Shake It Off Page 11

  “We’ll have to tell Wren.” Aunt Beth smiled. “She’s still in her room.” She frowned slightly.

  As if reading our minds, Uncle Troy burst through the creamery door and headed straight for us, waving a piece of paper in his hands. “I have reinforcements! We’re ousting Wren from her barracks. Stat.”

  “Lord,” Aunt Beth muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s gone into marine mode.”

  Uncle Troy slapped the paper onto the counter. “The Omaha River City Rodeo. I picked up the flyer when I was downtown last week, but I forgot about it until today.” He grinned. “If we hustle, we can be there by five tonight. See the show, and then eat downtown afterward. Huh?” He raised an eyebrow at Aunt Beth, his eyes bright. “Huh? Am I good or what?”

  My aunt hesitated. “Troy, you know I love a rodeo, but … we still have so much to do before the Fourth of July Bash. Luke and Gabe have to prep the corn maze with our patriotic trivia signs—and you still have to remember what you did with the red, white, and blue lights left over from last year.”

  “I’ll find them,” Uncle Troy promised. “But Wren loves the rodeo.”

  Aunt Beth gave a tired laugh. “You’re right.”

  “We should go,” I said quickly, before I had a chance to second-guess myself. When I got here, I would have rolled my eyes at the prospect of a rodeo. But now I’d do anything to help lift Wren’s mood. I’d never expected how good it would feel to be part of the farm’s team. “I could even make some coupons real quick to hand out for our new crazy shakes. Maybe a buy one, get one free type of promo for the Fourth of July Bash on Monday?”

  Aunt Beth nodded, looking impressed. “Bria, that’s a great idea.”

  “And I’ve never been to a rodeo, either,” I said then. “It would be … fun.” Oh. My. Gosh. Had I actually just said that? And meant it?

  I had!

  “That’s settled, then.” Uncle Troy checked his watch. “I’ll go tell the boys. I’m sure Gabe will want to come along, too.” My pulse skipped at the mention of his name. “We load up and move out at sixteen hundred sharp.”

  * * *

  I stood outside the bedroom door, debating. Should I just open the door and pretend like everything is normal, like back when Wren hadn’t been in hiding and I didn’t have a huge secret? Knocking politely might be even weirder. Instead, I flung open the door with a bright and cheery “Hey, are you getting read—” I swallowed the last syllable down in shock.

  Wren whirled around to face me, sheepish guilt scrawled on her face. “I was just …” We both glanced at the outfit she had on—a flowy skirt with a bright orange tank top. My outfit. “I was only trying it on,” she said defensively.

  I nodded, trying to stifle my surprise. “It’s fine. I’m not mad.” I slipped into the room, taking in the pile of discarded outfits on Wren’s bed. So, she’d tried on most of my outfits, not just one. Wow. This was a lot more serious than I thought. “If you’re looking for something to wear tonight, you can borrow anything you want.”

  Her guarded expression relaxed a little, and she drooped onto her bed. “I don’t have any skirts and I thought … well, I thought maybe I’d try something different tonight.” Then she mumbled, “Not that he’ll notice anyway …”

  I sat down on the bed beside her, my stomach suddenly flipping with nerves and dread. “Is this about Gabe?” I asked softly.

  She picked at her hem. “I just keep thinking that if I do something different, maybe he’ll see me differently. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll never look at me the way he looks at you …”

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  She nodded, sagging farther into the bed. “Bria. Come on. The way he looks at you, it’s like you’re the only person in the room. Are you telling me that you’ve never noticed?”

  “Wren …” I started, then my voice died as my heart played tug-of-war with my mind. Telling her that Gabe had just asked me to the movies would crush her. And there was no way to gently break the news to her, especially after she’d finally opened up to me. Plus, telling her now would only ruin the night ahead for her. I’d tell her as soon as possible, I promised myself. But not tonight.

  “It’s always hard for me to get a read on Gabe,” I replied carefully. “I’m not ever really sure what he thinks.” This felt dangerously close to a lie, but I forced myself to take a deep breath. “First of all, if you want to try something new, it should be for yourself, not just for a boy. Second of all, any boy would be lucky to date you. You drive tractors and can throw hay bales, and those boots make you look like Katniss Everdeen.”

