Wild Hearts

by Jessica Burkhart

  “You could help, too. If you want. But that’s okay if you can’t,” I added quickly.

  “I want to,” he said. I got up and passed the row of chairs and turned into his aisle. I held out my hand. “Logan and I are going to dinner. Do you and Mom want to come? Logan’s going to ask Jack, too.”

  He didn’t hesitate to take my hand. “Let’s call your mom.” Hand in hand, just as Logan and I had left the building earlier, Dad and I headed outside and left the darkness of the schoolhouse behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Boots weren’t made for walking.

  The dinner with Jack, Mom, and Dad went better than I ever could have hoped. Mom and Dad met Logan, Jack, and me over at Bert’s Steak House and we ate, talked, and laughed for a couple of hours. When we’d first sat down, the table was silent. But Logan started telling Jack and my parents about the horses, and that eased us into conversation.

  There had even been a brief chat between Jack and Dad. When we were done, Dad and Jack shook hands.

  Logan and I had taken two days after our town meeting to give the horses and ourselves a break. Jack had needed Logan’s help with a few things around the ranch and Logan was working long hours.

  Mom and I concentrated on readying the house for Kate’s visit and putting together a guest bedroom for her. If I wasn’t home, I spent lots of time with Amy and we worked on fundraiser stuff.

  Since Kate was Hollywood savvy, I hoped she’d have a few tips for getting local media attention. Lost Springs didn’t have an indie bookstore, so I hit the Lost Springs Library. I checked out dozens of books on publicity, marketing, business strategies—practically every book that I even thought could provide me one ounce of help.

  “Mom,” I called upstairs. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “Coming,” she said. She took a seat next to me at the kitchen table. The table was covered with ideas for marketing and scraps of paper with ideas that Logan, Amy, and I had come up with.

  “I think we need a website,” I said. “Amy offered to put together the site—she knows way more than I do about web design—and I’m writing the content now.”

  “What kind of content?”

  “Date of event, horses available, a few facts about mustangs, what we’re seeking from sponsors. Things like that.”

  She took the paper and scanned it. “That sounds good,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

  I took back the paper. “I know you have that big spread to do for Beautiful Homes, but could you take a sort of head shot of each horse to put online?”

  “Of course, hon!” She smiled and took my hand. “I’d love it. I’ve been taking so many pictures of plants and grass that I’m sick of it. Photographing horses will be a nice break.”

  “Can we do it this week?” I said.

  “I should be done with my writing class assignments since that class is wrapping up and a magazine is sending a crew for me for a new assignment on Wednesday. How about . . . Friday?” She pulled her calendar off the counter.

  “Perfect. Thanks, Mom.”

  I texted Amy.

  Want to FaceTime while we work on horse stuff?

  I flopped on the center of my floor, surrounded by papers, and my phone beeped.

  Call me!☺

  I dialed Amy.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling as her face popped up on my phone screen.

  “I’m glad we’re FaceTiming,” Amy said. “Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t like work-work. But it’s still a kind of work and I’m glad to ‘have’ you around so we can talk and stuff.”

  “I totally know what you mean. And you’re still coming over tomorrow, right?”

  Amy nodded. “Yep. Is ten to ten thirty okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Whatever works for you. I’ll be home all day. What are your hours at Watson’s Friday?” I asked. “My mom is coming to the barn to photograph all the horses. We could swing by your house and pick you up depending on your schedule.”

  “I switched shifts with another girl,” Amy said. “So I have Friday off.”

  “Awesome. I’m so excited. But please, please tell me if you want to take a real break, Ames. I know that the horse project is work. I wouldn’t think twice if you said you wanted a day at home to chill or see your other friends.”

  “Please,” Amy said. “This event is important to me. Even better—it’s special to you and Logan. I want to help and support my friends.”

  “You’re awesome,” I said.

  Amy tipped her head back and fanned her hair. “I know. I just radiate amazingness.”

  Giggling, we got to work.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Worry is like a rockin’ horse. It’s something to do that don’t get you nowhere.

