Wild Hearts

by Jessica Burkhart

  Now the event was only five days away, and Logan and I had to put up flyers around town, then pick up Holden and take him with us to Pam’s. Jack was busy with a landowner’s meeting today. Logan and I were taking Holden to see the horses.

  The clock just hit nine in the morning as I biked to WyGas. Logan and I were splitting a stack of flyers. “I’ll go west,” I said. “If you go east.”

  Logan took the stack and walked me out the door. “Let’s meet back here in an hour, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  We both headed off through town. I dropped flyers at the drugstore, farm supply, post office, and bakery. Out on the street, I handed flyers to anyone who walked by. At the furniture repair store, I rang the silver bell on the counter. “Rodney? You here?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” a gruff voice called from the back of the store. A round-faced man with furniture polish streaks on his face stepped into view. “Oh, it’s you, Miss Carter,” he said, his voice losing its edge as his face creaked into a smile.

  “Sorry to bother you, Rodney, but could you post this flyer in your window?” Rodney was an old friend of Jack’s and I didn’t think he’d turn me down.

  He held out his hand and studied the flyer when I handed it to him. “Of course. Right in my display window.”

  “Great! You coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Might sponsor a horse myself. Got a little lonely around home when Rodney Jr. got married.”

  “I’ll look for you,” I said. “See you there.” Heading outside of the store, I checked my watch and an hour had already passed. There were a few flyers left, so I passed them out to people shopping and headed to meet Logan.

  This was phase one of a dozen.

  “Careful, that’s Oscar the Grouch,” Logan said to Holden, causing the boy to giggle. We’d picked up Holden and had brought him with us to Pam’s.

  “Why does he have that name?” Holden asked, taking a few steps back from the stall he’d started to peer into.

  The black mustang had his back to us and faced the stall corner. We’d tried treats, grain with molasses, and even other horses to get Oscar’s attention, but he refused to lose his swept-back ears and wild eyes. Logan had blindfolded him to get him into a stall because he’d needed to be checked out by Pam. Each horse, no matter whether we thought they had gentling potential, got a thorough checkup. I hadn’t been here when Pam had checked him out, but Logan had said tranquilizers had been involved.

  “Because he’s so grumpy, he hasn’t let us pet him yet,” Logan said.

  “Oh,” Holden said, hanging on Logan’s every word. It wasn’t the first time we had brought him here. Holden loved it. He’d helped us groom a couple of the gentle yearlings, and the horses brought out an animated side of him.

  “I’m going to grab a fresh bucket of water,” Logan said, slipping off his gloves. “And then we can get ready to leave.”

  Logan headed outside to the water pump and I walked down to Frogger’s stall. He pricked a white-tipped ear to me and came up to the stall door. Frogger was one of seven horses inside the barn, while the rest who hadn’t adjusted yet to being indoors were out in the pasture. We tossed them hay every day.

  I stroked his muzzle. Thanks to Kate’s Access piece, he was famous around town as the movie star horse. Several people had already contacted us, wanting to sponsor Frogger.

  In addition to people who wanted to help, we were also getting lots of calls from other TV shows and newspapers. Logan had taken on most of the print interviews and I’d been doing some by phone and scheduling in-person sessions with news crews coming to Lost Springs.

  I wished I could keep Frogger, but it wasn’t a reality.

  I left Frogger and headed back down the aisle. Blinking against the strong outdoor light, I saw Holden petting a dark muzzle. At the same moment, Logan came inside with the water bucket.

  We both stopped.

  Holden was gently stroking Oscar’s muzzle as the horse leaned his head over the stall door. Water from Logan’s bucket sloshed over the side and splashed against the pavement.

  “Holden,” I said in a whisper. White-hot fear flashed in my chest. An image of Oscar taking a chunk out of Holden’s arm flashed through my mind. “Put your hand down slowly and back away.”

  “Right now,” Logan added.

  “He’s a good boy,” Holden said, smiling up at Oscar.