  “Yeah right.” Wren rolled her eyes at that, but I could see the glimmer of a smile. “Look who’s talking, Miss Fashionista. You look great in every single one of your outfits. I’d just feel like an imposter wearing them.”

  I elbowed her. “That’s ridiculous. I’m the one who doesn’t own a single pair of work boots. On a farm.” She snickered. “See? I’m the imposter.” We laughed, but I could see from her uncertain expression that she still wasn’t convinced.

  “How about this?” I said. “I pick an outfit from my wardrobe for you to wear, and you do the same for me? We can swap styles for the night.”

  Wren snorted. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in any of my clothes again.”

  “I’ve been trying to keep an open mind.” I shrugged.

  “Okay,” she said at last. I grabbed her in a hug, vowing not to let my feelings for Gabe interfere with helping Wren. I hadn’t seen her look this happy all week, and I wasn’t going to ruin that.

  From the dresser, I grabbed the flowered toiletry bag where I kept my nail polish, lip gloss, and shiny eyeshadow creams. I held it open to Wren, proudly displaying the array of brightly colored tubes and bottles. “Welcome to heaven on earth.”

  Wren winced. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “Come on.” I took her by the hand, leading her into the bathroom. “Let’s get our glam on.”

  Everyone was already waiting in Uncle Troy’s Suburban when Wren and I finally emerged from the house.

  “How do you walk in these things?” Wren hissed as she toddled her way down the stone walkway in my wedge sandals.

  “Just own it,” I whispered back. “Think catwalk.”

  “Right now I’m thinking face-plant.”

  After trying on at least a dozen more outfits, she’d decided on one of my favorite maxi dresses in a royal purple color that set off her fair skin, rosy pink lips, and hazel eyes.

  Now I glanced down at the burgundy cowboy boots on my own feet. “I might never give these back. I can’t believe how comfortable they are.”

  “Don’t even think about keeping them,” she said with a teasing glare.

  Uncle Troy hopped out to open the passenger door for us. “Cinderella,” he said with a bow to Wren. “Your carriage awaits.”

  “Dad. Please,” Wren moaned.

  “What? I’m not allowed to be awestruck by my daughter’s beauty?”

  “Not if you don’t want an elbow in your awestruck gut,” Wren warned, but she was laughing as we climbed into the back of the car.

  As soon as Luke and Gabe set eyes on us, they froze, staring.

  “What happened to you?” Luke asked Wren.

  He was promptly answered with a shove and a muttered “Shut up.”

  “She looks amazing,” I scolded as I took a seat in the far back across from Gabe. I could sense him taking in the cowboy hat, the Levis, and the glittery red rhinestone snap-button shirt I was wearing—all borrowed from Wren.

  “What?” I asked finally, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness. “Is the hat too much?” I dared to look at him. His merrily glinting eyes set my insides fluttering.

  “No,” he said, “it suits you. You look … great.”

  I blushed. My eye caught Wren’s as she put on her seat belt. Her smile had suddenly tensed around its edges.

  Uncle Troy bellowed, “All right, troops! Who’s read
y for a rodeo?”

  Aunt Beth whooped, while I asked tentatively, “There won’t be blood, will there?”

  “That’s the best part.” Luke grinned.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Aunt Beth smacked his knee. “Sick.”

  I shot a worried glance at Gabe, who offered me a heartening smile. “Don’t worry. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”

  I gave a small laugh. “That’s exactly what has me worried.”

  I envisioned ten-gallon hats, bloodthirsty bulls, and belt buckles far too big to be fashionable. For Wren, I kept repeating. I’m doing this for Wren. But when I looked down at my rhinestone-clad shirt and cowboy boots, I wondered exactly what I was in for.

  * * *

  The moment I stepped into the bright lights and immense stadium of Omaha’s convention center, I froze.

  “Omigod.” My eyes swept the packed stands of thousands of people, the dirt-filled center arena, and surrounding bull pens. The crowd gave off an excited hum as country music blasted from speakers overhead, and the scents of deep-fried food, hay, and animals mingled. Dozens of bull riders in boots and chaps were standing around the pens, pinning competition numbers to their backs or adjusting their thick leather gloves.