  On Friday morning Amy, Mom, and I were in the Explorer on the way to Pam’s.

  I was twisted around in the front seat talking to Amy. “Logan had to stay home because Trevor forgot to rotate the cattle into a new pasture. Can you believe that guy?” I asked her, shaking my head.

  “Jack is so firing him,” Amy said. “That’s not the first time he’s messed up like that.”

  “Sweetie,” Mom said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but where do I turn?”

  “Oh, right!” I said. “Sorry.”

  Mom flipped on her right blinker.

  “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry! I meant left!”

  Mom gave me The Look.

  “I was really saying ‘oh, right,’ like it just occurred to me that you haven’t been to Pam’s before,” I said.

  “You’ve talked about the horses so much,” Mom said, “I felt like I’d met them all. Pam, too. You’ve been coming here for a while. I feel so behind.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. I could tell because the smile didn’t make the few barely there lines around her eyes crease. The smile could fool Amy, but not me. Her feelings were hurt because of my lies. Guilt made me shrink a little into the car seat. Mom was used to knowing everything I did. She always got to know my friends—and by “know” I meant “heard about,” because the friends were mostly people I met through my virtual classes during the school year. I was lucky to be a homeschooler with digital access to more traditional classes.

  I wondered if Dad felt the same way. I’d invited him to come, but he was taking a work from home day to focus on home stuff like bills instead of job stuff. I realized that I hadn’t asked Dad anything about his work lately. Usually, I knew at least as much as Brody and the crew.

  Maybe this is how traditional families function, I thought. Everyone’s always off doing their own thing.

  “Pam should be at work,” Amy said, jolting me out of my thoughts. “But you so have to meet her, Ms. C! You’ll love her.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Mom said, looking in the rearview mirror and smiling at Amy. “Amy, you and I see each other a lot, usually in passing, right?”

  I turned in my seat so I could see Amy and Mom.

  “Yes,” Amy said, nodding. She tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear.

  “Then why are you still calling me ‘Ms. C’?” Mom asked, laughing.

  I smiled. Amy had already told Mom about her southern obsession.

  Amy and I giggled and it felt as though someone had pushed a refresh button on the mood surrounding us.

  “You know why,” Amy said, still laughing. “Because it’s respectful. Especially for a southern belle.”

  I shook my head. “I do not know this person sitting in the backseat. She clearly needed at least a seventy-two-hour evaluation. This girl wants to live in the South so bad that she is pretending that Wyoming is Georgia.”

  That set Mom and me off—we laughed so hard that I had to wipe tears from my eyes.

  “Oh, whatever!” Amy said, reaching forward and gently tugging on my ponytail. “I’m not speaking to either one of you.” She put her nose in the air and looked out the window. I focused, looking out my window to g
auge how close we were. The roadside grass was knee high and Mom tapped on the brakes as we went over a small bridge. The creek that ran under the road snaked through Pam’s property. It provided constant fresh water to the herd.

  “Daughter, since you’re the only one speaking to me,” Mom said. “Anything I need to know? I’ve never photographed horses before, let alone wild mustangs.”

  “The ones that you’ll be photographing are the younger horses that we’ve done a lot of work with. They aren’t spook-proof by any means, but they’re not going to bite or kick anyone.”

  “The horses that are wild,” Amy said, “are ones that we probably won’t see.”

  “Ooooh!” I said, grinning and reaching around to poke her leg with my pointer finger. “She speaks!”

  Amy swatted at my hand. “I realized that a polite young lady wouldn’t give anyone the silent treatment.”

  We were still laughing when I pointed to Pam’s driveway. Mom drove over a cattle guard and went slowly toward the barn.

  “Wow,” she said. “This property is huge!”

  Amy and I jumped out of the SUV the second it rolled to a stop. Mom grabbed her camera bag and tripod.

  This was the first chance the horses had to meet someone new. They only knew Logan, Amy, Pam, and me. What if one spooked? What if they all spooked? Mom reached my side and Amy came from the barn with a green bucket filled with a few handfuls of grain.

