The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (24 page)

The crowd closed around Millie, obscuring her from Al's view. He hovered, uncertainty warring with anger in the tense battleground of his stomach. What an infuriating woman. They'd discussed this, had agreed to maintain a nonpartisan stance.

“Well?” demanded Violet, hands planted on her hips. “Are you going to let her go alone?”

That's exactly what he wanted to do. Flee to the solitude of his house, plant himself in a lawn chair on his deck and watch the birds flitter around the bird feeders. But Millie was his wife, his life partner, his soul mate, besides being a sword-sized thorn in his side. Heaving a sigh heavy enough to blow leaves from the trees, he stepped off the sidewalk.

“That's the spirit, man.” Thacker's voice rang with approval as he, too, rushed forward, Lulu and Violet on his heels.

I am marching in a protest with Franklin Thacker.

There were not enough sighs in his body to express his feelings. No possibility that the man would keep mum about this on Monday, either.

Chuck, whom he'd always considered a friend, jeered as he passed. The blazing stare Hazel fixed on him left him smoldering. He sidestepped Old Lady Emerson and dodged past Edith Boling. An eternity later he emerged from the crowd in the center of Main Street and paused to catch his breath on the walkway that connected the north and southbound lanes. The railroad tracks lay beneath his feet, and before him the rapidly expanding group of protesters who trailed behind Pete's hastily made sign. No going back now.

A commotion to his right drew his attention. Speeding down the center of the tracks in his direction were two bicycles, the mop-headed boys standing to pedal as fast as they could over the uneven track. A brown blur raced after them, trailing a bright blue rope. No, a leash. Al did a double take. Was that Rufus?

Bringing up the rear was a red-faced Susan, arms pumping, the tails of her lab coat flapping behind her.

The protest song died and the march was temporarily suspended as everyone paused to watch the spectacle of the town's new veterinarian galloping down the train tracks in pursuit of a canine escapee. She stumbled, and an audible gasp rose from both sides. At that speed a fall would certainly prove disastrous. Her recovery elicited a relieved sigh from the onlookers, but she'd lost precious ground. Rufus pulled ahead.

Al stepped backward seconds before the Wainright boys whizzed past, shrieking with glee. Rufus didn't even pause as he, too, darted by. Susan, her gaze focused on the object of her pursuit, probably wasn't even aware that she commanded the attention of the entire town.

Thacker's laughter, punctuated by snorts, rose into the air. He slapped his thighs with both hands. “What a great town,” he shouted, wiping tears from his eyes. “We're going to love it here.”

Searching the crowd in front of him, Al found Millie. She stood with hands covering her face, shaking her head.

Her surroundings a blur, Susan drew on reserves of strength she didn't know she possessed. A burst of speed gained her an advantage, and Rufus's leash bounced across the train tracks in front of her, a mere yard away. He was tiring, no doubt due to an extra ten pounds of table scraps she suspected he was fed. If she could…just…reach…

A figure appeared in her peripheral vision. One part of her brain registered the fact that it was a man, and that he ran at a diagonal path that would intersect hers in a few seconds.

“Grab him!” She intended to yell, but breath failed her and the words emerged in a raspy whisper.

Denim and brown hair sped past and, with the agility of an athlete, the man bent and scooped up the leash without missing a stride.

“Whoa there, fella.”

The deep voice rumbled from a well-muscled chest. He tugged the dog to a stop, and bent to scrub at his ears. Rufus collapsed on the worn toes of a pair of black leather boots, sides heaving. Breath coming in ragged heaves, Susan bent over, hands resting on her thighs, and willed herself not to throw up. When she straightened, she looked directly into the intoxicating gaze of Justin Hinkle.

“Here you go, ma'am.” He flashed a disarming smile as he pressed the leash into her hand.

“Th— Th—” She gulped and tried again. “Thank you.”

“He must have gotten away from you.”

A fresh explosion erupted in her face. “It happened so quickly. One minute he was standing beside me and the next, he nearly jerked my arm off.”

Concern carved tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. “I hope you weren't hurt.” He took her hand, gentle fingers exploring her wrist.

Rational thought fled, and her world was reduced to a three-foot
radius, with the electrifying warmth of Justin's touch forming the center.

The moment ended abruptly when a cluster of people arrived, their feet kicking up gravel.

“Oh my. I am so sorry. Bad dog, Rufus. Bad.”

Susan tore her gaze away from Justin's ocean-blue depths to fix on a familiar face. Millie, accompanied by her husband and three people she didn't know. With a start, she realized Justin still held her hand. She snatched it away and shoved it into her coat pocket.

“It's not his fault,” she assured Millie. “I should have kept a tighter grip on the leash. He was frightened, and there was a squirrel.”

Al nodded as though that explained everything, and settled an almost approving glance on the dog.

A wide grin erupted on the lean-faced man beside him. “That was quite a show you put on, gal. Just what we needed, too. Things were getting a little tense.”

“Show?” For the first time, her surroundings registered. Why were all these people standing around in the street? And staring at her?

They'd all seen her mad dash after Rufus. Her vision blurred, and she wavered on her feet.

