Courting Cate by Leslie Gould Page A

right onto the highway, going in the direction opposite of home. It wouldn’t do any good to show up early. Dat would be suspicious. I wasn’t going to lie to him. But I wasn’t going to be exactly forthcoming either—not if I could help it. I hoped I wasn’t sliding down a slippery slope of deceit. It wasn’t like me. In the meantime I had a good two hours to run Thunder on the back roads of the county. At least I would have if I hadn’t run into Pete first.

    He was ambling along the shoulder of the road, a book once again in his hand when I sped by him. Although he wasreading, he still saw it was me. In my side mirror, I watched him leap the fence and run across the field. Ahead was a hairpin turn and then another, and by the time I reached the second, Pete was aiming to jump that fence too, waving as he did. I didn’t slow—until he went sailing over the top rail. I couldn’t tell for sure, but he must have tripped, because he landed in the gravel on the side of the road and rolled onto his shoulder. I thought maybe he hit his chin, too, but couldn’t tell as I watched, again, in my mirror.
    I’ll admit there have been times in life when I’ve been coldhearted, but never when someone is hurt. Besides, the Good Samaritan was my favorite story as a child, read to me over and over by my Mamm. I pulled Thunder to a stop, made sure there were no vehicles coming in either direction, and swung the buggy around. By the time I reached Pete, he was bent over the ditch that ran on the roadside of the fence. When he straightened, I saw he’d plucked his book out of the water.
    I pulled Thunder to a stop, yanked on the brake, and grabbed the first-aid kit from under the seat. I’d put it together when I was sixteen after reading a book called Everyday Safety. Of course the author assumed the first-aid kit would be kept in a car, but I figured it was even more important in a buggy.
    Blood oozed from the palm of Pete’s left hand; plus it ran down the front of his chin. “Thanks for stopping,” he said. I noted the book in his right hand was fairly thin and very worn. It didn’t have a cover, and I couldn’t make out the title at the top of the page.
    “You really scraped yourself.” I opened the box, taking out several antiseptic-wipe packets.
    “It’s not bad.” He held his hand away. “I’ve had worse.”
    I handed him a wipe.
    “I’m not usually so accident prone,” he said, wiping his hand.
    “You just said you’ve had worse.”
    He laughed. “Touché.”
    I opened another wipe and dabbed at his face, flicking away pieces of gravel. “I’ll give you a ride back to the Zooks’.”
    “That’s okay. I’m going to the singing.”
    “Then why the detour?”
    “I was curious.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “You thought Betsy was in the buggy, right?”
    He smiled, but before he answered, I proclaimed, “You are stubborn.”
    “ Persistent is the word I prefer—remember?”
    Funny how the difference between the two seemed to be solely in our perception. “You’ll be happy to know my sister is at the singing. You can see her there.” I wasn’t going to bother telling him Levi would be giving her a ride home. He could find that out on his own.
    “And why isn’t Sweet Cate in the Bergs’ barn?”
    “Technically I am.” I knew my smile was sarcastic.
    His, in return, was even more so.
    After I’d picked the gravel out of his hand and then his face, with him bending toward me, I reached for the bottle of antiseptic in my kit and squirted it liberally on his chin.
    “Ouch!” He jerked away.
    “Hold out your hand.” I was enjoying myself with a man, for once.
    For some reason he obeyed, and I squirted out another stream of liquid.
    He flinched again.
    “Would you rather have an infection?”
    He didn’t answer as he dabbed his palm against his pant leg.
    “I read somewhere that staph usually starts in seemingly innocuous wounds.”
    He raised his eyebrows.
    “You don’t believe