talk to Adam, but was so relaxed now she wasn’t sure she’d find the energy to move.
“I heard someone say Willie Nelson was coming for the dance later,” Travis mentioned.
“Don’t believe it.” Nell hated to be the one to disillusion him. “This is Willie Nelson country. We love him, and we send him an invitation to a picnic in his honor every single year.”
“He’s never come?”
“No, but then, we don’t really expect he will. He’s got bigger and better places to perform. We understand that and love him, anyway.” Whether or not Willie showed, the people of Promise would continue to enjoy his music. Willie Nelson represented everything they loved about country music.
“Tired?” Travis asked.
“A little.” An understatement if there ever was one.
“Too tired to dance?”
It took a moment to understand the question. Travis Grant was asking her to dance with him. She stared at him, unsure how to respond. It was kind of him, offering to be her partner. With anyone else she would have found an immediate excuse to decline. Not with Travis. For one crazy moment she actually considered it.
“Thank you, but no,” she finally said.
If she’d disappointed him, Travis didn’t let on.
Nell checked her watch, thinking it was time—past time really—to head home. The band, a popular local group, was playing in the background. The stage wasn’t in sight, but well within listening range.