Justin steadied her with a strong hand around her arm. “Maybe you ought to sit down for a bit.”

She shook her head, cheeks on fire. “No, I've got to get back to the clinic. I left the keys in the door.” Glancing at Millie, she bit down on her lower lip. “I'll understand if you don't trust me to take Rufus.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Millie covered the hand holding his leash with both of hers. “Of course I trust you. You're an excellent veterinarian.” She said the last in a voice loud enough to carry into the surrounding crowd.

“Mind if I tag along?”

With a start, she looked at Justin. Did he think she couldn't handle the dog? “Why?” A hint of suspicion crept into her voice.

He lifted a shoulder and held her gaze with a smile that melted her insides. “Because I want to.”

Tongue delightfully numb, the only reply she could manage was a nod.

The veterinarian and the handyman sauntered off, an exhausted Rufus in tow. Al grabbed Millie's arm. “Come on. We're going home.”

Stubborn to the core, that was his Millie. Her entire body stiffened and her lips pursed to form a determined bow. “I'm staying.”

“Me too.” Violet stepped up beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder in a show of solidarity.

“C'mon, Bert. Let's pound a bit of pavement.” Thacker actually extended a finger and poked Al's stomach. “The exercise will do you good, buddy.”

A dozen replies clogged his throat, vying for airspace. Before anything emerged, the pro-council contingent arrived, crossed the tracks in front of Al, and continued southward at the same time the protesters crossed over at the far end of the block. Casting a defiant stare his way, Millie joined the troop.

He stared after her. Why couldn't they just go home? Leave this madness to others and return to the peace of his house and yard and back deck. Only they were no longer his, and the town he loved would never again be the harmonious retreat he looked forward to five days each week. He lifted an angry glare toward the object that started this whole thing. The nauseous-colored water tower stood sentinel over Main Street, blithely unaware of the commotion going on below.

Shoulders drooping, Al followed his wife.

A cold breeze kicked up, as though Old Man Winter wasn't quite ready to concede the year to spring. Al raised his collar and huddled within the scant protection of his jacket. At least while they headed south it was at their backs. Perhaps he could convince Millie to abandon the cause at the end of the street.

The shriek of a siren cut through the air, and the jeers and catcalls
from both sides fell silent. He turned to see a row of police cruisers rounding the corner. Two headed in his direction while two veered off, crossed the tracks, and drove south on the northbound side of the street, blue lights flashing, to intersect the other mob.

Protesters on both sides halted mid-stride to watch their progress. The first cruiser rolled to a stop a few feet in front of Norman. Since he'd been bringing up the rear and everyone had turned, Al found himself in the uncomfortable position of being at the front of the pro-council group and staring through the windshield into the unsmiling face of a deputy.

Car doors opened, and uniformed officers emerged from all four vehicles. From their heavy belts dangled a variety of official-looking paraphernalia, most menacing of which was a pistol.

Millie stepped up from behind and slid beneath his arm. He avoided the obvious comment, that if she'd left when he wanted they would be nearly home now instead of facing a heavily armed squadron of stern-faced lawmen.

The grimmest of the four paced toward Norman. His voice carried easily down the silent block. “Folks, you're gonna have to disperse. Go on home.” His glance slid across the street and landed on Al, who did his best to appear unofficial and harmless. “All of you.”

Norman held his ground, his stare full of defiance. “We'uns are exercisin' our rights as American citizens. It's still a free country, ain't it?”

Sheriff Grimes, whose face Al recognized from a billboard at the county line last November, planted his feet. “Yes, sir, it is. But this is an illegal demonstration.”

Murmurs stirred among protesters and observers alike. Delores issued a tiny shriek of dismay and dropped her flyers, which were picked up by a blast of wind and skittered across the road like confetti. Junior retreated a half-step, leaving Little Norm and his father as the clear frontrunners.

“Ain't neither,” Norman insisted.

“May I see your permit?” the sheriff asked politely.

Uncertainty descended on the older man. “Permit?”

“Yes, sir. Demonstrations of this type require a permit. Besides, you are blocking a public street.”

A familiar figure emerged from the passenger side of the sheriff's car. Mayor Selbo rounded the front bumper to stand beside Grimes.

Norman gathered his full height and stabbed a finger in Selbo's direction. “I shoulda knowed you was behind this.” He whirled and addressed his followers. “Now you'uns see what we've got runnin' this town. Cain't keep any kind of Creeker business in Goose Creek without callin' in outsiders.”

Now it was Grimes's turn to bristle. “I am an elected official in this county, and therefore not an outsider.”

“If you don't live in the Creek, you ain't a Creeker,” replied Norman.

“Norman, listen to me.” Selbo raised his voice to address the entire crowd. “Everyone, listen to me. Your voices have been heard. Once this issue has been resolved, I will personally review the established procedures for the expenditure of public funds, and I'll arrange a town meeting to explain them. If a majority of the voters believes they need to be changed, the council will draft new ones.” He straightened, and a glint of steel crept into his normally easygoing manner. “As for the current issue, the Council strongly believes we are handling the situation in a fair and equitable manner.”