Free Wild Thing by Dandi Daley Mackall Page B

said. “Who would be crazy enough to pay for a horse like—?”
    “Seven hundred and fifty dollars!” I cried, standing on my tiptoes, waving my number 34 as if I were signaling for rescue planes.
    The arena fell silent. All heads turned toward me.
    Lizzy gasped.
    Dad made a choking sound.
    The auctioneer spit into his microphone. “Sold!”

“Winnie!” Lizzy cried.
    “Lizzy,” I whispered, “that’s Wild Thing!” I could hardly remember bidding. It was as if someone else, someone inside me, had shouted out $750. Seven hundred and fifty dollars—our limit.
    Dad looked like somebody had punched him in the stomach. When he finally spoke, he sounded as if the punch had knocked the wind out of him. “Are . . . you . . . out . . . of your mind?”
    “Dad, I had to—”
    “That was all of our investment money!” His skin tightened around his cheeks and neck. “That was all I had. And you blew the whole thing on that?” He glared at Wild Thing and pointed his finger as if it were a sword.
    “I can gentle her, Dad!” I insisted. “You’ll see!”
    “I saw!” he shouted. “We all saw! It took an army of men to get that wild creature into the arena!”
    People turned to stare at us.
    Dad got louder. “They should pay us $750 to take that horse off their hands!”
    “Dad,” I pleaded, “I didn’t mean to bid the whole—”
    Lizzy broke in. “Dad, I’m sure Winnie knows what she’s doing.”
    Lizzy didn’t look sure. But I’d never been more grateful she was my sister.
    “Nobody knows more about horses than Winnie,” she went on.
    Dad shook his head. “That’s what I used to think too.”

    It took me the rest of the day to lead Wild Thing home. She danced and sidestepped, trying to run ahead, forcing me to turn her in circles again and again until we were both dizzy.
    Catman and Lizzy were waiting for us at home. They lifted the old gate and swung it back so I could turn Wild Thing into the pasture. When I did, she raced off as if her tail were on fire.
    That night I slept in the barn on Mom’s blanket as Wild Thing paced in our own pasture. It should have felt like my dream coming true. Wild Thing was actually here, just as I’d imagined her.
    But it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t mine.
    Dad hadn’t spoken to me since the auction, and he had every right to be angry. There was no question of keeping Wild Thing for myself. Dad needed his investment money back. We’d have to sell the Arabian in the Stable-Mart’s sale and hope somebody bid more than I had.
    Still, if I could gentle her, I could make sure she ended up in a good home with people who would appreciate her. That would have to be enough.

    Sunday afternoon Lizzy came to the barn as I was pulling out hay for Wild Thing. “Can’t you get her to come?” Lizzy asked.
    I sighed. Cupping my hands to my mouth, I hollered, “Wild Thing!”
    I waited for a nicker. None came.
    “Not much of a name.” Catman had crept up behind us.
    “How do you do that?” Lizzy asked. “Scared me half to death!”
    He shielded his eyes and gazed out to the pasture. “Shouldn’t you name her White Beauty or Misty or Flicka or something?”
    I didn’t answer, so Lizzy did. “Winnie has this thing about naming horses,” she explained. “Like if she doesn’t name it, she won’t get attached and feel sad when it goes away.”
    Catman leaned down to scratch a kitten who rubbed against his ankle. “What’s the plan?”
    Two more cats pranced up to Catman for attention. They purred, trusting him totally.
    Trust!
    “My plan,” I said, “is to help Wild Thing trust me, to convince her that I love her.” That had been Mom’s secret to gentling.
    “Make her feel your love,” Lizzy said softly. I risked a glance at her. Lizzy knew how hard it had been for me to feel love since the accident. In the beginning, she’d tell me over and over that God and Dad hadn’t stopped loving me, that I just didn’t feel it. I’d told her so many