Pole Position (Country Roads 2)

She sighed dramatically. “Would you be disappointed if I told you something?”

Brant arched his brow. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulders. “All of this is make-believe, silly. Don’t you know how to pretend?”

“In other words,” Brant explained, “the fairy tale can change at any point.” A beat later, he added a smile and said, “See if you can’t try and pay attention.”

Colt studied the large, round circles adorning the cardboard box, noticing they didn’t have plastic cups or anything to suggest drinks—imagined or real—would soon be served. “Tell you what, since you were kind enough to offer us a little hospitality, I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

Colt started to walk off and Brant jumped to his feet. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“She’s a child, Brant. She’s not a loan officer at the local bank. She won’t bite. Wait here.”

Brant had warned Colt on the way to Kentucky. Harlan County was rich with natural character and offered plenty for the outdoorsman, but where the area’s county leaders and officials failed, they failed their community miserably.

Many citizens in the area struggled. Families couldn’t feed their children. Schools weren’t provided with enough funding to offer adequate education. Jobs were scarce, some said practically nonexistent. And homelessness was the norm.

Was Princess Exhibit A? If so, where were her parents? Did they understand how dangerous it was to leave a child unattended in this day and age?

Colt wandered through the park area until he found a vendor selling hot chocolate. He ordered three cups and headed back to the large oak tree. He stood at a distance for a few minutes, observing the way the child tried to manipulate Brant. She apparently longed for his acceptance.

She was telling what appeared to be a grand story, complete with arm movements, dancing, and a solo march around the table fit for an imaginary king. When she didn’t gain the reaction she evidently desired, she swooned at Brant’s feet.

Colt rushed to the table and quickly set the Styrofoam cups on the flat surface. Brant dropped to the ground and obviously bought the child’s theatrics. “What the blasted hell?” He shook the girl by the shoulders. “Hey! Are you okay?”

She opened one eye. A slow smile claimed her full rosy lips and she said, “So you do care if I live to rule this land as the greatest queen this court has ever seen!”

It wasn’t a question, but rather a triumphant proclamation.

Colt laughed. “You’re a little actress, aren’t you?”

“Colt,” Brant complained, standing at once. “Don’t encourage the child.”

“She doesn’t appear to need much of that, does she?” he said, amused.

“It’s about time to get those toys out of the truck,” Brant mentioned under his breath. Apparently, he’d forgotten why this event was so important to the Kentucky community in the first place. They were there to give back and help the needy—the little girl in front of them certainly qualified as a recipient.

The Jingle Bell Ride required only one admittance fee—the donation of one unwrapped toy. In many cases, the children receiving the toys wouldn’t have a Christmas gift at all if they couldn’t rely upon the generosity of those who participated in the two-day ATV event.

Princess quickly jumped to her feet. “You brought toys?”

“For the ride,” Brant stated flatly.

Colt winked. “Tell you what. If you’ll help us unload the truck, we’ll pay you a little extra.”

“Shit, Colt,” Brant grumbled. “Keep it up, and you’ll be paying that kid what Lehman Brothers used to pay its CEO.”

“At least the money would go to someone deserving.”

They shared a laugh. Brant lost a fortune in stocks and bonds over the last few years. Recently, he’d confided in Colt, he didn’t think he’d survive the financial catastrophe. Colt couldn’t care less about Wall Street. He’d made his money in beef cattle and real estate, and somehow held onto the profits.

Returning his focus to the child, Colt said, “Aren’t you going to drink your hot chocolate?”

“Does it have marshmallows?”

“Would it be hot cocoa if it didn’t?”

“Nooooo,” she drawled, pushing the tab forward and watching wide-eyed when the steam rose from the plastic lid. She inhaled the fumes from the liquid, acting as if the greatest aroma in the world came from that small cup. When she finally took a quick sip, it was obvious how much she savored the taste. “This is so good, sir. Thank you very much.”