  I let out a sharp whistle and a few of the youngest horses perked their heads and trotted up to the fence.

  “Stand still,” I said to Mom as Amy and I climbed into the pasture. “Let them get a look at you before you come in and maybe that will help so they don’t spook.”

  Mom nodded, slowly sliding her arm holding the camera behind her.

  “Hi, guys,” I crooned. “You’re all so gorgeous and clean! Who wants to get their picture taken?” I kept a singsong tone to my voice. Logan’s spirited filly, whom Holden had named Sassy when we had told him about her, came over with her ears pointed forward. Amy scratched behind Sassy’s ears and a muzzle bumped lightly against my back.

  I knew who it was before I turned around.

  “Frogger!” I said, giggling. The bay colt bobbed his head, looking proud of himself. “You got my attention, so I guess I’ll pet you.” I slowly put my arms around Frogger’s dark neck and hugged him. He didn’t move or fight to get away from me. I let him go and he went over to Amy for his turn at the grain bucket.

  Amy and I let the horses have a mouthful of grain and then motioned for Mom to come inside. She handed me her camera and then climbed the fence. The eight young horses around us didn’t even blink when Mom stood up next to me.

  “Wow, guys,” I said. “We’re all so impressed!”

  Amy and I reached for each other’s hand and squeezed, trading giant smiles.

  “You both should be very, very proud of the job you’ve done,” Mom said. “You realize that these horses are still very much wild, right?”

  “I guess,” Amy said. “I kind of forgot about how we got them once we started naming them and stuff.”

  I nodded. “They can be wild for however long they want as long as they suppress it until they’re turned out in a big pasture to live out their golden years.”

  “I think there’s a very real chance of that happening,” Mom said.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Where do you want us to hold the horses?”

  “Let’s have you there by that patch of dandelions in the far end of the corral, facing away from the mountains,” Mom said. “Do you guys like that angle?”

  “I’m happy,” I said, swatting at my knee. The flies made me regret my choice of cutoff jean shorts. Amy was swatting away at her own legs. Mom had been the smart one who had chosen jeans.

  “I’m going to grab some hay to keep the other horses busy,” I said. With fresh hay in hand, I shook out a few flakes onto the ground. The horses munched away while Mom took test shots and Amy and I fixed Sassy’s long black mane.

  “Do you want to hold her or should I?” Amy asked. She took a red halter that had been hanging on her shoulder and we quickly buckled it on the mare. She snapped a lead rope under the horse’s chin.

  “I don’t mind taking her,” I said.

  Amy pulled her phone out of one of the back pockets in her shorts. “Say ‘Amy rules!’”

  I burst into laughter and click.

  “Amy,” I said, finally over my laugh-fit. “If I look bad and I even so much as think that you uploaded that to QuikPic . . .”

  “Brie! Oh, my gosh,” Amy said. “Your mom is ready and you’re making her wait.”

  I tilted my head and started to yell back at Amy, but just in time remembered that I had a mustang at the end of a very short cotton rope.

  Mom bent forward, her face near the camera. “These are going to look beautiful,” Mom said. “Let me know when you’re ready, Brie.”

  “Okay, I want to let out the rope a little so there will be a great shot of her without me being too close for good cropping.” I let out the lead rope bit by bit. “Stay there, pretty girl. Just be still.”

  The filly stayed but looked at me. A brilliant white star peeked from under her forelock.

  Amy clicked with her tongue a couple of times. It broke the filly’s focus on me and she turned her head, looking dead on at Mom.

  “That’s a girl,” Amy said. “Just keep looking at us. We’re almost done with you.”

  “Got it,” Mom said, looking up from her camera and trading grins with Amy and me. “Nice work, girls. I’ve got the easy job today.”

  “Please,” Amy and I said in unison.

  All three of us laughed. I praised the horse, then released her to join the others. A few lifted their heads, eyes filled with curiosity.

