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 all day 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.”