Chapter Eighteen
“Hope.” Her mother called quietly from the edge of the pen where Hope and Ben were working Buttercup.
“Just a sec, Ma.” She turned to Ben. “Can you walk her?” Ben nodded, taking the leader rope. “C’mon Buttercup.”
Hope turned, then stopped, staring. Her mother stood at the edge of the pen, wearing a green glittery sweatshirt and a Kiss me, I’m Irish tiara. “What on earth? What’s with the St. Paddy’s getup?”
She looked worried as Hope approached. “Don’t you remember? The Posse is throwing Jamey her Irish-themed wedding shower down at the hunting lodge. I’m already late.”
Shit.
She’d been so wrapped up in the progress she’d been making with Buttercup, she’d completely forgotten.
Ben approached behind her, Buttercup following, wearing the saddle blanket. “Don’t worry,