  “I’ve entered a parallel universe,” I said, looking around in amazement. “How is it possible for this many cowboy hats to exist in one place all at once?”

  Beside me, Gabe laughed. “I can practically see the fashion police inside you screaming to get out.”

  “No. Nuh-uh.” I shook my head. “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m just going with it. Taking it all in. Every. Last …” I gaped as a long-legged cowboy with a belt buckle as big as my head brushed by. “Bit of it,” I finished with a squeak.

  Gabe nodded, grinning. “I’m going to enjoy watching this.”

  “Come on, guys.” Luke nudged us impatiently. “Let’s find our seats and then grab some funnel cakes and elephant ears.”

  “Some what and what?” I asked blankly.

  But Luke was already heading up the stadium stairs, taking them two at a time, with Gabe and Uncle Troy following.

  Aunt Beth watched them go, shaking her head. “Bull riding. It turns them positively primal. They’ll be grunting over gravy fries and chili dogs in under five, I guarantee.” Then she turned to Wren and me. “So, you two are set with the coupons?”

  I pulled out the FOURTH OF JULY BASH! BUY ONE SHAKE, GET ONE FREE coupons I’d printed before we left. I’d used one of the best pics Wren had taken of the Smashtastic S’mores shake, and it was eye-popping, if I did say so myself. I tried to hand a stack of coupons to Wren, but she was staring up into the stands, distracted. “Wren?”

  “Oh.” She blinked and took the stack. “Coupons. Right.”

  Aunt Beth looked worried, so I stepped in with a cheerful “We’ll hand them out and then meet you in the stands in a few. We’re good!”

  Once Aunt Beth had started for the seats, I turned to Wren. “You okay?” I asked.

  She only nodded and busied herself with the coupons.

  I did the same, stopping people walking by to hand them a coupon, making sure I dropped the Dawson’s Creamery name as I did. I’d handed out dozens of coupons when I spotted an older man and woman walking by wearing press badges clipped to their shirts. The woman had an impressively large camera hung around her neck. I grabbed Wren’s arm as adrenaline surged through me.

  “Look!” I hissed in her ear. “A reporter and photographer for the Omaha Gazette!”

  Wren shrugged. “So?”

  I stared at her. “So if we can get them to come out to the creamery, maybe the reporter will write up something about our new crazy shakes!”

  I yanked Wren toward the reporter with such force that we nearly slammed into him.

  “Hi, Mr….” I sneak peeked at his press badge to get his name and got even more excited when I saw that his title was FOOD EDITOR. “Mr. Gilford.” I beamed up at him. “My name is Bria Muller and this is my cousin Wren Dawson. Wren’s family owns Dawson’s Dairy and Creamery in Tillman, Iowa, and we’re handing out coupons for our crazy shakes. Buy one, get one free!”

  “I see.” Mr. Gilford glanced down at the coupon with a smile. “Young entrepreneurs, eh? I don’t hear of many family-owned-and-operated farms anymore these days. They’re a rare treasure. And I do like milkshakes.”

  “We have the best,” I said confidently, even as I felt Wren shift on her feet beside me.

  “Do you, now?” He laughed good-naturedly as the photographer busily snapped pics of some people in the crowd eating corn dogs and cotton candy. “Well, right now I’ve got to go taste test some of this rodeo food, but it sounds like I’ll have to get out to Tillman to try one of your crazy shakes sometime.”

  “We hope you will!” I called after Mr. Gilford as he moved through the crowd. He waved a final goodbye in return.

  “That was so great!” I gushed, but Wren shrugged. Frustrated with her, I focused on handing out the rest of our coupons.

  “I’ll bet we have a whole new group of customers coming into the creamery for the Fourth of July,” I said when we were finished and heading to our seats. Wren didn’t answer, but Gabe and Luke hopped up to let us sit.

  Luke plopped back down beside Wren, leaving me with the seat next to Gabe. Part of me wanted to offer the seat to Wren, but another part of me wanted to take it for myself. As I waffled over my decision, Wren gave me a fierce look and blurted, “Sit down, already, Bria!”

