Free Run Away Home by Terri Farley

life.
    â€œGrandfather was so disappointed.” Kit shrugged. “I’m surprised he made the rest of ’em do it.”
    â€œHow could he have been disappointed?” Sam asked.
    â€œHe said I left home and never really came back,” Kit said with a sigh. “But I just figured out that I was in love with rodeo. College wasn’t for me—at least not then.”
    After that, Sam found it easy to get Kit talking about his life since leaving Three Ponies Ranch.
    â€œMostly it’s boom or bust,” he admitted. “On a night that the broncs are good to me, I sleep in a hotel room with as many of my buddies as we can squeeze in, but not before we play cards and eat our fill of room service steaks and salads.”
    â€œSalads?” Sam blurted.
    â€œYeah, most of us drive from rodeo to rodeo—the big guys fly, of course—but the way I did it, I had to eat too much fast food. It has to be something I can eat while I drive. So a big leafy thing that hasn’t been fried can taste like heaven.”
    Taking notes, Sam noticed that Kit talked about his career as if it were over. She shook her head and scolded herself for being so literal.
    â€œAnd the bust part?” she asked.
    Kit chuckled. “Next night, it’ll feel like the broncs have been talking, deciding they let me off too easy, and since I spent all my winnings the night before, I’ll end up sleepin’ on a blanket in some fairgrounds barn.”
    â€œThat must be hard,” Sam said.
    â€œIt pays off, mostly. I mean, I almost made it to the Grand Nationals.”
    So it had been true, Sam thought. She jotted a note—not that she’d need reminding later—that the boy from Three Ponies Ranch had made it to the top.
    When Sam looked up, though, Kit was rubbingthe fingers on his casted arm. He met her eyes and gave a self-mocking smile.
    â€œIf I hadn’t gone to that one last rodeo, training for the big time, I wouldn’t have wrecked my arm or had to take out a loan on my truck to pay doctor bills.”
    â€œI don’t know much about it, but isn’t there, like, medical insurance for you?” Sam asked.
    â€œFor the big guys,” Kit said again. “And the Justin Boot company has a cowboy crisis fund, but when you see what happens to some riders, this”—he lifted his cast—“is nothing. I’d be ashamed to apply.”
    Kit looked down as his mother came into the living room followed by Jake and Nate. After leaving home and staying gone so much, was Kit ashamed to ask for help with his medical expenses? Had he arrived on foot because he’d had to sell his truck? Sam wondered.
    â€œKit, Sam, will it bother you if we sit in on your interview?”
    â€œWe’re almost done, anyway,” Sam said. She glanced at the television and saw the evening news coming on. If she didn’t hurry she’d be riding home in the dark. “I only have one more question, and it’s kind of sappy.”
    â€œFire away,” Kit told her.
    â€œAll the kids at Darton High, your old school, will be wondering how it feels to live your dream. What would you tell them?”
    Sam expected Kit to shrug, as Jake might have. Instead, Kit stared into the fireplace, then sat back in his chair.
    When Kit spoke again, his voice had taken on the storytelling tone he’d used for the tale of Sitting Bull and the dancing white stallion.
    â€œWell, Samantha, I’ve been pretty fortunate. That’s all. I’ve drawn lots of mostly good horses and most times I’ve stuck on ’til the buzzer. I managed to duck injuries, trucks that broke down in the rain, and bad luck….
    â€œAfter this heals,” Kit continued, lifting his cast, “I see myself back at the chutes, helping Pani—he’s my best buddy, a cowboy from Hawaii, if you can believe it—tie on his riggin’, havin’ him give me a high five, even after