“4-H Blue-ribbon, Poulsbo State Fair,” said Sam. “2007.”
“Used to ride ‘em right there at Sunset,” said Nigel, “when we were working for Eagleton.”
I looked at Lazaro, who seemed to hesitate.
“Of course I’ve ridden a f*****g horse,” he grumbled. “I’m from Idaho.” He added: “What about you?”
“Never in my life,” I said, and looked at Sam—I don’t know why. “But I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”
I looked at Mr. Fantastic, who just shook his head.
“Okay ...” I breathed. I held my hand out to the others, palm down. “Who’s in?”
And Sam slapped her hand over mine, after which Nigel slapped his hand over her’s—and Lazaro topped us all off.
“Great,” said Mr. Fantastic, disappointed. “All right ...” He picked up the targeting goggles. “Let’s hope there’s some horses.”
And then we were off,
