The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,72

of the other shovel men, nicknamed Pumpkin Pete for his curly orange-red hair, lobbed a grin in their direction, his shovel still swinging. “Sure, an’ he’s doin’ fine fer someone who smells like he’s been rollin’ in pine needles.”

Emmett waved away dust and barked a laugh. “If you can smell my wintergreen oil with all this coal dust being sucked up your nose, you should rent yourself out as a bloodhound.”

Pumpkin Pete roared with laughter, and Emmett couldn’t stop grinning. It had taken three years in his fraternity to feel comfortable enough to josh with his fellow Delta Sigma Phi brothers. Only his second day here, and already he was one of the boys. An unexpected benefit.

Stead smacked Emmett’s shoulder, gave a nod, then headed on up the tunnel. Emmett returned to his steady scoop, fling, scoop, fling. His muscles screamed in protest at every motion, but he was finding out how tough he was. He grinned and kept going. He could hardly wait to clang the bell and let everyone up the line know he’d filled another cart.

Boone’s Hollow

Addie

ADDIE SKITTERED BACKWARD several feet, then caught her balance. She stomped her foot and huffed. “Why is this so hard? I was able to mount the pony at the fair without a bit of trouble.”

Bettina leaned on her saddle’s horn and smirked. “An’ just how big was that pony?”

Looking through six-year-old eyes, it had seemed enormous. But when she remembered the photo in the parlor, it was probably more the size of a Great Dane. She groaned. “Less than half the size of Russet.”

“Try again. Poke your foot in the stirrup, grab hold o’ the horn, an’ pull.” Bettina punctuated her instructions with sharp jabs of her finger.

Addie gritted her teeth, took a firm grip on the horn, and tried once more to slide her foot into the dangling stirrup. Russet shifted sideways a few inches, and Addie’s foot went all the way through the opening. She lost her grip on the horn, flailed for another hold, found none, and landed hard on her bottom, her foot still caught in the stirrup. Russet snorted and pawed the ground.

Bettina swung down as quickly as a snapping turtle lunged. She grabbed Russet’s reins and looked at Addie, eyebrows high. “That’s a good way to get yourself dragged.”

Addie shook her fists in the air, wishing she could shake Russet instead. The animal would not cooperate. “Maybe I need a different horse.”

“What you need is differ’nt shoes. Them little things with no heel ain’t gonna stay put in a stirrup.”

Addie twisted around and freed her foot, certain she was showing off everything she’d put on under her dress that morning. Thank goodness the other girls had already left for their routes and she and Bettina were still half-hidden by the trees outside the library. She’d rather not have even Bettina as an audience, but at least the entire town wasn’t observing her ineptitude.

She stood and brushed dirt and grass from her skirt. “You’re barefoot—no shoes at all!—and you don’t slide out of the stirrup.”

Bettina scowled. “Never mind about my feet. Ain’t we lost enough of our day with Miss West’s troubles? Stop yammerin’ an’ try again.”

Addie stared at Russet’s regal profile. “I don’t know, Bettina. It’s already awkward enough thinking about straddling the horse when I’m wearing…” She batted at her rumpled dress. “I must, at the very least, have secure footing or I won’t be able to…to…remain proper.” She gave Bettina’s overalls a quick examination. “Does Belcher’s sell britches like you’re wearing? Maybe I should buy some.”

A gleam entered Bettina’s hazel eyes. “Why, sure, Belcher’s sells britches. We can go over there right now an’ find you some. Prob’ly should fix you up with a pair o’ boots, too—some with a heel that’ll catch on the stirrup an’ keep you from slidin’ through an’ fallin’ flat on your rump again.” She snickered. “ ’Less you wanna be like me an’ go barefoot.”

Addie had gotten a peek at the bottoms of Bettina’s feet before she hopped down from her horse. Her soles appeared as thick as leather. She could probably walk through sticker patches and come out unscathed. Addie’s feet, always appropriately clad at Mother’s insistence, needed protection. “I’d like to look at both overalls and boots.”

“Well, c’mon, then.” Bettina slung herself into her saddle, still holding Russet’s reins. She urged her mule into motion and led the sorrel.

Addie hobbled after the pair of animals, face flaming. If Miss West hadn’t promised the