  “One at a time, guys,” I said. “You’ll all get your picture taken. Don’t worry.”

  The familiar sound of a certain truck’s engine broke the quiet of our shoot. Well before he reached the barn, Logan cut the engine. He headed toward us, waving.

  It was Amy’s turn to hold one of the horses. She was at the corral gate, shooing the horses back so she could step inside.

  “Hi, Ms. Carter,” Logan said, smiling at my mom. He walked over to where I’d perched on the fence and ran a hand up and down my back. “Hi to you, too,” he said.

  I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. “Everything okay?” I asked him.

  “Now it is,” Logan said. He didn’t offer up anything else and I wasn’t the type of girlfriend who always felt the need to pry info from her boyfriend. “How’s the photo shoot?”

  “Great,” I said, watching while Amy held a buckskin colt for Mom. “They haven’t gotten scared once.”

  Logan grinned. “That’s good, because this place better be packed in a few weeks.”

  Mom took the final two shots and we dropped Amy off at home. Logan stayed behind at Pam’s to start cleaning up the barn.

  Later that night, Mom and I went over the pictures and chose the best one for each horse. Then, with Amy on the phone, I navigated the website and got the pictures posted online.

  It was almost two in the morning when I felt a wave of exhaustion. I sat back in my desk chair and scrolled through the website.

  “‘Lost Springs Mustang Sponsorship,’” I read aloud. “‘Browse our site to learn about available horses, dates, and how you can sponsor one this summer and take your horse home next year. One hundred percent of donations goes directly to the horses—not one will ever be euthanized unless its quality of life can’t be improved. We will not give up on a single horse. If one is not adoptable for whatever reason, we will continue to care for it.’” The site listed Amy’s cell as the contact number and Pam’s address.

  On the photo gallery page, Amy had helped me set up a photo album with the photos Mom had taken. Under each photo, a couple of sentences of description told potential adopters about each horse.

  “‘Santana,’” I read aloud. “�
��This gentle mare stands at fifteen hands high and is five or six years old. She’s halter broken, leads well, and is ready for training.’”

  Amy and I hoped, with lots of people home for the summer, those people would be browsing the web and feeling like sponsoring a horse or donating to our cause.

  Logging off, I flopped onto my bed. I’d just closed my eyes when my phone buzzed beside me.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Kate asked.

  “No, I just finished some work for the fundraiser,” I said.

  “That’s my sister,” Kate said. “Planning ahead. Good girl. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “You need to sleep. I was just calling to say hi and that I love you,” Kate said. “I’m bringing a surprise, too.”

  “Surprise? What kind of surprise?”

  “Bye, Brie. Talk later,” Kate said, her tone mocking and playful.

  “Kate! Wait! Tell me!” I pleaded, but the line went silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Don’t wear the same pair of boots every day. Variety not only spices up life, it prolongs it.

  That evening, tiny bugs flew toward Logan’s headlights as he parked his truck on Dad’s lot. Dad had called and asked me to come. We had both been quiet on the ride over.

  “Call me when you’re done,” Logan said, kissing me quickly. “I hope everything is okay.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “He was cryptic on the phone. He just said to get over here and he wanted to talk. Thanks for the ride.” I hopped out of the truck and waved to Logan as I walked over to the silver trailer. Lights from the inside made patches of light on the grass.

  I climbed the stairs and opened the door.

  “Hi,” I said, tossing my purse on the sofa. “What’s going on?” I asked Dad. He was bent over his computer, fingers clicking over the keyboard.

  “One sec. Hold on.”

  I grabbed a mint from the jar on Dad’s desk. The printer whirred and shot out a couple of neon-colored pages. Dad handed me a pink one.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking it from him. A huff of surprise escaped from my lips. I read the flyer from top to bottom. Twice. Fundraiser for wild mustangs! July 29 at 8 a.m. at 4249 High Falls Road, Lost Springs. The flyer gave the time, website address, and a phone number. The flyer’s border was the pictures Mom had taken and they had been downsized and tilted to be catchy.