Courting Cate by Leslie Gould Page B

me?”
    “I have no reason not to,” he answered, an impish look on his face.
    I ignored the expression and took a look at him. The red streaks on his chin were raw. He opened his mouth and scooted his lower jaw one way and then the other, then gingerly touched the scrape.
    “Leave it alone,” I commanded, pulling bandages from the kit. “How’s your shoulder?”
    He worked it back and forth. “It’s okay.”
    After I affixed the bandages to his chin and hand, I wadded the wrappers in my fist, shoved them into my apron pocket, and started for my buggy.
    “How about going back to the singing?”
    “I’ll give you a ride.” I climbed in first, scooting the first-aid kit back under the seat.
    As soon as Pete landed on the bench seat, Thunder took off, at my urging. Pete grabbed the side of the buggy as we sped around the corner. Ahead the sun was lowering in the sky, sending streaks of pink and orange along the horizon. I’d need to light the buggy lantern soon and turn on the flashing red lights on the back.
    On the straight stretch, I drove the horse faster. Pete held his worn hat with his injured hand, the book still in his other.
    I couldn’t stand it any longer. “So what are you reading?”
    He held the book up. “ The Pilgrim’s Progress. I found it in a thrift store outside of Cleveland. Ever read it?”
    I nodded. “A few years ago.” His copy looked much thinner than what I’d read, though. “Is that the condensed version?”
    He laughed. “No, the consumed version. I buy old books and then use up what I’ve read as I travel.”
    I gasped. “For what?”
    “Sometimes to start a fire,” he said.
    I must have had a horrified expression on my face, because he said, “Sorry. I’m a pragmatist at heart.” He held up the thin, now wet, book. “Sometimes I just throw it away, section by section. It keeps my pack lighter.”
    I was shocked at the very idea of tearing pages out of a book. And even more so to burn them. Sure, if he was freezing to death, I’d understand, but to preplan it? “How could you?” I gasped.
    “Books are heavy,” he said. “On the road, an object that serves two purposes doubles in value for a pauper like me.” He smiled as I pulled into the Bergs’ driveway and stopped Thunder.
    “That’s horrid.” I couldn’t imagine he was that poor—although his hat and clothes, the same he’d been wearing on Friday, all had a shabby look to them. “Here you go.” I stopped the buggy twenty feet from the barn, still aghast.
    “Aren’t you coming?”
    “No.”
    “Ah, Cate,” he said.
    “Believe me,” I answered. “If I were going to, I would have before, instead of just dropping Betsy off.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Driving.”
    “How about if I go with you?”
    “How about if you don’t.” I nodded toward the barn.
    “Why so angry?” he asked.
    I gave him a wilting look.
    “So waspish . . .” he muttered, gathering his things. “So stingish.”
    I couldn’t help myself. “Beware,” I sneered.
    “Why do you push people away?”
    “I don’t.”
    “You do.”
    I scooted away from him. “You don’t really want to know.”
    A pathetic expression crossed his face, and then he looked beyond me and pointed toward the fiery sky. The pink had disappeared and what was left looked like orange flames. His voice deepened as he spoke. “‘Where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.’”
    My face must have given away my confusion at his odd words, because he grinned and then quickly jumped down, tipping his hat. “See you tomorrow.”
    His stride was confident as he made his way toward the barn. I turned the buggy around. I couldn’t figure out Pete Treger. I had no idea what he meant by his talk of fire and fury, but he intrigued me.
    As I came back by, he stood in front of the closed door. He grinned again and waved. I kept a straight face but flicked my hand in his direction.
    There was no doubt