Firefly by Terri Farley Page B

Dad.
    He’d nodded slowly and for a minute, she’d thought he understood her worries, but then he’d tousled her hair and said, “I’ll get you over to Deerpath nice and early, don’t you worry. I’m supposed to pick up that new truck you won for me by nine.”
    Getting there early wasn’t the point at all, but she’d just smiled and hoped she’d figure out how to handle the awkward situation when she got there.
    She’d packed some clothes. They weren’t the ones she wanted, but Gram had said any laundry Sam washed would have to go with her wet, because there was no way on earth they’d run the dryer and make the house even hotter.
    â€œIf you didn’t throw your clothes on the floor after you’ve worn them once, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Gram had muttered, but then she’d looked up from her weeklong menu with a sigh. “I don’t mean to sound snappish, honey. One of the HARP girls is allergic to eggs and I’m trying to figure out how I will adapt.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Gram,” she’d said, but when she’d tried to talk with Brynna about how Pirate would be handled during the wild horse auction, her stepmother had been busy going over the juvenile records and personal histories of the girls.
    Finally, a breeze ruffled the curtains at Sam’s window. Faint but cool, it reached her and she sighed. Paws padded into her room and Cougar leaped onto her bed.
    Sam’s bedsprings creaked as she rolled over to see Cougar kneading her sheets into a suitable nest. The cat was as particular as she had been, digging her sleeping bag out of a downstairs closet, shaking it out, and rerolling it into a smooth bundle, tied tight until she unfurled it tomorrow night at Mrs. Allen’s ranch.
    â€œGo to sleep,” Sam urged the cat. Cougar pretended not to understand.
    She knew she wouldn’t be sleeping at home tomorrow night, but Pirate didn’t. He’d found a home off the range in Dr. Scott’s corral, but he was about to lose it.
    Sam swallowed hard. She had to help the colt through his pain and confusion. If she succeeded, he could be adopted into a loving home. If she failed, he’d live out his days in a faraway pasture. One way or another, he’d be gone soon.
    At last, Cougar gave a feline sigh. Without meaning to, Sam echoed it.
    The cat lay still and so did Sam, fading into dreams of sun glare, galloping hooves, and the river, shushing her worries into silence.
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    The next morning, Sam was kissing Ace good-bye on his velvety muzzle when Dad told her to hop in the car.
    Deerpath Ranch was only a few miles out of the way, so Dad and Gram were dropping Sam off before starting toward Darton to pick up Dad’s new truck.
    Sam sat in the backseat of Gram’s yellow Buick, arms wrapped around her sleeping bag.
    Gram glanced over her shoulder.
    â€œYou’ve stayed there before,” Gram said.
    â€œI know,” Sam said.
    But not without my horse , she thought. Both times she’d stayed at Deerpath Ranch—first helping the blind filly Faith through her first rocky days, thenwhen Mrs. Allen had flown to Denver after Gabriel’s accident—Sam had brought Ace along with her. But Sam was pretty sure Gram wouldn’t understand that the frisky bay gelding could be her security blanket.
    Boo hoo, poor you, Sam scolded herself. How many girls would love the chance to spend a week on a ranch, sleeping out under the Western stars, working to heal a wild mustang?
    Hundreds, maybe thousands of people would envy her.
    By the time they reached Deerpath Ranch, Sam barely noticed the improvements Mrs. Allen had made to the ranch this past year. Wooden fences had replaced rusted, sagging barbed wire. Bleached and barren fields had become green pastures, spreading to the horizon, dotted with glossy-coated mustangs.
    Sam couldn’t wait to get started. She opened the car door