  I sat, feeling a guilty pleasure when Gabe smiled at me. “Hey,” he whispered. “How did it go with the coupons?”

  It couldn’t hurt just to talk to Gabe, right? “We gave away the whole stack,” I said. I filled him in on our encounter with the reporter, too. “I think we really got the word out.”

  “Awesome.” Gabe held a paper plate out toward me. I peeked under the piece of parchment paper and found a waffle-like fried pastry doused in powdered sugar. “Your first funnel cake,” he explained with a smile.

  “I’m a little afraid.” I stared at the mountains of powdered sugar. “How do you even eat something like this?”

  “Observe.” Gabe pulled off a chunk of the pastry and, with powdered sugar showering onto his jeans and shirt, sank his teeth into it.

  “Okay, here goes.” I pulled an even bigger piece from the pastry and bit into it. It was fried golden crispy on the outside and filled with sweet, chewy doughiness on the inside. “Yum,” I said around my mouthful, only getting more sugar across my shirt. We both laughed as I tried futilely to brush it off. “This is unbelievably good.”

  “A shake in the making?” he asked.

  “Definitely. Maybe … The Fantastic Funnel?”

  “I like it.” He pointed toward the arena below, where a cowboy-hat-wearing rider was standing poised over an enormous, restless bull, his feet perched on either side of the pen’s railings. “See that rider in the bull chute? Keep your eye on him. He’s getting ready to ride. He has to stay on for eight seconds.”

  “Only eight seconds?” I asked. “That’s not very long.”

  “When you’re riding a beast like that, it feels like an eternity. At least, that’s what my dad says.” Gabe kept his eyes on the arena. “He still misses riding.”

  “Even though it almost killed him?”

  He nodded. “The danger of it is part of the thrill. He’s actually here tonight.” Gabe pointed toward a group of people standing just beyond the arena gates. “There he is. He’s the on-site doctor for tonight’s rodeo. Whenever there’s a rodeo nearby, he volunteers. It’s his way of keeping his hat in the ring.”

  “I didn’t know your dad would be here!” I peered down at the people until I picked out a man in a Stetson hat who was the spitting image of Gabe, only decades older and darker skinned. “I’d love to meet him.”

  Gabe smiled. “I’d like that, too. We can say hi after the show.”

  I nodded, then perched on the edge of my seat, watching as the ride
r cautiously sat down on the bull and strapped one hand tightly around the rope on the animal’s back. The moment the rider made contact with the bull, the bull lifted his head, alert and agitated. Then, after a nod from the rider, the gate slid open, and the bull shot from the chute, bucking and spinning, his back legs kicking out behind him violently.

  The bull spun faster and faster and the rider slid to one side, and then suddenly fell, landing underneath the raging bull.

  I sucked in my breath and closed my eyes, instinctively turning to hide my face, and inadvertently pressing into Gabe’s shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over,” I said as the crowd around us gave a collective gasp.

  A few seconds later, Gabe whispered into my ear, “It’s over.”

  I realized his arm had somehow made its way around me, warm and strong. I peeked through my fingers into the arena, where I saw the rider standing and brushing himself off as the bull trotted back into the holding pen.

  I straightened. My heart was racing. Gabe’s arm slipped away, and we both sat stone still, avoiding each other’s gaze.

  Another rider settled himself on a bull in the chute. I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch, but I had to. I gripped my seat and held my breath as the bull and rider did battle in the arena. This time, instead of hiding my face, I cheered the rider on and leapt from my seat to clap madly when the bell clanged to signal the end of a successful eight-second ride.

  Soon, I’d eaten my way through three funnel cakes and was enjoying the rest of the show. Bull riding, as it turned out, was only a portion of the night’s events. There was barrel racing, where people guided horses at impossible speeds around big blue barrels, and cattle roping, where people swung lassoes at cows and wrangled them to the ground. I was sure Leila would think it was all completely barbaric, but I found it thrilling. By the time we left the arena after the show ended, I was pulsing with adrenaline and energy.

  “That … was insane!” I gushed as we walked through the twinkling lights and cobblestone streets of Omaha’s Old Market historic district. “I mean, that bull just flung him around like he was a rag doll. Did you see? And, omigod, the way he hung on …”