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early pioneers had stopped to plant trees and build cabins in springtime or fall. They might even have sheltered in the high desert in winter, since more days were cold and sunny thanwet and dreary. But Sam knew if she’d been driving a covered wagon through northern Nevada during this August heat, she would have slapped the reins, clucked her tongue, and called out to her horses or oxen or whatever to keep on going.
    The shade cast by the roof on the front porch of Brynna’s office didn’t seem to help much, and since the air conditioner in the beige government building had been turned off last night and no one had turned it on this morning, it was no better inside.
    Sam longed for home, but Brynna wanted to talk with Mrs. Allen as soon as possible. Since Mrs. Allen’s phone kept ringing busy, Brynna was alternately catching up on work and dialing.
    If Sam had closed her eyes, she wouldn’t have known she was looking out over hundreds of horses. A hoof stamped or a tail swished through the wind sometimes, but both were quiet sounds.
    Willow Springs Wild Horse Center was a combination of what she loved and hated about the government’s wild horse adoption program.
    The pipe corrals help keep wild horses segregated by age and gender. They were a little more crowded than usual. Horses from holding corrals in other states were being sent to Willow Springs for the upcoming auction.
    Of course, Sam was grateful that the horses had been rounded up and taken off the overgrazed range. In the old days, they might have been shot or capturedand sold for pet food. Still, Sam hated it that none of the penned horses looked wild.
    Sam pried a tiny rock from between two boards in the plank porch, turned it over on her palm, then threw it toward the dirt. After it struck the ground, Sam finally heard the flow of Brynna’s voice from inside her office.
    Sam couldn’t tell what Brynna was saying, but she had to be talking with Mrs. Allen about adopting—or at least fostering—the burned colt.
    Good!
    The day was slipping away. Though she was eager to get the yearling’s future settled, she could have finished weeding by now. She could have haltered Tempest and led her down to the river to wade.
    It wasn’t likely Tempest would go without her mother, but the point of the walk was to continue accustoming the foal to her halter. When Sam pictured herself leading Dark Sunshine and Tempest, she saw herself wrapped in lead ropes, stumbling in all directions, trying to control both horses.
    Suddenly the door opened behind her.
    Smiling, Sam swiveled to look up at Brynna, then felt the muscles in her cheeks sag.
    Before Brynna said a word, it was clear she felt dejected.
    â€œShe won’t do it,” Brynna said. Her shoulders sagged. The corners of her mouth drooped and Sam could see Brynna had counted on Mrs. Allen just asmuch as she had.
    â€œWhy?” Sam asked.
    Looking resigned to Mrs. Allen’s refusal, Brynna was about to go on, but Sam didn’t give her a chance.
    â€œThat’s why she has Blind Faith Sanctuary, isn’t it? To shelter wild horses that have nowhere else to go?”
    Sam felt angry, disappointed, and amazed, all at once.
    â€œSam, if you’d just listen—”
    â€œWhat kind of excuse could she have? She could take him in for just a few days…”
    Brynna’s expression had changed. Her eyebrows arched, one higher than the other.
    Sam’s lips slammed closed. She had a feeling her stepmother was about to tell her she was being bratty beyond words. Or that she was babbling down the wrong track. Maybe both.
    â€œI happen to think Mrs. Allen has a pretty good excuse,” Brynna said quietly.
    Uh-oh. Sam felt a hot blush clamp her face.
    â€œShe’s picking up her grandson Gabriel at the airport tonight,” Brynna continued, “and his doctors in Denver think Mrs. Allen’s plans for this week could make the difference