Page 14 of Holden: Bucked By Love (Crawford Ridge Ranch #1)

I look to where Leni is beaming, waving at friends and neighbors and giggling as they make faces at her. Leni thought this would be a good idea, and I always went along with her ideas because they mostly turned out to be fun.

"I've never eaten an entire pie," Leni laughs. "Do you think they'll give us aprons or something to protect our clothes?"

I don't care about my clothes right now. I care about getting off this stage with one ounce of my dignity intact.

At my silence, Leni looks over at me and frowns. "You all right?"

"This was a bad idea," I mutter, trying to keep my face from slipping into a horrified expression when I know so many people are watching.

Her frown deepens. "Then why did you agree to do it?"

I breathe in deeply. "Because it's on the list."

"You don't have to do the list, you know. We can tell the kids we tried, but it didn't pan out." She crosses her arms and her eyes slit, and I know I've ticked her off again.

Does she honestly not remember this about me?

How I'm a leader with my family and on the ranch, but everywhere else I'm happiest in the back row, watching the action from afar.

Does she really think I'm rejecting her , or her ideas?

The thought is sobering. She probably thinks something entirely wrong about what's going on in my head, and I need to get over myself and tell her what's actually happening.

I wipe sweaty palms down my new jeans and swallow .

"I hate being in front like this," I say. Her face smooths out and she watches me curiously, so I press on. "I don't mind having some fun, and I like doing things with you, but I don't need the whole town watching me smear pie across my face."

She nods. "Oh."

"My shy is showing," I try to crack a joke.

"Right," she says. "Bucket lists are about getting out of your comfort zone."

I click my tongue against the dry roof of my mouth. "Mission accomplished."

"You could have passed on this one," she states thoughtfully.

"Not happening. I'm not chickening out. I'm just telling you that this is awkward for me."

She nods. "Fair enough."

"It's not about you," I reiterate.

Her eyebrows raise. "Why would you say that?"

"It's not about me not liking your idea."

We're interrupted by a community council member coming down the line handing out big checkered aprons for all of us to tie around our necks, and I'm relieved to set the topic aside.

I get mine on and look down the row at the others.

Everyone seems genuinely pumped up about this contest, while I'm still trying to talk my mind into pretending we're alone at home and the pie is apple – my favorite.

I look out at the crowd, and I'd bet my horse that it's doubled in size.

Walker is happily pointing his phone at us, and I'm sure some really wonderful pictures will be circulating within the hour.

Landry has Josi on his shoulders and is bouncing her up and down gently, and while I can't hear her laughter I can see from her face how much she's loving it .

I swallow hard, trying to get moisture into my mouth as I get winks and nods from a few townspeople. This is my nightmare. I look at Leni and see her clapping her hands together. Losing her is a nightmare too, so I guess I'm going to have to toughen up and not run off this stage.

I only half listen to the rules, and two minutes later there's a banging noise as someone hits a gong at the end of the table – our signal to start.

I dip my face into nasty, vile, cherry pie.

And I do mean vile. These aren't the pies that people make to be judged or to serve their neighbors.

These are pies that can be wasted on a little hilarity.

It's basically canned cherries topped with whipped cream in a frozen, grocery-store crust that seems to be only halfway baked based on the chewiness.

I gag.

I close my eyes and listen to the screams of the crowd while doing my best to take in mouthfuls of something I wouldn't feed to the ranch dogs.

Breathing isn't easy when you're trying not to embarrass yourself by coming in last, but I manage not to pass out while chewing this concoction to the point of swallowability.

I can hear my name being chanted in loud male voices and I fight to keep going, wishing my brothers would get swept away into a crack in the earth and burn in the magma at the core.

Then I hear Leni giggle. It's muffled, because she has a mouthful of pie, but it causes me to open my eyes and glance over at her.

She's looking back at me, her entire lower face covered in smeared whipped cream and cherries.

Her cheeks are bulging, her hair is slipping from her pony tail, and her eyes are freaking magical. She's magical.

I try to grin back, but my mouth is full and when my lips part, pie comes spilling out in what should be a humiliating moment. Instead, I laugh. She shakes her head and leans forward to let her own mouth empty back into the pie plate. It's hopeless. Neither of us can snarf an entire pie.

Luckily, the gong sounds again and the crowd cheers, and some big fella I don't recognize stands up with his hands in the air and cherries slipping off his chin. The winner is announced, and I'm totally fine with it not being me. I won in other ways today.

"Do you think that guy goes from town to town taking trophies and winning prizes for pie eating?" I ask.

Leni nods with a giggle. "It's the only explanation. He's a professional, and we weren't prepared to go up against that."

Leni and I use the aprons to wipe at our chins and grin like idiots at each other in a shared moment of amusement.

"I was wrong," I say as I work to get the sticky mess out of my beard. "This was a great idea."

Leni bites at her lip and nods. "It really was."