State Fair Read Online Free

dream of a rural lifestyle.
    “Wait up,” Maggie called, quickening her step to catch up with me. She was taller than me by seven inches and had long, coltish legs that I envied with all my five-foot-one heart. She wore her hair in a close-trimmed Afro-style, complementing her oval face, and had almond-shaped brown eyes and skin the color of Karo syrup. She could have been Natalie Cole’s younger sister. Today, rather than in her normal business attire of a jacket, silk blouse and slacks, she wore tight blue Wranglers, a grass green snap-button Western shirt and black round-toed roper boots.
    “That sandwich looks killer,” she said. “I have to sneak over to the Kiwanis booth.”
    I held it out to her. “Want a bite?”
    “Don’t mind if I do.” She took one, wiping a drop of mayonnaise off the corner of her mouth then fell in beside me. “Yep, that’s definitely my next stop.”
    “You left my sweet husband on his own today? I bet he’ll be crazy loco by the time he gets home tonight.” I popped the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth. “Thanks loads.”
    She laughed, waving a hand. “He’ll be fine. Jim’s there and Bambi can handle any photocopying emergency. There’s always my voice mail if he really doesn’t want to deal with someone. He won’t even know I’m gone. Thank goodness, the only thing that is really causing him any extra stress lately is that rash of stolen trucks and SUVs. I guess the thieves have moved into Santa Barbara County.”
    “Gabe told me. Glad my truck is purple. Bet nobody’s gonna want to steal it. I still can’t believe Gabe hired someone named Bambi.”
    She gave another deep laugh. “It’s even harder to imagine someone naming their daughter that. But she is superorganized and isn’t a bit rattled by any of the trash-talking cops, which is one of the most important requirements of our job. Don’t worry, I made sure that this would be a light day for Señor Ortiz.”
    “Smart lady. Fewer problems for you to handle Monday.”
    We walked into the swine building, already teeming with hundreds of nervous kids dressed in their white 4-H shirts, white Wranglers, bright Kelly green kerchiefs for the girls and neckties for the boys. Their chevron-style caps always reminded me of old-time gas station attendants. Adding to the melee were their equally agitated livestock and sleep-deprived parents and leaders trying to French braid hair, clean spots off white shirts or jeans, slick down cowlicks with parental spit and bring some kind of order to the whole crazy scene.
    Nostalgia enveloped me when I smelled the familiar scent of animal manure, fresh hay, toasty popcorn and a sharply sweet, medicinal scent I’d always associated with the fair—sort of a mixture of eucalyptus and cotton candy. The county fair— this county fair—had been a part of my annual schedule for as long as I could remember. Though I hadn’t shown cattle or sheep for over twenty years, I still looked forward to the fair—its crazy foods, its competitions, its familiar rituals. And, in the last few years, for the painfully sweet memories it brought of a more innocent time of my life.
    “What are you doing today?” I asked Maggie. “I’ve agreed to help wrangle pigs for Novice and Intermediate Hog Showmanship. Then I think I’m going to check out the new Bull Pen. Elvia says it looks like a million bucks.”
    “You haven’t seen it yet? God bless your rich cousin. Without him we’d still be sitting on plastic patio chairs and eating frozen pizza rolls.”
    I waved at Marguerite Zechiel and her now grown daughter, Laurie. Laurie had once been in Dove’s 4-H club. They sat behind a battered card table outside the large sawdust-covered pen filled with nervous nine- and ten-year-old youngsters trying to keep track of their squealing hogs.
    “C’mon,” I said, “it wasn’t that bad. Those old plastic chairs had a lot of interesting graffiti on them—kind of an oral history. Besides, he