Chapter 9: A Ride Without Errands

Tate's idea of an uninterrupted ride lasted as far as the first open gate.

A neighbor stood beside it holding a pie tin and an expectant smile.

He wanted Tate to judge the practice entries for a baking contest.

I looked at the horses beneath us and then at the empty tin.

Apparently, the pies themselves were waiting somewhere more convenient for everybody else.

Tate shifted in his saddle before he answered.

I could see him assembling a promise that would sound smaller than the afternoon.

He had said we would ride to the ridge and eat there.

The sandwiches rested in a bag behind his saddle.

I had helped make them without finding three extra people to feed.

That felt like progress worth protecting, although I wanted him to choose it himself.

"We are going up to the ridge," he told the neighbor.

"You could come back afterward," the man replied.

Tate looked toward the road that led into town.

His horse lowered its head and began nibbling the hedge.

The pie tin reflected a bright patch of sunlight onto his boot.

I reached for my reins instead of supplying his next sentence.

"We have not decided when we are coming back," he said.

The neighbor looked surprised, then remembered another willing judge.

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