  Holden turned and walked away from the stall. Oscar didn’t retreat into his corner. Instead, he kept his head poked outside the stall and watched us all. The whites had receded from his eyes and his lower lip wasn’t flapping from fear.

  Slowly, Logan walked forward and grabbed Holden from behind.

  “You scared me, kid! If you’re going to come here, you’ve got to listen.” Logan hugged Holden before putting him down.

  “Okay, sorry,” Holden said softly. He frowned and sat on a hay bale near an empty stall.

  “Hey, Holden,” I said. “We got scared, but you helped Oscar. Look, he’s not so grouchy anymore.”

  Holden looked over at the horse and smiled. “He’s happy now,” Holden said.

  Logan ruffled Holden’s hair and mouthed Thank you to me.

  “Let’s call it a day, guys,” I said, putting my arm around Logan’s waist. “We’ve got an interview to prep for.”

  We left the horses napping and eating in their stalls and headed to Logan’s truck. Logan and I held hands as Holden trotted ahead. A pinto colt lifted his head with a mouthful of grass and neighed at Holden. Holden laughed and waved at the colt. We were all laughing when we climbed into Logan’s truck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Only fools or gamblers walk behind strange horses.

  “And now back to Inside the Issue. I’m Trista Todd and we’re here in little Lost Springs, Wyoming. With us today is Brie Carter, a teenage horse tamer and animal activist. Welcome, Brie.”

  Smiling at Trista, I nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” Trista and I sat in director’s chairs in the mustang pasture with Blackheart Mountain behind us.

  The event was four days away and Logan and I were working from sunup until two or three in the morning.

  Today, Mom and Dad had come with me. They wanted to watch my first TV interview with someone who wasn’t Kate. Off camera, Mom and Dad smiled while Logan gave me a thumbs-up.

  The woman’s blond hair had bad black roots and her face was caked with a pound of foundation. “So, Brie, tell us about the event this weekend. Whose idea was it?”

  “The event is a fundraiser for mustangs who have been displaced. My partner, Logan McCoy, and I started the event because thousands of mustangs are moved, slaughtered, and abused every year in our country.”

  Trista shook her head. “That’s so cruel. Now, what are you looking for in potential sponsors?”

  I sat a little straighter. These questions weren’t hard. “We need people who understand these are still wild animals,” I said. “We’ve halter-broken most of them, but we need adopters who are willing to sponsor a horse. That means, if someone comes and sees a horse they like, they’ll leave their name on a contact sheet. Next summer, we will hold an adoption event. People who have their name on a list will get first dibs at adopting their sponsored horse. The sponsorship doesn’t mean the horse belongs to them—it just moves them ahead of the line if they do want to adopt next summer. The horses are all ages and they have different comfort levels with people.”

  “Wonderful, just wonderful,” Trista cooed, a smile plastered on her face. Maybe I should consider a career in TV. Every question she asked made me want to talk more.

  “Thank you,” I said. “We just want people to come out, see the horses, and consider donating to our cause. These horses need all the support they can get.”

  “Let’s talk about your partner for a second. What’s your relationship with Logan?”

  “We’re dating,” I said with a tiny smile.

  Trista grinned through her red lipstick. “Ah! Youn
g love! How long have you been together?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’d like to stick to talking about the horses.”

  Oh, my God. This is only the first interview of the day. Three more left! They better not all be like this.

  “Okay, okay, no more boyfriend questions,” she said, patting me on the arm. “Now, a couple of minutes ago, Brie, you mentioned these horses had been displaced.”

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s absolutely correct.”

  “Well, we did a little research before we came. Isn’t it true that your father, Michael Brooks, is a land developer?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “He is.”

  Trista’s smile engulfed her entire face as the camera moved closer to us. “Then isn’t it correct to say that your father drove these horses off the Lost Springs land?”

