Chapter 11
Not too far from the center of town sat two large edifices of Nutyoon's importance, a tiny municipal airport, and the fairgrounds where a sign proclaimed it was home of the Australian Camp Oven Festival. I found the entrance easily enough and navigated the empty grass parking lot to where a half dozen utes pulling horse trailers sat parked in front of a long, low wooden building.
"Here we are," I said cheerily.
Pippa bounded out of the Falcon, leaning back on her heels as she hobbled painfully along in her expensive John Lobb riding boots. I was positive she'd outgrown them since horseback riding camp last summer, but Pippa swore they didn't pinch her toes. Sometimes, you just need to let a kid experience the pain before they'll admit you are right.
"I brought your shoes if
