Free Run Away Home by Terri Farley Page A

I beat him out in the arena.”
    â€œIs that really how it is?” Nate asked. “Your friends don’t get mad if you beat them?”
    â€œMost don’t,” Kit said. “I’ve seen a man loan his ten-thousand-dollar horse as easily as you’d loan Sam here a pencil in school. And if a pal gets injured, we have fund-raisers and kick in whatever we can to help him.”
    â€œBut it’s such a vagabond lifestyle, going from place to place without a family,” Mrs. Ely fretted.
    â€œWhen you’re that far from home, you kinda make your own neighborhood,” Kit told his mother. “Then you haul it around with you from state to state, rodeo to rodeo, like a snail with its shell.”
    Kit swallowed so hard that Sam heard him, before going on, “Mom, I love rodeo. It’s just flat-out different from other sports. Cowboys don’t boo when the judge makes a call they don’t like. Oh, there might be boots scuffin’, or men pullin’ their hats down a little harder than’s called for, but that’s all. The fans don’t go out and trash the town for a celebration, either. That sort of behavior just ain’t our style.
    â€œBasically—and Sam, you know this from my brothers and your own dad—cowboys don’t tolerate no whining.” Kit was quiet for a few seconds as he stared at his cast. “You just gotta take it as it comes.”

Chapter Eight
    S ap sizzled inside a log in the fireplace, then popped. Sam breathed in the smells of gingerbread, wood smoke, and damp flannel shirts.
    â€œI’m proud of you,” Mrs. Ely said simply.
    Nate groaned and held his throat as if his mother’s sentimentality made him sick. Then Quinn clomped in from the kitchen, hollering to ask where everyone was, and Sam snapped her notebook closed. The interview was over. It was time she let the Elys get back to being a family.
    â€œI’ve got what I need. Thanks, Kit,” she said. Feeling like a professional journalist, she leaned down to shake his good hand, and told him, “Don’t get up.”
    Then she glanced at Jake to see if he planned to walk outside with her to get Ace.
    From the corner of her eye, Sam had kept track of Jake’s reaction to his brother’s remarks.
    He’d shifted, cleared his throat, and thrown his arm over the back of his chair. Even if he’d been bored, she’d expected to see Jake smiling now.
    That wasn’t what she saw.
    Jake’s reaction reminded her of a snowstorm. When you glimpse the first few snowflakes, you’re not even sure they’re there. You blink, thinking you’re seeing things, guessing it’s just blowing off trees or rooftops, but then, suddenly, flurries turn into fury.
    Jake looked angry. He must feel jealous of Kit’s lifestyle, independence, and success. He was probably too embarrassed to admit it, but resentment had been bubbling up in him since Kit arrived home. She didn’t want to be nearby when it boiled over.
    I’m out of here, she thought, giving a quick wave, then heading out of the living room. She heard Jake’s boots and the chime of his spurs following her through the kitchen.
    He’s just going to be surly, Sam warned herself when she was tempted to stop.
    So she walked faster. She’d made it outside to the front porch when she noticed the deepening dusk. She had to hurry home.
    â€œI forgot how much I hate it when he plays people.”Jake’s voice made her glance back.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI keep trying to remember the good times, but when he does that thing—”
    â€œWhat thing?” Sam asked.
    â€œReeling folks in, like he did just now.” Jake jerked his head toward the house. “Like he did tellin’ you about Sitting Bull.”
    That wasn’t playing people, Sam thought; it was weaving words into great stories. It might even be charm, but she didn’t tell him