A Great Catch
certainly encourage rings, don’t we, dear?” Aunt Millie squeezed Emily’s arm.
    “He said ringer , Aunt Millie.”
    “Why don’t you give it a try, Miss Graham?”
    “Do call her Emily.” Aunt Ethel adjusted her hat. “Emily doesn’t stand on formalities.”
    Emily’s mouth gaped. What were her aunts thinking?
    Actually, she knew exactly what they were thinking, and she didn’t like it one bit.
    Marion offered her the horseshoe. “Give it a try—Emily.”
    “I don’t know, Mr. Wormsley. I’m not very athletic.”
    Aunt Millie nudged her. “Do try for that ring, dear.”
    “Ringer.” Emily sighed and accepted the proffered U-shaped metal. Stepping up to the line Marion indicated, Emily swung her arm back with force. When she raised her left arm to swing the horseshoe, the weight of it surprised her, and she lost her balance. The horseshoe flew high into the air, flipped three times, and came down with amazing speed. Before anyone could react, it conked Marion Wormsley on top of his derby-covered bald head, and he slumped to the ground.
    Emily stared at the dazed man lying prone at her feet. Slowly he sat up, drew off his hat, and rubbed the egg-shaped swelling on the top of his head.
    She squatted beside him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wormsley.”
    He looked at her, eyes glazed. “Who are you?”
    “Oh my.” Aunt Millie wrung her hands.
    “Don’t stand there, Emily,” Aunt Ethel snapped. “Get the poor man a drink or something, or better yet, get someone to help us.”
    Wadding her skirt in her fist, Emily raced toward the nearest concession stand. Patrons lined up in front of the counter. Drink. Her aunt said to get Mr. Wormsley a drink. One-handed, she fumbled with her pocketbook and in her haste dropped it. The coins clattered as they rolled across the boardwalk surrounding the stand.
    “Oh bother.” She stooped to retrieve the few that hadn’t slipped through the cracks.
    “Need some help?”
    She tipped her head up, and her eyes met Carter’s. He held out a quarter in his palm, and a grin spread across his face.
    Plucking the coin from his grasp, she started to stand, only to find another gentleman’s foot on the hem of her skirt, holding her in place.
    Carter caught her arm. “Excuse me, sir. I believe your boot is on the lady’s dress.”
    The long-faced man grumbled an apology and stepped away.
    “What’s going on, Emily?” Carter scanned her face. “You look flustered.”
    “I have to get a drink for Mr. Wormsley.”
    Carter frowned. “Why would you be buying refreshments for a man?”
    “I hit him in the head and knocked him out.”
    “Why?” The furrows deepened. “Did he try to hurt you?”
    “Heavens no.” Worry knotted in her stomach. “Carter, please. I need to hurry. He needs help.” She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.
    “Not so fast. You wait here and I’ll get the drink.”
    Glancing back and forth from the concession stand to the horseshoe pit area, Emily absently rubbed her injured wrist through the towel sling. Surely Marion wasn’t hurt badly.
    Within a minute, Carter returned. “The owner wasn’t happy about us leaving with the glass. I promised we’d return it. Lead the way, Slugger.”
    Emily shot him a fierce glare and marched toward the horseshoe pit with the glass in hand.
    Carter fell in step beside her. “Hey, easy, or you’ll get there with no water left. Is that him?”
    Like heavy dumplings, dread and shame weighed in her stomach. Emily nodded.
    Carter wasted no time in reaching her two aunts, who were attempting to assist Mr. Wormsley to his feet. “I’ll get him, ladies.” With one swift motion, Carter lifted the smaller man from the ground and deposited him on the bench beside the pit. “Good grief, Emily. What did you hit Marion with? A baseball bat?”
    She lowered her head and mumbled the answer as she passed Mr. Wormsley the glass of water. Only a slight glance at the offending curved piece of iron, and Carter’s

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