Storm Chaser by Chris Platt Page B

frowned.
    Her father removed his hat and slapped it across his leg. “But Duncan was bigger and stronger. He’s, well, a…”
    â€œA boy?” Jessie finished the words for her father. It cut her to the quick to know he thought that way. She could train a horse just as well as any stupid boy if her father would only give her a chance. “You’re not being fair,” she said. Her voice came out ragged as she fought against her anger.
    â€œThat’s not what I meant, Jessica Lynn. You have to be good and strong to be able to handle these unbroke animals.” He plopped the hat back on his head, snugging it down like he expected a storm.
    Jessica knew the argument was over. Her father only used her middle name when he was at the end of his patience.
    â€œYou can try to get the halter on that filly, and I’ll be grateful if you do,” he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “But the breaking will be left to Duncan. Maybe we’ll get you started next season when you’ve got a little more meat on your bones, Jess.”
    Jessica watched her father walk away. There was a sadness in his face when he turned and left. She knew it pained him to say no, but he’d done it just the same.
    She turned back to the horse pen, the halter still in her hand. “I don’t supposed you’d let me walk up and put this on you?” she said to Storm Chaser. The paint cocked her ears at the sound of Jessica’s voice, but she maneuvered to stand behind Rusty, keeping a safe distance from Jessica. She moved as if her foot pained her terribly. Jess knew they needed to get Chase gentled quickly so they could treat her hoof.
    She dug into her pocket, pulling out the carrot she’d stashed there before coming down to prepare the pen. She snapped it in half, and Rusty immediately recognized the sound. He stepped forward boldly, leaving the paint to fend for herself while he munched happily on the treat.
    â€œYou could have one too, you know.” She bit off a smaller piece and offered it to Chase in the flat of her hand.
    The little horse sniffed the air, her nostrils widening as she tried to take in the scent. Jessica moved forward one step, holding her breath and praying that she could get close enough for the filly to take the tidbit out of her hand. Chase stood still through one more footstep, then retreated to a safe distance, eyeing her warily.
    Jessica’s shoulders slumped. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she needed to wait one more year before she took up training horses. How could she train Chase when she couldn’t even get a halter on her?
    â€œYou were handled by people once,” she told Chase. “Don’t you remember? You were brought into the Lightfoots’ barn at five months old with the rest of the colts and fillies and handled for the rest of the winter. Then they turned all of you out to the desert for a couple of years to play and grow.” She sighed. “I guess you forgot everything about people when you were out in the wild. I’ve got to help you remember what it was like when you trusted humans. You’re three years old now. It’s time for you to learn to carry a rider.”
    She grabbed the stiff-bristled brush from the bucket outside the corral and ran it over Rusty’s coat, whisking the dirt and loose hairs away with a flick of her wrist. Chase remained on the other side of the gelding. If Jessica stood on her toes and stretched across Rusty’s back, she could reach the filly’s shoulder with the brush.
    At first, Storm Chaser startled at the touch of the grooming tool, but after a few more strokes, she stood still, her lips twitching in appreciation. The paint probably thought it was Rusty giving her a scratch. Jessica leaned a little further over Rusty’s back, trying to reach more of Chase, but when the filly saw her arm move, she stepped nervously to the rail and stayed out of reach.
    Duncan