The next morning Bobbie was up early. Grandpa was already downstairs making breakfast. She took the stairs two at a time and burst into the kitchen. The next morning Bobbie was up early. Grandpa was already downstairs making breakfast. She took the stairs two at a time and burst into the kitchen.
“It won’t work, Grandpa. She’s so green … you know how it is up there. She won’t last a day.”
“I told her she could go.”
Bobbie could hear the final edge in her grandpa’s voice. But she couldn’t help trying one more time. “What if she can’t ride?”
“She rides. She’s been to one of those equestrian schools.”
Bobbie knew it was useless. She sighed and headed for the barn. When her grandpa made a decision, that was it. She would just have to get used to the idea of baby-sitting her cousin for the next week. She threw a feed can across the barn and it crashed into the wall above the door.
Alex stepped inside the barn. This morning she was wearing a denim Western shirt over a red T-shirt, a pair of stiff new jeans, and new boots. “Watch your temper there, pard, you nearly hit me.” She moved forward and half turned. “Gramps bought them for me,” she said, gesturing at her clothes. “How do I look?”
The side of Bobbie’s mouth went up but she didn’t say anything.
“Gramps said I should come out and see if you need any help.”
Bobbie chewed the inside of her lip. “If you’re coming with me, you better get ready. I’m leaving in a half hour. I already fed your horse. He’s the strawberry roan in the pen. Saddles are in the tack shed.”
Bobbie moved past her cousin and grabbed a tarp off a peg on the wall. She took it outside and wrapped it in her bedroll.
In a few minutes Alex returned, leading the roan. Bobbie frowned. The horse’s back was still bare. “I told you the saddles are in the tack shed—over there.”
“All I could find were Western saddles. I’m used to riding English.”
“You mean those itty-bitty things with hardly any leather on ’em and no saddle horn?”
Alex nodded.
“Look, Al, we’re not going on an Easter egg hunt. We’re looking for stray cattle. Some of them are mean and all of them are wild. You’ll be spending whole days in the saddle. Maybe you should tell Grandpa you want to stay here until I get back. It’ll only be a week.”
“You wish.” Alex turned and led the roan toward the tack shed again. “Don’t worry about me, hotshot. If you can handle it, so can I.”
Bobbie tightened the cinch on Sonny, the big sorrel gelding that was her favorite roping horse. “Looks like we’re in for it, old boy.” She fastened the saddlebags and headed for the house.
In the yard, she stopped to give Wolf a pat. He really was part wolf. Bobbie had raised him from a pup and he adored her.
She walked into the house. The screen door slammed behind her. “That you, Bobbie?” Her grandpa came in from the kitchen. “You kids about ready?”
“She’s a flake, Grandpa. And besides, she rides English.”
“Give her a chance, Bobbie. Look, if they took you to Los Angeles and turned you loose, you wouldn’t have a clue. How smart you are depends on what part of the world you happen to be standing on at the time.”
The screen door opened. Alex poked her head in. “I’m ready, Wyatt.”
“Wyatt?”
“You know. As in—you make me urpp.” Alex winked at their grandfather.
Bobbie’s face turned red. She thought about dragging Alex outside and settling their feud right then. But one look at Grandpa told her it wouldn’t be a wise move. Instead she said, “I guess we’re ready, then.”
Grandpa followed them out to the horses. Bobbie whistled for Wolf, checked her cinch, and swung into the saddle. “See you in a week, Grandpa …”
She looked over at Alex, who was riding the roan in circles, bobbing up and down in the saddle, English style.
Bobbie sighed. “… if not before.”