as rough as you two did—”
Ridd snorted. “I doubt if he’s ever had to lift a finger for himself. He has to be reminded every morning to make his own bed and hang up his clothes, and when I asked him to weed the garden this morning, he told me he’d rather not, he doesn’t like getting dirty and he’s ‘a bit nervous, ’ ”—he sketched quotes—“around bugs. How can any boy of ten be scared of bugs? And when I told him it was an order, not a request, he pulled up a whole row of leaf lettuce and told me he thought lettuce only grew in balls.” Ridd pounded the steering wheel in frustration. “Face it, Mama, the kid’s sweet, but he’s a loser—and now he’s burned down my barn!” He laid his head on the wheel and sobbed.
I touched his shaking shoulder. “You’re scared and worried, and that’s okay, honey, but don’t take it out on Tad. He’s scared, too. Scared you’re gonna kill him for burning the barn, scared Walker will kill him because he carries the insurance on it.” I peered across Ridd toward the pasture. “I just hope he comes back.”
Ridd put the car into gear and started down the road. “Oh, he’ll come back when he gets hungry or sleepy. I can’t see His Highness scavenging food or sleeping rough.”
But Ridd was wrong. Tad did not come home.
7
We hung around Ridd’s kitchen drinking iced tea and discussing what ought to be done about the barn, but we didn’t start worrying about Tad until it began to get dark. That’s when I got ready to call Buster and have the entire sheriff’s department scouring the county for my grandson.
Ridd, Joe Riddley, and even Martha voted me down, willing to wait a while longer for him to come home on his own. “We don’t want to embarrass him any more than we have to,” Martha reminded me.
“Nail his hide to what’s left of the barn, maybe, but not embarrass him,” Ridd agreed sourly.
You may be wondering why we weren’t frantic. An out-of-state friend assures me, “If my twelve-year-old granddaughter disappeared for several hours, with or without a horse, I’d have the police, the National Guard, and the Royal Canadian Mounties out looking for her, and her parents would never forgive me if I didn’t involve them.”
If it had been one of our granddaughters, we’d probably have done the same. If we’d lived in a city among strangers, we’d have been terrified. And if Tad had disappeared without the horse, we’d have worried that he would thumb a ride with the wrong person.
As it was, three of us around that table could remember that Ridd and Walker had each taken off in a huff around Tad’s age. Ridd slept all night in the cornfield and crept in to make breakfast as an apology. Walker bedded down with a friend, then called us the next morning to demand, “Are you ready for me to come home yet?”—having given us time to straighten up our act. We all figured Tad was just running off his temper and putting off the time when he’d have to come home and accept his punishment.
Still, even though he had Starfire with him, I kept picturing him trying to jump a fence and breaking his neck, the horse stumbling in a hole and falling on him, or a stranger trying to steal that gorgeous horse and child. When I mentioned each of the possibilities, Joe Riddley reminded me that it’s hard to kidnap a child with a horse; Hope County is small, rural and basically still a safe place; and Tad has ridden horses since he was six and was a good, careful rider.
Joe Riddley was ready to call Walker, however, until Ridd disagreed. “You know what would happen, Daddy. If we tell him Tad’s run away, we’ll have to explain why, and you know exactly what Walker would do.”
We certainly did. Walker would hop the next plane so furious that Tad burned down the barn, he might forget that the boy was ten years old and scared. Walker was just learning to be a good daddy to Tad. None of us wanted Tad coming home to a furious father who’d say
Ridd snorted. “I doubt if he’s ever had to lift a finger for himself. He has to be reminded every morning to make his own bed and hang up his clothes, and when I asked him to weed the garden this morning, he told me he’d rather not, he doesn’t like getting dirty and he’s ‘a bit nervous, ’ ”—he sketched quotes—“around bugs. How can any boy of ten be scared of bugs? And when I told him it was an order, not a request, he pulled up a whole row of leaf lettuce and told me he thought lettuce only grew in balls.” Ridd pounded the steering wheel in frustration. “Face it, Mama, the kid’s sweet, but he’s a loser—and now he’s burned down my barn!” He laid his head on the wheel and sobbed.
I touched his shaking shoulder. “You’re scared and worried, and that’s okay, honey, but don’t take it out on Tad. He’s scared, too. Scared you’re gonna kill him for burning the barn, scared Walker will kill him because he carries the insurance on it.” I peered across Ridd toward the pasture. “I just hope he comes back.”
Ridd put the car into gear and started down the road. “Oh, he’ll come back when he gets hungry or sleepy. I can’t see His Highness scavenging food or sleeping rough.”
But Ridd was wrong. Tad did not come home.
7
We hung around Ridd’s kitchen drinking iced tea and discussing what ought to be done about the barn, but we didn’t start worrying about Tad until it began to get dark. That’s when I got ready to call Buster and have the entire sheriff’s department scouring the county for my grandson.
Ridd, Joe Riddley, and even Martha voted me down, willing to wait a while longer for him to come home on his own. “We don’t want to embarrass him any more than we have to,” Martha reminded me.
“Nail his hide to what’s left of the barn, maybe, but not embarrass him,” Ridd agreed sourly.
You may be wondering why we weren’t frantic. An out-of-state friend assures me, “If my twelve-year-old granddaughter disappeared for several hours, with or without a horse, I’d have the police, the National Guard, and the Royal Canadian Mounties out looking for her, and her parents would never forgive me if I didn’t involve them.”
If it had been one of our granddaughters, we’d probably have done the same. If we’d lived in a city among strangers, we’d have been terrified. And if Tad had disappeared without the horse, we’d have worried that he would thumb a ride with the wrong person.
As it was, three of us around that table could remember that Ridd and Walker had each taken off in a huff around Tad’s age. Ridd slept all night in the cornfield and crept in to make breakfast as an apology. Walker bedded down with a friend, then called us the next morning to demand, “Are you ready for me to come home yet?”—having given us time to straighten up our act. We all figured Tad was just running off his temper and putting off the time when he’d have to come home and accept his punishment.
Still, even though he had Starfire with him, I kept picturing him trying to jump a fence and breaking his neck, the horse stumbling in a hole and falling on him, or a stranger trying to steal that gorgeous horse and child. When I mentioned each of the possibilities, Joe Riddley reminded me that it’s hard to kidnap a child with a horse; Hope County is small, rural and basically still a safe place; and Tad has ridden horses since he was six and was a good, careful rider.
Joe Riddley was ready to call Walker, however, until Ridd disagreed. “You know what would happen, Daddy. If we tell him Tad’s run away, we’ll have to explain why, and you know exactly what Walker would do.”
We certainly did. Walker would hop the next plane so furious that Tad burned down the barn, he might forget that the boy was ten years old and scared. Walker was just learning to be a good daddy to Tad. None of us wanted Tad coming home to a furious father who’d say
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