Page 1 of Cherry Tree Ranch

Chapter One

“Seriously, Dahlia?” Emery huffs.

“What? He’s cute.” I reach for a crispy funnel-cake fry from the basket in her lap. My sister and I never agree on anything, especially boys.

“Yeah, if you like wannabe cowboys.”

“Fine, how about that guy with the shaggy blond hair in the denim shirt? The one on the black horse.”

“OK, now you’re talking. See how intensely he’s staring at the steer? I wonder if I can get him to look at me that way.”

We watch the breakaway ropers take their turns roping calves. The event takes a lot of talent, but only lasts a few seconds. A steer is released, the rider tries to rope it and, if they do, the rope breaks away. The roper doesn’t risk losing a thumb from dallying and the steer stays on its feet.

“Ooh, Emery, look at that one!” I gasp.

“Where?” She cranes her neck to see the roper I point towards.

“That horse looks like Blue,” I say, watching how gracefully the animal moves out of the arena. “I miss Blue. We really need to go visit him and Grandpa.”

“You’re insane. There’s a sea of hot cowboys, and all you’re looking at is the stupid horses?” She dips a funnel fry into the cup of syrupy chocolate sauce and then stops mid-bite. “I found my cowboy… Over there – the guy standing by the chutes. The tall guy with the saddle slung over his shoulder.”

Sitting in the stands, I’m happy to bask in the noise and energy of the rodeo. Little kids run around us as their parents whoop and holler at the riders, and the air is full of the smell of horses, sweat and sugar. I finish the fries and gaze longingly into the red-and-white-checked basket.

“Haven’t had enough sugar?” Emery lifts her brow.

I assess my craving and realize, no, I’ve not had enough. “Do you think anyone’s selling honey?”

“You’re ridiculous.” Emery thinks my obsession with honey is borderline psychotic, but there aren’t many things that make me happier.

“Want to come with me real quick?” I ask reluctantly.

“Honey…” She pretends to weigh two things between her hands. “Or checking out hot cowboys? Yeah, I’m sticking with cowboys, thanks.”

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I start down the first line of booths. When the rodeo comes to town, everyone crawls out of the woodwork to sell their home-made goods, and I bet someone’s selling local honey.

I’m almost ready to give up when I catch a swirl of sweetness in the air.

“Excuse me,” I say to a woman selling baked goods.

A wide smile crosses her face when she looks up from her cash box. “Hi there. Would you like a cinnamon roll or a cookie?”

“Actually, I was wondering – do you know if anyone’s selling honey today?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so, but I’m from out of town.”

My face falls and I look around. I’ve checked every booth.

“On second thought, what type of cookies are they?”

The woman picks up a cellophane bag with three cinnamon-sugar-covered cookies inside. “These are biscochitos – a traditional New Mexican cookie.”

“Oh cool, I’ve never had those. Are you from New Mexico?”

“Yes, but I can’t take credit for this recipe,” she says. “It’s my tia Maria’s.”

“They look delicious. I’ll take a bag of these and a cinnamon roll, please.”