  “No—”

  Trista cut me off. “But Brie, we know he’s a developer and he wanted these horses off his land. We had several anonymous people step forward and go on the record to say that your father threatened to quote ‘kill the horses’ if they didn’t leave his property. How do you explain this?”

  I clenched my jaw and looked at Dad. I half expected Dad to shove aside the camera guy and defend himself.

  “My father,” I started quickly, “would never hurt the horses. He was frustrated with them being on his land and he wanted to move them, but he’d never hurt them.”

  Trista raised her eyebrows. “Then, Ms. Carter, how do you explain the anonymous witnesses? They all claim your father—”

  Leaning forward, I looked Trista in the eyes. “Those witnesses don’t like my father because he’s a land developer. But that’s not the issue we sat down to discuss, is it, Trista?” I asked, smiling. “We came to talk about the horses, and if you want to draw attention away from our cause and make up stories, then I’m done here.”

  Pulling my eyes away from Trista, I flicked them to Dad. He just stared. Love you, he mouthed. Smiling, I glanced back at the reporter.

  “So, um, tell our viewers again the date of the event,” Trista said, turning pink and shuffling through papers on her lap.

  “It’s this Saturday in Lost Springs. You can see the horses starting at eight and we hope to see you there.”

  “Thank you, Brie, and on the bottom of your screen, we’re flashing the website and phone number to call. Stay with us and we’ll be right back.”

  The cameraman signaled we were finished and I expelled a breath. Trista hopped out of the chair and stalked off toward her Inside the Issue van without saying a word.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Logan called after her. Trista stiffened at his words but kept walking toward her trailer. Mom, Dad, Logan, and I smothered our laughter.

  One down. Three to go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

  “Two days until the fundraiser,” I said, bursting into the kitchen. Mom and Dad were seated at the counter and without looking at them, I grabbed two pieces of bread out of the fridge and started making a turkey sandwich. “Logan and I did three newspaper interviews today and we’ve got another one tomorrow. After that, we’ll be at Pam’s practically every minute.” They still hadn’t said a word. Mom’s chin was rested on her hand and Dad stirred his coffee without looking at the cup. “What’s wrong?”

  Mom reached over the counter and patted my hand. “Nothing’s wrong. Can you sit for a minute?”

  “Is it Kate? Is she okay?”

  Dad shook his head. “Kate’s fine. But we need to talk.”

  Something had happened. Dad forehead was scrunched and Mom wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Brody and the crew have been working hard,” Dad said. “The job is going to be finished soon. Last night, I got an offer from a big company that needs help rebuilding.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “San Diego,” Mom said. “They need help from those wildfires a while back.” I nodded, but I felt a dozen emotions at once. Anger, sadness, hope, understanding—those were just some of the ones I could identify. My chest felt like it had been stabbed with a red-hot poker.

  “I guess it’s good you found out early for once,” I said slowly. “Now you have plenty of time to find a place in California.”

  Mom looked down at the counter. “For this job, they’re going to need us sooner, sweetie.”

  “What? Like March?”

  Dad stood and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Brie, I’m sorry. We’re moving during the second week of August.”

  “No! What? Mom!” I slammed my hands on the counter and stared at my parents. I’d never been this angry or shocked in my entire life. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not with the fundraiser and with Logan. I hadn’t even prepared for moving in the spring. How could I deal with this in two weeks? “It’s practically here already,” I yelled. “You totally sprang this on me. That wasn’t a warning.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes. I wasn’t the one who had outbursts—that was Dad. But how could they do this now? Two weeks. That was nothing. In fourteen days, I’d be in California. What was Logan going to do? He hadn’t planned on caring for the horses by himself until at least the spring.

  “We’re so sorry, Brie,” Mom said. “We wish we could stay until the spring like we had planned, but this is a great opportunity for Dad. We couldn’t risk missing it.”

  Then it felt like all the air went out of me. I didn’t scream, argue, or cry. I just sat there. This wasn’t the first time we’d moved early. A couple of years ago, we had stayed in a rented house for two weeks before Dad had been called to another site.

