The Challenger by Terri Farley Page B

pleasure.
    â€œSo, Ace, do you think I’m a city girl?”
    Ace stamped one hoof.
    â€œI don’t think so, either. I only spent two years in San Francisco. Jen knows the numbers don’t support what she’s saying, so why would she say it?”
    Ace shifted his weight toward Sam. She rubbed harder.
    â€œAnd she told me to grow up.” Sam paused as Ace shook his mane. “Okay, something like that. And I’ll tell you the truth, Ace, I don’t want to ask her what she meant.”
    Sam worked her fingers through the gelding’s coarse black mane. “Know what I think? That I should save those cougars myself before Linc has a chance to kill them.” Sam let her words hang for a moment. “I should do it myself,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself it was the right thing to do.
    At the bus stop, she and Jen would make up. None of their squabbles lasted longer than overnight. After each of them apologized, she’d ask Jen to meet her after school. Together, they’d ride the ridgeline, looking for cougar tracks. When they found the mother and cub, they’d bother them a little. Not enough to terrify them, but just ride after them a little and hope the cats took off for the high country.
    Slocum wasn’t likely to follow the cats into bleak, snowy terrain where the riding was cold and difficult.
    All at once, Sam felt sleepy. It just figured. She’donly been out of bed about fifteen minutes and her body had decided it was nap time. If she hurried, maybe she could catch more sleep before her alarm rang.
    â€œâ€™Bye, boy.” Sam kissed Ace on the nose, slipped out of his pen, and jogged toward the house.
    Before she was halfway there, a commotion of clucks and a flurry of feathers erupted inside the chicken house.
    Sam stopped. What was that? She peered toward the coop. Had something moved?
    No other animal was inside the chicken house now, or the hens would still be squawking, but she’d seen something like a wave of black near the fenced chicken yard.
    Sam continued cautiously. If she were a horse, a dog, or almost anything but a human, she’d have better night vision. She opened her eyes as wide as possible, then squinted. Nothing was there.
    Keeping a watch over her shoulder, Sam continued toward the house. As soon as she opened the door, the kitchen light came on. Sam jumped back. Of course, it was just Gram, wearing a red robe zipped up to her neck, looking at Sam in surprise.
    â€œGood morning!” Gram said as she flicked on the oven. “You startled me.” She ran water into the coffeepot, set it to heat, then asked, “Is everything all right?”
    â€œFine,” Sam said. There was no sense mentioningthe turmoil in the chicken house. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
    â€œHmm,” Gram said. “I wonder why.”
    Sam noticed Gram hadn’t really asked why. Still, Sam sagged into a chair instead of going upstairs. Her eyelids were heavy, but she couldn’t help but watch as Gram darted around.
    Gram opened the refrigerator, removed two pans of bread dough that she’d left rising overnight, and slipped them into the oven. They’d be baked and ready for butter and honey at six-twenty, the time Sam usually came down for breakfast. Sam wished they were ready now.
    Next, Gram ground coffee beans in a hand mill and poured them into the old tin coffeepot. Finally, she made Sam’s lunch and slipped it into the backpack Sam left hanging by the door.
    By then the coffee was ready. Gram poured herself a cup, sipped it, then tilted her head while she looked at Sam.
    â€œI know it’s not your usual, but what about a cup of coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and maybe a piece of apple pie?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Sam practically growled the words. Last night, after her fight with Jen, she hadn’t been hungry for much dinner.
    Smiling, Gram cut two triangles of pie. She gave Sam a