Mountain Mare by Terri Farley Page B

past rows of cars and horse trailers, gathering speed though he was mincing sideways.
    Finally, Sam followed his stare and saw what Ace was watching.
    The mountain mare had followed them. Sun shone on her chocolate coat, making pinkish flickers. She looked determined, as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she’d do when she got there. And yet the mare’s pace was unhurried and so smooth, her tawny mane barely ruffled and her tail drifted only at the tip.
    She’s coming along. Okay. No need to think about her, Sam thought.
    Then, for the hundredth time, Sam ordered herself to worry about what was in front of her.
    But she was too late.
    A creak sounded on their right and a car door burst open just a few feet away.
    Hands steady on Ace’s reins, Sam saw a flash of a sundress, watermelon pink and green. Then a little girl rushed into Ace’s path.
    With her hand extended toward Ace’s nose, the girl shouted, “Can I pet him?”
    As Ace slid to a cow-horse stop, his shoes grated on asphalt.
    He’d stopped in time to miss the child, and thoughAce huffed with exertion, it seemed everything was okay until the child’s openmouthed father dashed after her.
    Ace rose in a half-rear and Sam heard a camera’s motor drive whirring through an endless series of photos, capturing Ace rearing over the little girl’s head.

Chapter Six
    â€œI t was no big deal,” Jen told Sam later as they unsaddled their horses outside the rodeo barn that would provide a home for Ryden Rodeo Productions horses for the next few days.
    The fairground had three double barns. Sam and Jen peeked inside theirs and saw that an interior corridor ran between rows of twelve stalls on each side, with a feed room at one end and a tack room at the other. The barn was airy and light, and the horses could look inside the barn or out to the activity of people and animals preparing for tonight’s rodeo performance.
    As Sam and Jen unsaddled Ace and Silly, a trio of glossy black horses—part of Hal Ryden’s arenaremuda—stretched their necks over half doors to watch. Their muzzles dripped water, as if instinct had urged them to take greedy swallows from their buckets before the new arrivals could drink. The horses’ nostrils were dusted with cedar shavings and the scent of fresh bedding was all around.
    â€œIt was, too, a big deal,” Sam insisted as she released Ace’s cinch, tossed it over the saddle seat, then grabbed the horn and cantle to slide the saddle from her horse’s sweating back.
    â€œNonsense,” Jen said. “Just hustle, okay? I want to get back over to the arena. Hal said they’d let the mare stay there, with the other stock until we get there, but—”
    â€œI know.” Sam tried not to sound snappish as the saddle blanket, covered in Ace’s red-gold hairs, came off with the saddle and fell across her boot toes. Sam kicked it aside. Carefully.
    It would be just her luck to trip and fall flat on her face, now, when she had an audience.
    On their way to the “Last Roundup” barbecue, sponsored by the Darton Rodeo Association, many of the dudes had already come by to tell Sam how much they admired her dramatic riding. Some thought it had been a Hollywood-style trick. Others thought Ace had acted up and she’d ridden him to a standstill. No one but Jen seemed to see it for what it was: a mistake. All hers.
    If she’d been a better rider, she would have seenat a glance that the chocolate mare was following, then she would have shifted her attention forward where it belonged. She wouldn’t have been clawing to stay in the saddle. She wouldn’t have nearly fallen. Most of all, she wouldn’t have brought a range-bred mustang into town.
    Guilt stabbed through her as she touched Ace’s wet coat. The little horse was stressed, and she couldn’t even give him the comfort of a good brushing. She didn’t have a