Her Baby Dreams. Debra Clopton

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      She’d lost her mind. That was the first thought that hit Ashby as she and the others jogged out into the arena. The crowd roared with laughter. In front of her, Lacy and Sheri mugged and waved at the crowd, while she stumbled right into a wet spot and nearly went down.

      Sheri laughed. “What are you trying to do—steal the show?”

      Relieved to still be standing, Ashby glared at her. “You can have the show. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

      “Sure you do,” Lacy said.

      Easy for her to say. Ashby wiped her damp palms on her jeans. The girl her mother raised wouldn’t dare be caught dead in an arena, sweaty and hot, chasing after a greased pig! For an instant, all lingering animosity toward her upbringing disappeared as regret over her newfound rebellious streak assailed her.

      Stop it.

      Twenty feet away, the little animal squealed from behind the gate where they were holding him.

      Ashby was about to tango with a pig.

      Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she reminded herself that standing here in the arena was going to help not only the shelter, but also her image around town.

      She glanced at Lacy, who was hunkered down like a linebacker ready for the tackle.

      The pig squealed again, sounding like wet brakes on an overloaded bus! Ashby shivered. Who was she kidding? She was way out of her element!

      Nothing to do but follow people who looked like they knew what they were doing. Mimicking Lacy, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her elbows bent, hands out. She just didn’t have the personality to pull this off. Feeling foolish and out of place, she straightened and stood stiffly.

      She was hopeless.

      Roy Don called over the loudspeaker for the gate to open, and she almost jumped out of her skin when the pig shot into the arena in a frenzied panic.

      And no wonder! Nine women reacted at once, squealing and laughing as they ran at poor Piggy en masse. This way and that the poor animal raced. When it suddenly froze, there was an instant pileup as everyone dived. Everyone, that is, but Ashby. She hadn’t moved.

      Nope. She was still standing exactly where she’d started. Maybe her slow reaction had saved her. Someone in that pileup had surely captured the pig.

      Her dismay was huge when the slick pig squirted from the pile like a bar of soap in wet hands—just popped right out of there and…and headed straight for her!

      Surely the charging pig could see that she was no threat. She was still frozen to the spot! Surely it understood that all it had to do was a bit of sidestepping and it would be home free. That the safety zone loomed only paces away.

      But no, he couldn’t know that. He was a pig. One with a vendetta, and who had decided to make like a bowling ball. After all, it had just taken down the nine other ladies, so why not Ashby?

      Someone, somewhere, yelled for her to grab it.

      Do what?

      Grab it, her mind ordered.

      Before she could analyze what she was doing, Ashby closed her eyes and dived.

      That’s right, she dived.

      Straight for the forty pounds of squealing animal coming at her like greased lightning. She wasn’t sure what astonished her the most, the fact that she voluntarily threw herself into the muck…

      Or that she caught the pig!

      She thought she heard the grandstands go wild, but the pig was screeching in her ear and kicking the wind out of her at the same time. One minute she had it, the next, Ashby was lying flat on her back as the slimy ball of lard used her as a launching pad. From her prone position, Ashby watched it shoot across the white line that had been drawn down the center of the arena. Pig: 1, Humans: 0.

      Groaning, Ashby spat dirt and pushed herself up, grease and dirt embedded in her clothing. The slimy mixture of grime and muck had also worked its way into her hair and across the left side of her face—which had been plastered to the side of the small beast.

      Molly Jacobs, who was covering the fund-raiser for her national newspaper column, suddenly jumped in front of her and snapped off a round of shots. Blinded by the rapid-fire flashes, Ashby blinked. What a mug shot that was going to be!

      But it was over. That was all she could think as she stumbled toward the other women in the center of the arena.

      “Way to go, Ashby.” Lacy laughed. “You almost had him!”

      Ashby thought it was the other way around. That pig had outwitted ten women. It was some pig.

      Despite getting duped, the group clasped hands and lifted them up in triumph. To her dismay, they all seemed to have had a great time.

      Ashby stank. They all did, but she was pretty sure she was the worst. She managed a semblance of a smile for the clapping audience, and reminded herself why she’d done this—this horrid, horrid thing. Perhaps it had not been in vain—it could even mark a turning point in her love life.

      All she knew was that if this hadn’t changed her image, nothing would.