Most of the girls seemed to be having an easier time than me. Geminia had already began to rinse the suds off her fluffy white sheep. She looked good doing it, her vibrant red hair in two braids over her shoulder and a cute straw hat on her head. I didn’t even have the heart to check on Sarah’s progress. Most likely, she was wowing the crowd with her ability to imitate a girl in a Michael Bay film while working farm animals. I was sure the cowboys were having a fun time with that. All the other competitors were the same. None of their sheep were complaining. I was the only one to get stuck with a dud.
Was it too late to back out?
“Hey, Charlotte, whatcha doing to that sheep?” Graham called out, cupping his mouth like a megaphone. Timmy bleated extra loud, as if he understood Graham was talking about him. “Don’t make us report you to animal control.”
That got a good laugh from the crowd. Blood rushed to my cheeks. So much for getting my revenge on Sarah. At this rate, she was going to have a lot more things to torture me with. I kept my eyes glued to the sheep and ignored the catcalls from the boys behind me, determined to make it through this trial with my dignity intact.
Or at least—partially.
“Use the curry comb now,” Dennis ordered, pointing to a strange round metal brush on the ground.
I saluted him with two fingers and got to work brushing it through the sheep’s wool. There was a lot of mud and muck still stuck to its underbelly. I kneeled down beside it to get a better look, running my hand under it to assess the damage. At least Ms. Gentry couldn’t say I wasn’t being thorough. I had to win points for that.
“Timmy must like to play in the mud,” I said, looking up at Dennis. “He’s super dirty down there.”
Dennis shrugged and spat at the ground. “That’s not mud. That’s manure. It gets caked into his wool when he’s been stalled for a while.”
My stomach nearly jumped into my mouth as I tried not to gag. I had poop on my hands. Gross, stinky, sheep
poop. Grabbing the hose, I rinsed it off my hands as fast as I could and got back to combing the junk out of Timmy’s wool, doing my best not to barf.
“Ms. Hale, you seem determined to be the last one to arrive for every event,” Ms. Gentry said, strolling smoothly toward me as if she had a set of skates under that long dress of hers. Her critical gaze took in my progress on the sheep and then snapped back up to me. “The other contestants have finished their tasks and I am moving them to the pavilion. Please join us when you’re through. Let’s see a bit more hustle here. Our 4Hers don’t have all day.”
Dennis clicked his tongue in agreement and shot me another superior look. That kid was seriously something else. I held in my groan while I finished brushing Timmy down. Thankfully, Ms. Gentry moved on to gather up the other girls as I once again grabbed the hose to rinse the soap off of my wooly client.
“Okay, Timmy,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the sheep. “I promise to be quick if you promise to stop screaming. It’s only water. You won’t melt. Don’t be a baby.”
“That’s not a very nice way to talk to my sheep,” Dennis complained, stomping his foot.
I bit back my laugh. This kid was a riot. “Okay, I’m sorry. Timmy, don’t be a lamb. Is that better?”
From the way Dennis stuck his tongue out at me, he wasn’t satisfied with that either. Still, I turned on the hose and immediately the sheep began to bleat and scream as if I were strangling him. The laughter started up in the crowd behind me again and I gritted my teeth, determined to finish the job and join the other girls.
“Just. Stay. Still,” I muttered as Timmy kicked and tried to escape the spray of the hose. The pressure wasn’t even very high. He had nothing to complain about.
The suds in his wool were beginning to spread on the cement below my feet, making for a slick surface with my flimsy flip flops. I reached over him to do the other side, but Timmy managed to swing his big head out of Dennis’s grasp, butting me square in the stomach and knocking me flat on my rear. The sprayer fell out of my hands and hit the ground hard beside me, breaking in two.
From there, everything devolved real quick. Water began to shoot out in every direction from the broken sprayer, drenching Dennis, me, and the sheep. The cold temperature of the water knocked the breath out of me and Dennis began to shriek in a shrill voice. That extra splash of water must’ve been the last straw for Timmy the sheep because with a powerful yank of his black head, he pulled the halter rope from Dennis’ hands and made a break for it.
When I’d imagined participating in the Junior Rodeo Queen contest, I hadn’t imagined I’d be soaked to the bone and chasing a runaway sheep with a small child screaming bloody murder at me. But here I was, pushing my sopping hair out of my face and doing my best to hold in the very choice words I would’ve liked to say to that redheaded runt and his wooly pet. It was lucky that Ms. Gentry hadn’t been around to witness my performance. It wasn’t exactly filled with poise. However, victory was mine when Timmy made an abrupt turn and I snagged the end of the halter rope before he could totally escape.
“How’s that for a rodeo queen?” I said forcefully, grinning up at my friends still watching. I might not have had it all together, but at least I could catch a runaway sheep.
Instead of excitement or approval, all I saw were various forms of horror in their eyes. Lexi had her hands slapped over her face and Beth was squinting at me as if she were trying to figure out how to push the reset button. Hunter was wide-eyed and frozen like a Greek marble statue. Next to him, Graham and the rest of the boys were snickering and pointing at me in a way that made me want to lift Timmy up and use him like a shield.
But I didn’t need a shield. It seemed that Hunter had thawed from his shock. With one swift movement that resembled Clark Kent’s transformation into Superman, he marched toward me, determination blazing in his eyes, and pulled his flannel over his head to reveal a white tank underneath.
“Put this on. Now,” he said forcefully, taking Timmy’s halter and shoving the shirt into my hands. He turned to stand in front of me, his broad torso blocking me from the view of the crowd.
Whoa. Something had to be seriously wrong for Hunter to talk to me like that. He was never that gruff.
I threw the back of his head a perplexed look but didn’t question him as I pulled his shirt over my head. It smelled like Hunter, with his woodsy cologne. The sleeves hung way past my hands and the shoulders were too broad, but it was a soft material and comfortable to wear.
“Didn’t realize this was going to include a wet t-shirt contest,” Graham said loudly, elbowing the boys next to him. “I think you’ve got my vote for rodeo queen, Charlotte.”
A wet t-shirt contest? A violent flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I should’ve known today would be the wrong day to pair a white t-shirt with my pink Nike sports bra. That unintentional water fight had soaked me through and made me a spectacle.
All thanks to a stupid sheep.