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when he’s paying bills. “Making what up? The horse needs meds. I hate that job. And I’m too busy to add one more thing.”
    “And you promise Kat won’t get inside the stall with that horse?” Mom demands.
    “She’ll just bute the pony in his feed twice a day so I won’t have to,” Hank explains.
    “Please, Mom?” I beg.
    Mom walks up to me and starts unwrapping the bandages from my hand. “Do you promise to keep a stall between you and that horse?”
    “Promise.”
    “Okay,” Mom finally agrees.
    I hug her. Then I hug Hank. “When do I start?”
    “No time like the present,” Hank says. “You up for it?”
    Truth is, all I’m up for is going back to bed. But I’m not about to tell them that. “Lead on.”

Five
    “Hank?” He’s halfway to the barn before I can even clear the front porch.
    “Sorry, Kat.” Hank jogs back. He sticks out his arm, and I take hold. His arms are thicker than my legs. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with the old sorrel. She’s been used up on the trails. I’d love to let her pasture with some yearlings. She’s got great manners in spite of everything. That gray mare is still a mystery to me. Not sure what’s going on with her. And the Pinto’s so scared that I’ll probably have to imprint her, start her all over again like a colt.”
    I like that he’s talking to me about the horses as if we’re in this together. “If anybody can help these horses, Hank, it’s you. Or Winnie, of course.”
    Hank grins. “Of course. Did I tell you Uncle Bart and Aunt Claire and Catman might come out here for Thanksgiving?”
    “That would be great!”
    “Yeah. Gram goes there every Thanksgiving. It’s time for them to come up here. Catman always acts like his cats couldn’t get along for a few days without him.”
    “You’re the same way with your horses, and you know it,” I say.
    We reach the barn. Seeing the sawdust brings back everything that happened yesterday. I look away and follow Hank to the tack room.
    “I’ll show you where I keep the meds,” Hank says. “You can dump feed into the pony’s trough from the stallway.”
    “I wish I could do more,” I say, half to myself.
    “I’m not kidding when I tell you this helps, Kat. It’s a hassle to remember to give a horse medicine. I’ll be too busy with the other horses. The faster I get them fattened up and gentled again, the better chance we’ll have of finding good homes for them. It’s going to be tougher once school starts too.”
    The tack room is about the size of my bedroom. Feed bins line one wall. Bridles hang on the opposite wall. A bunch of different kinds of saddles are stacked up on sawhorses. Gram Coolidge is always bringing over tack she’s picked up at an auction or at a barn sale.
    Hank lifts the lid on a wooden box that’s sitting in the far corner. “You don’t have to refrigerate bute. Just keep it in here with the syringes.”
    Syringes? “This stuff comes in pills, right? No shots?”
    Hank laughs. “No shots.” He pulls out a large white envelope and shakes a giant pill into his palm.
    I can’t believe how big the pill is. Bigger than a quarter and three times as thick. “Hank, how can you expect that poor little pony to swallow that ?”
    He bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “We’ll crush it up first, Kat.”
    “Crush it up,” I repeat. “Good call.”
    He glances around the tack room, spots an empty coffee can, and sets it on the old school desk Gram Coolidge found last fall at a garage sale. “You can crush it up in this.” He hands me the pill and the can, then stands back.
    I try to break the pill in half. It won’t break.
    Hank takes the pill back. He gets a pair of pliers from the toolbox. Then he holds the pill over the coffee can. “This will be easier for you. Pinch off pieces all the way around, like this.”
    Snip, snip, snip. Pieces of the pill drop into the coffee can. “There.” He sets the pliers down. “You can do