  But this was so different. I had Logan, Amy, and the horses. Lost Springs felt more like home than anywhere we’d ever lived. But Mom would say wherever we were as a family was what made a home.

  “What about Logan and the horses?” I said, my voice low.

  “You’ll still be here for the fundraiser,” Mom said in a forcibly brighter tone. “You and Logan can talk on the phone, e-mail, and when we drive through Wyoming again, you can stop in and see him.”

  I couldn’t listen anymore. It was too much. After coming here, finding Logan, and putting everything into rescuing the horses, I wasn’t ready to let go. I’d made the mistake of falling in love with Logan and now the thought of moving was sickening. Would anything ever feel good again? No guy was like Logan. Leaving my sandwich on the counter, I stumbled out of the kitchen and shut myself in my room.

  “Amy,” I said, the second she answered her phone. She was the best friend I’d had in a long time. I didn’t want to leave her.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “You sound weird.”

  “I’m moving.”

  “I know. In, like, next spring or summer.”

  I paced around my room. “Two weeks.”

  “Brie! Oh, my God, when did you find out?”

  “Just now,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “My dad’s job is going to be finished early. We’re going to San Diego.”

  “Oh, no. What did Logan say?”

  Tears stung my eyes and I could barely breathe. “He doesn’t know. I can’t tell him now. Not with the event so close.”

  “Brie, you need to tell him now. He’s going to know something’s wrong.”

  I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see. “No. I’m not telling him until after the fundraiser. That has to be perfect. I’ll act like nothing’s wrong.”

  “Brie—”

  “Promise you won’t tell him.”

  Amy sighed. “I don’t like it, but I promise.”

  We talked for a while and I hung up and crawled into bed. I cried until all the tears were gone. There was no way I would tell Logan now, not with our event so close. I wasn’t going to ruin it for Logan or the horses. My sobs drowned out Mom and Dad’s voices downstairs. This was the last time I’d cry until our SUV pulled away from Lost Springs. My remaining days here weren’t going to be a waste.

/>   CHAPTER FORTY

  You can’t tell a horse’s gait until he’s broken.

  The fundraiser had been in full swing for an hour and, so far, not one of the eleven mustangs had kicked, bitten, or even shied. They proved even wild mustangs could be gentled to some degree in a short amount of time. Logan and I had held our breaths when the gates opened, but now we were like proud parents of our horses.

  “So, Mr. Miller,” I said, taking the older man’s arm and steering him toward a dun colt. “This colt is one of the first we gentled. He’s halter broken, leads well, and lets you pick his hooves. Isn’t that great for the short amount of time we’ve had him?”

  “It is,” Mr. Miller said. He pushed back his tan cowboy hat. “Will he let me touch him?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I held my breath as Mr. Miller reached down to feel the colt’s legs. Thanks to endless hours of training, the colt didn’t flinch when the man’s gloved hands ran up and down his legs.

  “Good boy,” I whispered.

  Mr. Miller nodded and smiled. “I’ll write you a check for two grand and you put this guy under my name. I’m looking forward to seeing him next summer. He’ll have grown up more by then. My grandson’s been looking for something to gentle and this colt will be a good project for him next summer. He’s not ready to start with a foal, so a horse that’s had some hands-on work will be just what he needs.”

  Two grand. Two grand for a green mustang colt!

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, offering him my hand—Dad would love that. “Amy will get you an adoption packet.”

  A local attorney had offered to make a contract for our event that stated when someone adopted a horse next summer, the owner would properly care for the adopted horse, and wouldn’t have the horse sent to a slaughter farm or subject it to any cruel treatment.

  Mr. Miller followed me over to Amy, who was handling the paperwork area. It had been nonstop for her all morning, too. The press must have worked, since people were here when we opened Pam’s gate.

  Pam’s pastures, driveway, and main barn were full with people walking around and looking at the horses. It looked as if all of Lost Springs had showed up just to see what Logan and I had put together.